Beyond The Rules: Chapter 37

Note: All characters involved in this fic are above the age of consent.

The five Snatchers stumbled through the dark streets of Hogsmeade, their heads still fuzzy from the combination of firewhisky and whatever the hell had happened at the pub. The cold air bit at their faces, but none of them seemed to notice, too focused on trying to piece together fragments of memory that didn't quite fit together anymore.

The village looked different somehow, as if they were seeing it through a distorted lens. Buildings they should have recognized seemed foreign and threatening. Streets they'd walked dozens of times felt like alien territory. Even the smell of the place – wood smoke and snow and the faint aroma of butterbeer from the various pubs – seemed wrong, ominous rather than familiar.

Harry had selectively manipulated their memories, ensuring they remembered what he wanted them to know and keeping the rest of the knowledge far away from their grasp.

"Where we supposed to meet them again?" the wiry one asked, scratching his patchy beard with dirty fingernails. His name was Scabior – a very distant relative of the more regarded Gornuk Scabior who served the Death Eaters directly – though none of his companions remembered that anymore. In fact, he couldn't quite remember it himself, the name floating just beyond his grasp like a word on the tip of his tongue.

"Some inn," the stocky witch replied, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Her family name had been Snyde, and she'd been a competent enough witch before Harry's modifications to her memory. Now she felt constantly confused, as if she were trying to remember a dream that kept slipping away. "The Hog's Head, innit?"

"Nah, that don't sound right," the crooked-nose man said, stumbling over a loose cobblestone and nearly falling face-first into the snow. He'd been called Grimshaw, after his father who'd died in Azkaban years ago, but that identity was gone now, lost in the maze of Harry's mental manipulation. "Was it the Three Broomsticks?"

"We just came from there, you daft git," the greasy-haired witch snapped, though she wasn't entirely sure that was true. Everything about the evening felt hazy and disconnected, like trying to remember something that had happened to someone else. Her name was Malrow, and she'd once been proud of her pureblood heritage, but now she couldn't quite remember why that had seemed important.

"Did we?" Scabior looked confused, his scarred face scrunching up as he tried to focus. "I don't remember..."

The fifth member of their group, a small, rat-like man with nervous eyes, hadn't spoken much all evening. His name was Albert Nott – distant cousin to the Theodore Nott who went to school with Potter – but he felt like that name belonged to someone else now. All he knew for certain was that he was supposed to follow the others and do what they said, though he couldn't remember why.

They wandered in circles for nearly an hour, their modified memories making it impossible to recall their original meeting point or recognize familiar landmarks. The village that should have been as familiar as their own homes now felt like enemy territory. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every sound suggested approaching danger. Their paranoia fed on itself, growing stronger with each passing minute.

"This is all wrong," Snyde muttered, her hand moving instinctively to her wand. "Someone's watching us. I can feel it."

"Course they're watching," Malrow replied, her eyes darting nervously from building to building. "We're in enemy territory now. Should've never come to this bloody fucken’ village."

"Enemy territory?" Scabior looked puzzled. "But we've been here loads of times..."

"Have we?" Grimshaw challenged. "I don't remember being here before. Don't remember any of this."

The confusion was maddening, like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. They'd approach a building that seemed familiar, only to have the recognition slip away like water through their fingers. They'd start down a street they thought they knew, only to find themselves completely lost.

Harry's memory modifications were surgical in their precision. He'd left their basic personalities intact, along with their magical abilities and their general sense of purpose. But he'd severed the connections that would have allowed them to function effectively as a team. They couldn't remember their handlers, couldn't recognize their allies, and couldn't even trust their own recollections of recent events.

Finally, they spotted a figure in dark robes standing near the edge of the village, just beyond the glow of the streetlamps. The man was tall and thin, with sharp features and cold eyes that reflected the moonlight. His posture screamed that he was someone accustomed to command, and there was something about the way he carried himself that hinted at the authority and power he wielded.

He looked like someone who might give them orders. Someone who belonged to their world of destruction and violence.

