Harry Potter
He knocked on her door and it opened before he'd even finished.
Fleur stood in the doorway wearing a silk robe that was loosely tied at the waist, her silver hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. Her dark blue eyes found his immediately, and her lips curved into a smile that made his stomach tighten.
"You kept me waiting," she said.
"Thirty minutes," Harry replied.
"Zirty minutes too long." She took hold of the front of his jumper and pulled him inside.
The room was small but warm, lit by candles that floated near the ceiling in the French style. A single bed with white sheets sat against the far wall, and the air smelled of flowers and something else, a perfume that he had come to associate with her over their weeks of training together. Fleur closed the door behind them and drew her wand from somewhere inside her robe. She cast a Silencing Charm on the walls, a strong one from the way the magic settled over the room like a heavy blanket, and then tossed her wand onto the bedside table.
"Zere," she said. "Now we will not be disturbed."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That confident things are going to get loud?"
Her fingers found the hem of his jumper and began tugging it upward. "I am confident zat I am going to be loud." She pulled the jumper over his head and let it fall to the floor, and Harry watched her eyes travel over his bare chest. She traced the lean muscle there, her fingertips pausing over the scars the First Task had left him with. He thought she might say something about them, but instead she simply ran her hand down his sternum with a look of open wanting on her face.
"I 'ave been thinking about zis since ze training session," she told him. "Since you were standing in front of everyone giving orders and looking like you belonged zere." She bit her lower lip. "You 'ave no idea what you do to me, 'Arry."
He had some idea, actually. She had been rather descriptive about it in the alcove. But he kept that thought to himself as her hands dropped to his belt and made quick work of it.
His trousers came down, and then his boxers. He watched her expression as his cock sprang free, hard and thick and jutting toward her. She had seen it before during their previous encounters, but her reaction was always the same. Her breath caught and her eyes widened slightly, as though she still could not quite believe it. She wrapped her fingers around him and her hand barely closed around his girth.
"Mon Dieu," she whispered. "I will never get tired of zis."
Harry reached for the tie on her robe and pulled it loose. The silk parted and slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet on the floor and leaving her completely bare underneath.
She was all long legs and a narrow waist that flared into hips his hands itched to hold. Her breasts were heavy and full with pink nipples that had already stiffened in the warm air. Between her thighs, she was bare and visibly glistening with arousal. She was, by any measure, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and the fact that she wanted him, Harry Potter, the scrawny boy who had grown up in a cupboard, still felt like something he did not entirely deserve.
"Tu es si belle," Harry said with a cheeky smile. He knew enough French to tell her that she was so beautiful.
Fleur's eyes widen a little, and her eyes looked at him like he was a precious thing. "Tu es très beau, mais il va falloir faire avec cet horrible accent. Allez, on baise." You are handsome, too, but we have to work on that horrible accent. Now, Fuck Me.
She stepped backward toward the bed, her hand still wrapped around his cock, pulling him along with a grip that was firm and deliberate. "Now stop talking and come to bed with me."
Harry did not need to be told twice.
He closed the distance between them and put his hands on her hips. Fleur let out a soft "oh" as he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively. He carried her the short distance to the bed, laid her down on the mattress, and settled his weight over her. She looked up at him with those dark blue eyes, her silver hair fanning out on the white pillow beneath her, and for a moment neither of them moved. Harry wanted to remember this. The warmth of her skin against his, the way she was looking at him, the candlelight flickering across her face.
Then her hand slipped between their bodies and she guided him to her entrance. She was hot and slick and ready for him, and when she gave a small nod, Harry pushed forward in one long, steady stroke until he was fully inside her.
"Ahhhhh, oui, oui," Fleur moaned, her back arching off the mattress and her eyes going wide. Her cunt was impossibly tight around him, gripping his cock like a warm fist, and the sound she made as he bottomed out, a raw and breathless "oh mon Dieu, 'Arry," sent a bolt of pleasure straight through him. Harry groaned low in his throat at the feel of her, a rough and involuntary sound that he could not have held back if he tried.
