[Ilvermorny Auditorium, August 2nd, 1993]
Harry Potter was the happiest boy in the entire world.
It wasn't just the excitement in the air or the magical banners waving overhead or even the rich, nutmeg scent of fresh pastries drifting through the marble arches of the Ilvermorny Spellcraft Hall. It was more than that.
It was because, for the first time in a long time, he felt free.
Properly free.
A nervous hush fell over the crowd as a young girl with thick blonde curls and a determined expression made her way to the podium. She wore deep emerald robes embroidered with tiny golden stars and looked like she might faint or set something on fire. Possibly both.
"Next up," boomed the voice of the enchanted lectern, "Miss Brielle Anderson of Massachusetts, representing the Crescent Hearth League."
There was a polite smatter of applause as Brielle reached the front, her wand trembling slightly in her hand. The podium adjusted to her height with a creak, and she cleared her throat.
"Good evening all." She began, voice wobbling. "This spell is called Lumos Spiralis. It's meant to help find lost things in a spiral pattern of light, so, for example, if you were to drop your wand under the bed, it spins and-"
Harry tuned her out.
Not unkindly. He was sure it was a decent enough spell, and Brielle seemed very brave to be speaking in front of so many witches and wizards, but his thoughts had wandered elsewhere.
To his dad. And his granddad.
Both had died fighting the same man, a dark wizard so infamous back home that Harry still heard his name whispered in alleyways and on the back pages of imported newspapers. But their sacrifice had meant something. His mum had survived. So had his gran. And Harry, well, he was standing here now, wasn't he?
Alive. Safe. Happy.
And that was something.
After the funerals, his mother had taken him and her own mother in law and left Britain for good. Packed what little they had, said their goodbyes, and gone. It hadn't been easy, not by a long chalk from what he was lectured on constantly, but the American Confederation had taken them in, no questions asked.
Magical laws here were different, fairer somehow. Less secretive. Less suspicious. Wizards could be homeschooled if they liked, so long as they sat the Public Proficiency Exams every year.
Which meant Harry had grown up learning Charms in the kitchen, Transfiguration on the back porch, and History of Magic through bedtime stories. His gran could recite every Goblin Rebellion in chronological order, and did, usually with hand gestures and dramatic groans. He didn't mind much. His mum and gran were excellent teachers, strict, yes, but loving and they'd done everything they could to make sure he didn't fall behind.
He did wish sometimes that he'd gone to school like other kids, with corridors and house colours and late-night gobstone tournaments. But competitions like this helped. He'd made friends over the years, clever, eccentric, duelling-mad friends and it felt enough like a school day to count.
Applause rippled politely as Brielle finished and gave a bow, her cheeks flushed pink with nerves and relief. She walked back down the steps just as Harry stood, and their shoulders brushed for half a second. She didn't meet his eyes. Instead, she gave him a sharp glare and stormed past to her seat.
Harry offered a small wave.
She didn't wave back.
Oh well.
As he climbed the stone steps, he began to remember how he got here. The long training sessions, the magical conditioning drills, the hours of theory and wand precision his gran insisted on, even when he moaned about it. Some days he wanted to quit, chuck the wand in a drawer and go play Quidditch instead, like other regular boys his age. Just be normal, for a bit. Whatever that meant.
But then he'd see his mum smile after a good spell and kiss him softly on the cheek, till his belly fluttered and his ears turned pink.
Or his gran's proud little nod, rubbing his back and calling him a good boy in that gruff, no-nonsense voice of hers and suddenly it was all worth it.
Every aching wrist, every sore elbow, every misfired hex and ruined jumper. Worth it.
He reached the top.
"Next," called the lectern, voice ringing round the chamber, "Mr Harry James Potter. Homeschooled, of the New England Wandwrights' Circle. Son to Master Potioneer Lily Vivian Potter."
There was a rush of camera flashes as he stepped into the light, and Harry gave his best newspaper smile, neat, charming, only a little crooked at the edge.
As the child of the slayers of Voldemort should.