"Oi!" Scabior called out, staggering toward the figure with a raised arm. "You our contact?"

The man turned, his expression puzzled beneath the hood of his dark cloak. Amycus Carrow, one of the Death Eaters they were supposed to meet, had been waiting, but the moment the snatchers got closer, they felt a sudden spark shoot through them.

Harry's memory modifications prevented them from recognizing him. Instead, their twisted perceptions painted him as a threat, an enemy agent trying to infiltrate their operation.

"Contact? I don't know what you're talking about," Carrow said sarcastically with a sneer. He'd been waiting for over an hour for these idiots to show up, and his patience was wearing thin.

What was intended as a sarcastic remark backfired spectacularly. Harry’s magic was at work brilliantly, turning allies into foes. This man fit the description of an enemy agent – dark robes, pale skin, cruel eyes, and the way he carried himself screamed he thought himself superior. The fact that he was denying any knowledge of their mission only confirmed their suspicions, even though unintended.

They surrounded him slowly, their hands moving to their wands discreetly. Despite their confusion, they were still dangerous wizards with years of experience in violence and intimidation.

"Don't play dumb with us," Snyde snarled, her wand halfway out of its holster. "We know who you are. Ministry spy, aren't you? Or maybe Auror."

"I think you've made a mistake," Carrow said, taking a step back as he recognized the signs of impending violence. His own hand moved toward his wand, but he was reluctant to attack what he believed were his own allies. "I've been waiting for—"

"Mistake?" Grimshaw laughed harshly, the sound echoing off the nearby buildings. "The only mistake here is you thinking you can dick us about. We know who you are."

Carrow's eyes widened as he realized these weren't just confused allies, but genuinely hostile enemies. Alas, the recognition came too late. Scabior was faster than he looked, his bludgeoning spell catching Carrow in the chest before the Death Eater could fully draw his wand. Carrow collided violently with the side of a building and crumpled to the ground in a heap, his eyes rolling back in their sockets and his wand clattering across the cobblestones.

"Right then," Scabior said, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. "Let's get some answers out of this bastard."

What followed was a mess of confused interrogation and increasingly violent questioning. The Snatchers were convinced Carrow was an enemy agent, and their modified memories made them interpret his confusion and denials as attempts to deceive them. They took turns jolting him awake and demanding information he couldn't provide, their frustration growing with each unsuccessful attempt to break him.

"Where's the list of targets?" Malrow screamed, her wand pointed at his bloodied face. Carrow had been unconscious for nearly ten minutes, and when they'd revived him, he'd been groggy and incoherent.

"I don't know what list!" Carrow gasped, blood trickling from his nose where Grimshaw had hit him with a particularly vicious stunner. His vision was blurry, and he couldn't understand why his own allies were attacking him.

"Liar!"

She hit him with a nasty hex that left angry red welts across his cheek, the magic sizzling as it burned into his skin. "We know you've got the names. The Ministry contacts, the safe houses, all of it!"

Carrow tried to explain who he was, tried to make them understand that they were on the same side, but his words only seemed to enrage them further. In their twisted minds, his protests were proof of his guilt. The more he denied being a Ministry agent, the more convinced they became that he was lying.

The interrogation might have continued indefinitely, but they were interrupted by the arrival of three more figures in dark robes. Alecto Carrow, Amycus's sister, along with two junior members of their little Death Eater cell had been sent to investigate why the meeting point had been abandoned.

Alecto’s eyes narrowed at the sight that greeted her, but the moment her eyes fell on her bloodied and battered brother, her eyes widened.

"Amycus!?" Alecto called out with a gasp, her voice filled with concern. She looked around at the men and women around her brother and snarled, "What the fuck is going on here?"

The Snatchers turned at the sound, and their modified memories kicked in again with devastating effect. These newcomers looked like enemies – dark robes, threatening postures, and wands already half-drawn. The fact that they wore the same uniform as their usual handlers meant nothing to their scrambled minds. Harry's modifications had severed those recognition patterns, leaving only paranoia and aggression.

