Harry hadn't meant to fall asleep.
He'd only meant to rest for a bit after dinner, his head still heavy from the mess of the last few days. The fire had burned low. The blanket was still folded. He didn't remember lying down. Just blinking and then nothing. It turned out that yesterday had weighed on him more than he realized.
He woke to something strange. There was a soft weight pressed against him.
His chest tightened, but he didn't open his eyes. He didn't twitch. His wand was tucked under the edge of the mattress. His fingers stayed still. Not yet. He breathed shallowly, listening. He made a note to change that. Next time, he would tie it to his wrist. Just a bit of string. Enough to make sure it stayed with him if something like this happened again.
He cracked one eye open, barely.
Dim firelight flickered across the floor and up the edge of the bed. Someone was lying half on top of him. Her head was nestled against his shoulder. Long hair spilled across his chest and over the pillow. Her face was turned inward, cheek pressed to his collar. Small nose. Pale jaw. Lips parted slightly in sleep.
Definitely a girl. Smaller than him. Breathing slowly and fast asleep.
He shut his eyes again. His heart was beating faster now. He hadn't imagined it.
She stirred faintly, her weight pressing closer.
One leg was slung across his hip. An arm was curled around his middle. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his side, the heat of her breath against his throat. She let out a sound, not a word, just a sigh, low and unconscious.
Her feet brushed his calf. Bare. No socks. No shoes. The room was cold. November cold. Her sweater had been discarded sometime during the night. He could feel it balled up near the edge of the mattress.
She was holding him.
He didn't move. His breathing stayed steady, but his heart thudded loudly and fast in his ears. He wasn't panicking. He was alert, confused, and listening. She hadn't been there when he fell asleep. He was absolutely sure of that.
Who was she?
The door hadn't opened. The room hadn't stirred. He would have heard something. He always locked the door before going to sleep. Last night, he hadn't. He couldn't remember why. Maybe he had been more tired than he thought. But she was here now. Asleep. Clinging to him like it was nothing unusual.
Her hair tickled his chin when she shifted again. It smelled faintly of sugar and cold stone.
He still didn't recognize her.
He stayed completely still.
Five minutes passed. Ten then twenty.
Nothing changed. Her breathing stayed calm. Her warmth never faded, her grip steady and natural, as if she belonged there.
At last, she shifted. Her knee slid upward. Just a little. It pressed against the front of his trousers, right where his cock had already started to stiffen.
His body responded instantly. Hardening before he could stop it. It was a reflex. Fast, awkward, and unwanted. The same humiliating, automatic thing that happened sometimes when he woke up too warm or too tangled in blankets. Only now it was her leg and her body draped over his.
He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling, trying to keep still. He focused on his breathing. On the firelight. On the ceiling. On anything that might pull the blood away from where it had no right to be.
It started to fade slowly.
Then her thigh shifted again. It brushed directly over the length of his cock through the fabric. Just once. A smooth, unthinking pass of skin through cloth.
It came back. Faster than it faded.
The hardness throbbed now against the front of his trousers. Every heartbeat made it worse.
Heat rushed to his face. His ears burned. His stomach clenched tight, pulled low.
He stayed absolutely still.
He didn't shift. He took deep breaths slowly. He just hoped she would not notice.
But it didn't matter. The heat stayed. The pressure stayed. The awkwardness sharpened with every second she didn't move away.
He considered slipping out from under her. He thought of using a charm. Something light. Something that wouldn't wake her.
But she looked peaceful.
Some part of him, silent and small, didn't want to disturb that.
He stared upward, eyes dry. His thoughts started to circle again. Had the room deliberately brought her here? Had someone sent her? Was this a prank? Was it Polyjuice? Or was it just one more strange thing Hogwarts never intended to explain?
No answer came. And that silence made it harder to breathe.
Then, finally, she stirred.
Her fingers shifted against his shirt. Her head lifted slightly. She made a small sound, something between a hum and a sigh, and blinked her eyes open.
Pale eyebrows, silvery eyes still hazy with sleep.
She looked at him for a second. Then smiled. As if they had passed each other in the corridor. As if none of this was strange at all.
"Oh. Hello."
"…Hi."
She didn't jump back or act surprised. She just sat up slowly, brushing her hair out of her face with one hand. It was tangled, a bit of it stuck to her sleeve. Her skirt was wrinkled. There was a scrape on her knee.
"I'm Luna," she said, like that explained everything.
Harry sat up too, still blinking. "Do you… usually show up in random rooms and fall asleep next to people?"
"Not usually. Only with my father," she said. "And only when Ravenclaw won't let me back in."
He stared. "You're locked out of your common room?"
"I got the riddle wrong," she said, yawning into her sleeve. "I think Nargles were interfering. They like to confuse things."
