Beyond The Rules: Chapter 36

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

The pub’s fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the empty tables as the Snatchers left in earnest. Harry leaned back in his chair, his pint half-empty, watching Rosmerta as she moved behind the bar. Her blouse, still damp from the ale, clung to her curves, outlining every generous swell of her bust and the dip of her waist. She caught his gaze and smirked, her hips swaying deliberately as she grabbed a fresh rag to wipe down the counter. The woman was a vixen, no question—every move screamed confidence, like she knew exactly how to keep a man’s eyes glued to her.

“Enjoying the view, are you?” she teased, her voice low and sultry as she leaned forward, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage. The way her wet blouse strained against her chest made it clear she wasn’t wearing much underneath, and Harry’s throat tightened as he imagined what lay beneath the fabric.

“Hard not to,” he shot back, his grin matching hers. “You’re making it real easy to stare, Rosmerta.”

She laughed, that rich, throaty sound that sent a jolt straight to his core. “Good. I’d hate to think I was losing my touch.” She tossed the rag aside and sauntered closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the bar until they brushed his hand. The touch was light but sensual, her nails grazing his skin just enough to send a spark up his arm. “So, hero, what’s the plan now? You sticking around to help me close up, or you got somewhere better to be?”

Harry leaned forward, closing the gap between them until their faces were inches apart. Her alluring scent hit him, lavender mixed with a hint of ale and the faintest trace of burnt fabric from earlier. “Nowhere I’d rather be,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Reckon I owe you for the show earlier. Least I can do is keep you company.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she tilted her head, letting a loose strand of blonde hair fall across her cheek. “Company, eh? I was hoping for a bit more than that, love.” She slid her hand over his, her fingers curling around his wrist, her touch warm and teasing. “You’ve got that look in your eyes again—like you’re up to no good.”

“Me?” He raised a brow, letting his thumb brush over her knuckles. “I’m a perfect gentleman. Unless you’re asking for trouble, that is.”

“Oh, I’m asking,” she purred, leaning in so close her breath tickled his ear. “Question is, can you deliver, or is all that charm just for show?”

Harry chuckled, his free hand sliding to her waist, resting lightly on the curve of her hip. Her skirt hugged her tightly, and he could feel the heat of her sultry body through the fabric. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll find out real quick.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips parted in a wicked grin. “Promises, promises. Come on, then—help me lock up, and we’ll see how much trouble you’re really worth.”

She stepped away, her hips swaying as she moved to the door, flipping the sign to “Closed” and flicking her wand, locking the pub shut with a loud click. Harry watched, his pulse kicking up as she turned back to him, her silhouette framed by the firelight. She was all curves—busty, with hips that flared out in a way that made his hands itch to grab her. She sauntered back to the bar, grabbing a bottle of firewhisky from a shelf and two glasses.

“Fancy a nightcap?” she asked, pouring a generous measure into each glass. “On the house, for the hero of the hour.”

Harry took the glass she offered, their fingers brushing again, and raised it in a mock toast. “To quiet nights and good company.”

She clinked her glass against his, her eyes locked on his as she took a slow sip, her tongue darting out to lick a drop of whisky from her lips. “To trouble,” she countered, her voice a husky whisper. “And whatever comes next.”

They drank, the firewhisky burning a warm trail down Harry’s throat. He set his glass down, stepping closer until he was right in front of her. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Rosmerta.”

“Who says I’m playing?” she shot back, setting her glass down and leaning against the bar counter, her cleavage practically spilling out of her blouse. She reached out, her fingers catching the front of his shirt and tugging him closer. “You’ve been eyeing me up all night, Harry. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, his hands finding her waist again, this time gripping a little firmer. “Hard to look anywhere else when you’re putting on a show like that.”

She laughed softly, her hands sliding up his chest, her nails scraping lightly through his shirt. “Good. I like a man who pays attention.” She tugged him closer still, until their lips were a breath apart, her eyes half-lidded and gleaming with want. “So, what’s it gonna be, handsome? You gonna keep teasing, or you gonna do something about it?”

Harry didn’t need any more invitation. He closed the gap, kissing her hard, his lips crashing against hers with a hunger that had been building all night. She kissed back just as fiercely, her mouth hot and demanding, her tongue sliding against his as she pressed herself closer. Her curves molded against him, her full breasts squashing against his chest, and he groaned into her mouth, his hands tightening on her hips.

