The first thing Astoria became aware of was warmth. Not the feverish, uncomfortable heat that had plagued her for months, but genuine, comfortable warmth that seeped into her bones and made her feel safe.
The second thing was the absence of pain. For years, every breath had carried a dull ache, every movement had been accompanied by a spike of discomfort that she'd learned to hide from Daphne. Now there was nothing. Just peaceful, blessed nothing.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the soft light filtering through nearby windows. Her vision swam for a moment before focusing on the face hovering above her.
"Daph?" Her voice came out hoarse and uncertain.
"I'm here." Daphne's hand found hers immediately, squeezing gently. "I'm right here, Tori."
Astoria tried to sit up but her sister's other hand pressed lightly against her shoulder, keeping her down. "Easy. You need to take it slow."
"What happened? I remember the race and then..." Astoria's brow furrowed as she tried to piece together fragmented memories. "Harry Potter was there. You were scared. We went somewhere and then everything gets fuzzy."
"You were given a sleeping draught," Daphne explained, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Astoria's hand. "Do you remember anything about the curse? About how bad it had gotten?"
The younger Greengrass sister went still. "I remember feeling awful at the race. Worse than usual. And then I was sick in the bathroom." Her grey eyes widened. "Daph, I thought I was going to die right there. The pain was so intense and everything was spinning and I couldn't breathe properly."
"You were dying." Daphne's voice cracked slightly. "We were wrong about how much time you had left. It wasn't months. It was days."
Astoria's free hand moved unconsciously to her chest, pressing against the spot where the curse had always felt like a cold weight crushing her from the inside. There was nothing there now. No pressure, no cold, no sense of something wrong coiled around her heart.
"But I'm not dying now," she said slowly, hardly daring to believe it. "Am I?"
"No." Daphne's smile was watery but genuine. "You're not dying. The curse is gone. Completely gone."
"How? We tried everything. Every healer, every curse breaker, every experimental treatment. They all said it was impossible."
"Harry did it." Daphne had to pause and swallow hard before continuing. "He and Bellatrix Lestrange performed a ritual to transfer the curse to another host. You're free of it, Tori. You're going to live."
Astoria stared at her sister, trying to process the information. "Bellatrix Lestrange? As in the Death Eater? The woman who tortured people?"
"The very same." Daphne's expression was complicated. "Things are much more complex than we initially thought. Harry has an arrangement with her. She serves him completely, and before you ask, yes, that includes in his bed."
"What?" Astoria tried to sit up again and this time Daphne let her, helping to prop pillows behind her back. "I mean, I saw them kiss when we first arrived. It was shocking and I thought maybe I was hallucinating from the pain, but you're saying it was real? That they're actually together?"
"It was real," Daphne confirmed. "And yes, they're together. Though 'together' doesn't quite capture the full scope of their relationship. It's more complicated than that."
"How does Harry Potter end up with Bellatrix Lestrange as his subordinate and lover?"
Before Daphne could answer, the door opened and the woman herself swept into the room. Astoria tensed reflexively but found that the terror she'd felt upon seeing Bellatrix when they'd first arrived here had dulled considerably. The dark-haired witch looked nothing like the mad creature from the war. Her movements were graceful rather than erratic, her expression focused rather than unhinged.
"Good, you're awake." Bellatrix approached the bed with a smile. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm... fine, I think?" Astoria glanced at her sister uncertainly. "Better than I have in years actually."
"Excellent." Bellatrix drew her wand and Astoria fought the urge to flinch away. "I need to run some diagnostic spells to assess your recovery. This won't hurt."
The tip of her wand traced patterns in the air above Astoria's body, leaving trails of soft golden light. Runes appeared and floated, their meaning incomprehensible to Astoria but apparently clear to Bellatrix, whose eyes tracked each symbol as it manifested and faded.
The process took several minutes. Astoria watched the older witch's face carefully, trying to read her expression for any sign of bad news. But Bellatrix simply looked thoughtful, occasionally humming to herself as she made mental notes.
Finally, she lowered her wand and the last of the runes dissipated. "The curse is completely gone, as expected. No traces remain in your magical core or your physical body. However, the damage it caused over the years is still present."
"What kind of damage?" Daphne asked sharply.