"Nargles," Harry repeated under his breath, mostly to hear how it sounded.
She nodded as she reached for the sweater that had been lying beside her. She pulled it on like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"After that, I went to the kitchens," she added. "I wanted pudding. There was an interesting elf there. Dobby. He said this room was safe. For lost things and people."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. He looked around. At the made bed. The warm fire. The way the silence didn't feel empty anymore.
It didn't look like a place for lost people. But maybe it was. After all, he was lost too.
"I think he meant me," Luna said. Her voice was soft, not sad.
Harry kept looking at her. She wasn't embarrassed. She wasn't confused. She was just happy. Like this was normal. Like this was fine.
"You can come here again," he said, "if it happens again."
Her face lit up a little. "Thank you. That's kind."
A quiet beat passed.
"You snore a little," she added, glancing at him.
Harry blinked. "Do I?"
"Just a little." She tilted her head. "But it's not unpleasant."
He gave her a look. "Thanks."
She smiled again, stood, and brushed the dust off her skirt. Then she pulled her wand and flicked it upward.
"Tempus."
A silvery number appeared in the air. She frowned at it. "I'm very late."
She took two steps toward the door, then paused.
"You might want to ask the room for a bath," she said. "Or a toilet. It listens, if you ask nicely."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You tried that?"
She shrugged. "I didn't have to. I just thought it might."
She paused, one foot already angled toward the door. Her brow furrowed slightly, like she had remembered something important.
"Also, you should probably do something about your erection," she added, entirely calm. "It's bad to let that sort of pressure build up too long. I read it in a Muggle doctor book. There were diagrams."
Harry choked slightly. "What?"
"In the bathroom, I mean," she said helpfully. "It's a healthy thing to do."
She nodded once, as if she'd handed him useful homework, and slipped through the door without waiting for a response.
The room went still.
Harry sat there, stunned. Heat crept into his ears again. He knew what she meant now.
Wanking.
Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't done it already, not with how often he'd been alone in this room, not with everything pressed so tightly inside him these days.
She had been telling him to go have a wank.
He stared at the fire for a few more seconds, trying not to let the heat in his face get worse. It wasn't like she was wrong. And it wasn't like he hadn't been thinking about it for the last ten minutes, trying to pretend he wasn't.
Maybe she was right. It might help.
But first, he stood, crossed to the door, and turned the latch until it clicked. Locked. Then he opened it just a crack and peeked into the corridor.
She was halfway down the hall, skipping once every few steps, hair swinging behind her.
Just before the corner, she paused.
She looked over her shoulder, caught his eyes, and smiled. One hand lifted in a small, casual wave.
Then her gaze dropped. She tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking to the front of his trousers. Her smile widened.
Without a word, she balled her fist and gave a slow, unmistakable wanking gesture. Then she held up a quick, cheerful thumbs-up. And with that, she turned the corner and vanished.
Harry stared at the place where she had just been.
His ears were burning. His cock twitched again in his trousers, thick and insistent, pressing hard into the seam. It had been straining for too long now, boxed in by layers of cloth, the waistband digging into the root of it with every shallow breath. The pressure curled hot through his abdomen. His briefs were damp where precum had already soaked through.
He blinked.
"…Of course she's not normal," he muttered. "I never meet normal people."
He shut the door quietly and turned back into the room.
The fire still crackled. The air had shifted. The silence wasn't heavy anymore. It was waiting.
He didn't bother pretending anymore.
The Room had already started to change. Warm mist drifted along the edges of the stone. A wide, sunken bath shimmered near the far wall, full and steaming. Towels hung neatly on a hook by the edge. The scent of heat and water filled the space like a quiet answer.
He moved toward it, fingers already at his buttons. His cock throbbed again, trapped and pulsing against the damp fabric. The head dragged sticky lines along the inside of his pants as he walked. The friction made his eyes flutter for half a second.
He stripped fast. His shirt fell first. Then his trousers. Then his briefs.
The moment they dropped, his cock sprang forward, smacking lightly against his belly. It was flushed and swollen, dark with blood, nearly eight inches long, and fully erect. The skin was stretched tight. A thick bead of precum clung to the tip before sliding down the shaft. His pubic hair curled damply at the base, darker than the skin around it. The ache flared sharp and low, as if his body had been holding back since the moment Luna had smiled.
He stepped into the bath and sank down, inch by inch. Heat climbed up his calves, his thighs, the backs of his knees. It swallowed his hips and chest like a mouth. Steam rose up around him. His cock bobbed just above the water, untouched.
He let his hand close around it. And his imagination began to unravel.
Cho came first.
She always had. Lying back on white silk sheets, her long black hair fanned across the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips parted. Her legs were drawn up shyly at first, then slowly opened for him. Her skin was pale gold, smooth and warm, the inner curves of her thighs trembling slightly. Her dark eyes never left his emerald ones.