"More of them!" Snyde shrieked, her voice cracking with panic. "They found us! It's a trap!"

"Kill them all!" Scabior shouted, raising his wand with nothing but murderous intent.

It wasn’t a long battle that followed the shout, but it was violent all the same. Death Eaters and Snatchers were known for their violence and cruelty, and they did not give a fuck about their surroundings or collateral damage.

The quiet street on the outskirts of the village lit up with flashes of colored light as spells flew in all directions. The Death Eaters were caught completely off guard by the unprovoked attack, but they regained their bearings and fought back with lethal force born of years of training and battlefield experience.

Curses flew in all directions, lighting up the night with flashes of green and red and sickly yellow. The sounds echoing were dark and foreboding – the crack of splintering stone as missed curses hit buildings, the hiss and whine of dark magic cutting through the air, and the screams and shouts of allies turned enemies locked in mortal combat.

As cruel and vindictive as the Snatchers were, they soon found they were outmatched by actual Death Eaters. Even then, they managed to give back as fiercely as they could.

Grimshaw was the first to fall, taking a Killing Curse to the chest that dropped him like a stone. His body hit the cobblestones with a wet thud, steam rising from his corpse in the cold air. Malrow managed to get off a Blasting Curse that took out one of the junior Death Eaters that had arrived with Alecto Carrow, the explosion tearing through his torso and painting the nearby wall with blood and bone fragments.

Her celebration was short-lived, however, as she caught a Bone-Breaking Curse in return, the spell hitting her legs and shattering both femurs simultaneously. She collapsed screaming, her voice echoing off the buildings as she writhed in agony on the frozen ground.

Scabior and Snyde fought back-to-back, their desperation making them dangerous despite their confusion. They managed to kill the other Death Eater with a combination of curses, Scabior's Cutting Curse opening his throat while Snyde's Blasting Hex finished the job.

That left only Alecto Carrow, but the woman was too skilled, too experienced for their panicked attacks.

She picked them off methodically, using the buildings for cover while she wore them down with precisely aimed hexes. Scabior took a Piercing Curse through the shoulder that spun him around and sent him stumbling into Snyde. She tried to shield him, but Alecto's follow-up curse caught them both, a vicious bit of dark magic that boiled their blood in their veins.

The mousy one – Nott – had tried to stay out of the main fight, but there was nowhere to run. When Alecto finally turned her attention to him, he was huddled behind an overturned cart, shaking with terror and confusion. His modified memories told him he was surrounded by enemies, but he couldn't remember why he was fighting or what he was supposed to accomplish.

"Please," he whimpered as Alecto approached, her wand steady in her hand. "I don't understand what's happening. I don't remember..."

"You hurt my brother," Alecto said coldly, looking down at Amycus's still form. The Death Eater was breathing but unconscious, his face a mask of blood and bruises. "You tortured him. You were going to kill him."

"I don't remember," Nott repeated, his voice breaking. "I can't remember anything. What did you do to us?"

Alecto stared at him for a moment, something flickering in her eyes that might have been suspicion. There was something wrong here, something that didn't add up. Snatchers didn't attack Death Eaters, no matter what the reason might be, and they certainly didn't torture their handlers for whatever reason there was.

A part of her wondered if there was truly something nefarious behind the scenes, perhaps the involvement of a third party who had manipulated these events for personal gain.

However, every rational thought evaporated from her mind the moment she looked at her brother's battered form. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of him, and at the bodies of her dead comrades, or what remained of them after the brutal attack. Whatever rationality she might have felt died a quick death.

"I don't care what happened to you," she hissed, raising her wand. "You made your choice when you decided to betray us."

The Killing Curse ended the conversation with finality, Nott dropping with a thud, his lifeless eyes staring up at her.

Alecto stood among the bodies for a moment, breathing heavily, before she cast her gaze around at the carnage. Five Snatchers dead, two of her fellow Death Eaters dead, and her brother badly injured. The street looked like a battlefield, covered in blood and debris and the lingering traces of dark magic.

