From the drawing room window of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the world outside was nothing special. Orion Black rested his forehead against the cold pane.
Eighteen years..... For 18 years, he had been nothing more than a footnote in a pureblood register, the quiet, brooding son of Regulus Black, raised in the shadows of a family that worshipped rotting ideals.
But the surge of magic on his birthday last week had brought more than just raw power. It had cracked the dam of his mind, flooding him with memories of a life lived in a world where magic was fiction, where Harry Potter was a story, and where morality was often a shackle for the weak.
He looked at his reflection in the dark glass. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and grey eyes that held a storm of their own. He was handsome, undoubtedly. At Hogwarts, girls like Iris Potter, Harry's brash, fiery twin sister giggled and blushed when he passed, mistaking his silence for mystery.
He had cultivated a friendship with Iris over the years without even understanding the significance, playing the role of the misunderstood Slytherin ally, It was a useful mask, the world was already different from what it should be.
Lily Potter was alive and James Potter was killed by Voldemort while Alice longbottom had recovered from the Crucius while her husband is still in Coma and Hogwarts starts somewhat later in this world.
Orion turned away from the window, his gaze settling on the low table where a silver tea service waited. The steam curling from the spout carried a scent that was floral but heavy, like lilies left too long in a sealed room.
"Kreacher," Orion said, his voice level.
The old elf materialized with a crack that sounded like a dry branch snapping. He didn't sneer as he used to; there was a terrified reverence in his bulbous eyes now. He sensed the change in the young master. He smelled the darkness that had awoken.
"She is here, Master Orion," Kreacher croaked. "She is....She is crying."
"And the...obstacle?"
"The Ministry calls it a tragedy," Kreacher whispered, twisting his ears. "A magical backfire in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mr.Tonks did not suffer long."
"Good." Orion dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
Ted Tonks hadn't been a bad man, merely an inconvenient one. His existence was a wall between Orion and the prize he actually desired.
The heavy oak doors creaked open.
Andromeda Tonks stood on the threshold, and for a moment, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier. She was soaked through, her black mourning robes clung to her frame, heavy with rainwater, dragging down her silhouette.
She looked exhausted, her face pale and drawn, stripping away the refined haughtiness she usually carried as a daughter of the House of Black.
But even in ruin, she was magnificent.
Orion watched her, his eyes tracing the lines of her figure that the wet fabric mercilessly exposed. She was not a thin, stick like the girls in his year. She was a woman, a perfect Milf, her hips were wide, built for bearing children, flaring out beneath the cinched waist of her robes. Her chest was heavy, her tits full and sitting low against her clothes, the wet silk of her blouse adhering to the curve of them. She looked like a sweet desert to be tasted slowly.
"Orion," she said, her voice cracking. It was a wet, ragged sound. "I..... I apologize for the intrusion, I had nowhere else."
"You never need to apologize for coming home, Aunt Andromeda," Orion said. He didn't smile as a smile would be predatory. Instead, he projected a somber, steady maturity that belied his 18 years.
He walked toward her, slowly.
"Here," he murmured, taking her cold, trembling hands in his. "You're freezing."
"They froze the vaults," Andromeda choked out, the tears spilling over again. She didn't pull away from his touch; she leaned into it, desperate for any anchor in the storm. "The investigation fees.....Ted's debts... I can't even pay for Nymphadora's final year supplies. I've failed them, Orion. I've lost everything."
"You haven't lost family," Orion corrected firmly.
He guided her to the velvet chaise lounge near the fireplace. The flames cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the hollows of her cheeks and the fullness of her lower lip.
"Sit. I've had Kreacher prepare a blend for shock. It's an old family recipe."
He poured the tea, the liquid was a deep, amber gold. He had found the recipe in his great-grandfather's personal journals...a man who had possessed an appetite that would make a satyr blush, a true pervert who loved enjoying women, especially someone else's women.
The potion wasn't a crude love potuon. It was a Relaxant of the Spirit. It took grief, that sharp, jagged glass in the gut, and softened it into a warm, heavy fuzz. It made the drinker pliable, seeking comfort in physical sensation rather than emotional logic.
Andromeda took the cup, her fingers brushing against his. Her skin was ice cold; his was burning hot and the contrast made her shiver.
She drank.... She closed her eyes as the warmth hit her stomach, spreading through her veins like liquid sunlight.
"It's... good," she whispered. Her shoulders, previously hunched tight to her ears, finally dropped.
"Let me take your cloak," Orion said.
He moved behind the chaise. He didn't ask; he simply acted. He reached down and unclasped the heavy silver brooch at her throat. His knuckles grazed the sensitive skin of her neck, just below the jawline.
Andromeda gasped softly, her eyes fluttering open, the potion was already unspooling the tight knots of her anxiety. "Orion....."
"Shh..It's heavy. It's weighing you down."
He peeled the wool away and beneath it, she wore a simple black dress that had seen better days. It was modest, high-necked, but the rain had done its work. The fabric was damp, clinging to her back, outlining the hook of her bra and the soft, fleshy part of her spine.
Orion stood behind her, the wet cloak in his hands, breathing in her scent. She smelled so nice, the real picture of a Milf and it was intoxicating.
He dropped the cloak to the floor.
"You're soaking wet," he noted quietly. He placed his hands on her shoulders.
Andromeda stiffened for a fraction of a second, a sudden reflex but the tea smoothed the objection away before it could form. His hands were large, warm, and heavy, he began to knead the muscles at the base of her neck.
"Orion, that's.....you shouldn't..." she mumbled, her head lolling forward slightly.
"You and Dora are the only family I have left who isn't insane or in Azkaban," Orion lied smoothly, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her neck. "Let me take care of you. You've carried this burden alone for too long."
He looked down at her from his vantage point. From here, he could see down the front of her dress where the fabric gaped slightly. The swell of her breasts was pale and creamy, rising and falling with her slowing breath. He imagined the weight of them in his hands, the softness that only age and experience could create.
His eyes traveled lower, imagining the rest of her. The curve of her waist, the flare of those birthing hips and tight asscheeks that were currently shifting restlessly against the velvet cushions.
"I feel.....strange," Andromeda murmured. The grief was still there, but it felt distant now, like a bad dream. What felt real was the heat of his hands. "So warm."
"It's just the shock fading," Orion whispered.
He slid his hands down from her shoulders to her upper arms, his grip firm. He wasn't comforting a jagged aunt anymore; he was handling a woman. He felt the softness of her shoulders, the lack of toned muscle that made her feel plush and soft.
"You need to forget, Aunty," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrated against her back. "Just for tonight. Forget the debts, forget the Ministry and let me be the Head of House you need."
Andromeda slumped back against him, her resistance crumpling, She didn't see a 18 year old boy. She felt a man taking control when her world was spinning out of orbit.
"Help me," she whispered, a tear escaping her eye, though this one wasn't from sadness.....It was from relief.
Orion smirked, invisible to her. He watched the tear track down her cheek and settle in the corner of her mouth.
"I will," he promised.
He moved one hand from her arm and slowly, deliberately, placed it flat against her stomach, just above her navel. He felt the sharp intake of her breath, the sudden tensing of her abdominal muscles.
He will certainly take care of his dear aunt.
Authors Note:-
EVERYONE wanted a smut hp fic.....well as always I will provide... It is gonna be a blast....i will mass upload in 2days then it will be scheduled release.....
Let me know what Stuff you want.....I love Milfs......
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