A Godfather's Promise

"Harry Potter" belongs to J.K. Rowling

AN: I want to extend my thanks to the great members of my Discord server, who have helped me with the writing of the chapter itself, but also re-igniting my passion for this.

Special thanks go to Meneldur, who has not only aided me with the crafting and editing of this chapter, but also the story as a whole.

With that out of the way, please enjoy the chapter!

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

"Foreign Language"

A Godfather’s Promise

Chapter XXVII: Breaking Point

“Need anything from Diagon Alley?”

Hermione turned from her place by the desk where she had been half-heartedly reading a NEWT level textbook. It never hurt to prepare for the next test, after all. Tonks was standing near the doorway, choosing dark purple with white tips for her hair today and looking ready to go. Hermione’s breath hitched for a bit as she remembered the last time she and Tonks had gone shopping.

“I’m alright, thank you,” she responded.

Tonks grinned as she stepped away. “Alright. Don’t get sick again while I’m gone. And do try to get some sleep. You’re more jumpy than that cat of yours.”

“One more chapter and I’m done.”

“Good. See you later, then.” Tonks closed the door behind her and audibly stepped down the stairs.

Hermione kept completely still as the noises slowly faded until there was only silence, and even then didn’t let her guard down until she was certain that the footsteps would not hurry back up. It was a habit she had taken now, even if she wasn’t planning on taking out the red ropes again. Even if Tonks wasn’t going to be the one barging back into the room, Hermione had learned that many of the magical folk, including the Weasleys, had a very different idea of privacy than she had.

She turned her attention back to the book in front of her and shockingly did not feel the energy to read further. It wasn’t that she was tired, more like that for the first time, she wanted to know more about other things than about magic.

But there was something she most definitely wanted to do.

Making sure to lock the door this time, Hermione went to her trunk and pulled out some clothes. Her blood ran hot when she saw the rope and touched it, but did not go further than that. She pushed it away to bring out a little box.

Inside were several ingredients as well as small vials, half of them filled. Hermione quickly identified the one she’d been working on in secret and pulled it out, closing the box and hiding it back in the trunk. She also grabbed some clothes that were a couple of sizes too big for her.

She peeked out of her bedroom first, as silently as possible. She could hear some cluttering on the ground floor, but nothing in the main entrance. Mrs. Weasley must’ve been occupied with the kitchen, as she always was.

Hermione quietly snuck down the stairs, always keeping an eye on the next floor and an ear out for any noise. She wasn’t doing anything daring yet, but she feared she would lose her conviction if someone asked where she was going. She had never been a good liar. Unfortunately, just as she reached the ground floor and made for the front door, she heard a voice that made her spine straighten like a board.

“Hermione.”

She turned around to meet the bright red hair of Ginny Weasley, standing with her arms crossed near the stairs. 

“Going somewhere?” she asked bluntly. Hermione hoped that the Weasley didn’t notice the subtle stiffening of her posture.

“I am.” There was no point in lying. Besides, she was under no obligation to tell anyone exactly where she was planning on going. Knowing Ginny’s attitude the past few weeks, Hermione doubted if she even cared.

“Have you heard anything about Harry?” And there it was. The topic she couldn’t let go of, no matter how set in stone it was.

“Not a thing,” she replied firmly… and truthfully. Sirius and Remus had been tight lipped about the status of Harry, Fleur, and Luna. Nothing had been said about Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass either.

Ginny gave out a soft grunt, arms still crossed. “You know… I expected you to be the most bothered by that… strange arrangement.”

Two months ago it would have been strange. But that was before she had truly known about her parents and Evanna. There was still a lingering sense of oddness about these kinds of relationships, and yet she was not repulsed by them as she had been at first. She was more curious, even if carefully so. It had worked so well for Evanna, so it couldn’t be without merit. Historically, it had been the norm as well, for ancient monarchs at least, and Harry is a lord.

“There is nothing to be gained from worrying about it,” Hermione said carefully. “We have far bigger problems we have to face. Problems that Harry needs to face.” She said the words in a sharp tone to end the conversation then and there.

But Ginny did not relent. “Doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it. How wrong it is.”

“Right or wrong, it’s a matter of politics,” replied Hermione. “It’s better to have powerful Houses on our side than against us. Harry made a hard decision, and all we can do now is support it as best we can.”

“Phlegm and Loony came before that,” Ginny replied, not bothering to hide the bitterness in her voice.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her thoughts on Fleur were still not settled, but it was not hard to see that Harry loved her. Even if her own dreams did not come true, she could not hate her. 

“I can’t control what Harry does. None of us can. Harry must see something in her aside from looks. He’s not a fool.”

“A frog, a Claw, a Puff, and a snake,” said Ginny. “Despite everything, he is still one of us. A Gryffindor. He should be with one of his own. Don’t you agree?”

‘He will be, if everything goes right.’ Hermione did not say the words, though. It was always the case that things wouldn’t end up as she wanted. “Sorry… I really must go. I’ll talk with you later.”

“Right… later.” Ginny kept her arms crossed as she walked past her.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wondered, if her own fantasies came to be, if Ginny would grow to hate her as she hated even Luna, her former friend? What would others think of the “brightest witch” joining the odd entanglement of relationships in Potter Manor?

’No odder than that of my parents,’ Hermione reminded herself, and with that reassurance, she left Grimmauld Place and the bitterness and resentment it housed.

The sun was warm as she took the buses to her destination. An address she had seen before in the magazine advertisements on the desk in her parents’ basement. It had been part of the answer of where most of the materials for their playroom had come from. After all, neither her mother or her father were engineers, nor Evanna, so all of that equipment must’ve been built by someone or bought somewhere.

A mixture of embarrassment, fear, and excitement swelled in her chest when she turned the last corner and saw the name of the shop. 

Garden of Venus.

Hermione was not innocent or illiterate enough to miss the implications of the name. Even if she did, the covered windows were more than enough to confirm that what was hidden behind the doors was not something to be seen by the average passerby.

She was ashamed of the ten minutes she stood outside, just watching the entrance of the store. Up until now her own exploration into this world had included her trusted older sister as a guide or her own experimentation. But once she stepped through that door, she would not know what to expect. Would the Hermione that exited that store be the same as the one she was now?

‘I want this,’ Hermione reminded herself. Pushing all doubt to the back of her mind, she grabbed the aging potion in her bag and drank it all in one shaky gulp before she opened the door and went inside.

What she saw with her own two eyes was not what she was expecting. The visions that had been conjured in her mind were similar to what she had seen in her parents’ basement, but bigger. Bondage frames, cages arrayed over the place with cases on the walls filled with erotic toys. A true mecca of depravity.

Instead, it was more like an average store, not unlike the toy shops Evanna had taken her to as a child as a reward for her grades. It was only when she dared to walk closer to the items in question that their explicit nature became clear. The first case contained boxes of condoms and lubricants, not the toys she had seen before, and certainly not the bondage equipment she expected to see front and center.

“Welcome to the Garden of Venus. Can I help you with anything?”

To her credit, Hermione didn’t squeak and jump at the female voice, but she straightened her spine like a board. It was noticeable enough that the woman made a quick apology about it.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you there.” The young woman in question was a young brunette with green eyes, wearing a fairly normal outfit except for the leather collar wrapped around her throat.

“It’s alright,” said Hermione, pausing for a moment to get used to her aged up voice. “I’m… just taking it all in.”

“Well, I’m here to help people find what they want. No need to be ashamed. The name is Olivia,” she said with a bubbly voice. It made Hermione feel more at ease.

“I’m… looking into BDSM,” she said in a low voice, fearful that the mid thirties looking couple a few aisles away might hear her.

Olivia’s green eyes lit up at her declaration. “Oh, that’s wonderful. We have a lot of inventory that’s meant to cater to kink. So… sub or dom? Maybe a little bit of both?”