“Fuck, you’re something else,” he muttered against her lips, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. Her lipstick was smeared, her cheeks flushed, and she looked like she was ready to devour him whole.

“You’ve got no idea,” she said, her voice low and sultry as she grabbed his hand and pulled him around the bar.

Harry followed, his eyes glued to the sway of her hips as she led him through a narrow doorway behind the bar. The back room was small, cluttered with crates and barrels, a single lantern casting a soft glow over the space. Rosmerta didn’t waste time—she pushed him against a stack of crates, her hands already tugging at his shirt, pulling it free from his trousers.

“Eager, are we?” he teased, his hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through her blouse. The fabric was still damp, clinging to her skin, and he could feel the hard points of her nipples pressing against it.

“You’re one to talk,” she shot back, yanking his shirt open so buttons popped off, scattering across the floor. Her hands roamed his chest, nails scraping over his skin, and she leaned in, kissing him again, all teeth and tongue, her body pressing flush against his. “Been wanting to get my hands on you since you walked in.”

Harry groaned, his hands dropping to her arse, squeezing the full, rounded curves through her tight skirt. “Feeling’s mutual,” he said, nipping at her lower lip. “You’ve been driving me mental all night.”

She smirked, her hands sliding down to his belt, fingers working the buckle with practiced ease. “Good. Let’s see how much crazier I can make you.”

She sank to her knees, her eyes locked on his as she tugged his trousers down, freeing his hardening cock. Harry sucked in a breath, his hands bracing against the crates as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly. Her touch was firm, confident, and she licked her lips, her gaze never leaving his.

“Fuck, Rosmerta,” he groaned, his hips twitching as she leaned in, her breath hot against his skin. She didn’t tease long—just gave him a wicked grin before taking him into her mouth, her lips sliding over him in a slow, sensual suck.

Harry’s head tipped back, a low moan escaping as she worked him, her tongue swirling around the tip before she took him deeper, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. She was good—too good, her lips and tongue moving with a skill that had his knees weak. Her free hand gripped his thigh, nails digging in just enough to sting, and he tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her rhythm.

“Merlin, you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his voice rough as she hummed around him, the vibration sending a jolt through his entire body.

She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing his tip as she grinned up at him. “Not yet, love. I’ve got plans for you.” She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and grabbed his shirt again, pulling him toward a low table in the corner. “Your turn.”

Harry didn’t need telling twice. He spun her around, pressing her against the table, his hands already working the buttons of her blouse. The damp fabric peeled away, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contained her full, heavy breasts. He groaned at the sight, his hands cupping her mounds, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the lace. They hardened even more, and she arched into his touch, her breath hitching.

“Like what you see?” she teased, her hands sliding up his arms as he unhooked her bra, tossing it aside. Her breasts spilled free, round and perfect, and Harry didn’t waste time—he leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard as his hand kneaded the other.

Rosmerta moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she pressed herself closer. “Fuck, Harry, that’s good,” she gasped, her voice breaking as he grazed his teeth over her sensitive skin. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his tongue flicking over her nipple until she was squirming against him.

He pulled back, grinning as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her skirt. “This needs to go,” he said, tugging it down her hips. The fabric slid over her curves, revealing lacy knickers that matched her bra. He knelt, kissing his way down her stomach, his hands gripping her thighs as he peeled the knickers off, leaving her bare.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, taking in the sight of her—curvy, flushed, and completely unashamed as she stood there, one hand on her hip, the other reaching for him.

“Enjoying yourself down there?” she asked, her voice dripping with that vixen confidence as she spread her thighs slightly, giving him a better view.

“More than you know,” he said, leaning in to kiss the inside of her thigh, his lips brushing higher until he reached her core. She was already wet, and he groaned as he tasted her, his tongue sliding over her clit in a slow, carnal stroke.

Rosmerta’s head fell back, a loud moan spilling from her lips as she gripped the edge of the table. “Fuck, yes,” she gasped, her hips rocking against his mouth as he licked and sucked, his hands holding her thighs apart. She was responsive, every flick of his tongue drawing a new sound—moans, gasps, and the occasional curse as she tangled her fingers in his hair, urging him on.