This was going to be a nightmare to explain to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord didn't tolerate failure or incompetence, and losing an entire cell of operatives to what appeared to be friendly fire would be seen as both. She needed to get Amycus to a Healer and figure out some way to spin this disaster into something less catastrophic.

With a sigh, she levitated her brother's unconscious form, holding him to herself, and disapparated, the crack of her departure echoing into the silent night.

Let the Ministry deal with the rest of the mess. With any luck, they'd assume it was just a case of criminals turning on each other.

XXXXX

The next morning brought a flurry of activity to Hogsmeade that hadn't been seen since the last major Death Eater raid during the war. Ministry officials swarmed the village like ants, questioning witnesses, examining the scene of the battle, and trying to piece together what had happened during the night. The official story that was beginning to emerge was that a group of rogue Snatchers had attacked Death Eaters, with the reasons of the conflict unknown, which had resulted in multiple casualties on both sides.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, senior auror in the Ministry and a key member of Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix, stood in the middle of the carnage, shaking his head at the waste of it all. The street looked like a war zone, with scorch marks on the buildings, blood staining the cobblestones, and the lingering smell of dark magic hanging in the cold morning air. Five Snatchers and two Death Eaters were dead, and no one knew what triggered the assault.

"Any witnesses?" Kingsley asked one of his subordinates, a young witch named Hestia Jones who'd only been with the Auror Office for six months. She looked pale and shaken by the level of violence they were investigating.

"A few people heard the fighting, but no one saw how it started," she replied, consulting her notes with shaking hands. "The inn across the street reported hearing shouting and accusations, but they couldn't make out specific words. By the time anyone looked outside, curses were already flying."

Kingsley knelt beside one of the Snatcher corpses, examining the wounds carefully. After decades of working with crime scenes as an Auror, he had developed a practiced eye for deduction, and this translated into identifying which spells were used to inflict damage without the need of a magical scan.

The man had taken a Killing Curse at close range, the magic leaving distinctive burn marks around the entry wound. "This one died clean. Professional work."

"Death Eaters don't usually have trouble with Snatchers," Hestia observed, her voice tight with confusion. "They're supposed to be on the same side. What could have set this off?"

"Who knows?" Kingsley stood up, brushing the soil off his knees and trying to piece together a timeline. "These days, half the Dark Lord's followers are barely controlled psychopaths. Probably just a matter of time before they started turning on each other."

He didn't notice the small, satisfied smile that crossed his face as he said it. Kingsley had fought in the war roughly two decades ago, and had been involved with the new conflict since the beginning. This felt like a victory, however, small, and although he knew Dumbledore would not approve of it, he found no fault in taking whatever victories he could find. Rationally speaking, he wasn't about to look too closely at a gift like this. Dead Death Eaters and dead Snatchers meant fewer threats to innocent people, regardless of how they'd ended up that way.

"Sir?" Hestia was pointing at something near the edge of the battle site. "There's something odd about the positioning here."

Kingsley followed her gaze and frowned. There was a patch of blood against the broken wall of a wooden building, and several footsteps were arranged in a rough semicircle near it. Five, matching the Snatchers that had been killed.

“It looks as if the Snatchers had surrounded someone before the fighting started,” she muttered.

"Looks like they cursed someone," Kingsley said, crouching down to examine the disturbed ground. "The person hit this wall. The Snatchers then stood here in front of this person, and from the looks of it, they maybe tortured them before the Death Eaters arrived."

"But who? We've accounted for all the casualties."

"Someone who survived the torture and this much blood loss," Kingsley straightened up, his expression grim. "This person’s backup must’ve arrived and then all hell broke loose."

It was a plausible explanation, and it fit with the evidence they'd collected. What it didn't explain was why the Snatchers and the Death Eaters had attacked each other. One could expect stupidity from Snatchers who were considered nothing more than thugs, but it was surprising how experienced dark wizards like Death Eaters had reciprocated in kind. Perhaps they had no choice. After all, wars were chaotic things, and stranger mistakes had been made.