The crowd hushed almost immediately.
He placed his wand lightly on the podium.
"Good afternoon," he said clearly, just as he'd been taught. "I'm Harry Potter. And today, I'd like to present something I've been working to perfect for the past two years. Without further adieu, here is the wizarding world's first omnidirectional shield charm."
A murmur rippled through the room. One man in the back leaned forward so far he nearly fell off his chair.
Harry raised his wand, weaved the motions slowly, carefully, his wrist steady, every angle exact. Then he showed to the world the first spell he'd barely managed to create when he was twelve years old, curled up on the sitting room floor with parchment everywhere and ink on his nose.
"Protego Orbis," he said calmly.
A shimmering sphere of light burst into existence around him, not a flat disc like the usual shield charm, but a full sphere, glittering like heat haze and pulsing slightly with each breath he took. Even forming through the ground, curling round the stone like living glass.
Someone at the back gave a startled shout.
Then the room erupted.
Gasps, applause, camera clicks, whistles, a few downright amazed cries of "Merlin's socks!" and "He's only a brat!" Harry stood in the middle of it all, proud, the protective orb flickering around him like a second skin.
He dropped the charm gently, let the shield fade into the air like mist, and gave a small bow.
But his eyes were already searching.
And there she was, in the third row, red hair pinned back, wearing a smart set of plum robes and the brightest smile he'd ever seen. Lily Vivian Potter, waving madly with both hands like she'd never been prouder of anything in her life.
Harry waved back, heart full to bursting, chest warm and light and golden, as if the shield hadn't disappeared at all.
They were on the road not twenty minutes later, after Harry collected his prize, signed no less than five autographs and promised to work out publishing his spell. (With the American Aurors getting a first hand lesson.)
He had felt honored.
Now the autumn countryside was sliding past in a blur of russet and gold. The car, a restored 1993 Buick Roadmaster, charm-enhanced to run smoother than a Firebolt and twice as quiet, hummed along peacefully, the wireless low, the scent of lavender sachets drifting from the vents.
Though it had a little bit of gadgets that made it not quite the same muggle car. He doubted the muggle version flew or could turn invisible after all. Or had self cleaning cup holders.
His mum had gotten it from his godfather Sirius for a present and of course they didn't need to drive. You know, being wizards and all but apparently grandmother enjoyed how luxurious they looked. Apparently in America, flaunting expensive muggle stuff was just expected of old wizarding families and the wealthy alike.
His mother drove with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping lightly against the dashboard in rhythm with the music, a broad, sunlit smile still fixed to her face.
"I'm just saying," she called back cheerily, "that was brilliant, Harry. You should've seen the look on that examiner's face, like someone told him Christmas had come twice and he wasn't invited. Merlin's beard, I nearly hexed the woman next to me for clapping too loud, then remembered she was clapping for you."
From the back seat came a grunt.
Not quite a laugh, not quite a reply. Just… acknowledgement.
Lily smiled. "And that bow at the end? Perfect. Just the right amount of humble and smug. You get that from me, obviously."
Another grunt. A bit longer this time.
"I mean, the sphere held for nearly thirty seconds under pressure. That's not nothing. That's international standard, love."
"Mmngh."
"See? Even you're impressed with yourself. Which is allowed, by the way."
A third grunt, slightly panicked, too fast, too eager.
Lily's tapping slowed. She frowned.
Then squinted into the rearview mirror, just enough to see the shape of her son in the back seat… or what she assumed was her son.
Her smile vanished.
She growled. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, again?! How many times is that now?!"
In the backseat, Harry sat slouched against the window, knees up, mouth half open with moans, eyes dizzy with pleasure, his ears tinged bright pink.
The problem here however was, his robe was gone, his knee-high boyish shorts had been yanked down to his ankles with ferocity. As a consequence, letting his fat, white, veiny hog flop out in the car. Inches upon inches of rock hard meat throbbing, bouncing and oozing with all the excitement of a red blooded teenager.