"Nothing life threatening anymore," Bellatrix assured them. "But her magical core has been significantly weakened. It'll take time to recover, possibly several months of rest and specialized potions. She'll be able to perform basic magic within a few weeks, but anything more demanding will be beyond her for a while."
Astoria absorbed this information with mixed feelings. Not being able to properly use magic was frustrating, but it was a small price to pay for being alive. "Will I recover fully? Eventually?"
"Yes. Your core is young and resilient. Given proper care and time, you should regain full magical capability." Bellatrix's expression softened slightly. "You're very lucky. Most victims of blood curses don't survive to see treatment, let alone recovery."
"I know." Astoria's voice came out small. She looked down at her hands, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "Thank you. For what you did. For helping to save my life."
"Don't thank me," Bellatrix said firmly. "Thank my Master. This was all his doing. I simply assisted in the ritual."
"Your Master," Astoria repeated, the words feeling strange in her mouth. She looked up at Bellatrix with undisguised curiosity. "Harry Potter is your Master. You serve him completely. You're lovers. And apparently you're happy with this arrangement?"
Bellatrix's smile transformed her entire face. "More than happy. Ecstatic. My Master gave me purpose when I had nothing left. He gave me protection, care, and yes, pleasure beyond anything I'd experienced in my previous life. Serving him isn't a burden. It's a privilege."
"But you're Bellatrix Lestrange," Astoria said, still trying to wrap her mind around it. "You were one of Voldemort's most devoted followers. You killed people. You tortured families. And now you're just... happy being Harry Potter's mistress?"
"I was devoted to a false master who saw me as nothing more than a useful tool," Bellatrix replied, her voice taking on a harder edge. "Someone who valued my skills but never valued me. My Master is different. He sees me. He understands what I need and provides it. He commands me and I obey gladly because I know he has my best interests at heart even when giving difficult orders."
She moved closer to the bed, her dark eyes intense. "You think submission means weakness. It doesn't. True submission requires more strength than most people possess. It means trusting someone else with your wellbeing completely. It means accepting that they know what's best for you even when you don't understand their reasoning. And in return, you receive a freedom most people never experience. The freedom from constant decision making, from worrying about tomorrow, from carrying burdens alone."
Astoria listened with wide eyes. This wasn't what she'd expected at all. Bellatrix spoke with such conviction, such genuine contentment, that it was impossible to doubt her sincerity.
"Of course, the sex is phenomenal too," Bellatrix added with a wicked grin, and Astoria felt heat rush to her cheeks. "But that's just a pleasant bonus to an already perfect arrangement."
She turned to Daphne, who had been listening silently. "Your sister will explain the rest. I need to check on a few things for Master, but I'll be back later with more potions for your recovery."
Bellatrix placed her hand on Daphne's shoulder, giving her a gentle and supportive squeeze. Daphne reached up and squeezed Bellatrix's arm in return, offering a small but genuine smile.
"Thank you, Bella."
"Always happy to help, darling."
With that, Bellatrix swept out of the room, leaving the two sisters alone. Astoria stared at the closed door for several seconds before slowly turning to look at Daphne.
"Did you just call Bellatrix Lestrange 'Bella'? And she called you 'darling'? What in Merlin's name happened while I was unconscious?"
Daphne sighed and settled back into the armchair beside the bed. "A lot. More than you'd believe. And before you ask, yes, I'm going to tell you everything. You deserve to know."
"Everything?" Astoria prompted when her sister seemed to be gathering her thoughts.
"Everything," Daphne confirmed. She took a deep breath. "Harry brought us here after we met him at the race. He'd been looking for us specifically. Pansy Parkinson told him where we might be."
"Parkinson? That cow told him where to find us?"
"She works for him now. Or serves him, I suppose would be more accurate given what I've learned. She's part of his network of women." Daphne held up a hand when Astoria opened her mouth. "Let me finish before you start asking questions."
She explained everything. The arrival at the suite, seeing Bellatrix and nearly attacking her before Harry stopped her. The kiss between Harry and Bellatrix that had shocked both sisters speechless. The conversation about their situation and Harry's offer to save Astoria's life.
"He made me an offer," Daphne said quietly. "He would cure you completely, no questions asked, no payment required upfront. But he wanted something in return. He wanted me to become his wife."