"I want it to be you," she whispered. Her voice was soft, but her budding chest rose and fell quickly. "No one else. Please, Harry. I've wanted this since last year. Since you looked at me like I wasn't just... another face in the Ravenclaw Quidditch team."
She shifted her hips and let her legs fall wider. Between them, her pussy was bare and glistening, folds pink and already wet with arousal. Not a single hair could be seen.
"I shaved for you," she added quietly. "I wanted to be perfect. For the Boy Who Lived. For my first time."
His cock throbbed in his grip. A sharp breath hissed through his teeth. His hand moved slowly, steadily.
Cho reached down and spread herself with two fingers, showing him the way in.
"It's okay if it hurts," she murmured. "
He imagined her drawing him forward, her body soft and open. Her cunt stretched as he pressed in, slowly, the head of his cock forcing its way inside her virgin heat. She gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets, eyes wide.
"It's so thick," she whispered. "I didn't believe the rumors. Not from Katie or Angelina. But… they were right."
Her hips rocked toward him. Her body pulsed around his cock in his mind, tight and wet and welcoming.
She flushed deeper as her thighs trembled. She lifted her legs around his waist.
"You can use my arse too," she said. "If you want to. I've never done that either."
Her voice faltered but didn't break. It wasn't crude. Just honest.
Harry groaned, his strokes quickening beneath the water. Precum spilled freely from the tip, dripping down his shaft, warm and slick in his hand.
He imagined Cho's tightness all around him. Her pussy, her ass, her hands clutching him like she was afraid to let go.
"Make me your bitch," she whispered. "Harry."
Her words echoed in his head. Her body arched beneath him. His cock pushed deep, wet and thick, buried to the base.
His rhythm sped up. Water slapped against his stomach.
Fleur was next.
She shouldn't be submissive like Cho. She stood before him with effortless poise, one hand resting on her bare hip. Her breasts rose with each slow breath, full and high, her nipples flushed pink from the steam. Her hair was damp, clinging to her shoulders like silk. Her lips curled with the faintest hint of amusement.
"You have been staring, 'Arry," She said, voice full of quiet mockery. "You sink zey let little boys play with women now?"
His hand slowed slightly on his cock. Blood pounded through his chest. That haughty voice made him want to slap her. He gritted his teeth. Why did every blonde he met have to be this maddening?
"Let us see if ze English boy is worth all ze staring," she said.
Then she turned.
She bent at the waist without a word, her spine curving like a ribbon. Her arse lifted into the air, pale and perfect, the shape framed by her parted thighs. Beneath it, her pussy glistened, folds already wet and open. She reached between her legs and pulled herself wider.
"You start 'ere," she said, voice calm. "Unless zis is already too much for you, non?"
He groaned. His cock twitched hard in his fist. He imagined kneeling behind her, the flushed head pressing against her tightest entrance.
"Do not tease," she said, breath sharp. "Put it in. Slowly, 'Arry."
Her voice scraped at the back of his throat as he pushed deeper into his mind. Her arse clenched around him, struggling to take the full stretch. She didn't beg. She just braced herself, gasping through her nose as he buried himself inch by inch.
"Ah… oui. Just like zat."
He slammed forward. Just one sharp thrust that drove his cock all the way in. In his mind, she cried out, eyes wide, back arched. Her fingers clawed the sheets.
"Too much?" he asked roughly.
She didn't answer fast enough.
He started to pound her arse. The slap of skin in his ears, the wet slide of her heat sucking him in, tighter than anything he'd known. She squirted once, her thighs trembling beneath him.
"Stop… s'il vous plaît…" she pleaded.
But he didn't. He dragged her hips back against him and pounded her harder. She moaned, helpless. Her arse bounced against his groin with every thrust, her cries rising until they broke into squeaks.
His hand came down. Once. Twice. A sharp crack against her cheek. She jerked, thighs clenching as another small squirt painted the bedding.
Another smack. She spasmed. Then again. Her thighs twitched.
Her voice dissolved into choked little gasps. Her hands fisted the sheets. Her arse was bright pink now, slick and shaking under his palm.
He gritted his teeth, stroking faster under the water, precum leaking down his shaft. The phantom image of her twisted in pleasure, face hidden in the pillow, arse up, her cunt dripping untouched, the full stretch of his cock buried in her tightest hole.
"Not such a little boy now, am I?" he growled. "Take it. You like getting ruined on this cock."
She couldn't speak. Just nodded, drooling into the mattress, her whole body shaking with each thrust, each spank. Every time he slapped her, her eyes rolled back and she squirted again. Not much, though.
His hand was a blur now. The water splashed against his thighs. He was right there, her moans echoing in his head, her arse red, stretched, and leaking.
Then Luna appeared.
Not in the room, but in his mind.