Thick precum welled up from the purpled tip making Lily's mouth twitch when she caught a glimpse.
His grandmother, the ever-formidable Euphemia Potter, the woman she'd just been talking to, had her head in his lap, like a pig at the trough, not a wrinkle in sight. Her shiny black painted lips were parted and her slimy pink tongue was rolled out, slapping sloppily against his hairless heavy balls, playing with them back and forth like a cat with a toy.
Soon her mouth was making obscene, wet, sucking noises as she took the first one in, releasing it with a pop like she did it 100 times before. Then moving over slightly to the other of Harry's balls into her mouth, rolling them around with her tongue, sucking and cleaning the sweat, making Harry's toes curl in pleasure.
Harry looked a bit mortified at the public display but no less pleased at his grandmother's show of love. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, his chest heaving as he tried to hold back his excitement. His hips were bucking slightly, as if trying to hump the air and his hands were softly rubbing her hair, urging her on cutely.
Lily flicked her eyes back to the road with a dramatic shake of her head, jealousy welling up in her chest. "Euphemia, you're going to turn him into a puffed-up little prince, if you do this for every achievement you know?"
Did Lily do it as well? Yes. Was Lily a hypocrite who loved sucking her son's cock too, at any chance she got?
Also yes.
But Euphemia didn't stop. She gave a dignified snort that said she already knew Lily was jealous and closed her mouth around one of his balls once more. She gently sucked with all the care of a mother as her hand came up to stroke his shaft once, her grip tight and sure, her thumb slowly circling the sensitive tip and piss slit, spreading the precum around but not moving from there.
Wasting it intentionally.
Lily glared.
"Sorry Mum." Harry muttered, trying and failing to shift his lap away from his gran without disturbing her obsessive ball lavishing. He let out another wincing moan as she nibbled and pulled on the baggy skin in the middle telling him to be still, before massaging and slurping it apologetically with her experienced lips.
"S-she insisted. Said it was 'only right the victor be honoured like a Roman emperor.' I didn't even ask-"
Lily gave a loud exasperated sigh. "You know, I fought in two wizarding courts for the right to raise you outside Hogwarts and Britain's shite politics, and now look at you. Riding home like some conquering hero, popsicle in one hand, gran in the other, ignoring me."
"I-I didn't ask for the popsicle either-" Harry grunted defensively, though it was clearly a lie but before she could call it out he began breathing heavily.
"G-gran I'm gonna-!" Immediately Euphemia, left the saliva covered ballsack and latched her greedy, cum starved mouth onto his poor neglected cockhead, which had been just about drooling a steady stream of precum onto her hair and gave a great suck.
It nearly pushed him right over the edge. Lily could tell when his spine arched up off the seats, his arms tightened as his eyes rolled back. Even more when that tremendous pipe began to strain and the veins began to bulge, as her baby's colossal nuts released their long awaited load.
Lily reached up and pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose and looked away. "You're both hopeless."
She winced as she heard the gulping, as the first shots landed, and before she knew it, she heard Euphemia swallowing as quickly and as desperately as she could to not let a single drop escape away from her stomach and out past her lips.
"Sorry mum. Maybe when we get home?" Harry added sheepishly, voice faint as if seeing stars, which he definitely was.
Lily sighed but did not decline. Shed drain every last bit of cum in those balls tonight in revenge. "Unbelievable."
After a moment, Harry leaned back, his chest heaving with semi labored breaths, the sticky edge of his popsicle long forgotten.
He looked down at his gran's silver hair fanned out across his lap, glistening with his precum and her sweat. His cock was semi-hard, flopping against his thigh loudly and dripping, twitching as he took in the sight.
Euphemia slowly pulled herself up, her black lips shiny and slick with dribbles of jizz. She tilted her head back, opening her mouth wide to give him a full view of the creamy pool of his cum, she'd saved inside. His thick, gooey spunk coated her tongue, her teeth, the insides of her cheeks, the top and bottom of her mouth, dripping obscenely.