Hermione pursed her lips before she gave her answer. “Sub.” She expected to feel ashamed when saying it, but felt nothing of the sort. In fact, as the simple word left her lips, it lifted a weight from her shoulders. The woman’s grin only made her feel more secure.

“And do you have a partner?”

This time, Hermione did look at the ground. “Not yet. I’m hoping to get one soon. I figured I would find out a bit about myself before I revealed… what I want… to the person I want to be my dom.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, just not the entire truth.

“It’s your first time in an erotic shop.” It wasn’t a question, just a frank observation. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing to be intimidated about. Just look around and feel free to ask me if you need help with anything. Is there something in particular you wish to explore? Massagers, vibrators, lubricants?”

The way Olivia spoke so nonchalantly about sex toys made Hermione feel both embarrassed and envious. It was difficult for her to express the slightest thing when concerning sex, and here was this woman who talked about buying a rubber facsimile of a man’s reproductive organ like it was a cup of coffee.

“Umm… I like getting tied up,” Hermione managed to whisper through her dry throat.

“Ah… bondage. That’s wonderful! Well since you are by yourself, we just got some new cuffs with added safety features for self-bondage. Safety is always important, after all.”

“I know,” said Hermione. Safety was the main thing Evanna had hammered into her when she had started practicing tying herself up. “I’ll take a look at the shop, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, just call me if you need anything. You’ll find all our bondage needs on the first row and there’s some fetish clothing at the back. Though I must warn you that we’re out of stock on some items. We have a new customer that has been buying up almost all of our latex clothes.”

Giving a nod, Hermione began to walk through the aisles. After seeing all of the equipment in her parents’ basement, seeing so many explicit items did not shock her, but her heart did begin to pick up its pace, and it felt as if the temperature had gone up inside the room as she stopped near several rubber dildos. For a moment she considered picking one up, but did not go through with it. She wanted her first time to be real.

As she continued through the aisles, more items came into view. An odd happiness filled Hermione as she was surrounded by several restraints and collars. The diversity of equipment was immense. There were cuffs for ankles and wrists that ranged from cheap leather to intricately forged steel. Others seemed to be made out of thick rubber. The same was true about the collars, from the cheap studded ones that cost only a few pounds and would chafe her neck to others that looked to be for long-term wear. The cost went up depending on how good the craftsmanship was.

She eyed a pair of affordable handcuffs as she reached the back of the aisle where some of the clothing was. But it was not like an average clothes shop. All of them were suggestive in one way or another. Of course there was the high quality lingerie, as well as clothes that covered more skin, but were made out of leather or rubber, converting them into fetishized parodies of their intended purpose.

Some didn’t even try to be modest. She couldn’t help herself as she grabbed a rubber brassiere that was completely transparent except for a yellowish tinge. Another one had holes where the breasts would be, completely destroying the point of even wearing it.

Despite the shame, Hermione couldn’t help but imagine herself in it. One look at the price tag made her put it back down. 

BDSM was abhorrently expensive!

Hermione was beginning to ask herself if the journey was worth it just as she turned the corner and finally saw something that caught her eye. Hidden among the rows of sex toys and racy clothing was a small section. Most of the shelves were filled with adult magazines, but there were also books. 

She walked over to the section with renewed excitement and felt a warm comfort as she picked the first book and read the title. “BDSM: A Beginner’s Guide to Kink” was the title of the first. The next one that caught her eye was smaller but the title immediately called to her. “Surrender: A Sub’s Journey.” She pulled both books into her arms and made her way back to the counter where Olivia sat, reading a magazine.

“Done already?” asked Olivia as she looked at the books with a smile and ran them through the counter. “I have to admit, most people that come in here for the first time don’t go for the books. They usually buy some cheap cuffs or lubricant.”

“I want to learn about myself,” replied Hermione with a tight voice.

“Sorry if I caused offense. I didn’t mean to insult. All of us have different ways of dipping our toes into this kind of stuff,” said Olivia in a friendly tone. “It says good things when you decide to approach this safely.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Safely” was not exactly a good descriptor of some of the things she had done.

“I understand,” Hermione responded. “It’s a bit silly, isn’t it? Reading about sex?”

Olivia shook her head. “It’s more common than you can imagine. Many people that like to experiment prefer to read up about it before we go through with it. Gives us a bit more confidence before we do something potentially dangerous.”

“Really?”

“People who are into BDSM tend to be smart,” Olivia commented with confidence. “We’re like sex nerds, really. We want a little more than the usual in and out. Add some frosting to the pastry. But you need to learn the rules before you experiment. Books can help with that.”

When Hermione felt the smile tugging at her lips, she knew that all the apprehension of coming to this place was gone. “Do you recommend anything else aside from books?”

“Like I said, we have some safe toys for self-bondage.” She showed Hermione some cuffs. “These have a hidden button that can release the cuffs in case you can’t use the key.” Hermione did like the sound of that. Even if she was certain that a charm could be added to regular cuffs, a brief flashback to the rope harness incident reminded Hermione that playing with magic could go wrong when you least expected it.

“We got some fun gags too. Just in case you’re getting bored of duct tape and scarves,” joked Olivia. 

Honestly, Hermione hadn’t even tried the duct tape and scarves. Taking away her ability to speak was intimidating, but now that she saw the collection of ball gags that Olivia was pointing at, Hermione didn’t think it would be too bad. She could already picture herself wearing it in front of a mirror. The pictures she had seen in her parents’ books showed the users of such gags drooling helplessly.

And just like that, Hermione was looking at the price and made a decision after a quick calculation in her head.

Once she got back home, she started, as was expected of her, with the manual. It was shocking just how similar a book that dealt with sexual perversion was to the average school book. Even including its own table of contents.

“BDSM,” whispered Hermione to herself. 

After a brief introduction, the manual was separated into different aspects of the subculture. The first part, bondage and discipline, was visually striking to say the least. By that point, Hermione had experimented enough with rope, and the manual showed plenty of that, but also several other contraptions and devices ranging from tape, to chains and cuffs, and even to an intimidating leather ensemble called an “armbinder.”

What was missing from her own experience was the second part – discipline. Evanna had not taught her much about that, mainly because her older sister was a submissive just like her, and despite her smarts, Evanna had never been the most organized person.

That, at first glance, seemed to be what this part was all about. Examples ranged from lists of daily tasks a sub was expected to finish, to sets of rules varying in strictness and severity. A particular story told of a female submissive that was forbidden from wearing clothes in the house, was expected to greet her dominant on her knees and with her eyes to the floor until she was given permission to look up. Accompanying pictures showed examples of different poses, from kneeling in a comfortable position, to a strict posture with her hands behind her back and her forehead to the floor.

There were even separate sections that offered advice to dominants and submissives. Hermione made sure to read both of them, even if she was decided on one role for now. She wanted to know what it was like for the other person, and was surprised to realize that it involved commitment for the dominant as well. Honor, responsibility, strength, and above all, empathy. Harry fit that description well enough.

There was a side of Hermione that irked her upon seeing the “s” part of “D/s” written in lower case. As if the position she was identifying with was worth less than the dominant. She had been raised under the belief that everyone in a relationship had to be equal for it to work, and parts of this lifestyle seemed to be flying in the face of that. Perhaps there was something she wasn’t seeing? It would have to wait until she had a “D” to her “s” in any case.

The S/M part was by far the most intimidating thing in the “lifestyle”. She was quite certain she was not a masochist and couldn’t picture Harry as being a sadist. The pictures in the manual were not as harsh as what she had imagined, though. Instead of bloodied whips and bruised backs, the pictures preferred to concentrate on candle wax being poured on a woman’s ass, and another picture of her nipples being pinched by clothespins. It still made Hermione wince slightly.

To her surprise, the submissive section added some scientific facts about the increase in endorphin production by the body when pain was administered. Along with physical pleasure, pain could also bring emotional pleasure due to different reasons, depending on the submissive. There were even several genuine testimonies by those that enjoyed varying degrees of pain. Despite her reservations, Hermione was beginning to feel curious. Perhaps she needed to stop judging so quickly? 