He didn’t let up, working her until her legs were trembling, her breaths coming in short, desperate pants. “Harry—fuck, don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice raw as she ground against his face. He sucked harder, sliding a finger inside her, then another, curling them just right until she cried out, her body shaking as she came hard, her walls clenching around his fingers.

He stood, wiping his mouth as she caught her breath, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy with pleasure. “You’re too fucking good at that,” she said, pulling him in for a messy, desperate kiss. Her hands were everywhere—on his chest, his arse, his cock—stroking him back to full hardness as she pressed herself against him.

“Your turn to pick,” she whispered against his lips, her hand squeezing him just enough to make him groan. “How do you want me, hero?”

Harry’s eyes darkened, and he spun her around, bending her over the table. “Like this,” he said, his voice rough as he pressed himself against her, his cock sliding against her slick entrance. Her arse was perfect—round and full, begging to be grabbed—and he did, his hands kneading her flesh as she arched back into him.

“Fuck, yes,” she moaned, bracing her hands on the table, her hips wiggling against him. “Come on, Harry—give it to me.”

He didn’t make her wait. He lined himself up and thrust in, slow at first, savoring the way she stretched around him, hot and tight. She gasped, her fingers gripping the table harder as he filled her, inch by inch, until he was buried deep. “Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, his hands tightening on her hips as he started to move, slow and deep, letting her adjust.

“Harder,” she demanded, pushing back against him, her voice thick with need. “I can take it—give me everything.”

Harry obliged, picking up the pace, his thrusts hard and steady as he drove into her. The table creaked under them, her breasts bouncing with each movement, and she moaned loudly, her head tipping back as she met his rhythm. “Yes—fuck, just like that,” she gasped, her voice breaking as he hit just the right spot.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, one hand sliding around to cup her breast, pinching her nipple as he pounded into her. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and he could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling as she neared another climax.

“Rosmerta,” he groaned, his lips brushing her ear as he thrust harder, his other hand sliding between her legs to rub her clit. “Come for me.”

She did, her body shaking as she cried out, her walls clenching around him so tightly it pushed him over the edge. He thrust deep one last time, groaning as he came, his hands gripping her hips as they rode out the waves together.

They stayed like that for a moment, catching their breath, her body still pressed against the table, his hands resting on her curves. She turned her head, grinning at him over her shoulder. “Well, damn, hero. You weren’t kidding about trouble.”

He laughed, pulling out gently and helping her stand, his hands lingering on her waist. “Told you I’d keep you smiling.”

She turned, kissing him softly, her lips warm and lazy now. “You did more than that. Might have to keep you around for more quiet nights.”

“Count on it,” he said, winking as he grabbed her blouse, handing it back to her. “But next time, you’re buying the firewhisky.”

Rosmerta’s lips curled into a wicked grin as she pulled him in for the kiss, her tongue teasing Harry’s with a boldness that set his pulse racing. She pressed her curves against him, her bare breasts squashing against his chest, still flushed from their earlier round. “Oh, we’re not done, love,” she purred, her voice thick with promise as she nipped his lower lip. Her hands slid down his back, nails scraping just enough to make him hiss, and she grabbed his arse, pulling him closer. “Upstairs. My bed’s comfier than this table.”

Harry didn’t argue. He scooped her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the back room’s door and up a narrow staircase. Her weight felt good in his arms, her hips grinding against him with every step, her laughter low and sultry. “Eager, aren’t you?” she teased, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed his neck, leaving a trail of heat.

They burst into her bedroom—a cozy space with a four-poster bed draped in crimson. Harry tossed her onto the mattress, grinning as she bounced, her large tits jiggling wildly, nipples hard and begging for attention. “Fuck, you’re a sight,” he growled, his cock already stirring as he pounced, pinning her beneath him. Her legs spread instantly, inviting him in, and she arched up, her breasts pressing against his chest.

“Show me what you’ve got, hero,” she taunted, her hands wrapping around his cock, getting him hard again. Harry groaned, kissing her hard as he lined himself up, thrusting into her wet heat in one smooth motion. She moaned loudly, her nails digging into his shoulders as he set a relentless pace, the bed creaking under them. Her tits bounced with every thrust, and he couldn’t resist—he leaned down, sucking one nipple into his mouth, his hand kneading the other.