She swirled her tongue around, mixing his load with her saliva and with a final, slow stir of her tongue, Euphemia gulped down every last drop, her throat working as she swallowed the rest of his seed deep into her belly. She let out a satisfied sigh, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opened them to reveal a wicked, knowing smirk over to his mum.
"Harry, my dear," she purred, her voice husky with satisfaction, "I told you it's unhealthy for a young stud like you to be so backed up. You could get a very nasty case of blue balls, you know."
Harry looked unsure, glancing at Lily with an embarrassed smile as he pulled up his boxers and trousers, tucking himself back into his shorts. "And so much of it," She muttered, voice hoarse. "Has your cum been curdling in your balls or something? It seems Lily wasn't doing her job while I was away."
Euphemia's smirk grew wider, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and pride. "Well, I suppose it's not your fault. Maybe Lily needs to be more... attentive to your needs. Or maybe you need a more experienced hand. What do you think, Lily? Should I be teaching you a few things?"
Lily's glare in the rearview mirror sharpened. It could have scorched parchment.
Harry hastily patted Euphemia like one might a resting dragon. Or a horny succubus. "Gran. Please. Leave Mum alone."
Euphemia's eyes fluttered open, a wicked little smile curling her lips. "Oh hush, you're so cute when you're flustered."
And before Harry could protest, Euphemia looped her arms around his middle and pulled him in for a tight, crushing embrace, her large chest pressing firmly against his face, smothering him in her cleavage, his nose and mouth filling with the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her flesh.
He groaned and let out a muffled-
"Gran…"
But Euphemia's smirk only grew wider.
Lily's hands clenched the steering wheel.
"Euphemia, I swear on Merlin's left slipper, if you keep that up I'll transfigure your knitting needles into flobberworms."
Harry looked like he desperately wanted to vanish into his jumper.
"Gran, please."
"Oh don't be such a prude," Euphemia sniffed, settling back into her seat as if she hadn't just tried to start a war.
Lily huffed and flicked on her turn signal, muttering under her breath.
Harry looked down at the melted stick in his hand and sighed.
[New Potter Residence, New Hampshire]
What little remained of the Potters were sitting in the garden, though garden wasn't quite the word for it. It was far too large, to begin with, and rather better defended than most.
The neat lawns and flagstone paths gave way to tall hedges and a forest that stretched upwards like a cathedral, all of it tucked inside a lattice of spells strong enough to make a pride of dragons think twice.
On a stone bench beneath the charmed linden tree, Lily Potter sat with one arm curled round her son, her fingers brushing absently through his hair as he read.
Harry, legs drawn up beside her, had his nose buried in a thick green book on magical theory.
Opposite them, Euphemia Potter sat in a wicker chair, the day's newspapers stacked on the table beside her, a teacup in one hand and her wand in the other, which she used to shoo a bluebird off the sugar dish.
"The Ministry's pushing again," she said. "They want you both back."
Lily made a small sound, half-laugh, half-sigh. "Do they ever stop?"
Euphemia shook her head. "Another owl this morning. Loud thing. Looked more like a thundercloud with wings. Nearly knocked over the postbox."
Lily leaned back a little and looked down at Harry, whose brow was drawn in silent concentration.
Lily kissed the top of his head and turned back to Euphemia.
"He's reading up on elemental theory," she said fondly. "I think he's been studying the records of the Dumbledore, Grindelwald duel. I caught him animating the garden hose last week."
Euphemia gave a low snort of laughter.
But Lily's smile faded as her eyes dropped to the stack of letters on the table.
"They won't leave it, will they," she said quietly. "I should never have mentioned the prophecy-"
"You were trying to protect him," said Euphemia simply. "Any mother would."
"I told them he'd return for his O.W\.L.s, when he was of age." Lily said. "That was the agreement. Quiet, safe, out of sight until he was old enough to choose. They signed it. They swore."
Lily shook her head, berating her foolishness.
Euphemia picked up the top paper and slid it across the table. "Then you'd better read that."