"Clean this up," Kingsley ordered, gesturing to the crime scene. "And put the word out – any Snatchers causing trouble in Hogsmeade will be dealt with harshly. I want this village protected."

"Yes, sir." Hestia began directing the other Aurors in the collection of evidence, grateful to have something concrete to focus on. The scene was disturbing enough without trying to understand the psychology behind it.

As the Aurors went about their work, a few of the local residents gathered to watch from a safe distance. They stood in small clusters, whispering among themselves and pointing at the bloodstains on the cobblestones. Most looked disturbed by the violence, but there was an undercurrent of satisfaction as well. Snatchers were universally hated in communities like this, and seeing them dead was cause for quiet celebration.

Rosmerta stood among them, her arms crossed, watching the body bags being loaded onto Ministry stretchers. She'd opened the Three Broomsticks early to serve tea and breakfast to the investigators, and she could see several Aurors through her front windows, warming themselves by her fire while they wrote their reports.

"Terrible business," Aberforth Dumbledore said to her, his gruff voice carrying easily over the morning air. The proprietor of the Hog's Head looked even more disheveled than usual, his long beard tangled and his robes stained with what might have been goat hair. "Right in our own village."

"Terrible," Rosmerta agreed, though her tone screamed flat-out that she wasn't particularly upset by the outcome. She'd woken that morning feeling more satisfied than she had in months, and the sight of dead Snatchers only added to her good mood. "But at least those bastards won't be bothering anyone anymore."

"True enough," Aberforth replied, his blue eyes sharp despite his unkempt appearance. "Still, makes you wonder what set them off. Snatchers and Death Eaters usually work together, don't they?"

Rosmerta shrugged, looking casual and utterly disinterested. "Maybe they finally realized they were working for monsters. Took them long enough."

"Or maybe someone helped them realize it," Aberforth said quietly, his voice barely audible over the bustle of the investigation. When Rosmerta looked at him sharply, he was watching the Aurors with apparent fascination, but she caught the knowing look in his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," he said, but his tone suggested otherwise. "Just that memory magic can be tricky. Push in the wrong place, and people start forgetting important things. Like who their friends are."

Rosmerta felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter air. "That's a dangerous thing to suggest, Aberforth."

"Is it?" He turned to look at her directly, and she was struck by how much he looked like his more famous brother in that moment. "Seems to me like justice, one way or another. Those Snatchers were planning to hurt people last night. Now they can't hurt anyone ever again."

Before Rosmerta could respond, he shuffled away, disappearing back into the crowd of onlookers. She watched him go, wondering how much he'd seen or guessed about the previous evening's events. Aberforth Dumbledore had a reputation for knowing more than he let on, and his comment about memory magic had been far too specific to be coincidental.

As the Ministry officials finished their work and the crowd began to disperse, Rosmerta caught sight of a familiar figure watching from the shadows near the post office. Harry stood there for just a moment, long enough to catch her eye and nod once before melting back into the alley between buildings.

She smiled to herself, remembering the night before and the feel of his hands on her skin. Whatever Harry had done to those Snatchers, it had worked perfectly. They'd destroyed themselves and taken a few Death Eaters with them, and no one was the wiser except possibly Aberforth, who seemed inclined to keep his suspicions to himself.

"Scary man indeed," she murmured to herself, then turned and walked back to her pub.

The investigation would continue for several more hours, but the basic facts were clear enough. A group of Snatchers had attacked Death Eaters, resulting in casualties on both sides. It was the kind of internal violence that everyone hoped would become increasingly common as Voldemort's followers continued growing more desperate and paranoid.

Rosmerta unlocked the door to the Three Broomsticks and went inside, humming to herself as she prepared for another day of serving customers and listening to gossip. She looked around the pub that felt different now. Her eyes fell on the table those Snatchers had claimed for themselves, before they shifted to where Harry had humiliated them.

Life was definitely getting more interesting.

As she lit the fires and began setting up for the day's business, she found herself thinking about Harry once again and when she might see him next. The war would continue, people would die, and difficult choices would have to be made.