Harry gave her a moment to adjust, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none. Her expression was one of pure bliss, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes half closed. A quiet, continuous "mmmmh" hummed from her lips as she savored the fullness of him inside her. When she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and dug her heels into his lower back, he took that as his signal to move.
He pulled back slowly and then thrust forward again, harder this time, and Fleur cried out. "AHH, fuck," she gasped, the English profanity sounding almost musical in her accent. It was not a delicate sound. It was loud and unashamed and it would have carried through the entire carriage without the Silencing Charm. Harry grunted with the force of his own thrust, a short, hard exhale through his teeth. The knowledge that she felt safe enough to be that unguarded with him made something warm bloom in his chest even as the physical pleasure built.
"'Arry, mmnnhh, 'arder, please," she panted, clutching at his shoulders. "S'il te plaît, plus fort."
He gave her harder. He gripped her hips with both hands and set a rhythm that was fast and deep, pulling her back onto him with each thrust. The bed knocked against the wall in a steady cadence and Fleur's moans climbed higher with every stroke, shifting between English and French as though she could no longer keep track of which language she was speaking. "Oui, oui, oui, ahhhh, like zat, just like zat, oh Dieu," she cried, her legs locked around him, her nails pressing half moons into the skin of his back. Harry's own breathing had grown ragged, low grunts escaping him with each thrust that he buried inside her, the wet heat of her pulling sounds from him that he had never made before her.
Harry had learned over the past two weeks what Fleur liked. She liked it when he was in control. She liked it when he did not hold back. And she liked it when he looked at her while they were together, something she had told him plainly the first time they had been intimate, that she wanted to see his eyes. So he looked at her now, and when he told her to look at him, his voice coming out rougher than he intended, her eyes opened immediately and met his.
Her blue irises were nearly swallowed by her blown pupils. Tears of pleasure clung to her lashes. She was panting hard, her lips swollen from where she had been biting them, and she looked thoroughly undone. She also looked breathtakingly beautiful.
"Zere you are," she breathed, gazing up at him with an expression that made his heart clench. "Mon 'Arry. Ahhhn, right zere. Do not stop." Her voice cracked on the last word and dissolved into a whimper that rose into a moan as he maintained his pace, each thrust drawing another helpless sound from her throat. "Oh, oh, oh, 'Arry, c'est trop bon, nnnhh, don't stop, please don't stop."
His hands found her breasts, cupping the heavy flesh and squeezing. He felt them shift and bounce with the force of his thrusts, her stiff nipples pressing into his palms. Fleur whimpered and arched into his grip, pushing her chest against his hands as though she could not get enough of his touch. "Ahh oui, touch me, mmhh, just like zat," she sighed, the words dissolving into a breathy moan when he squeezed harder.
He kneaded her soft flesh and rolled her nipples between his fingers, pinching gently and then harder when she moaned her encouragement, a sharp "ahh, yes, 'Arry, more" that went straight to his cock. Harry groaned aloud at the sensation when her cunt tightened around him in response, a rhythmic clenching that made his vision blur for a moment with the intensity of it. "Fuck, Fleur," he breathed, the words slipping from him before he could think.
"I'm going to, 'Arry, I'm, ahhh, je vais, je," she gasped, and he could feel it in the way her body was tensing beneath him, her walls fluttering, her thighs squeezing his sides. Her moans had become a single unbroken sound now, rising in pitch with each stroke, a desperate "ah, ah, ah, ah" that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.
He kept his pace steady and let her get there. A few more strokes and she came with a loud, shuddering cry that broke from her chest like something released. "AHHH, 'ARRY, OUI, OUI, OUI," she screamed, her entire body seizing under him. Her cunt pulsed around his cock in rhythmic waves and her nails raked down his back hard enough to sting. The tightness and the heat and the way she looked in that moment, her mouth open, her eyes rolling back, completely lost in the pleasure he was giving her, pushed Harry to his own climax.
He buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a groan that he felt in his entire body, a low, guttural "God, Fleur" torn from his throat as his cock pulsed and he spilled himself inside her. Fleur whimpered softly beneath him, "mmhh, oui, I can feel it, mmm," and rolled her hips against him, drawing out every last spasm until they were both spent.