It was The Daily Prophet, fresh from the Floo and still faintly warm. The headline gleamed across the top in smug, enchanted gold.
Hogwarts Curriculum Sets Global Standard: O.W.L. Trials to Begin a Year Early
Beneath the headline was a large moving photograph of Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore standing side by side, shaking hands for the cameras.
Fudge looked rather pleased with himself, puffed up and pink-cheeked, while Dumbledore wore his usual, unreadable smile. Every few seconds, Fudge would clap the old man on the shoulder, and Dumbledore's eyes would flick towards the camera, twinkling just so.
Lily stared at it. Then let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Oh, very clever," she said. "Very clever indeed."
Euphemia raised an eyebrow. "They're calling it reform. Shifting the syllabus, they say. But they've moved the date. So technically..."
"It's an early fifth year," Lily finished grimly. "And if they're holding us to the letter of the contract..."
"They'll expect him back," said Euphemia. "Before summer's out."
For a moment, there was only the sound of rustling leaves and the slow turn of parchment in Harry's lap.
"They want him for show," Lily said at last. "The boy from the prophecy, equal to a dark lord, tragic history, and all that rot. They'll parade him through the corridors like a mascot. I won't have it."
"They'll get louder."
"Let them. It's not like we don't have our own plans, " Lily responded a bit shortly.
Harry turned another page. His elbow brushed her side and she smiled faintly, pulling him a little closer.
Euphemia set down her teacup.
"I do worry sometimes," she said. "Not about his skill. But what might happen if something happened to us."
Lily didn't answer at once.
Harry was still curled beside her, hair tucked beneath her chin, eyes fixed on the page. He looked like any boy with a book, clever and calm and full of thoughts.
But Lily knew better.
Harry could fight, clean or dirty. He was sharp, quick, frighteningly controlled for his age. He could break a wand arm without breaking the wizard behind it. He knew how to disarm and disable, how to hex to maim. He was brilliant, no question.
But he hadn't been truly tested. Not since he was too small to remember.
And he loved them. All of them. Fiercely. Without caution, anchor or sense. And that was the danger.
Because if he ever panicked, if something happened, if he thought they were gone-
Lily pressed her hand lightly into his hair, heart twisting.
She didn't fear what he might do to the world.
She feared what the world might do to him once he was finished burning what he could.
"I'm only saying," Euphemia murmured, "we're both capable witches, so the chances are low. But still. Something to think about."
Before Lily could reply, a voice cut gently through the quiet.
"You don't need to worry," said Harry.
He pulled away from Lily a bit and was still staring at his book, thumb smoothing the edge of the page.
"Nothing like that would happen."
The women looked at him. He didn't glance up, though his ears had gone pink.
A moment later, he cleared his throat and said, in a voice far too casual, "I'm done now. Can I relax now?"
Lily smiled.
"Of course you can, sweetheart."
Wincing a bit at the sad sigh of his gran, Harry's gaze instinctively shot to her breasts, the very same one she had him resting against before. It was a simple sleeveless grey blouse, his mother preferring muggle wear to wizarding ones evidently.
That same low-cut blouse was slightly pushed aside and down leaving those massive, heaving tits of hers even more loose, her nipples nearly slipping from the flash of pink he saw.
'No…bra?' Harry thought before looking up into the amused eyes of his mother.
"Errr…Mum, aren't you gonna…?" He gestured with his head for her to slip the rest off but his mother simply shook an amused head.
"No Harry. If you want it you have to come get it."
Harry simply gazed blankly upon the hourglass figure before glancing at his gran again who wriggled her eyebrows.
He took a tentative inch closer to her curvy, fleshy form that looked even more juicy and full this vantage point, and asked for a better view.
"T-turn towards me, mum," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Despite the familiarity of their play, a rush of embarrassment hit him, but it quickly faded when she turned to face him, her chest heaving with the swift movement.
Any hint of hesitation vanished as his hands darted to touch her. Bold like a husband to his wife's body.