Hermione stared at the door as she slipped a cold hand beneath her shirt and shivered as the tip of her fingers touched one of the hardened nubs at the center of her breasts. She waited for the haze of pleasure to surround her mind before she slowly but firmly pinched her nipple. The whine of pain could not be suppressed, but the same could be said about the rush. 

Of course, this was Hermione playing with herself. She remembered the spank Evanna gave her. It would be different when it was with someone else. Especially if she wore a blindfold just like the woman in the picture getting her ass painted with melted wax.

The pleasure made Hermione look back at the book with disinterest. and instead she reached for her other purchases.  

Even though she picked out one of the smaller ball gags in the store, it still felt bigger in her mouth than she thought it would. The red rubber sphere slipped past her teeth and was kept there as she awkwardly buckled the strap behind her head. Some of the ball gags at the store had a harness design that covered several parts of the head, and others were secured by padlocks. Even with this one, she imagined that if her hands were bound, it’d be quite difficult to eject from her mouth. Her tongue could only push it slightly before the saliva coated ball slipped back in.

After testing the ball for a few minutes, she realized, to her utter shame, that some of the saliva dripped from her bottom lip, down her chin, and landed on her shirt. Immediately, she tried to swallow all of her drool, but even more slipped out.

Hermione stood up from her bed and tried to get something to wipe the fluids off. But when she caught her reflection in the mirror from the corner of her eye, she found herself stopping in her tracks. She looked at her own reflection, drool dripping helplessly down to her chin. With only candles dimly lighting the room, it made her lips shine brightly.

She stopped looking for something to wipe her mouth and instead her hands went to the hem of her shirt to pull it over her head, revealing her underwear underneath. The rest of her clothes joined the pile soon enough, until she was wearing nothing aside from the red rubber ball between her lips.

But the picture was not complete. Remembering the pictures she had seen in the book, Hermione fell to her knees. Discipline. That’s what it was. A disciplined submissive kneeling at attention, waiting to receive commands. Hands went behind her head, back straightened, and breasts bared in front of her, all while her lips continued to drool helplessly.

Hermione let her imagination run wild with the things she had seen. Garments and accessories she had seen at the shop, from the transparent brassieres to the far more sophisticated leather cuffs, and even the added straps to her ball gag that would doubtless make it harder to see. The picture was not complete without a beautiful, expensive collar.

She felt at peace, loved, beautiful, and confident.

She felt like Hermione Granger.

Harry bit his tongue as he stood in front of the sturdy wooden door, identical to the rest on the hallway. But this one was special, not because of its look, but because it led to Daphne’s room.

The Greengrass heiress had refused to appear. Almost like Susan the first days she had arrived. But unlike the kind-hearted redhead who was afraid of rejection, Daphne could not exude any more hostility. Any attempt at communication, diplomatic or otherwise, had been sharply rebuked by simply refusing to answer.

In what had become a daily ritual, Harry raised his hand and knocked on the door. When there was no response he knocked for a second, followed by a third time, until he finally heard for a response.

“What is it?” came the sharp voice from the other side.

Harry took a breath. “It’s Harry. I just wanted to know if everything was to your liking.”

“I have no complaints, Potter,” replied Daphne’s voice.

“Is there anything we can do for you? Susan wanted to know if there was anything you specifically wanted to eat. She also wants to know if you want to go to the city with her and buy some new clothes. Don’t worry – I’ll cover all the expenses.”

The door once again fell into a dead silence. He did not give up just yet.

“Daphne… I know this is hard for you. It’s hard on all of us. I’ll give you your space if that is what you want. But I can’t help you if I don’t even know what you need.

An empty minute followed. “If I need anything, I’ll let you know. And do tell your Veela whore to dress as befits the future lady of House Potter,” Daphne finally replied with a tone of finality. Silence followed.

Knowing he was not going to get more than that, Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his sinuses. While some might call his polyamorous situation a spark of fortune, they probably didn’t realize just how exhausting it could be sometimes. 

One the one hand he had Daphne, who could probably spend the rest of her life shut off in her own room, the expected results of their union be damned. One the other he had Fleur, whom he realized had become an indispensable pillar for his household. As it stood, he found it increasingly hard to comfort Luna and Susan when Fleur was absent. It was much harder to be their Master when they were missing their beloved Mistress.

Fleur…

Their distance of the last few days could not go on, for the sake of everyone. But neither could he relent with his conditions. What Fleur had done was wrong in his eyes. An apology had to be made, and until that happened, he would need to cage his own heart, matter the pain he felt. 

Before he knew it, Harry found himself standing in front of Fleur’s door. He gave a quick knock and after her soft, melodious voice replied, went inside.

Fleur had been steadily decorating her room as she saw fit. He was glad for that, and that the others had quickly taken to her example. Theirs was not a normal relationship, and he imagined it would be good for everyone to have their space. Fleur had definitely made it her space, with noticeably French decorations, both traditional and modern, adorning the room. The stylistic fleur-de-lis, tri-colour French flag, and rich wooden armoire blending with the new divan.

The French witch was currently sitting next to a window, holding a cup of coffee with one hand and a book with the other. The sun made the latex dress she had chosen for today give a reflective shine. Unlike with Susan, Fleur had made absolutely no attempt at hiding her kinks, especially since she had been told to “donate” most of her regular clothes to Daphne as compensation. Harry realized too late that it was just an excuse for her to add more latex to her daily wardrobe.

Still, Harry couldn’t help the way his heart quickened, pumping blood all over his body until it reached his excited member.

“Bonjour, mon chéri,” Fleur said, her lips forming a smile. She didn’t hesitate to take full advantage of her dress’s tightness by pushing out her breasts towards him. “Eet is a wonderful day, non?”

Harry ignored the baser part of his mind from taking over as he sat down opposite to her, face set in stone, even if his member was like a stone as well. It was something that Fleur seemed to notice as well, as he felt her bare foot slide down his leg, her toes working the zipper of his pants, all while she looked at him with that seductive smile. Merlin… she had been learning from Luna again. Before it could go any further, Harry grabbed her foot to stop it in place, but the amused raising of her eyebrow made it clear that she knew how hard he was. Already, she had the upper hand before he even said a word.

“Have you apologized yet?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

Fleur let out an annoyed sigh. “Are you still being stubborn about zat? Eet is sad zat what keeps us apart is me giving a well deserved lash against a little putain zat has never ‘ad a lesson taught to ‘er.”

“That ‘putain’ is the daughter of the most powerful political figure in Magical Britain… and is going to be my wife one day. Just like you are.”

“Unlike me, ‘er marriage will be a political one, mon chéri. It does not matter what you do outside of making an ‘eir to ‘er house. Susan was in ze same position, but she ‘as found ‘er place in our ‘ome and in our ‘earts. Ze putain came ‘ere and immediately insulted me, Luna, and your family’s ‘ome.”

“And you thought burning her clothes was the appropriate response?”

Fleur clenched her jaw and looked at the window. “Perhaps my ‘eritage got ze better of me. But zat does not mean zat I shoulder all ze blame. Why should I be ze one to apologize when she was ze one who came ‘ere wiz ze intention of being hostile?”

Now it was time for Harry to look away. Fleur did have a point, and he could understand her frustration. While there was always going to be conflict between Fleur and Daphne, it was true that Daphne had been the one to start the conflict. 

“There’s things we can control and things we cannot. People I can ask something of and people from whom I can’t. You are already on my side Fleur, so I can ask you to make an apology. Daphne is a stranger to us, with loyalties to her family. I cannot ask an apology out of her, let alone force it. It’s not what’s fair or balanced – it’s what we can do on our part to mend this schism between both parties. If we have done our part, then the only one that can be at fault will be her.”

Fleur’s gaze stopped being playful at that. “So because you can control me, I should be ze one to apologize?”

“You are twisting my words.”