“Yes—fuck, Harry!” she gasped, her hips meeting his, her body trembling as he planted his knees on the bed and drove deeper, hitting that sweet spot that made her cry out. Her curves jiggled under him, her thighs gripping his waist, urging him on. “Harder, love—make me scream.”

He obliged, pounding into her, and the room filled with the sounds of their bodies slapping together and her moans echoing off the walls. Her hands roamed his back, pulling him closer, her breath hot against his ear. “Don’t stop,” she panted, her voice breaking as she neared the edge again.

Harry felt her tighten around him, her body shuddering as she came, her cries loud and unrestrained. He wasn’t far behind, but as he thrust deeper, chasing his own release, Rosmerta’s grin told him this was far from over. “You’re staying all night, handsome,” she whispered, her legs locking around him, pulling him back in for more.

XXXXX

The fire in Rosmerta's bedroom had burned down to glowing embers, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The air was thick with the smell of sex and arousal as Harry lay stretched out on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped around Rosmerta, gently stroking her bare ass as she curled against his side. Her blonde hair spilled across his chest, and she traced lazy circles on his skin with her fingertip.

"Bloody hell," she murmured, her voice still breathless, the words barely above a whisper. "I’ve never been fucked like this. Five orgasms!? That’s a fucking record."

Harry chuckled as his fingers tangled in her hair. It was softer than he'd expected. "You sure know how to stroke a bloke’s pride."

"Ain’t a lie coming from this wench’s mouth," she said with a pat on his chest, lifting her head to look at him. Her blue eyes were bright in the firelight, pupils still dilated, and there was a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Besides, I've been watching you since you first came to my pub. Always wondered what you'd be like when you grew up proper."

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. "Watching me? Should I be flattered or concerned?"

She laughed. "Flattered, definitely. You were always different from the other students. More serious, more... intense. Even when you were young, you had this way of carrying yourself that made people take notice." Her finger traced along his collarbone. "Plus, you had excellent taste in pubs."

"And?"

She grinned, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, her lips warm against his skin. "Better than I imagined. Much better. Though I have to say, you're also more dangerous than I expected."

"Dangerous how?"

"The way you handled those Snatchers earlier," she said, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "Most wizards would have either run or started throwing curses immediately. You played with them instead. Made them think they had the upper hand before turning it all around." She paused, studying his face. "That takes a special kind of mind."

Harry's expression shifted slightly, something calculating flickering behind his eyes. "Sometimes the best victories are the ones where your enemies defeat themselves."

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the crackling embers and the distant creak of the pub settling. The wind had picked up outside, whistling through the attics and making the old building groan softly. Rosmerta's finger continued its gentle exploration of his chest, tracing the dips and swells of his muscles with equal fascination.

"You've been through quite a lot, haven't you?" she said quietly, her finger pausing over a particularly nasty scar that was on his forearm, right near his elbow.

"Snake," Harry said simply. "A big, fucking snake. Long story."

"I'd like to hear it sometime."

"Maybe," he said, though his tone suggested it wasn't likely. Some stories were too dark to share in moments like this.

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney, and Rosmerta shifted closer to him, enjoying the warmth of his body against hers. She'd had her share of lovers over the years – running a pub in a village like Hogsmeade meant meeting all sorts of interesting people – but there was something different about Harry Potter. Something that made her want to memorize every detail of this moment.

"Can I ask you something?" she said eventually, her voice turning thoughtful.

"Shoot."

"Those Snatchers tonight..." She propped herself up on her elbow, meeting his eyes. The firelight played across her face, highlighting the sharp line of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. "What exactly did you do to them? I mean, besides the obvious humiliation."

Harry's expression shifted slightly, a shadow crossing his features. For a moment, he looked older than his years, worn down by experiences that most people couldn't imagine. "Obliviated them. Made sure they wouldn't remember me being there."

"Just that?"

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on something beyond the ceiling, as if he were weighing how much to tell her. The silence stretched between them, filled with the sound of wind and settling wood and the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the village. Finally, a slow smirk spread across his lips, transforming his face into something that was both boyishly charming and slightly unsettling.

"Well, not quite just that."