Astoria's jaw dropped. "His wife? But why? He could have anyone. Why track us down specifically just to..."
"Political reasons mainly," Daphne explained. "Having a pureblood Slytherin as his wife, someone who fled during the war and is now returning home with him, creates a powerful narrative about unity and healing old wounds. Plus I'm intelligent enough to navigate high society and understand the old families without being beholden to their prejudices."
"That's so calculated."
"It is. And he was completely honest about it. That's what surprised me most. He could have lied, could have pretended it was something romantic, but he told me exactly why he wanted to marry me and what he expected from the arrangement."
Astoria processed this, her mind working through the implications. "What kind of arrangement? What does he expect?"
Daphne met her sister's eyes steadily. "He has other women. Multiple women in various roles and capacities. Some are subordinates like Bellatrix who serve him completely including sexually. Others are companions or partners in different ways. He's not going to give them up and he's not going to hide them from me. If I marry him, I marry into that reality."
"Daph, no." Astoria's voice broke. "You can't. You always hated the idea of being trapped in a loveless pureblood marriage. You swore you'd never be like Mother, turning a blind eye while Father did whatever he wanted. And now you're agreeing to exactly that?"
"It's different."
"How is it different? He's asking you to accept him having mistresses. That's exactly what Father did to Mother."
"Father lied." Daphne's voice was firm. "He pretended to be faithful while sneaking off to brothels and having affairs with other pureblood wives. Mother knew but couldn't say anything because that's how things worked in their world. Everyone maintained the illusion of propriety while carrying on whatever they wanted behind closed doors."
She leaned forward, needing her sister to understand. "Harry isn't doing that. He told me the truth upfront. He's not going to keep his women on the side and pretend they don't exist. He's not going to lie about where he is or who he's with. Yes, he'll have other women, but at least I'll know about it. I'll know exactly what the situation is instead of being kept in the dark like Mother was."
"But Daph..." Astoria's eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "You deserve better than this. You deserve someone who loves only you. Someone who'll be faithful. This isn't fair."
"Nothing about our lives has been fair," Daphne said gently. "We fled our home and lived as fugitives for years. We watched you slowly die from a curse you did nothing to deserve. Fair stopped being relevant a long time ago. What matters now is making the best choice with the options available."
"The options being marry Harry Potter and accept his harem or watch me die?"
"Don't." Daphne's voice turned sharp. "Don't you dare make this about guilt. You didn't ask for any of this. The curse wasn't your fault. And I'm not sacrificing myself for you. I'm making a choice that benefits both of us."
"How can you say that?" Astoria demanded, her voice rising. "Everything you're giving up is because of me. If I didn't have the curse, if I wasn't dying, you never would have agreed to this. You'd still be free to find someone who actually loves you. This is absolutely a sacrifice."
"You're right that I wouldn't have agreed to this arrangement if you weren't dying," Daphne admitted. "But that doesn't make it a sacrifice. Tori, listen to me. Do you remember what I was prepared to do to save you?"
Astoria shook her head, confused by the shift in topic.
"I was prepared to die," Daphne said simply. "If some ritual required my life in exchange for yours, I would have given it without hesitation. If some dark artifact needed a sacrifice to cure you, I would have volunteered immediately. I was ready to give up everything including my existence to keep you alive."
She reached out and took her sister's hand. "Compared to that, marrying Harry Potter is nothing. I get to live. You get to live. We both get protection from anyone who might want to harm us. We get resources and status and a chance at actually building proper lives instead of constantly running and hiding. Yes, I have to share my husband with other women, but I'm alive to do it. You're alive to see it. That's not a sacrifice, Tori. That's a gift."
Astoria was crying openly now. "But you deserve to be happy. You deserve someone who'll love you the way you deserve to be loved."
"Maybe I do," Daphne said softly. "But we don't always get what we deserve, do we? Life doesn't work that way. We get what we can make from the circumstances we're given. And honestly, after everything we've been through, I could do a lot worse than Harry Potter."
"How can you be okay with this?"
Daphne was quiet for a long moment, staring out the windows at the Parisian skyline. When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful. "I don't know if I'm okay with it yet. But I think I could be. After Harry left and you were still unconscious, Bella and I talked. I was curious about how things worked in Harry's life, about the other women and the dynamics between them all. And she was surprisingly forthcoming."