“Am I? You ask zis of me because you ‘old emotional power over me, and use zat to get me to apologize while ze morveuse doesn’t ‘ave to do anyzing. I love you ‘Arry. I really do, but do not ask zis unfairness of me.”

Fleur was set, Harry realized, and he too would have to be stone willed. Another day without her in his bed and possibly many more. He could not relent, even if he wanted to. This was part of wearing a Lord’s ring, to make a man’s decision. It was true when Lord Greengrass had said it about their marriage arrangement, and it was true now.

“You could at least try to keep up appearances. Daphne has seen you and Luna… and she has made comments about it.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “I already told you zat I ‘ave no intention of ‘iding myself again while I live in zis Manor. Eet is yours, after all. Why should we ‘ave to be ashamed of being ourselves ‘ere? Wasn’t zat what we wished for? A place for ourselves where we can live free and wizout shame?”

Harry stood up and walked towards the exit. “Is it possible to show the same respect and understanding that you showed for Susan when she first arrived here?” he offered her a final chance.

“Not for zat chienne.” She turned back to her book, with no more words to say.

As he left Fleur’s room, Harry found no comfort in his study, nor in the room of his ancestors. He did not have the energy to explore the parts of the estate that had been left in disrepair. 

Passing through the kitchen, he silently spied on Susan as she prepared lunch. The short skirt of her fetishized French maid dress barely covered her thighs, and was helpless to cover the panties underneath when she had to bend down. The sight aroused him as much as it gladdened him. The kind redhead found the safe space she needed to explore her sexuality with the people she trusted. He just hoped that for now, him and Luna were enough.

With no peace of mind to be found inside the Manor, Harry quickly found refuge in the gardens. The once barren soil had slowly started to be filled with tulips, roses, and daffodils, all thanks to the tireless work of Luna and Susan. More than once he had seen both of them naked while tending to the flowers, and they had plans to expand it to the front of the Manor.

“Good day, Master,” came Luna’s voice at his side, making her presence known.

Her preference for going barefoot made it almost impossible for her to be heard coming and going throughout the manor. Harry had gotten used to it, as had Fleur. Poor Susan still jumped with a squeak from time to time as she was surprised.

“Hello, little moon,” he answered with a tired grin. “I’m just admiring the work you and Susan have put into the garden.”

Luna knelt next to him with a dreamy smile. “I’m glad that you like it, Master. Good flowers always help to keep away the Nargles. The forest is quite wonderful as well, and unlike the Forbidden Forest, it’s not infested with duplicitous Wrackspurts and militant Heliopaths. Do you think that there might be Crumple-Horned Snorkacks hiding among the trees?”

If there had been any records of so-called Snorkacks existing, Livy would have told him about them already. “I haven’t seen any of them, but that doesn’t mean they’re not here,” Harry told her.

“Hopefully they live around here. I try to search for them every other day, but the forest is too big. I’ve tried to make a map of the entire area but I always end up getting lost. Buckbeak always guides me back, though.”

Harry grinned. “I’m glad he likes it around here.”

“He does indeed. With him around, we never have to worry about Umbugular Slashkilters either.”

“That’s good to know,” Harry replied politely. “Now that I think about it, I’ve focused too much on exploring the Manor itself, I almost forget the vast lands that are also mine.”

Luna’s face lit up immediately. “Oh, it is quite wonderful, Master. I’ve managed to see several buildings which have seen better days. I’ve managed to see the stables and an observatory. I wish one day we could repair it to see the moon at night. There is also a greenhouse. Susan and I have wondered about the possibility of growing our own herbs in there when we clean it up. There’s also a large building, even older than the stables. A barracks of some kind, and some smaller houses…”

As Luna continued to talk excitedly, Harry began to remember the talks he had with Livy in the previous weeks. Potter Manor had been in his family for generations, and that meant there had been different renovations throughout the two millenia, as well as different uses for it. Once, his family had been lord over several subjects, muggle and magical, with their own farms and lands. There was even a castle a few miles away, near a small river.

The families were gone, but many of their houses and farms were still here, all belonging to him. The seeds of another goal began to form in his mind as he imagined the return of that prestige, where House Potter was seen as an important link between the magical world and the muggle one, and a powerful patron to put their trust behind.

“I think it’s time I also began to explore these lands,” he said, both to Luna and to himself. “Do you mind showing me?”

Luna grinned. “I’d be quite happy to do that, Master!”

Harry quickly went back to his room and outfitted himself appropriately for a trek in the wilderness. After tying up his boots, he walked back to the garden where he had agreed to meet Luna after they had both readied themselves.

Luna was there, alright. But her being “ready” meant putting on a black rubber harness, her collar, and her cuffs… nothing more.

He was not surprised, though. Luna had a charm that would protect her bare feet from the ground, something she was quite proud of, insisting that she could learn twice as much with naked soles, and her body was slim and petite enough to maneuver around branches and thorns. She had gone naked many times through the woods and not once had she been injured, almost as if the forest itself was her ally.

“Master…” Luna said expectantly, thrusting her collared neck slightly and pulling her cuffed hands behind her back.

“Right,” chuckled Harry. Once he had bound Luna’s wrists and secured a leash to her neck, he tugged on the collar and led the blonde Ravenclaw into the garden.

The trip was a great deal more enjoyable than trekking through the eerie Forbidden Forest, and not just because Luna was wearing nothing aside from the harness that she clearly loved so much. The grounds of Potter Manor were as inviting and comforting as they were ancient, and filled with creatures that, far from waiting to prey on any trespassers like  Acromantulas and Trolls were more than happy to do, gave space and respect to him as if they recognized his domain and that they were his subjects… or perhaps it was the other way around?

He walked slowly, the only noise aside from his own steps the soft crunching of leaves from Luna’s bare feet and the almost soundless clinking of the leash. The silver-eyed blonde followed him in silence, bound as she was, without any words. Her nakedness was of no discomfort even as the younger silver birches gave way to ancient, mossy oaks.

An hour passed quickly, and Harry did not see any of the buildings Livy had described, but Harry imagined that they were near the most ancient part of the forest by this point, where no humans had dwelled for thousands of years. He found himself thinking back on his plans, at least for this part of his lands. These woods were older than his family, and the barrier had been respected. He should respect it as well. There was plenty of land for others to settle in the future. This place belonged to the trees. It belonged to Buckbeak too, and the griffins rumored to live here, as well as the famed Iceni Blacks that, Livy’s recollections told, made their nest on the peaks of the hills, just above the silver and iron mines.

“Let’s rest here,” he said, tugging on Luna’s leash until they reached the trunk of a long fallen birch tree. Before the blonde knelt on the ground, he pulled her body and settled her lily white arse on his lap. Luna quickly made herself comfortable in the position.

The worries that he had seemed to not exist in this place. He did not bother to count the time as his hands played with Luna’s body. Rubbing his fingers against her small, erect nipples and unbuckling the strap that went between her legs. Before long, the blonde Ravenclaw was gasping and whimpering.

“This is a nice place,” Harry observed simply.

Luna nodded, trying to grind her hips against his hand. “It’s like the old woods that were frequented by my ancestors. Magic is stronger in this place. Stronger even than the Forbidden Forest.”

“And there’s no Acromantulas around,” noted Harry.

“And no Nargles,” reminded Luna.

“Right… but there are still people in the Manor, and I can’t find a way to solve their issues, it seems.”

Luna pressed her head towards his chest, her grinding ceasing as she seemed to focus on Harry. “You’ll find a way, Master. I’m sure of it.”

“Do Daphne’s words not bother you? Have you missed your Mistress since the incident?”

The silver-eyed blonde remained still then, letting the noises of the woods reign in the silence. “I do miss my Mistress. The way she dressed me and had morning tea with me. I miss kneeling in front of her and kissing her feet when she gave me permission to. I miss laying my head on her breasts at night as well. But I know that all of this will be resolved. The bad times are only fleeting moments. Daphne will stop saying mean things one day too. Anger cannot last forever.” She lifted her head from his chest, staring unblinkingly into his eyes. “I was very sad and hurt too, once. Just like Daphne is. Then I found you, and Mistress, and Susan. Now I’m not sad or hurt. So you see - the bad times do pass. When Daphne finds people she can trust, she’ll stop being mean too.”