For a long while, neither of them moved. Harry's forehead rested against her collarbone and he could feel her heartbeat hammering against his chest, gradually slowing along with his own. His cock softened inside her and her fingers traced idle patterns across his sweat damp shoulders. The only sounds were their breathing, still heavy but steadying, and the occasional quiet sigh from Fleur as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her. The candles continued their slow orbit near the ceiling, casting shifting light across their tangled bodies.
"You," Fleur murmured eventually, "are an animal."
Harry huffed a quiet laugh against her skin. "You told me to be rough."
"And you listened. Zis is why I like you." She shifted beneath him and he slipped free of her with a soft, wet sound that made them both shiver. He felt her glance down between their bodies and heard the quiet, satisfied hum she made. "You came a lot."
"Your fault."
"I accept full responsibility." She smiled lazily and pushed at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back beside her. She rose onto her knees, her silver hair falling like a curtain around her flushed face, and her gaze settled on his cock where it lay against his thigh, still thick and glistening with the evidence of them both.
Harry watched her lick her lips and knew what was coming before she moved.
"I am not done with you," she said simply, and then she lowered herself between his legs, her breasts pressing warm and heavy against his thighs. She wrapped both hands around his shaft and began to stroke him slowly.
Harry's breath hitched as he felt himself stir in her grip. "We just finished."
"Oui. And now I want to taste you." She pressed her lips to the head of his cock in a soft, almost chaste kiss that was at odds with everything they had just done. Then she opened her mouth and took him inside.
The sound she made, a low, approving hum, vibrated through his cock and up his spine. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive head and traced along the ridge before dipping into the slit, lapping up the mixture of his release and her own arousal that still coated him. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked and drew him deeper, and Harry's hand found the back of her head, his fingers threading gently through her silver hair.
She paid attention to what made him react, remembered what he liked.
She set a steady rhythm, taking him deep with long, slow strokes of her mouth, her tongue flat against the underside of his shaft while her hands twisted gently at the base. His cock hardened rapidly under her attention, thickening against her tongue until he was fully erect again. Fleur made a sound of satisfaction around him and increased her pace slightly.
Every few strokes, she would pull back to breathe, pressing his cock against her cheek and looking up at him through her lashes. Her lips were swollen and wet and her eyes sparkled with a mix of affection and mischief that he found impossibly endearing.
"I love your cock, 'Arry," she told him quietly, her voice a little hoarse. "Ze size of it. Ze weight of it on my tongue."
Harry swallowed. "You're really good at that."
"I know." She kissed the tip. "I practise on you enough."
"Cocky," he managed.
"Oui. Literally." She smiled at her own joke, and the genuine amusement on her face made him smile too despite the fog of pleasure she was wrapping around his brain. Then she took him back into her mouth, deeper this time, her nose nearly touching his pelvis, and the wet, obscene sound of it was the only noise in the small room.
Harry lay back and watched her. The candlelight caught the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the swell of her backside. Her silver hair spilled across his thighs and her blue eyes glanced up at him periodically with that same expression, worship mixed with playfulness.
"Come closer," he said.
She released him with a soft pop and looked up, her lips shining. "Why?"
"Because I want to touch you while you do that."
She shifted without hesitation, repositioning herself across his lap so that her mouth remained within reach of his cock while her body was close enough for his hands to explore. His right hand found her breast immediately, cupping the full weight of it and rolling her nipple between his fingers. His left hand slid down the curve of her spine, over her backside, and dipped between her thighs from behind.
"Ahh," Fleur moaned softly around his cock as his fingers found her cunt. She was still wet, still sensitive, still leaking his seed from before. He pushed two fingers inside her with ease and she shuddered, her rhythm on his cock faltering for a moment before she recovered.
"You were saying something about practice?" Harry murmured, curling his fingers inside her and feeling her clench around them.
"I 'ate you," Fleur breathed against his shaft, her hips rocking back against his hand. "I absolutely 'ate you."