But if Harry happened to stop by for a drink in the coming days or sometime thereafter, well, she'd be ready for him.

The morning sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the bloodstained cobblestones where five Snatchers had met their end. By afternoon, the Ministry had the scene cleaned up and the official reports filed. By evening, it had become just another story of violence in a war that had already claimed too many lives.

XXXXX

“And that’s basically it,” Harry grunted, his fists tightening as he tried to calm his ragged breaths. He felt like he’d just run a 100m sprint in record time.

“You know, you can be rather creative when you put your mind to it,” Amelia, or her lookalike rather, purred, planting another wet kiss on the underside of his cock, her tongue trailing his length.

Harry grunted when she plunged her mouth onto his rod once again, his grip tightening on the edge of the hot tub he had been lounging in.

It was quite early in the evening. Susan and Hannah had gone to visit the Greengrass family to, in Susan’s words, familiarize themselves with their future family, leaving Harry on his own. Having nothing noteworthy to do, he had decided to take a long, hot soak in the tub he and the two badgers had first played in. It had only been a few minutes when he’d been treated to the alluring sight of a naked Amelia, or Nym, as he had gathered instantly, sauntering inside and promptly joining him.

Nym’s friend, Hestia, had joined the aurors in the investigation of the attack that had taken place in Hogsmeade the previous night, and she had told Nym everything about it. Harry had taken an odd sort of thrill as he listened to Nym telling him in absolute detail what had transpired, and when he told her it had been him behind the Snatchers and the Death Eaters going for each other’s throats, well… the result was apparent for him to see.

Nym was enthusiastic as usual, but there was something that overtook her whenever she assumed the form of her strict, yet hot boss. Harry believed it was Nym’s fantasy of what her boss would be like, naked and pleasuring her man, that she always exhibited whenever she changed her looks. For Harry, it was both amusing and arousing, and he could not deny that as much as he loved the treat Nym gave him, he was itching to try the original. After all, no matter how good the flavor tasted, nothing beat the actual fruit.

Harry let out a small hiss when he felt Nym’s nails scrape his balls, his eyes falling on her bobbing crimson head as she deepthroated him. He didn’t know if he was imagining it, but her metamorph skills were getting more and more refined. The way her throat enveloped his length, the walls hugging his cock so intimately that it felt like he was being caressed every single time she plunged back onto it… nothing could beat the sensation.

‘Perhaps a veela could.’

Harry closed his eyes, absently shaking his head at Maria’s passing comment. She had been nudging him since the afternoon about it.

He had received another letter from Fleur, telling him that she was looking forward to catching up with him soon. The idea of going after her had already been there, but now that Fleur was almost here, Maria had taken to urge him on.

Harry silently acknowledged her just as Nym pulled off his cock, wiping the saliva off her lips. He watched as she turned around and grabbed the edge of the tub, looking at him over her shoulder with that saucy grin that looked so foreign on Amelia’s face but no less enticing.

“Now, Mr. Potter, I need a big, hard cock in my pussy. The work of the department head is tiring and I need some real nice stress relief, you see. Think you can help me out?”

Harry’s eyes darkened at Nym’s words. His cock twitched, still slick from her mouth, and he stepped closer, the water sloshing around his thighs. “Department head, huh?” he said, voice low and rough. “Sounds like you need more than just stress relief, Madam Bones. You need to be fucked senseless.”

Nym’s grin widened, her eyes glinting with mischief as she arched her back, presenting her ass to him. Her skin shimmered in the dim light, the curve of her hips begging for his hands. “Big talk, Potter,” she purred, her voice dripping with challenge.

He gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, and lined himself up with her entrance. She was already wet, her pussy glistening as he pressed the tip of his cock against her. He didn’t ease in gently—he thrust hard, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful slam.

Nym gasped, her nails scratching at the tub’s edge, and her body trembling as he filled her completely.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, his hands tightening on her hips. Her pussy clenched around him, hot and tight, pulling him deeper with every pulse. He pulled back slowly, watching his cock slide out, slick with her arousal, before slamming back in. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the bathroom, mingling with her filthy moans.