Harry chuckled and ran his hand over Luna’s long blonde hair. “Sometimes, I wish I could think the way you do, little moon.”

“There’s no magic in how I think, Master.”

That night he found himself coming back to Fleur with a less troubled mind. He found her in front of her vanity, getting ready to sleep. She was wearing a blue latex nightie that hugged her curves, and so transparent that he could see her nipples right underneath. Her long silver hair cascaded down her body, almost begging for him to caress it. She turned at him once again with a smile, as if their earlier discussion had not happened at all.

“Good evening, mon chéri.”

“Fleur,” he breathed, walking back to the seat he had occupied before. “You look amazing.”

She laughed. “You know I always do, Maître. But zat is not why you are ‘ere. We should get straight to ze point, non?”

“Daphne…” Harry looked back to the window. “These past few days have not gone according to plan.”

“We didn’t ‘ave a plan, Maître. Eet went as well as can be expected. Ze girl ‘as always acted zis way to ozzers. Now she just ‘as us to vent ‘er frustrations.”

“We’re not the only ones that are suffering. Daphne… she didn’t ask for any of this. Imagine if your father had sold you into a marriage alliance for power. That’s what Daphne has gone through. She may be a pureblood, but it still must have come as an unwelcome shock to her.”

“Eet doesn’t excuse ‘er actions.” Fleur walked to a seat next to him.

“It doesn’t,” Harry agreed. “Her actions were wrong. At the same time, your actions were also wrong. We cannot force her to make amends. The only amends we can make are for what our side has done.”

Harry could see Fleur opening her mouth to protest again. He grabbed her hand and continued to talk.

“Fleur… I need you… Luna and Susan need their Mistress. You promised me that you would stand by my side no matter the challenges that come our way. This… this is one of those challenges. I’m not ordering you to set aside your pride as your Master – I’m asking you, as the man you chose to spend your life with, to please support me in making things right with Daphne.”

Fleur’s stone faced expression slowly began to shift. Her hand reached to his fingers and he found himself looking into her eyes as she smiled again. Not haughtily this time, but her genuine smile; the smile he loved.

“Ze words I said zen… I zought ze fight would be against ze Dark Lord, not against ozzer women. Eet is all new to me, ‘aving to confront zings zat I did not expect.”

“Do you regret standing by my side?” Harry asked.

Fleur stood up and sat on his lap. He was aware of how quickly she would notice his erect member poking against her thighs, but the moment she caught his lips, he was beyond caring. After Fleur poured all of her pent up sexual frustration in a single, passionate kiss, she looked at him with her blue eyes.

“I do not regret a single zing.”

After another kiss and a healthy amount of fondling, Harry pulled back, this time it was his turn to speak. “Will you give her an apology, then?”

“Will you spank me eef I don’t?” she asked with a hunger in her voice.

“I’ll spank you if you do.”

Fleur laughed. “Zen I ‘ave no ozzer choice.” Her gaze turned serious. “Just promise me zat you will draw a line she cannot cross. Eef she wants to act like zis in front of me, zat’s fine… but if she ‘urts Luna or Susan again…”

Harry took a breath. It was a reasonable request, but he knew now that his word had weight. 

“I promise.”

Daphne Greengrass spent almost the entire evening sitting in front of her vanity, looking for mundane ways to pass the time. It was easier when she was busy, even if she had to make her own problems to solve. Tonight, she had decided to brush the non-existent knots out of her long, dark hair.

Minute after minute flowed along as she passed the brush through her tresses, from the scalp of her head all the way down, her silken tresses taking on a bright sheen with the light of the candles. It cascaded all the way down to her waist. Her hair was beautiful, everyone had told her, so she had grown it as best she could. It should be brushed, they had said, so she did it every day and every night until it was completely perfect.

When she was finished, Daphne spent some time looking at the ornate silver handled brush in her hand. She could easily recall the day her mother had given it to her as a present when she was seven years old. Before that, Eleanor or the servants had been the ones to take care of her hair, but after that day, it was her responsibility.

Many responsibilities came after. Small ones, at the behest of her mother. How to play the harp and sing beautifully, and take care of her appearance. How to greet those of status equal to her, and lower than her. How to dance in the correct manner and eat appropriately. How to run a household in the absence of the lord. How to read and write poetry. How to stand, sit, and even how to smile. 

Eleanor even asked her daughter to share in the task of raising Elizabeth and Charlotte. Before, she thought it was due to her mother’s health. But now, she couldn’t help but imagine that it had also served as preparation.

Larger responsibilities came from her lord father. Without a son and a wife that could bear no more children, Daphne had to take on the role of heiress. The names of families and their place. The art of speaking and negotiating… and how to detect weakness in those she spoke to. But at the same time, it was made clear that marriage was supposed to be her greatest duty, and that she would have scarce choice on the identity of that husband.

Everything to make Daphne the perfect pureblood heiress.

As she looked at the brush, she tried to remember if her mother ever gave her a choice? Was she ever allowed to dream on her own? She enjoyed playing the harp, but learning to pull on the strings had not been her choice. Even the choices she had made, like growing out her hair, were done for the approval of others.

But… did anything really matter? She thought back on all of the things that she could have done differently in life, yet all of them lead forward to now, with her sitting in front of the luxurious vanity, trying to fix flaws that were not there. No matter what she did, she would always be Daphne Greengrass… and Daphne Greengrass’ life was always going to end up one way.

Why did she even bother to brush her hair in the first place? Did anybody really care? It wasn’t like she needed to woo Potter to marry him. Their betrothal was agreed on, set in parchment. Nothing she did would change that.

She didn’t need to try… unlike Fleur Delacour.

Delacour was the one who needed to enchant Potter with her charms. There was no denying the whore was beautiful. But while her looks were certainly one of the reasons for Potter choosing her, it must not be the only one.

The way the Veela acted, without a sense of shame, must hint at behaviors which in polite society would doubtless be intolerable, but for Potter was not only tolerable, but encouraged. The way she flaunted herself in those perverted clothes without care made Daphne’s blood boil in anger. The only problem being, upon further reflection, she didn’t know what incensed her so, and if all of her fury was even directed at Delacour as a person.

Upon further reflection, it became increasingly clear that her anger was not fueled by who Delacour was a person, but what she could do. 

Delacour could smile and flirt without care. She could wear shameless clothes and carry herself without fear of judgment by her peers. She could choose who to marry out of genuine love. She could laugh and dance, show and receive affection, and act like she wanted to act, with no worries about anything. No reprimands, no consequences, no need to be perfect.

She could be everything Daphne could not.

Her eyes eventually fell on the mirror. She saw what was always there. Daphne Greengrass, with smooth black hair and enchanting amethyst eyes. Beautiful, poised… perfect. The flawless thing that she had been molded into before she even had memories to remember.

But the mirror didn’t show what was behind that cold stare. It didn’t show her wants, her desires. Things nobody cared about, would care about. At worst they would hate her for it. If they could see Daphne, the real Daphne, her family’s reputation would be tarnished. Sometimes she wished it were so, and damn the consequences. She cursed herself for thinking such things. She wished she was just as perfect as the reflection. 

She should just take all of her dreams and desires and rip them apart. Become the perfect statue they wanted her to be.

Daphne looked at the mirror again and snarled.

“I hate you!” she blurted out, teeth gritted so hard they might break. “I hate you! I hate you! Selfish! Whore! Disgrace!” 

She grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at the mirror, and then another, and another, until she reached for a silver candelabra and swung it with all her force. The glass cracked and shattered, leaving only a distorted reflection of Daphne. Broken and damaged; not the image of perfection. Truer for what she felt inside.