"You love me."
I do, she thought.
She lifted her head and looked at him. His cock rested against her cheek, warm and hard and familiar, all nine thick inches of him pressed against the soft skin of her face. Her eyes were soft in the candlelight, stripped of all the playful bravado she usually wore like armor.
"Oui," she said quietly. "I do."
Harry looked back at her and felt something shift in his chest, something that had been shifting for weeks now, settling into place. He brushed a strand of silver hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He held her gaze for a moment, and then, in a voice that was rough and low and entirely sincere, he said the words he had been carrying for longer than he had realized.
"Je t'aime, Fleur."
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted, and for once in the time he had known her, Fleur Delacour was speechless.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She did not wipe it away. Instead she turned her head and pressed a long, reverent kiss to the side of his cock where it lay against her face, her lips soft and warm, her breath shaking.
"Again," she whispered. "Say it again."
"Je t'aime."
She closed her eyes and smiled, and another tear fell. Then she opened her eyes, and the tenderness in them had not gone away, but now she looked at him with such hunger.
"Zen let me show you," she said, "'ow much I love you back."
She wrapped both hands around the base of his shaft and lowered her mouth to the swollen head, pressing her lips against it in a kiss that was almost chaste before she parted them and took him inside. Harry's breath caught as the wet warmth of her mouth enveloped the first few inches of his cock. She held him there for a moment, her tongue swirling slowly around the sensitive head, tracing the ridge, lapping at the slit with deliberate, worshipful attention.
"Mmmmmh," she hummed around him, the vibration traveling down his shaft and settling deep in his pelvis. She began to take him deeper, inch by slow inch, her lips stretching wide around his considerable girth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Four inches. Five. Six. Her hands fell away from the base and settled on his thighs.
Seven inches. Eight. She gagged once, softly, her throat constricting around the head of his cock in a way that made his entire body jerk, and then she relaxed and swallowed him deeper still. Harry could see the bulge of his cock in her slender throat, a visible distortion pressing outward against the smooth pale column of her neck as she took the last inch. Her nose pressed flush against his pelvis, her lips sealed around the very base of his shaft, all nine inches buried in her mouth and throat.
"Fuck, Fleur," Harry groaned, his hand finding the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her silver hair but he did not push. He did not need to. She had taken every inch of him on her own, and the pride in her half lidded eyes as she looked up at him from his lap told him she knew exactly what she was doing.
She held him there for several seconds, swallowing rhythmically around his cock. Each contraction of her throat massaged the head and sent pulses of pleasure radiating through him. "Gllkh, mmhh, mmmm,"
Then she pulled back slowly, dragging her lips along the entire length of his shaft until just the head remained in her mouth. A thick rope of saliva connected her swollen lower lip to his glistening cock as she pulled off completely and gasped for breath.
"Mon Dieu, I love your cock, 'Arry," she breathed, stroking him with both hands while she recovered, spreading the slick mixture of her saliva across every inch of him. "Ze taste of it. Ze feel of it in my throat." She kissed the underside of his shaft, running her lips along a prominent vein. "I could worship you like zis forever."
She took him back into her mouth before he could respond. This time bobbing her head in long, steady strokes that took him deep into her throat with each descent. The wet, slurping sounds of her mouth filled the small room, punctuated by her muffled moans of genuine pleasure. "Mmhh, mmmm, mmmnhh," she hummed around his cock with every stroke, as though the act of sucking him was bringing her as much satisfaction as it was him.
Harry's head fell back against the pillow. His chest was heaving, his stomach muscles tight, his thighs trembling with the effort of not bucking his hips upward. Each time she took him to the root, he could see the distension in her throat, the outline of his cock pressing against the slender column of her neck, and the sight of it combined with the relentless wet heat of her mouth was pushing him toward the edge with alarming speed.
"Fleur, God, that's, ngh," he groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair.
She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing the tip as she did. "Cum for me, 'Arry. I want to taste it. I want to swallow every drop." Her voice was wrecked, hoarse from what he had been doing to her throat, and she looked up at him with red rimmed eyes that burned with devotion. "Give it to me. Please."