"What did she tell you?"
"That there's a hierarchy of sorts but it's not based on competition or jealousy. Harry has women who serve him completely like Bella and Narcissa. They've sworn themselves to him and they're genuinely happy with that arrangement. Then there are others in different roles, companions or partners in various capacities. And apparently I'm meant to be his wife, which puts me in yet another category."
Astoria frowned. "That sounds incredibly complicated."
"It is complicated," Daphne agreed. "But it's also structured. There are rules and expectations and everyone apparently knows where they stand. Bella said the women don't fight over Harry's attention because he makes sure everyone's needs are met. She said jealousy isn't really an issue because they all understand what they signed up for."
"And you believe that?"
"I don't know what I believe yet," Daphne admitted. "But Bella had no reason to lie to me. If anything, she could have scared me off if she'd wanted to. Instead she was honest about how things work and told me not to rush into anything. She said I'd get the hang of it gradually, that I should take my time adjusting to the reality of the situation."
She turned back to her sister. "The more I learn about this arrangement, the more curious I become. Yes, a part of me was offended when Harry first proposed marriage despite already having other women. But after talking to him and Bella and understanding how everything actually works, I find myself genuinely interested in seeing where this goes."
"You're interested?" Astoria's voice held disbelief. "In being part of some wealthy wizard's harem?"
"I'm interested in being part of something that's honest," Daphne corrected. "Think about it, Tori. Every pureblood marriage we knew growing up was a lie. Father with his brothels and affairs. Mother with her female companions that everyone pretended not to notice. The Parkinsons, the Notts, the Malfoys even, all of them maintaining facades of perfect marriages while carrying on however they pleased behind closed doors."
She gestured around the suite. "This is different. Harry's not pretending. He's not maintaining a facade. He's telling me upfront that this is who he is and this is what his life looks like. And if I can't accept it, he's willing to give me time to adjust rather than forcing me into something I'm not ready for. That's more consideration than any pureblood husband would have given."
Astoria wiped at her tears with her free hand. "I still feel like this is my fault. Like you're being forced into this because of me."
"You're not listening," Daphne said gently. "I'm not being forced. I'm choosing this. Yes, the circumstances that led to this choice involve your curse, but the choice itself is mine. And honestly? I think it could work out better than either of us expects."
"How can you say that?"
"Because Harry Potter is not the man I thought he was," Daphne said slowly. "The boy I heard about at Hogwarts was noble and heroic and somewhat naive. This man is powerful and confident and surprisingly honest about what he wants. He held me while I broke down crying over your situation. He was gentle when he could have been harsh. He made me a promise and then kept it immediately rather than stringing me along."
She paused, considering her next words carefully. "There's something about him that makes me want to trust him. I can't explain it rationally. Maybe it's foolish given everything we know about him now. But when he touches me, when he looks at me, I believe he means what he says. He won't betray me by hiding things. He'll have his mistresses and his subordinates and whatever else, but he'll be honest about it. And somehow that makes it bearable."
Astoria studied her sister's face, seeing the genuine thoughtfulness there. "Are you sure you're not just trying to convince yourself because you feel like you have no choice?"
"I'm sure," Daphne said firmly. "I've had time to think about this. If I truly couldn't accept it, I would tell you right now and we'd figure out another solution together. But the truth is, after talking to Bella and thinking about what this arrangement actually means, I'm more curious than apprehensive. I want to see how this plays out. I want to understand the dynamics between all these women and find my place in them. Is that strange?"
"Incredibly strange," Astoria said softly, before a hint of smile emerged on her face. "But then again, when has anything about our lives been normal?"
"Exactly." Daphne squeezed her hand. "So stop feeling guilty. You didn't force this on me. If anything, your curse gave me an opportunity I might not have had otherwise. I'm going to be Lady Potter. The wife of the most powerful wizard alive. That's more than I ever expected for myself when we were running around Europe trying to stay hidden."
"Lady Potter," Astoria repeated, testing the name. "It does have a nice ring to it."
"See? You're coming around already."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Astoria spoke again. "Are you going to tell me about the other women? Who they are, how many there are, that sort of thing?"