But there was no freedom from what she was. What she had to be. She would always be Daphne Greengrass.

‘Don’t be weak. Accept your place. For your family, for your lineage, for your sisters.’ 

Despite her own thoughts, she could feel her shoulders trembling as she fell to the floor, burying her face on her knees. Her throat became sore as tears sprang from her eyes. She hated the wetness that trailed down her legs, hated being weak, hated being her. Why did she have to be like this? Everything would be so much easier if she was just a husk; an emotionless doll, ready to do her duty.

A sharp knock at her door stopped Daphne from digging deeper into herself. It did not take away her anger, just redirected it at something else, someone else.

Daphne waited for a few more knocks to come before she stood up, making sure to clean her face after her unfortunate outburst. The knock did not sound like Susan’s soft taps, or Harry’s clear, precise strikes. She prepared herself for anything that might be on the other side.

It was the whore who was staring back.

Daphne stood silently just behind the threshold of her door, watching as the French Veela adopted a neutral posture. Her own face was set in a stony expression, neither angry or happy. The whore did not have that characteristic haughty smirk, nor were her hands transformed into avian claws as Veela were known to do when angry. She did not wish to deal with this woman right now, the vision of her ruined clothes still fresh in her mind.

“Looking for something, Delacour?” she asked sharply.

Delacour dropped her stoic expression for a single moment, just enough for her to see the self-doubt. “May I enter?” she asked simply.

Keeping her own neutral posture, Daphne stayed in place. “That will not be necessary. You are here to deliver a message, I believe?”

If this annoyed Delacour, she could not tell. But she could see the Veela take an even more guarded posture. Daphne’s bluntness must have shocked her but she adapted quickly, preparing another strategy. She was good at this. Far more than most of the airheads back in Hogwarts.

“Well then… what is it you wish to say?” she continued, wanting to get this over with. Though she did not say it in anger, despite her feelings. More like a bored tone.

Delacour took a breath. “I… ‘ave come ‘ere to make a formal apology.”

Now it was Daphne who couldn’t help but be surprised, shocking her, though unlike Delacour, she refused to show it except in her eyebrow raising slightly. Delacour? Apologizing? No doubt goaded into it by Potter, she imagined. She could hardly believe the proud French Veela would actually admit to a fault without being prompted by someone else.

Still, even if it was forced, Daphne could amuse herself.

“What do you wish to apologize for?”

To give credit to the whore, she played along. “I wish to apologize for setting fire to your clozes. Ze past days ‘ave made me realize zat I acted impulsively, and wizout zinking about ze consequences. Eet must ‘ave deeply important to you.”

So… the whore still had her pride.

“The loss was unfortunate, but I don’t assign much value to clothing that can easily be replaced. Your clothes have done appropriately for now. Lord Potter assures me more will be provided.” She looked for any hint of anger this may have caused, even hoped for it. She suppressed the smirk when she noticed just a slight twitch of that perfect mouth, but no more than that.

Delacour gave a nod. “I am glad zat French fashion agrees wiz you. Even eef we ‘ave not ‘ad ze pleasure of seeing you during meals.”

Daphne wanted to roll her eyes. Leave it to the French to turn a slight against them into a self-congratulatory salute of their own culture.

“I wish to extend an offer to ‘elp you pick out a new wardrobe. Zere are several places ‘ere in Somerset where we can go to find new zings for you. But I can also take you to Paris or Milan eef zat agrees wiz you more.”

Daphne couldn’t help but think about what type of clothing Delacour was referring to. Was it really meant to be fit for a lady, or would it be one of the shiny dresses? She felt the composure she’d been trained to maintain begin to slip as her imagination betrayed her. How would everyone react if the perfect Daphne Greengrass arrived at a ball with one of those noisy, glimmering garments?

To her horror, she felt her face heat up.

Had this been another day, or had she been in a different place, Daphne probably would’ve been more inclined to continue this underhanded verbal exchange. But now, with the layers of frustration that she had been carrying for months, she couldn’t take it anymore. All of the lessons in speechcraft her lord father had prepared her for failed her at the moment when they should’ve been the most crucial. Instead, she was blunt and overplayed her hand.

“Delacour… I am not aware of how much you know of the noble Houses of these Isles… but I am Daphne of the House Greengrass. Do you think I'd stoop so low that I would go around dressing like a wanton whore?”

Daphne didn’t wait to see the reaction on the whore’s face. She feared that her reddened face would betray her outrage and the French bint would give her that haughty smirk.

Quickly, she slammed the door in Delacour’s face and pressed her back against it, shutting her eyes tightly as she slid to the floor. Why? Why did she have to be this way? Why couldn’t she be the perfect heiress? 

She had no energy to throw things around her room anymore. In fact, the thrashing she had done now ruined the image of the luxurious room. With her wand, the furniture went back to their place, and the cracked mirror was fixed until it was brand new. Once again, everything was perfect… except for her red eyes… and the few hairs that had rebelled against the others, destroying the silky smoothness of her tresses.

She sat down, grabbed the brush, and passed it through her hair once again.

Susan took a breath before she knocked on Daphne’s door. There was no answer. She had hoped there would be, foolish as it might be. It had been two days since Daphne had cut off all communication. Even Susan couldn’t get a glimpse of what had become of her. She still ate, at least. Susan made sure to leave the meals outside her door and was relieved to see the tray and dishes returned empty.

When there was no answer after a full minute, she knocked again… and again, and again. Each time there was only silence. She wished she could know what was happening inside there. Not a few months ago, Daphne always had an ear for her worries and an arm to comfort her. Now there was only silence and cold. An empty hole where the girl she loved always was. 

Other people had come into her life, made it brighter, filled her days with joy she never thought possible. But that hole was never replaced. The empty space was something Harry, Luna, and Fleur, no matter how much she cherished them, could never replace.

Because no matter what, she still loved Daphne.

Susan knocked on the door again, already having lost count of the times she had done so, and when there was no answer, she finally felt her eyes tremble. She could only see that hole growing darker and deeper. Never to be filled again with the one who she kissed the first time 

“Daphne? Daphne are you there? It’s me…” she said with a cracking voice. A tear rolled down her eye when even that didn’t seem to work. “It’s me… please… open the door.” The tears became heavier and more numerous as she pressed her forehead to the wooden door. “Please tell me you can hear me. You are still my friend… you are still my love. I miss you so much. Don’t shut yourself from me… I’m begging you, Daphne!” 

Her voice cracked as she finished her plea. She had never felt so helpless.

There was a click at the door.

Susan let out a gasp as the door slowly opened to a dark room. Standing in front of her was Daphne Greengrass.

Her love was still as beautiful as always. The long, luminous hair had been straightened until it resembled a flawless black waterfall, and her eyes still shined like polished amethysts. But around those eyes were dark bags that were not there before, and her pale skin which usually had a beautiful glow like ivory now looked ghostly.

But it was still Daphne.

“Hey,” gasped Susan, hoping Daphne wasn’t bothered by her tear stricken face.

“Good afternoon,” replied Daphne, more formally than usual, but still carrying a vague softness that was reserved only for Susan. “I am quite fine, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her voice did sound the same as always, but Susan did not want her to shut herself in again.

“Can I come in?” she asked, holding onto her hand the way they did when they were in private.

Daphne stood still for a moment, and Susan thought she would get rejected again. She smiled when she felt Daphne’s hand tighten around hers and gently pull her inside.

She had seen very little of Daphne’s room, but it looked very similar to her own before she started to decorate it. Even the trunk with her personal belongings had not been fully unpacked yet. It was as if Daphne was refusing to make this room her own. Susan felt this way not too long ago, but now she had begun decorating her own room as she saw fit. Harry told her that it was her own space. Daphne should feel the same way too, and it saddened her to see it so empty.

“I brought some pastries. Made them just this morning,” she said with the best smile she could muster. Daphne did not return it, but her expression did warm just a little.

“I’m sure they are delicious.” 