She plunged back down, taking all nine inches in one smooth motion, her throat bulging visibly around his girth, and began swallowing rapidly around the head of his cock while her hands cupped his balls and squeezed gently.
"Fleur, I'm, fuck, I'm going to," Harry managed, his voice tight and strained.
"Mmmhm," she moaned around him, an affirmative, encouraging sound, and doubled her efforts. Her head bobbed faster, her throat constricted tighter, her tongue pressed flat against the underside of his shaft, and the obscene wet sounds of her deepthroating him grew louder and more frantic. "Glkh, mmhh, mmmm, mhh, mmmmhh."
Harry came with a groan that started in his chest and tore its way out of his throat. "God, Fleur, fuck," he gasped as his cock pulsed hard, the first thick rope of cum shooting directly into her throat. She moaned loudly around him, "MMMHH," and held herself down with her nose pressed against his pelvis as he emptied himself into her.
He came a lot. More than he could remember coming before. His cock throbbed and pulsed again and again, spurt after thick spurt of cum flooding her throat, and Fleur swallowed every drop with a gulping that he could feel around his shaft. "Mmm, mmm, mmm," she hummed with each swallow, her throat working steadily, not a single drop escaping her lips. Her eyes were closed and the expression on her face was one of bliss, as though there was nowhere in the world she would rather be than on her knees with his cock buried in her throat and his seed pouring down it.
When the last pulse finally subsided, she drew back slowly, keeping her lips sealed tight around his shaft to catch anything that remained. She sucked firmly as she pulled off, cleaning him from base to tip, and when his cock finally slipped free of her mouth with a soft, wet pop, she opened her eyes, looked up at him, and swallowed one last time with a visible bob of her throat.
"Every drop," she whispered, her voice raw and scratchy. She licked her swollen lips and smiled at him, and the satisfaction in her expression was so genuine that it made his chest hurt. "'Arry, you taste magnifique."
She kissed the head of his cock softly, almost tenderly, and then she was moving. She crawled up the length of his body slowly, deliberately, her heavy breasts dragging across his thighs, his stomach, his chest as she climbed him like something she was claiming. Her silver hair fell around their faces like a curtain when she settled her hips over his, straddling his lap, and Harry felt his still hard cock press against the slick, swollen heat of her cunt.
Fleur reached down between them and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, lining him up with her entrance. She held his gaze as she sank down onto him, taking him inside her in one smooth, slow descent that drew a long, shuddering moan from both of them.
"Ohhh, oui, 'Arry, mmmmhh," she sighed as she bottomed out, her hips flush against his, her cunt stretched tight around every inch of him. She placed both hands on his chest and began to move, rolling her hips in a slow, grinding rhythm that built heat between them like coals being stoked.
Harry's hands settled on her hips, feeling the motion of her body as she rode him. Her breasts swayed and bounced with each roll of her hips, heavy and full, the candlelight catching the sheen of sweat that had begun to gather in her cleavage. They were magnificent and they were right in front of him and he had been thinking about them since the moment her robe had hit the floor.
He sat up slightly, sliding one hand to the small of her back to pull her closer, and took her left breast into his mouth. Fleur gasped sharply and her rhythm stuttered as his lips closed around her stiff pink nipple.
"Ahhh, oui, suck zem, 'Arry," she moaned, cradling his head against her chest with both hands. Her fingers raked through his messy hair as he laved his tongue over her nipple, sucking firmly before grazing it with his teeth. Her breast was large enough that his mouth could only take so much of it in, the soft flesh spilling around his lips as he sucked, and the weight and warmth of it against his face was intoxicating.
He switched to her right breast, giving it the same devoted attention, and Fleur's moans grew louder and more unrestrained above him. "Mmmnhh, oui, oh Dieu, 'Arry, your mouth, ahhh, zey are so sensitive, don't stop, mmhh," she babbled, her hips picking up speed as the dual stimulation of his cock inside her and his mouth on her breasts drove her higher. She bounced in his lap, her heavy tits pressing against his face each time she came down, and Harry groaned against her flesh as her cunt squeezed him with every descent.