"Eventually," Daphne promised. "But right now you need to rest and recover. We'll have plenty of time to discuss the complicated details of my future husband's personal life later. Besides, I don't know all the details myself yet. Bella gave me an overview but there's a lot I still need to learn."
"Fair enough." Astoria settled back against the pillows, suddenly aware of how tired she still felt. "Daph? Are you truly happy with how things worked out? Not just accepting it because you have to, but actually satisfied with the outcome?"
Daphne considered the question seriously. "I would have preferred to be the only woman in my husband's life. I won't pretend otherwise. But life doesn't always give us ideal situations. We work with what we have. And what I have is a husband who's honest about his nature, who saved your life without hesitation, who treats his women well from what I can tell, and who has the power to protect us from anyone who might want to harm us. Could it be better? Yes. Could it be a lot worse? Absolutely. So yes, I'm satisfied with how things worked out. I think I can make this work. I think I might even come to enjoy it."
"You're a better person than I am," Astoria said quietly.
"No, I'm just older and more tired of fighting impossible battles," Daphne replied with a small smile. "Now stop worrying about me and focus on getting better. That's your only job right now."
"I can manage that," Astoria agreed. Her eyelids were already drooping. "But Daph? Thank you. For everything. For never giving up on me. For finding a way to save me even when it seemed impossible. I know I don't say it enough but I love you."
"I love you too, Tori." Daphne's voice was thick with emotion. "More than anything in this world."
She summoned several vials of healing potions from where Bellatrix had left them and helped Astoria drink each one. The younger girl made faces at the taste but swallowed obediently. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out and she'd drifted off into peaceful sleep.
Daphne remained in the armchair, watching her sister sleep with a sense of contentment she hadn't felt in years. Astoria's color was good, her breathing unlabored, and the peaceful expression on her face was genuine rather than the forced calm she'd maintained while suffering. For the first time in what felt like forever, Daphne allowed herself to truly relax.
They were going to be okay. More than okay. They were going to thrive.
-Break-
The stadium roared with excitement as the Montrose Magpies completed their practice session. Ginny Weasley stood on the sidelines, her notebook filled with observations and her Quick Quotes Quill hovering nearby in case she needed to capture a quote verbatim. She'd been covering the Magpies for a feature piece about their new training regimen, and today was her chance to interview the team captain.
Malcolm Preece cut an impressive figure as he approached. He was built like the Beater he was, all broad shoulders and powerful arms that suggested he could send a Bludger clear across the pitch without breaking a sweat. His dark hair was damp with exertion and his practice robes clung to his muscular frame in ways that Ginny definitely noticed.
She'd dressed carefully for this interview. Her skirt hit mid-thigh, just short enough to draw attention without being inappropriate for a professional setting. Her blouse was silk and fitted, the top two buttons undone to show just a hint of cleavage. Heels added three inches to her height and made her legs look fantastic. She knew exactly what she was doing.
"Mr. Preece," she greeted him with a warm smile. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."
"Call me Malcolm," he said, his eyes doing that thing men's eyes did when they were trying not to be obvious about checking her out and failing completely. "Happy to talk to the Prophet. Especially when they send someone as lovely as you."
Ginny smiled at the compliment, filing it away as the kind of harmless flirtation she'd become accustomed to in her line of work. "You're too kind. Now, I wanted to ask about the new training program. Your performance this season has been exceptional. What would you attribute that to?"
They fell into easy conversation. Malcolm was surprisingly articulate when discussing Quidditch strategy, and Ginny found herself genuinely interested in his insights. But she also didn't miss the way his gaze kept drifting to her legs, or how he leaned in slightly closer whenever she laughed at one of his jokes.
"The key is building team cohesion," Malcolm explained, gesturing expressively. "Individual skill only gets you so far. You need to trust that your teammates will be where they're supposed to be when you need them."
"Trust is so important," Ginny agreed, crossing her legs and watching Malcolm's eyes track the movement. "In Quidditch and in life."
"Absolutely." His smile widened. "You played for Holyhead, didn't you? Before you moved into journalism?"
"I did. Chaser for three seasons."
"I remember watching you play. You were brilliant on the pitch. Fast, aggressive, not afraid to take risks."
"I like taking risks," Ginny said, her voice dropping slightly. "They make life more interesting."
