Harry Incubus ch.3

"Fourteen miles, damn it," he swore, imagining the run back.

He was about to turn around and head back when he noticed a pair of women in maid uniforms, struggling to load a heavy chest onto the back of a pickup truck. The couple had propped the unwieldy piece of furniture against the side of the truck but couldn't lift it into the vehicle. He was about to offer his help when a third woman, whom he hadn't noticed, called out to him.
"Your lunch is waiting for you, young man, if you're willing to lend us your strong back."

He looked around and found a woman standing in the shadow near the mansion's garage. Dressed in white silk and dripping with more silver and diamonds than he had ever seen in one place, he couldn't see her face in the shadow, but her body under the clothing made his mouth go dry. Something in her voice tickled his brain, and he wondered if he knew her from somewhere.

"Sure!"

The maids breathed a sigh of relief as he approached to help; the couple smiled at him gratefully as he stepped between them. The chest was heavy as sin and awkward, but he easily lifted it and positioned it properly to drop it onto the truck's bed. The wood hit the steel of the truck bed with a thud. The maids let out a joyful cry.

"The girls can take care of the rest. Come, I'll get you lunch." Harry turned around and saw a woman standing just a couple of feet behind him, her dark eyes dancing as they slid over his shoulders and sweaty stomach. "You've worked up an appetite, haven't you?"

Her voice matched her appearance, soft and strong. It sounded like it should come from a younger woman, but the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the sides of her mouth showed that she had many decades behind her. Her hair was black, her eyebrows thick, and her lips large and sensual, but it was her delicate body that intrigued him. Wrapped in white silk, she looked like a schoolgirl when she stood before him.

"Thank you," Harry said, reaching out to shake her hand. "I'm Harry. I have to ask, your voice sounds very familiar. Do I know you?"

"I remember meeting a handsome man like you," she said with a wink. "I'm Bellatrix, and no, I don't think we've met before."

She looked down at his hand, and a wistful expression crossed her face as her eyes moved up to meet his. "My sister and I just moved here. Maybe you met her? No..." She shook her head, and her lips curved into a flirtatious smile. "She would have mentioned meeting such a tall, handsome young man."

"What brings you here?" Harry asked, stopping to look at the massive mansion before crossing the threshold.

"Family obligations. We need to instruct our 'nephew' about the family dynamics." Her eyes glinted maliciously as she pointed to the hallway leading into the dimly lit living room. "May I ask you the same... what brought you into our modest abode?"

"I went out for a run," Harry said, glancing around the empty space.

"Sit, and I'll get you something to drink," Bellatrix said, waving him toward one of the luxurious armchairs.

He sat on the crushed velvet and shifted uncomfortably. There was something otherworldly about this encounter. It almost felt like he had been drawn here. It wasn't just the woman's accent, which he thought resembled his stepmother's accent. It was also the dimly lit mansion and the pretty but quiet maids he hadn't seen since entering the house.

He was about to get up and leave, wondering what he was doing here when Bellatrix returned to the room with a glass of ice-cold water and a plate of sliced sandwiches. The woman was beautiful, he couldn't deny that, but her age was impossible to determine. She could be anywhere from 20 to 40. Her smooth skin and ageless features made it difficult to tell, and she moved with a grace he had only associated with his mother and sisters.
"Please, enjoy," she said, taking a seat beside him and resting her hand on her fist, watching him eat. He felt like a scrutinized mouse as her pale blue eyes observed him sipping water and taking bites of the sandwich. It was white bread with cold cuts, cheese, and mayonnaise, and he wanted to like it because the woman was so kind, but it tasted bland and didn't satisfy his hunger or thirst. In fact, he felt even thirstier after setting down the glass of water.

"You didn't like it?" she asked with concern. "No, it was great. I just can't eat after a long run," he said politely, rising to leave. "I should get going before my mom starts to worry."

"Won't you stay a little longer..." she asked, getting up and moving closer to him, inches away.

Her floral scent filled his head, and he felt his heart race, blood flowing to his limbs. Her nostrils flared, and he watched as something strange happened in her eyes. Her pupils dilated so much they almost obscured her dark brown irises, and she swayed on her feet.

It looked like she might collapse, so he reached out to steady her, grabbing her elbow in a gentle grip and holding her arm with his other hand. "Are you okay?" he asked, but she paid no attention to his words.