He sucked harder, pulling her nipple taut between his lips, and Fleur threw her head back with a cry that echoed off the charmed walls. "AHH, 'Arry, oui, comme ça, just like zat, mmmhh, don't let go," she panted, riding him harder now, her thighs flexing around his hips as she drove herself down onto his cock again and again. Her breasts bounced heavily against his face and he buried himself in them, sucking and licking and kissing the soft, sweat slick flesh while she rode him.
The bed creaked beneath them, and the candlelight danced across their moving bodies, and the small room in the Beauxbatons carriage filled with the sounds of Fleur's climbing moans and the wet, eager sounds of their bodies joining together.
Severus
The dungeons were quiet. They were always quiet at this hour, the students confined to their common rooms, the corridors emptied of their incessant noise, the castle finally reduced to something tolerable. Severus preferred the silence.
His office existed in permanent half-light. Jars of preserved specimens lined the walls in neat rows, pickled newt eyes, suspended lacewing flies, a coiled boomslang skin floating in clouded formaldehyde, each one labelled in his own cramped handwriting. A cauldron sat on a low flame in the corner, its contents simmering at precisely ninety-two degrees, a base for a Wolfsbane variant he'd been refining for three months because Dumbledore had ordered him to. The hiss of steam was the only sound besides the scratch of his quill.
He was grading essays. Third-year Hufflepuffs. The quality was, as expected, abysmal. Hufflepuffs were even worse than the Gryffindors.
Severus dipped his quill and wrote, in red ink that bled into the parchment like a wound: If you genuinely believe that powdered moonstone and crushed scarab are interchangeable, I suggest you abandon Potions entirely and pursue a career in—
His left forearm caught fire.
The quill dropped. His right hand clamped over his sleeve, fingers digging into the fabric, pressing down as if pressure could extinguish what was happening beneath his skin. He knew, in the first half-second, that this was not the dull ache he'd felt since the World Cup. That had been an echo. A stirring.
This was the arrival.
The Dark Mark moved under his sleeve. He could feel it, the serpent coiling tighter, contracting around the skull's jaw, the tattooed lines thickening and writhing as though something was burrowing through the tissue of his forearm from the inside. The skull's mouth was opening. He did not need to look to know this. He could feel the jaw unhinging beneath his skin, feel the serpent threading itself through the eye sockets, feel the entire mark expanding like a burn that hadn't finished burning.
The pain came in waves. The first buckled his posture. The second blurred his vision. The third took his legs.
His chair scraped back and he went down, knees hitting cold stone. The jars on the shelves rattled. The cauldron's simmer broke into a violent boil, contents spitting, as if the dark magic flooding the room had reached even the potions and found something to corrupt.
He bit the inside of his cheek. Blood filled his mouth. He breathed through his nose. Short bursts. He had endured Cruciatus. He had knelt before the Dark Lord and kept his thoughts walled and his face empty. He had survived what lesser men had not, because Severus Snape did not yield to pain.
He screamed.
The pain peaked. His vision went white. His fingers clawed at his forearm, nails dragging across the sleeve, his spine curling until his forehead nearly touched the stone.
Then it receded.
Not gone. Diminished. The fire banked to a deep, heavy throb that pulsed like a dark heart, each beat a reminder that what lived in his arm was no longer sleeping.
Severus lay on the dungeon floor. Sweat ran into his eyes. His hair stuck to his face.
He pulled up his sleeve.
The Dark Mark stared back at him. Darker than it had been in years. The lines were sharper. The skull's jaw was set in a grin that had not been there that morning.
He'd known this was coming. Since the World Cup. Since the Dark Mark had appeared in the sky above that burning campsite for the first time in over a decade. He had told Dumbledore then, and Dumbledore had listened, and nothing had changed, and now the mark was burning and nothing had changed and everything had changed.
Severus gripped the edge of his desk and pulled himself upright. His legs held. Barely.
He looked at the door.
He needed to see Dumbledore. Now.