The double meaning was not lost on either of them. Malcolm's grin turned decidedly wolfish. "They certainly do."
Ginny asked a few more questions, all the while maintaining the flirtatious energy that made interviews with male athletes so much easier. She knew what she was doing and she was good at it. A little attention, a few smiles, some subtle body language, and men would tell her things they'd never share with a male journalist.
Finally, she closed her notebook and stood. "Thank you so much for your time, Malcolm. This has been incredibly helpful."
"My pleasure." He stood as well, towering over her despite her heels. "If you need any follow up information, you know where to find me."
"I'll keep that in mind," Ginny said with a smile that promised absolutely nothing while somehow suggesting a lot. "Good luck with the Vultures this weekend."
She walked away, very aware that Malcolm was watching her go. She added just a hint of sway to her hips, knowing his eyes were glued to her arse. It was petty and probably unprofessional, but it felt good to be desired. It always did.
The hotel room the Prophet had booked for her was decent. Not luxurious by any means, but clean and comfortable with a proper bed and an en suite bathroom. Ginny locked the door behind her and kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. She loved how they made her legs look but bloody hell were they murder on her feet.
She poured herself a glass of wine from the minibar and sank onto the bed, reviewing her notes from the interview. Malcolm had given her some good material for the article. She'd need to flesh it out with quotes from other team members, but the captain's perspective would be the centerpiece.
Her mind wandered as she sipped her wine. Malcolm had been handsome, there was no denying it. That body had been honed through years of professional Quidditch and it showed. She found herself wondering what those strong hands would feel like on her skin, how it would feel to have all that power and muscle pressing her down into the mattress.
The thought sent heat pooling low in her belly. Ginny set her wine glass aside and lay back on the bed, her hand drifting down to rest on her stomach. It had been too long since she'd properly indulged herself. Work kept her busy and dating had proven complicated. Men either wanted to sleep with Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend for bragging rights or they were intimidated by her entirely. Either way, actual relationships never seemed to work out. It was so unfortunate that Blaise was no longer an option either.
But she could still enjoy herself in private.
Ginny slipped her hand beneath her skirt, fingers tracing patterns on her inner thigh. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to the stadium. Malcolm's powerful frame. His dark eyes watching her legs. The way his Quidditch robes had clung to his chest and shoulders.
In her imagination, the interview took a different turn. Malcolm's hand on her knee. His voice dropping to a husky whisper. The two of them finding an empty locker room where he'd press her against the wall and kiss her like he'd been thinking about it all afternoon.
Her fingers slipped beneath her knickers, finding herself already wet. She stroked herself slowly, building the sensation gradually as her fantasy elaborated. Malcolm's hands would be strong, confident. He'd know exactly what he was doing. He'd lift her easily, wrap her legs around his waist, and take her right there against the wall while anyone could walk in and catch them.
Ginny's breathing quickened. Her other hand moved to her breast, kneading roughly through the silk of her blouse. In her mind, Malcolm was joined by the Seeker. Then the other Beater. Multiple hands exploring her body, multiple voices telling her how beautiful she was, how much they wanted her.
She imagined herself on her knees surrounded by hard bodies and harder cocks. Imagined hands in her hair, gripping her hips, fingers spreading her open. Imagined being eaten out by one from behind while another filled her mouth and others waited their turn. It was dirty and degrading and absolutely thrilling.
Her fingers moved faster, circling her clit and pressing just right. She was close, could feel the orgasm building like a wave about to crest. In her fantasy, Malcolm finally positioned himself behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he prepared to enter her. She could almost feel the blunt pressure of him pressing against her entrance.
And then everything shattered.
Malcolm's face dissolved, replaced by green eyes and messy black hair. The fantasy locker room warped into an office she recognized all too well. And suddenly it wasn't Malcolm about to take her but Harry, his hands on her hips, his voice in her ear.
"Did you really think you could fuck another man?" Harry's voice was cold and possessive, each word dripping with disdain. "How fucking foolish are you, Ginny?"
"Harry, I..." Her protest died in her throat as dream Harry grabbed her hair, yanking her head back.
"There's no other cock for you. Not now. Not ever. You're mine, Ginevra. Every part of you belongs to me whether you want to admit it or not."
"Harry, you're—" she tried to say, but dream Harry's other hand clamped over her mouth.