She knelt beside the bath, silent, her hair damp and sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes met his without blinking. She stood, stepped into the tub, and moved through the water like she belonged in it.
Her body was bare. Pale and smooth, breasts tipped with soft pink, nipples already tightening. Her stomach dipped with a gentle slope. Her cunt was visible, slightly parted, framed by a soft patch of small, curly hair. She climbed onto his lap without asking.
"You imagined them first, even though it was my idea for you to wank," she said, settling onto his thighs. Her voice was soft, faintly amused. Her eyes drifted to his cock with distant interest. "Still, you're hard for me. Do you know male semen looks just like unfrozen pudding?"
Her fingers curled around his shaft, calm and steady. She stroked him once, then again, her touch exploratory but certain. Then she guided him to the wet heat between her legs. She angled her hips forward and pressed the tip to her folds, slick and flushed. Her eyes never left his.
"I've always wondered if it would taste the same," she added, voice faint and thoughtful.
Her fingers drifted lower, brushing lightly over the base of his shaft before cupping his balls. She cradled them in her palm, weighing the heat and heft with eerie calm.
"So much pudding," she murmured, almost to herself.
Then she smiled. "That's good. More for me."
She straddled him properly now, knees planted in the water, her thighs braced. Her cunt lowered over his cock, slow and precise, the lips spreading open as she took him in. The stretch was smooth, her breath steady. Her body welcomed him like it had been waiting. Inch by inch, she swallowed him, her walls warm and gripping.
"I want you to come inside my cunny," she whispered.
She moved, hips circling with patient rhythm, each roll of her pelvis sinking him deep. Her pussy clenched with each descent, drawing him tighter, smoother, hungrier. Her hands braced against his chest, fingertips grazing.
"So I can milk every ounce of pudding from your cock," she murmured, not smiling now, just stating it as fact. Her cunt squeezed again, harder this time.
"Big," she said quietly. "Bigger than Ginny said, and she watches you bathe."
She rocked her hips again. The pace was slow, almost ceremonial. Each motion deepened the stretch. Her body squeezed around him like velvet, pulling and holding. The water lapped at her thighs as she fucked him steadily.
"I want your pudding inside me," she breathed, eyes half-lidded. "Let it smear against my womb."
She leaned forward. Her hair clung to his neck and shoulders. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear.
"Give me a baby," she whispered.
His hand moved faster under the water now. The fantasy grew sharper. Her pussy slid up the length of him, then back down, snug and soaked. Her moans began, quiet and paced, little gasps shaped by each thrust. Her tits brushed his chest. Her thighs squeezed against his hips. Another clench made his cock twitch.
"You're going to do my arse after this," she said. "You're going to cum till my stomach feels full. I want to feel the pudding sloshing inside me."
She smiled then. "I'll let Ginny taste it leaking from my arse. You know she never let you in her's."
His balls tightened. His hand jerked faster. The image of Luna bouncing slowly and wet on his cock filled his head. Her cunt glistened in the water. Her body rolled with the motion, thighs clapping softly against his own. He was right at the edge.
"You're close," she said.
The first spurt jetted from him, thick and hot, arcing through the air before landing across his chest. The second struck higher, closer to his throat. The third burst even harder, his cock pulsing violently in his grip.
He grunted, teeth clenched. His back arched. More cum spurted out, thick ropes slapping against his stomach, his hand, the surface of the bath. It splashed and floated, thickening the water. He kept stroking. More leaked from the tip, oozing over his knuckles, cloudy and white.
"Bloody hell," he groaned. "I'm coming."
The last few pulses dribbled out in heavy spurts, streaking his skin, slipping into the water like cream. His cock twitched in his hand, flushed and soaked. His chest rose with shallow breath. The ache in his balls faded. The heat remained.
Luna's voice echoed again, low and distant.
"We're going to have a lot of fun."
He believed her.
Silence returned with the cloudy water drifting around his waist. His fingers loosened, his cock gave one last twitch, then went still. He closed his eyes and let the silence wash over him.
༺✿༻❀༺✿༺❀༻✿༻❀༺✿༺❀༻✿༻❀༺✿༺❀༻✿༻❀༺✿༺❀༻✿༻❀༺✿༺❀༻✿༺❀༻
A full crossover with Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss will begin after the First Task. The fic is set just before the First Task in Goblet of Fire, and Stolas has already commissioned Blitzo to hunt Harry. If your idea fits the direction of the story, I'll do my best to integrate it. Expect three smut scenes every two chapters. Going full AU in the next couple of chapters. Hellhound Harry is here, baby!
Read 5 chapters and 25.8k words ahead now on p*treon.c*m/OmniNymph, or grab it from my K*-fi shop at k*-fi.c*m/OmniNymph. By the way, you've already read 21.9k words of this fic!