Rosmerta raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She'd seen that look before, usually on the faces of customers who were about to tell her a story that would either amuse or horrify her. "Oh? What else did you do, you sneaky sod?"

"Let's just say punishment doesn't always need to be physical," he said, his voice taking on a darker edge that made a shiver run down her spine. "Sometimes the best revenge is letting people destroy themselves."

"Harry Potter," she said, her voice mixing admiration with mild concern. "What did you do?"

His smirk widened, and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the man who would one day terrorize Death Eaters across Britain. "I may have... adjusted their memories a bit. Made them forget not just me, but a few other important details. Like how to tell friend from foe. How to recognize their own handlers. Little things that might cause some confusion down the line."

Rosmerta stared at him for a long moment, processing the implications. She was no expert, but she knew memory magic was notoriously difficult and dangerous, even for trained Healers and Aurors. The fact that Harry could perform such precise modifications while making them seem natural was both impressive and deeply unsettling.

Not that she cared about any of it though, as a few seconds later, she burst out laughing.

"You devious bastard. That's brilliant."

"Thought you might appreciate it," he said, pulling her closer, enjoying the warmth of her skin against his. "They wanted to play rough. I just gave them a different kind of game."

She kissed him again, longer this time, her lips warm and demanding against his. When they broke apart, she was breathing harder. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"You're safe," he murmured against her mouth, his breath warm on her lips. "I like you too much to mess with your head."

"Good," she said, settling back against his chest, her head finding the perfect spot in the hollow of his shoulder. "Because I intend to keep you around for a while."

Harry was about to respond when a distant crash echoed from somewhere in the village, the sound sharp and violent in the quiet night. Then another. And another. Glass breaking, wood splintering, and the unmistakable sound of magical combat beginning to unfold.

"What the hell?" Rosmerta sat up quickly, her hair falling around her shoulders as she strained to listen. The sounds were coming from the direction of the main street, near where the Snatchers had been loitering earlier.

Harry's smirk returned, wider and more satisfied than before. He looked like a cat who had just watched a particularly interesting mouse walk into a trap. "Sounds like the entertainment's just getting started."

"Entertainment?" Rosmerta stared at him, realization dawning in her eyes. "You knew this would happen."

"I had a pretty good idea," Harry admitted, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. "Memory magic is tricky. Push too hard in one direction, and other things start to come loose. Make someone forget how to recognize their allies, and suddenly everyone starts looking like an enemy."

More crashes echoed from outside, followed by the distinctive whine of curses being cast and the sound of someone screaming in pain. Rosmerta moved to the window, pressing her face against the cold glass to peer out into the darkness. She could see flashes of colored light lighting up the night sky, and the shadows of figures moving quickly through the streets.

"How many will die because of what you did?" she asked, though her tone was more curious than accusatory.

Harry joined her at the window, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. His body was warm against her back, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the gentle beats of his heart, and his magnificent cock that found its place in the crack of her ass. Grinning, she wiggled back against him, making him smirk.

"Does it matter? They were going to hurt people either way. At least this way, they're mostly hurting each other."

She leaned back against him, watching the distant battle unfold. "You're a complicated man, Harry Potter."

"What’s going on has made me complicated," he said simply. "I used to think everything was black and white. Good versus evil, right versus wrong. Then I realized that sometimes you have to choose between different kinds of wrong, and hope you can live with the consequences."

A particularly bright flash lit up the sky, followed by an explosion that rattled the windows. Rosmerta could hear shouting now, voices raised in anger and pain and confusion. It sounded like chaos, which was probably exactly what Harry had intended.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked. "The things you've done? The things you’re going to do?"

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his arms tightening around her waist. "I regret that they were necessary," he said finally. "But I don't regret doing them. If I hadn't, a lot more innocent people would be dead. I don’t claim to be a good person, and I’m not going to stop anytime soon."

They stood like that for several minutes, watching the distant battle rage through the village. The sounds of combat echoed off the buildings, creating a strange symphony of violence that seemed oddly fitting for the times they lived in. Eventually, the flashes of light began to fade, and the shouting grew more sporadic.

"Looks like it's winding down," Rosmerta observed, taking a sip from the glass of firewhisky she'd retrieved from the nightstand.