Even now his hands were still too small to cover even one of her massive breasts and he hoped they'd never even when he grew. He shuffled his hand to the underboob, cupping her from below, feeling the full, heavy weight of her impressive bust. He lifted gently, massaging and rubbing as if handling something incredibly delicate and precious.
Completely engrossed, Harry had no idea that Euphemia was sending a judging glance Lily's way, who quickly looked away, her face flushed red.
Harry's fingers traced the edge of her grey blouse, hovering at the hem before slipping inside and gripping the fabric. With deliberate slowness, he began to pull the blouse down and outward, his greedy gaze taking in his prize. Her massive breasts, no longer confined, started to spill out, the heavy globes straining against the remaining fabric.
One tug.
Two tugs.
"Ah~"
With three childish tugs Lily made a small noise of relief, and the blouse was pulled aside, revealing her massive bosom, jiggling and bouncing wildly as they finally broke free.
Soon he was face to face, inhaling deeply, taking in the sweet yet sweaty scent of her skin. Two enormous orbs of pale flesh in dangerous proximity to his salivating mouth, primed for sucking.
As always, the sight of them took his breath away. Massive and round, her tits were a pale, milky white, sagging only slightly under their own immense weight. The softness of her skin blended seamlessly into the juicy pink of her large areolas, which stood out vividly against the rest of her chest. His eyes were drawn to the absence of any nipples, a detail that always aroused him.
"That is much better. Well get to it mister! We don't have all day!" His mum said, fanning her sweaty chest with a satisfied smile. Harry's gaze remained locked on her bare breasts, drool puddling in his mouth.
So he did what they were both waiting for and that was to squish his face in her breast and give her breast a long, hungry lick over that hidden nipple.
"Nngg. Yes, yes…give it to me, Harry… Oooooh~" She moaned, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, urging him on.
Harry eagerly obeyed, his tongue lashing out to lick and suck at both breasts, marking her with his hot saliva. He didn't let up, even as his mum shifted beneath him, focusing intently on one breast. He planted a long, wet kiss on her areola before sucking her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.
"Haaah, now was that so hard?" Lily panted, her breaths coming in quick gasps as she giggled and cooed, lightly ruffling her son's hair. Harry kept his face buried in her huge left breast, his mouth sucking and tongue swirling around her plump nipple and areola harshly.
Minutes later, under Euphemia's increasingly jealous and aroused stare, Lily trembled and took a sharp breath. Harry's mouth popped off her breast with a wet sound, a string of saliva connecting her swollen tit to his open mouth.
Her pale flesh was now bright red from his attention, and her nipple stood erect and throbbing, glistening with his spit. It looked like it had been through a lot and was about to get a new tongue lashing, if Lily hadn't tilted his chin up and away from it.
"Mum-?"
She silenced his protests with a fierce kiss, attaching her plump, mature lips onto his. With a shudder, Harry's hands clawed into her soft, marshmallowy breasts, squeezing and mauling them roughly. He pinched her reddened, tight nipples, rolling them between his fingers.
"Harry-!" Lily panted, using her chest to try to pull his hands away. "You're being too rough. You're supposed to treat a lady's nipples with care, baby. What did I teach you?"
But Harry didn't let up, his hands following her nipples as she tried to move away, gripping and tugging on them eagerly.
Growling in frustration, Lily reached down and yanked open the fly of his knee-high trousers, fishing out his cock. Her hand barely wrapped around his thick shaft, and she began to jerk him off with aggressive, determined strokes, her grip tight and caring.
Precum flowed constantly from his dilated slit, staining her hand, but she did not stop, only caring to milk his tremendous boy-cock diligently, trying to relieve the ache in his bloated balls as if it was a natural parental duty.
Now, one might wonder why Harry needed to ask to relax, and the answer was simple: ever since he was younger, he had been "relaxing" at home with Lily and Euphemia.
Whether it was morning, afternoon, or night, sometimes all at once, he never parted from them to "relax" elsewhere.
If there hadn't been boundaries like work or studying, Harry would have been "relaxing" with both of them all day, every day.