Susan quickly loaded up two small plates and placed them on the small table near the window. She sat on one of the chairs and waited for Daphne to do the same. Thankfully, she did just that and, much to her joy, began eating along with her. 

“Do you remember the times we looked around empty classrooms to eat? Just the two of us?” asked Susan after pouring some tea.

Daphne took a sip of the coffee and closed her eyes. “We did a lot more than just eat, if I recall correctly.”

Susan let out a giggle. Before, she would have gone red with just the mention of those passionate moments. After spending several weeks in Potter Manor, what she did with Daphne seemed almost normal. But it did not make those moments any less sweet, even with Daphne’s more extreme predilections for pain and humiliation. 

Yet, even when looking back at those fond memories with rose-tinted glasses, Susan could tell there was something missing from their relationship. Daphne wanted her to act in a dominant and aggressive way that went against Susan’s very being. She herself wanted something similar, that Harry and Fleur now provided… and hopefully, that same missing piece could be provided for Daphne as well.

Knowing about Harry’s true nature had been a revelation, but after the shock had worn off, she couldn’t help but think just how well he would match with Daphne’s. She had seen with her own two eyes how Harry had taken Fleur on his knee and spanked her bottom until it was the same shade as Susan’s hair. There was no doubt in her mind that Harry could do the same thing to Daphne if they just communicated better. She almost wanted to scream at both of them so they could see just how much they could make each other happy.

But Susan could never tell. Just like she could not betray Daphne’s secrets and desires, she could not betray Harry’s either.

She would have to wait and hope for the best.

“I miss you, Daphne,” she whispered as they both finished their treats. “I know that Fleur came to apologize and I know that you’re angry. But this… this accomplishes nothing, and I can’t bear to see you locked up like this. Harry is worried too.”

Daphne took a small breath. “It’s how it was always going to be. A political marriage, nothing more. Potter does not need to worry on my behalf. I understand my duty and I will see it done.”

Susan shook her head and grabbed Daphne’s hand. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Daphne! We can all talk, trust me. There’s so many things about Harry that you don’t know about… and many things he doesn’t know about you…”

“Like what?” 

Susan bit her tongue to prevent it from saying anything. She had never cursed her Hufflepuff loyalty as much as she did now. 

“I can’t say, Daphne… just trust me on this. Please?” Her fingers squeezed Daphne’s hand, looking at her with the most sincere, desperate look. “Remember all those things we talked about? The fears of our marriage? The love we would never have? It doesn’t have to be that way! Trust me in this, Daphne. You know how much you mean to me…”

When Daphne did not snatch her fingers back, Susan knew she had a chance, even if just a small one. She looked into those enchanting violet eyes as their faces drew nearer. Without a moment to hesitate, Susan went forward and daringly captured her lover’s lips. 

Susan had gotten quite a bit experienced at kissing now. From Harry’s domineering tongue to Fleur’s passionate one, and even Luna’s excited ways. But nobody could kiss like Daphne. Those calculated movements of her lips and tongue that nonetheless carried a love hidden under the layers. She kept her eyes closed, only stopping her kisses for gasping breaths. She already knew her way around Daphne’s body, and vice-versa. There was no shame or fear to be felt anymore as she felt her dress being pulled down. There was no need to be afraid of their passions in Potter Manor.

“What is that?” came the sudden question, Daphne’s tone sharper than she had ever heard.

Susan opened her eyes then to see Daphne’s face once again set in stone. Confused, she looked at the nearby mirror to catch a glimpse of whatever made Daphne stop. She found it on her neck.

A small hickey.

“He’s been having you, hasn’t he?” demanded Daphne, all warmth gone from her voice. “Is that why he sent you here? To find a way to seduce me into his bed? Just another conquest to his collection? Another trophy to brag about? A French Veela, a rambling lunatic, the last of the Bones, and Cygnus Greengrass' daughter?”

“Daphne… it’s not like that. Plea–”

“Out!” she snapped, violet eyes turning cold. “Out!”

“No… you don’t understand. Please listen to me, my love.”

Daphne’s face turned to fury. “Out, I said!” 

There was nothing Susan could do but turn around. She could not bear to see the first person she had been so intimate with look at her with such anger. Before she closed the door behind her, Susan tried to look one last time only to have the door slammed in her face. The emotional dam broke then, and Susan collapsed on the floor, unable to control her cries for what seemed like a sorrowful eternity. 

That night she tried to knock on Daphne’s door; there was no answer.

Three days. 

It had been three days since Daphne had screamed at Susan. Three days since she had shut herself completely, without a word to say to anyone. The days seemed to pass eternally, doing nothing but staring at the trees and fields outside her window, or looking at her own reflection, waiting to spot any little detail she didn’t like. It was a long process – there was always one uneven hair, an unplucked eyebrow, an uncurled eyelash. So she spent every moment trying to fix it, ignoring her grumbling stomach and darkened eyes, until the only thing she could see was the perfect Daphne Greengrass.

The impeccable pureblood heiress.

When she was sure there were no imperfections to be seen, she took one good look at herself, grabbed the poker next to the fireplace, and smashed the reflection into a hundred shards.

She broke her mirror every night… but she repaired it the next day. Daphne Greengrass would always stare back. 

It didn’t mean that the knocks had stopped, nor the voices. Harry’s increasingly worried voice, and Susan’s weeping followed each strike at her door. Daphne did not answer any of them. She continued to brush and paint, with nobody to see her, nobody to judge her. It was only on the fourth day, when she finished smashing the perfect Daphne Greengrass for one more night, that she broke her routine when she found that she had run out of Delacour’s underwear.

Daphne grit her teeth. This would not have been an issue if the whore hadn’t burned her suitcases. What was done was done, unfortunately. Right now, she needed more clothes. She could clean the ones she had… but she quickly realized that laundry was not one of the skills that had been taught to her. She did not wish to ask it from Susan either.

Well… if Delacour had been gracious enough to give some of her clothes, there was no reason she couldn’t give up more.

Opening the door to her room for the first time in days, Daphne blinked her amethyst eyes at the bright lights that illuminated the hallway during the night. There was nobody in sight, so she continued on her way to Delacour’s room.

Whether it was exhaustion or hunger that fueled her carelessness, Daphne did not care. She did not bother to knock on the door before opening it completely, and as soon as she did, her ears were met with moans and sucking sounds. Her eyes did not have to wander much before she found the source.

Delacour was sitting on the ornate chair next to a table.The rubbery red dress she had chosen this time was blatantly transparent, so much that the clearly excited nipples could be seen with just a bit of light. The reason for that excitement was on the floor in front of her.

While the French whore was wearing something scandalous, at least she had something to vaguely cover her body. Lovegood was once again wearing only the bizarre arrangement of black straps that did not even cover her breasts. She was lying on her back, her hands cradling one of Delacour’s feet as she suckled on the toes while the other foot was slowly kneading Lovegood’s breasts, pinching her nipples. Even as Delacour turned her eyes towards Daphne, the blonde Ravenclaw took one brief glance before returning to her task.

Daphne turned her gaze to other parts of the room, though hopefully not too quickly as to show her surprise at the sight. The Veela had clearly busied herself the past few weeks by decorating her room. She even had the gall to grace the room with several French flags.

“Bonsoir. Eet is good to see you come out of zat room. Zough… I do believe eet is proper to knock before you come in. At least zat is ‘ow we are taught in France.” Delacour’s initial shock was replaced by that insufferable teasing smirk.

Daphne just looked at her silently, trying her best to show disapproval and disgust with just her eyes. At the same time, she was worried that the anger inside would betray her stoic composure. Perverted clothes, debauched practices, and between two women no less. Once again, Delacour seemed unburdened by the need to keep appearances and the dignity of her future title.

With a grit of her teeth, Daphne finally recognized the emotion overwhelming her.

Envy.

“I am in need of more clothes,” she stated simply and turned her eyes towards the closet.

She could hear the light rustling of Delacour’s noisy dress behind her but there was no more movement. It only made her more wary of what she would find.