Her eyes were closed to his fingers gripping her elbow, and he saw her lips move as she whispered something in a language he didn't understand. When she closed her eyes, her face filled with sadness and then hunger. As she stepped into his arms, he grew concerned and stepped back, releasing her and raising his hands, finding a woman standing on tiptoe with closed lips.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" Harry asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Bellatrix's dark eyes opened, and she stared at him, disoriented and shocked. Very much like how his mom and sister had reacted the night before. She hesitantly reached out and touched the center of his chest with one finger, watching him with an intrigued expression on her face. As his embarrassment deepened, her face brightened with a euphoric smile.

"You are an heir!" she exclaimed.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Who else said that? The woman?" Her eyes sharpened like needles, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, what had drawn him to this strange woman's house.

"My stepmother," he said cautiously, edging towards the door. "Thanks for the water and the sandwich. Welcome to the town, I guess. I should go now."

"One more question," she said, reaching out to stop him. She stared at his hand with an admiring expression for so long that he felt uncomfortable. "Is your stepmother a great beauty born on the outskirts of the Roman Empire?"

"I'm not sure," he said, his confusion evident as he tried to pull his hand away.

She held him so tightly that he couldn't break free. With her eyes closed on his fingers gripping her elbow, she took a long, deep breath before finally releasing him. Her wide-open lips split into a euphoric smile.

"Please, come back anytime, young man. You just have to meet my sister. She will adore you."

"Sure, I'll do that," Harry said, making a mental note not to return to the residence of this eccentric woman.

As he walked away, he felt like he had awakened from a dream. The bright sunlight turned the darkness inside the mansion into a distant memory, and his limbs were filled with energy again. Miles passed, and he reached home as the sun was setting. His mother was in the living room, and he could tell she had been waiting for him, but she kept her distance as he took a shower and then went downstairs to prepare dinner.
"How was your run?" she asked as they sat down to eat. "You were gone for hours, and I started to worry."

"I ran up the hills behind the country club. I helped a stranger move furniture, and she invited me inside."

"Oh?" Gabrielle asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Was she a pretty lady?"

"She was crazy," Harry said. "She just moved here from Eastern Europe."

"Interesting. Did she mention exactly where she's from?" Fleur asked, her expression matching his mom's when she turned her blue eyes on him. "No, but she mentioned something about the outskirts of the Roman Empire?"

All three of them froze when he said that, staring at each other before their eyes returned to him.

"Did this woman touch you?" his mom asked, her voice filled with emotion.

"She did," Harry said, looking at all three of them with growing suspicion that they knew something they weren't telling him. "What's going on? Do you know her?"

"Maybe," his mom said, her arms sagging and her face falling as she looked at him.

"Will one of you tell me what that means?" He looked into Gabrielle and Fleur's eyes until they looked away. Then he got up from the table and left, not finishing his dinner, and his frustration from the previous day returned stronger than ever.

As soon as he left the dining room, angry whispers filled the air between the three of them, too faint for him to hear. Knowing they were talking about him behind his back and having no idea what was happening, he threw himself onto his bed and let exhaustion pull him into sleep, away from his complicated, lonely life.

When Harry woke up, it was still dark, and he sat up disoriented and lost. Throughout his teenage years, he had never suffered from morning chills, but that morning his body ached with desire, and his frustration grew as he tried to relieve the pressure, to no avail.

As he got out of bed, frustrated and sore, he noticed balloons floating in the corner with colorful ribbons hanging down to a wrapped gift. He had completely forgotten that today was his 18th birthday. A wave of pleasure washed over him as he tore through the wrapping paper, revealing a shoebox. Opening it, he found a pair of dragon-skin boots in the colors of his favorite Quidditch team. He remembered seeing a pair a year ago with his stepmother and commenting on how cool they looked. His heart skipped a beat at the thought that she remembered.

"Happy birthday, Harry," he looked up to see her leaning against the doorframe, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

"You remembered the boots," he said, hugging them to his chest and smiling at her.

"Of course, I did. Come downstairs when you're ready. I made you waffles with blackberry syrup, your favorite."

"You cooked?" Harry couldn't hide the disbelief in his voice, but instead of getting upset or offended, his mom grinned cheekily.

"First time in decades, so I won't complain if it's bad."

Harry wasn't sure of his mom's age, but she couldn't be more than forty, even though she looked like she was still in her twenties. How could decades have passed since she last cooked? That train of thought was pushed out of his mind when he went downstairs and smelled freshly baked waffles.