They were simply too weak to resist the pleasure of walking around shirtless, with saliva cooling on their nipples after Harry had his fill.
They even competed with each other, bragging about whose nipples had more saliva dribbling down, trying to prove who Harry loved more. Their breasts would be red and swollen, a clear sign of the attention they had received.
Which was why one Euphemia Potter was stewing as she watched, grumbling under her breath.
Harry would be sent off to finish his daily training, only after his mother extracted no less than three large loads from his balls, thinking he'd been done and he hadn't the heart to tell her he was still aching to go again when he left.
Harry let out a long breath and sank lower into the bath after a long training session, the water curling up around his shoulders.
Steam rose in soft swirls, thick as fog over the lake, and the sharp scent of pine drifted upwards, something his gran had insisted on, good for the nerves, muscles, lungs, and probably the soul, knowing her.
His arms floated uselessly, pale and pruney, and his wand sat untouched on the little wooden tray balanced across the tub. He stared at it a while, thinking of his last training session.
Three wizards. All much older. All ex-Aurors.
He wasn't daft, he knew they were holding back. So was he, in truth. Maybe they were testing him, seeing how far he could be pushed before snapping. Still. He was meant to be good at this, wasn't he? That's what everyone said. Gifted, talented, natural and all that.
Didn't feel like it.
He hadn't landed a proper hit. Not one that mattered. Every spell he threw was deflected or dodged like he was chucking tennis balls, and the worst part was, he didn't even know what he was supposed to do differently.
He couldn't grow another arm, could he?
They'd moved in like wolves round a stag, and all he could do was spin and block and try not to collapse like a tower of cushions. He was proud, in a small, bitter sort of way, for staying upright. For not letting them see when his legs wobbled or his lungs burned. But as soon as it ended, pride turned to something sour.
He hadn't won. Not really. Just held on long enough not to embarrass himself.
Them being professionals didn't make it feel any better.
He sighed again and slid lower, chin dipping beneath the surface. His hair fanned out around his head like seaweed, black and heavy, and he closed his eyes.
Maybe he'd just been lucky. Or clever. Or fast enough to look impressive. But fast and clever didn't win proper duels. Not when you were outnumbered.
Not when it mattered.
Like against real powerhouses.
Dumbledore. Grindelwald. Voldemort. Rockwood. Moody. The list was too long to name.
He let out a breath and opened his eyes again.
"All right," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "Big brother, you there?"
There was a pause.
Then a very faint hum responded.
The steam shifted. A shape began to form beside the tub, not quite solid, not quite real, tall, broad-shouldered, pale as milk and twice as strange. Its face was blurred, like a memory half-remembered, and yet something in it reminded Harry of his own.
He glanced over, cheeks colouring slightly.
"Sorry I haven't called," he said, half-sheepish.
The shape hummed again, gently.
As long as you're…enjoying yourself, it seemed to say, all's well.
Harry flushed a little deeper. He ducked his head, gave a small, embarrassed laugh.
"Right, well," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Been getting walloped by blokes twice my size. Think my spleen's shifted."
The figure gave no reply. Just hovered, faint and calm, steam twisting round its limbs like a cloak.
Harry closed his eyes again.
"I wanted to ask something," he said at last. "Bit mad, maybe."
The steam thickened.
"I want to protect them. My family. My friends. And if that means taking on five, ten, twenty wizards at once, I want to be able to do it. I don't want to win just by chance. I want to be ready."
There was silence.
"How do I do it at my age?"
Then the figure changed.
The lines softened, narrowed, grew taller somehow. The shoulders slimmed. The face began to take shape, faint at first, then clearer, like frost on a windowpane.
Chestnut-brown hair fell long and loose, and her eyes were red, but not cruel. The being now wore a plain dress of pale wool, heavy at the hem and a heavy cloak settled around her shoulders, lined in dark blue. A silver circlet sat on her brow, thin and delicate, shaped like ivy.
Harry stared in abject befuddlement.