"Shut up. I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses." He thrust into her roughly and she cried out against his palm. "This cunt belongs to me. These tits belong to me. This mouth belongs to me. Every inch of you is mine to use as I please."
He fucked her hard, each thrust driving deeper than the last. One hand still gripped her hair painfully while the other moved to her throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult. She should have been terrified. Should have been fighting back. Instead, she felt herself growing impossibly wetter.
"Look at you," Harry's voice was cruel, mocking. "You're getting off on this. You like being degraded. You like being reminded that you're nothing but a set of holes for me to use."
"Please," she whimpered, not even sure what she was begging for.
"Please what? Please fuck you harder? Please make you come like the desperate little slut you are?"
His words should have made her angry. Should have snapped her out of the fantasy. Instead, they pushed her higher, closer to the edge. The degradation mixed with the physical sensation until she couldn't separate one from the other.
"That's right," dream Harry growled. "Come for me. Show me what a good whore you are."
In reality, Ginny's fingers worked frantically between her legs. Her hips lifted off the bed, chasing the sensation. The fantasy consumed her completely, Harry's voice and touch feeling impossibly real. She was dimly aware that she was crying out, making noises that anyone in neighboring rooms would definitely hear, but she couldn't stop.
The orgasm hit her like a thunderbolt. Her back arched, her thighs clamped around her hand, and a loud cry tore from her throat. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her, each one more intense than the last. It went on forever, her body shaking with the force of it.
When she finally came down, she was gasping for breath and covered in sweat. Her hand was soaked, her knickers completely ruined. She lay there trembling, trying to process what had just happened.
That had been so hot. Harry degrading her, treating her like property, that should have made her furious. And yet she was still unbelievably aroused. Her hand moved almost unconsciously back between her legs and she hissed at how sensitive everything was.
She and Harry had split up years ago. She had moved on with her life. She had been with Blaise, slept with him and a few other men, and built a career completely independent of Harry. She shouldn't still be fantasizing about him, especially not like that.
But that day in his office had happened, and since then, he kept coming into her wildest fantasies, always treating her like a degraded slut, always making her love how it felt.
Her fingers circled her clit again, gentle this time. The touch sent sparks through her oversensitized nerves. She thought about Harry's hands instead of her own. About his voice telling her she belonged to him. About him using her however he pleased.
The arousal built again shockingly quickly. Ginny bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to stay quiet this time. But then she froze, her hand stilling completely.
There was a sound outside her door. Something that didn't belong in the normal hotel corridor noise. A footstep, maybe. Or the rustle of fabric.
Ginny sat up slowly, all arousal evaporating instantly as her paranoia took over. She strained to hear anything unusual. The hotel was quiet at this hour, most guests already settled in for the night. But there was something off. A presence she couldn't quite identify.
She grabbed her wand from the nightstand and pulled her knickers back in place, quickly fixing her disheveled state, to moderate success. Her heart hammered as she approached the door on silent feet. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe it was just her imagination running wild after that intense fantasy. But she couldn't shake this gut feeling that something was wrong.
Ginny pressed her ear against the door, listening intently. Nothing at first. Then she heard it again. Definitely movement. Someone was out there.
She whispered a quiet "Homenum Revelio" and waited for the spell to register any human presence outside her door. Nothing. The spell came back negative. But that meant nothing to someone skilled enough to counter basic detection charms. If anything, it made her more suspicious.
Her hand closed around the doorknob. She took a breath, steadying herself, then yanked the door open with her wand thrust forward.
Something slammed into her chest before she could register what it was. The impact drove the air from her lungs and sent her flying backward. Her back collided with the wall hard enough that she saw stars. The wand fell from her nerveless fingers, clattering across the floor.
Through blurred vision, she saw the door swing shut. A figure moved in the shadows of her room but her eyes wouldn't focus properly. She tried to call out, tried to reach for her wand, tried to do anything, but her body wouldn't cooperate.
The last thing she registered before darkness claimed her was a vial being pressed to her lips and bitter liquid burning down her throat. Then the world went black and Ginny Weasley knew nothing at all.
TBC.
Visit patreon.com/TheBlackEarl to read more of my work. All my fics run at least 3 months ahead over there, so you can read everything early.
Thanks for reading!