“Harder,” she demanded, her voice that was so much like the woman who she resembled breaking as she pushed back against him. Her crimson hair spilled over her shoulders, swaying with each thrust.

Harry obliged, his hips snapping forward with raw force, each movement driving him deeper into her. Her pussy gripped him like a vice, the wet heat overwhelming his senses. He reached forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair, and tugged, forcing her head back as he pounded into her.

“You like that?” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Like being fucked like this, Madam Bones?”

“Yes,” the redhead hissed, her body rocking with his rhythm. “Morgana, yes, Harry. Don’t stop.”

Her words spurred him on, and he leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he fucked her harder, the angle letting him hit that spot inside her that made her cry out. Her moans grew louder, unrestrained, filling the room as her body shook beneath him.

Harry’s hand slid from her hair to her throat, his fingers curling lightly around it, not choking but holding her in place as he drove into her. Her breathing hitched, her pussy clenching tighter around him, and he could feel her getting close. The way her walls fluttered, the way her moans turned into desperate gasps—it was driving him wild. He reached around with his other hand, finding her clit, and rubbed it in tight circles, matching the brutal pace of his thrusts.

“Harry!”

Her voice broke as her orgasm hit, her body convulsing under him. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, pulsing so hard it nearly sent him over the edge. He kept thrusting through it, riding out her climax, his fingers still working her clit as she trembled and gasped. Her legs shook, threatening to give out, but Harry held her up, his grip on her throat and hip firm and unyielding.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his own release building fast. He pulled out suddenly, making her whimper at the loss, and spun her around. Her eyes were hazy with pleasure, her lips parted as she panted. He pushed her back against the tub’s edge, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder. Without warning, he thrust back into her, the new angle letting him go even deeper.

Her head fell back, a low moan escaping her as he fucked her with relentless intensity.

“Fuck, Harry, you’re gonna make me come again,” she gasped, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He could feel the sting, but it only fueled him, his hips moving faster and harder, drilling into her furiously. The water splashed around them, the tub creaking under their weight.

Those large breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples hard and begging for attention. Harry leaned down, sucking one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it as he pounded into her.

Her second orgasm hit without warning, her scream echoing off the tiles as her body arched against him. Her pussy squeezed him so tightly he couldn’t hold back anymore. With a guttural groan, Harry buried himself deep inside her, his cock pulsing as he came, spilling into her with hot, heavy spurts.

His vision blurred, the pleasure overwhelming as he rode out his release, his thrusts slowing but still deep, drawing out every last sensation.

They stayed like that for a moment, panting, their bodies pressed together as the water lapped around them. Nym’s leg slid down from his shoulder, and she slumped against him, her head resting on his chest. Harry’s arms wrapped around her, his cock still inside her, softening but not pulling out yet.

“Merlin, Mr. Potter,” Nym murmured, her Amelia-like voice hoarse but playful. “You really know how to relieve stress.” She tilted her head up, her lips brushing against his jaw. “Think you can manage that again sometime soon?”

Harry chuckled, his hand sliding down to squeeze her ass. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll have you bent over this tub again before you can blink.”

Nym smirked, her fingers trailing down his chest. “Promises, promises.”

She shifted, letting him slip out of her, and stood, water dripping down her body. Harry hungrily devoured the vision that she presented as she stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel, and glanced back at him with that same saucy grin.

“You know, with your luck with the ladies, I bet you can have the bosslady bent over in front of you in no time,” she smirked, and Harry merely shook his head as she sauntered out of the room, her hips swaying exaggeratedly.

‘I agree,’ the voice of Maria was accompanied with a giggle, making Harry roll his eyes.

That bitch was way too greedy.

‘I heard that.’

As Maria’s petulant side resurfaced, Harry allowed himself to sink into the hot tub once again.

Fleur’s arrival was imminent, and he was certain things would continue to be interesting.

To be continued…