A hand lifted, slow and graceful, and in her palm a shape began to swirl from the mist, an eagle, wings outstretched.
Harry swallowed.
"Right," he said quietly. "That definitely makes sense."
She smiled, just barely, and then the mist pulled her away.
He sat there a little longer, the water cooling slowly around him, his chest warm despite it.
Then, without hurrying, he climbed out, dried off, dressed, and picked up his wand.
By the time anyone came looking for him, the library door was already swinging shut behind him.
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."
Harry closed the book of Hogwarts: A History and looked down with an odd expression, as though the words were a puzzle piece he hadn't known was missing. The sort that doesn't look like much until it clicks into place and makes everything else suddenly make sense.
He hadn't even meant to read that one, truth be told. He'd just wanted something about eagles, anything to follow the strange image from the steam. So, he'd cast a lazy Accio, and half the library had tried to throw itself at his face.
After the sorting and the swearing (quietly, so the portraits wouldn't complain), he'd narrowed it down. Pages and pages about eagles, house mascots, ancient founders, forgotten relics, and there it was.
Ravenclaw.
Rowena Ravenclaw.
One of the four. Ancient. Brilliant. A bit terrifying by the sound of it. Wore a crown shaped like a diadem, silver and blue. House animal? Eagle. Motto? That line, wit beyond measure...
He blinked slowly, thinking back to the bath, to the figure that had emerged from the mist.
Could it have been her? The painting did look similar…
He felt a quiet sort of thrill, not fear exactly, but something close. Maybe she wasn't even real but whoever she was, she'd made a point. And not one he could ignore.
He tapped the side of the book with a finger, frowning thoughtfully.
They'd trained him well. Thoroughly. His mother and gran had spared no effort in that department. His lessons had been constant since he was little, duelling, theory, control, magical law, strategy, even etiquette. Straight-line learning. But it had all been…expected. Predictable. Logical. Scripted.
Useful, yes.
But not clever.
He needed to be clever. That actually made sense. He needed to use more than his natural talent to fling complicated spells at an unreal rate and actually think.
Not everything could be won with brute force.
Knowledge.
Creativity.
Wit.
Experience.
That was power too. Especially when you were outnumbered.
Harry tilted his head.
But how did one train wit?
Did she want him to learn more? Or just think differently?
He wasn't sure.
He was still chewing on it when a soft, unmistakable sound interrupted the silence, a high, musical sigh from somewhere to his left.
Harry looked up instantly.
His gran stood in the doorway, her silver curls cascading down, one hand absently stroking the front of her red, silk nightgown, which was scandalously short. The neckline plunged low, exposing a generous amount of cleavage, to Harry's hungry eyes.
It barely covered her most private areas, ending roughly mid-thigh. His eyes locked onto the sexy strings of her black panties, the crotch noticeably darker with a wet patch, riding high on her hips beneath a sheer garter belt that held up her thigh-high stockings.
His gaze traveled up and down her body, taking in every inch of her smooth, pale skin as if memorizing it. She smiled and crooked one finger, beckoning him silently.
"Come on, Harry," she said softly. "You've had quite enough dusty books for one evening. Me and Lily still haven't given you a reward for winning today."
She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye, then reached down and slowly peeled the crotch of the skimpy underwear to the side with a wet sound that made Harry's mouth water.
If there was any doubt about the nature of his reward, she shattered it easily. She revealed her mature, aroused cunt, thick strings of her pussy grool stretching from her panties.
"Unless they're more interesting than this," She smirked, snapping her underwear back into place, rubbing it down. She turned and walked away, her jiggly ass cheeks, wide, fat and meaty, rippling with each step.
Harry shut the book and stood up, casting one last glance at the page before rushing over to her.
Wit could wait till the morning.
Euphemia gave him a side-eye glance over her shoulder and rolled her eyes as he took a cheek in hand, bouncing it hard enough to make her pale buttocks wobble obscenely before his thumbs brushed over her aged stretch marks.
What a greedy little boy~