"Probably," Harry agreed, his tone casual despite the chaos outside. "These things tend to sort themselves out pretty quickly once they get going."

"You're remarkably calm about this," she said, studying his reflection in the window glass. His face was relaxed, almost peaceful, as if watching people kill each other in the streets was just another evening's entertainment. "Most people would be worried about what's happening out there."

Harry shrugged, the movement causing his arms to shift around her waist. "I've learned that sometimes the best thing to do is let people create their own problems. Saves me the trouble of having to solve them later."

Rosmerta was quiet for a moment, then she shook her head with a mixture of admiration and unease. The man holding her was capable of incredible tenderness and devastating cruelty, sometimes within the same hour. It should have frightened her more than it did. "You're a scary man, Harry Potter. Remind me to stay on your good side."

"I thought we'd established that already," he said, leaning down to kiss her neck, his lips warm against her skin. The gesture was gentle, almost loving, a stark contrast to the violence playing out in the streets below. "Besides, you're safe. I only get creative with people who deserve it."

"And you think those Snatchers deserved... whatever's happening out there?"

Harry's expression hardened slightly, visible in the window's reflection. "They were perfectly happy to terrorize innocent people. To grab you, insult you, threaten you. They made their choice when they decided that power gave them the right to hurt whoever they wanted." He paused, his voice taking on a colder edge. "If they can't tell friend from foe anymore, well... that's their problem."

The sound of Apparition echoed from outside, the distinctive crack-pop that meant someone was arriving or leaving via magical transport. Then another, and another. Voices followed, shouting orders and demanding answers. Ministry officials, by the sound of it, probably Aurors responding to reports of Dark Arts activity in the village.

Harry finished the last of his firewhisky and leaned back, moving away from the window with nonchalance. "I should probably go," he said, pulling on his shirt and searching for his jacket. "Don't want to complicate things for you."

Rosmerta turned away from the window, watching him dress with obvious appreciation. "Will I see you again?"

"Count on it," he said, pulling her close for one last kiss. His hands were gentle on her face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones as he looked into her eyes. "I've got a feeling this war's going to keep me busy, but I'll make sure to have time for you."

She walked him to the back door, her bare feet silent on the cold wooden floor. The back stairs led down to a small courtyard that connected to several other buildings, providing a discrete way to come and go without being seen from the main street. Harry paused at the top of the stairs, pulling on his jacket and checking that his wand was secure in its holster.

"Thanks for tonight," he said, looking back at her with genuine warmth in his eyes. "All of it."

"Thank you," she replied, pulling her robe tighter around herself against the cold air that drifted up from outside. "For getting rid of those bastards. And for... everything else."

Harry grinned, that boyish charm breaking through the darkness that had been lurking in his eyes all evening. For a moment, he looked like the teenager she remembered from the year before, before the Dark Lord’s return had marked him so deeply. "My pleasure. Both parts."

He started down the stairs, then paused and looked back up at her. "Rosmerta? Be careful for the next few days. Word of what happened tonight is going to spread, and there might be people asking questions. If anyone gives you trouble..."

"I'll send word," she finished, understanding the unspoken offer. "But I can take care of myself, Harry Potter. I've been running this pub for longer than you've been legal to drink."

He laughed, the sound echoing softly in the courtyard. "Fair enough. Just... be careful."

She watched from the doorway as his form disappeared into the shadows between the buildings, moving with the level of stealth that made her feel as if he had spent years avoiding detection. The sounds of the Ministry investigation continued in the distance, but she felt oddly at peace despite the chaos.

Whatever Harry had done to those Snatchers, they'd had it coming. And if it meant fewer scumbags terrorizing her village, she was all for it. The previous war had taught everyone to make difficult choices, and she'd learned to judge people by their results rather than their methods.

She closed the door against the cold and went back to her bedroom, gathering up the empty bottles and straightening the rumpled sheets. The fire had burned down to nothing but glowing coals, but the room still held the warmth of what had transpired there. She could still smell his cologne on the pillows, feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, and the pleasant throbbing between her legs.

As she smiled, she could hear the investigation continuing outside, voices calling out orders and the Aurors taking charge. But that was someone else's problem now. Rosmerta had other things to think about, like when she might see Harry Potter again, and what he’d have in store for her when she did.

To be continued…