Daphne almost snorted at the simple locking spell Delacour had cast on the closet’s door, easily undone with a wordless wave of her wand. Really, it was only there to warn about privacy, not to truly keep someone out.

The first thing Daphne was struck by was the truly enormous collection of shoes. By Morgana, they were numerous, most of them sporting at least a small heel, and some reaching over six inches. None of them were similar to the dress shoes that were standard in Hogwarts, or the flat slippers commonly worn on the streets of Hogsmeade. All of them were flashy, meant to draw the eye instead of blend with the crowd.

But her eyes were soon drawn to the clothes themselves.

Every single garment in front of her was made out of latex. From simple sundresses to provocative nightgowns and even casual blouses, and those were just the most passable pieces of clothing. She caught sight of an almost grotesquely perverted parody of a maid’s outfit, with a skirt so small it could barely cover the wearer’s privates. Her eyes surveyed around the closet trying to find something that could be considered normal, to no success. It’s almost like this was normal to Delacour.

The moment she tried to rummage around the racks, Daphne’s fingers came into contact with the texture of the garments. Her brain tried to register the odd, unnaturally smooth and slippery feel. How could someone stand to wear something like this? What did it feel like? How tightly would it feel around her body? How could she even put it on?

Daphne snapped her fingers back. What was she thinking?

Trying her best to put her mind somewhere else, Daphne tried to look inside the drawers, hoping that at least there Delacour had something else.

Alas… no.

The drawers were filled with mostly undergarments, stockings, and socks… made out of that shiny, rubber material as well. Rack after rack, drawer after drawer revealed nothing aside from differently colored pieces of latex clothing, each more perverted than the last. Some of them were so blatantly transparent that they lost all purpose as clothing. She finally gave up, red faced and furious, when she pulled out a piece of lingerie that was designed to not cover the vaginal area.

What horrified her was that she hesitated for just one second to put them back. 

Daphne stepped out of the room, trying to not let what she had seen distort her face. But even when she tried her best to keep her appearance, the first thing she saw upon emerging from the closet was Delacour’s damned, knowing smirk.

“I do ‘ope you found somezing to your liking.”

Setting her eyes to be as condescending as possible, retorted. “Oh… do forgive me. The way I was raised, we were told that what we wore reflected on our person. If that is truly the case, then I believe your clothing is…” she gave a brief pause, “... apt for your character.”

If Delacour was insulted, she did not show it. In fact, the smirk turned into a bright smile. She ran a finger through her shiny dress, the rubber material making sounds that stiffened Daphne’s spine. “I agree wiz you. Zis truly reflects who I am – daring, beautiful, stunning, radiant –”

“Shameful!” Daphne snapped, her voice like a whip. For a second time, all of the composure she’d been trained to maintain was gone. “I had believed that you of all people would use the opportunity of being married to the most prestigious family in Britain to elevate your kind. At the very least, to disprove what is said about Veela… but instead, you don’t even bother to be a proper lady of House Potter.”

There was no stopping herself now. No dam could contain the feelings that were pouring out of her mouth. “I see no attempt to hide your baser desires. Do you feel no need for it? Have you ever thought about how the world would be if we all surrendered to our instincts and indulged in nothing but shameful actions? Why is it that you get the right to be unburdened by duty while the rest of us are bound by it?”

By this point she hoped for a bit of shame. Instead, Delacour’s grin widened even more. “My… I zink all of zis says more about you zen about me, Greengrass.” She waved her hand at the seat next to her. “Why don’t you come and sit wiz me, and tell me all about zese ‘shameful actions’. I’ll go find somezing appropriate for you… my petite lune will keep you company. I’m sure she will give a delightful experience, princesse.”

Daphne felt something hot in her face when she pictured doing just that. Wearing one of the depraved dresses Delacour had in her closet as if there was nothing wrong about doing it so publicly. Finally, her eyes turned to the floor, where Lovegood stopped kissing the ball of Delacour’s foot for long enough to send a smile her way. Daphne had to bite her own tongue to break whatever spell had fallen over her, because for a moment, she was no longer even picturing the already shameful scene of her wearing a latex dress.

Instead, she pictured herself in Lovegood’s place.

‘Stop this! There is no place for you. You are Daphne Greengrass.’

She looked straight into Lovegood’s eyes.

“It’s good that you were taught how to clean… but did your mother not show that you need to clean with your wand instead of your tongue.” The entire room went still, with the two girls staring at her. It was not enough. “Oh… I guess she could not.”

And there it was. Delacour’s blue eyes went from ice to fire in a single moment, while Lovegood finally dropped that irritating dreamy smile and her lips began to tremble. When she saw the twin silver eyes widen and get misty, Daphne turned away and walked firmly out of the room. 

She could already hear the sobs before she loudly slammed the door behind her.

Harry heard the thunderous slam even in his study. He set down the old letters back in the pile and went upstairs, quickening his pace as he began to hear increasingly loud gasps and sobs from a room that he quickly identified as Fleur’s.

Too worried to knock as he opened the door, Harry was soon met with the sight of Fleur, her arms tightly holding Luna’s shuddering body close to her chest as the Ravenclaw audibly cried in a way that Harry had never seen before. 

“What happened?” he asked just as Susan came behind him and immediately went to Luna’s side. Always the kind and loyal Hufflepuff.

Fleur’s eyes met his own, like twin pools of blue fire. “Zat putain! Look at what she ‘as done!”

Susan looked towards Fleur, then to Harry, and to Fleur again, her comforting arms never leaving Luna. “Wh-What did she do?”

“She came ‘ere while I was wiz Luna, not bothering to knock on ze door. She tried to take more of my clozes and when none were to ‘er liking, she insulted Luna… and brought up her maman.”

Harry clenched his jaw. He knew that the Daphne situation was not going swimmingly, but he didn’t think that the problem was getting this big. Even Susan gasped at Fleur’s words, her gray eyes seeming to lose themselves into nothing. This was what he feared would happen since before Daphne came to the Manor, but it was even worse. He didn’t expect Daphne to be so hurtful, so cruel towards somebody like Luna. He thought of ways that things could’ve gone better, if the choices he made would’ve been different.

But it was useless. There was no use in losing himself in what could have been. There was only what is, and what needed to be.

“Where are you going?” Susan asked, turning her attention towards Harry as he began to leave the room, but still holding Luna close to her, her hands rubbing the blonde’s back slowly. She too was starting to shed tears. Daphne had managed to hurt her, too, even if she wasn’t present.

Harry turned to her. “I’m going to see her.”

Susan gently untangled herself from Luna and let Fleur comfort her again. Standing up quickly, she sprinted towards his side and grabbed his arm tightly.

“Sir… Harry… please don’t be mad at her!”

Harry let Susan grip him tightly and rest her head against his chest  as she cried. He wanted so badly to hug her and go back to Luna and Fleur. That would be what Harry Potter wanted. Lord Potter needed to bring order to his Manor.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” he said calmly, his other arm waving towards Fleur and Luna. “How can you look at that and expect me to do nothing?”

Susan turned her face to look at him, seemingly lost for words. “I’m not asking you to do nothing, Harry. Just… don’t hurt her. She’s hurting too, even if she doesn’t say it. She… I can’t say everything… but she’s not doing this out of cruelty. Daphne is afraid. She… she thinks she won’t ever be loved. Loved for who she truly is.”

“What is it she fears so much?”

“I-I… I can’t say. Sorry… I can’t betray her trust like that.”

Harry let Susan stay like that for a few minutes until he finally let go of her. “I won’t hurt her,” he promised. “But I can’t let this go on. You understand that, don’t you?”

Susan’s bit her trembling lip as she gave a shaky nod before slowly turning back towards Luna and Fleur. Harry turned the other way too, out of the room and into the hallway. He had a single destination and despite his heavy heart, no doubts about what he needed to do.

It was time for Lord Potter to put his house in order.

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Until next time!

The Metal Sage