From Enemies to Lovers (Ch. 1 - Hogging the Prefects' Bathroom)

Thanks to everyone who voted in the character poll! Daphne Greengrass and Hermione Granger topped the list, so there will be more content featuring them in the future. Fleur Delacour and Astoria Greengrass was just behind, so you will be seeing more of them too!

Summary: Harry's back at Hogwarts for his final year, and his longtime rival Daphne Greengrass is more infuriating than ever. She's gorgeous, competitive, and determined to best him at everything, and she doesn't care what she has to do to win. Stripping in bathrooms, teasing in corridors, there's no tactic too shameless for the Slytherin princess who refuses to lose!

Disclaimer: Harry returns to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year after defeating Voldemort. All characters in this story are consenting adults (18+).

The steaming water of the prefects' bathroom felt like absolute paradise against Harry's aching muscles. After months of hunting Horcruxes, sleeping rough, and fighting for his bloody life, the simple luxury of a proper hot bath was almost enough to make him emotional. He'd been soaking for nearly an hour now, floating in the massive pool-sized tub while enchanted taps filled the air with the scent of lavender and vanilla.

This is exactly what I needed, Harry thought, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the smooth marble edge. The war was over, Voldemort was dead, and somehow he was back at Hogwarts finishing his seventh year. Everything felt surreal, like he was living someone else's life. A life where he could just relax in a bath without worrying about whether a Death Eater was going to burst through the door and—

The bathroom door slammed open with enough force to rattle the stained glass windows.

"Potter!"

Bloody hell.

Harry's eyes snapped open to see Daphne Greengrass storming into the bathroom like an avenging angel, her perfect features twisted with fury. She was still in her school uniform, and Merlin's saggy left bollock, what a uniform it was. The Slytherin girl had clearly taken some liberties with the standard issue. Her skirt was shortened to an almost obscene length, barely covering the tops of her thighs, showing off those impossibly long legs that seemed to go on for miles. Her white shirt was tailored to hug every curve, the top few buttons undone to reveal a tantalising hint of cleavage, and her green and silver tie hung loosely around her neck like an invitation.

Her long platinum blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like spun silk, catching the light from the enchanted candles and practically glowing. Those piercing blue eyes were locked onto him with an intensity that would have made lesser men wither, and her full lips were pressed into a thin line of absolute indignation.

She was also clutching a piece of parchment in her manicured hand like it was a weapon.

"Greengrass!" Harry spluttered, instinctively sinking lower in the water. The bubbles and foam provided some modesty, but not nearly enough. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Daphne's voice was sharp enough to cut glass as she marched closer to the tub, her heels clicking on the wet tiles with a rhythm that echoed off the bathroom walls. Each step made her hips sway in a way that was absolutely hypnotic, her shortened skirt swishing around her thighs. "The question is what are you doing here, Potter! Do you think just because you're the Chosen One and the man who conquered You-Know-Who that you can do whatever you want?"

Harry blinked in confusion, trying very hard not to stare at the way her chest heaved with each angry breath, the buttons of her shirt straining against her breasts. Focus, Potter. She's talking to you. "I'm... taking a bath?"

"Without signing up!" Daphne thrust the parchment at him, close enough that droplets from his wet hands splattered onto the pristine paper as he took it. "This is the reservation list, Potter! You can't just waltz in here whenever you please and hog the bathroom for hours!"

Harry squinted at the parchment, trying to read it while keeping himself covered beneath the bubbles. Sure enough, it was covered in neat handwriting, names and dates and time slots all carefully organised in what looked suspiciously like Hermione's colour-coded system. He could see Daphne's name written in elegant script for this exact time slot.

"So that's what the list is for..." Harry muttered, genuinely surprised. He'd noticed the parchment hanging by the door but had assumed it was some sort of cleaning schedule.

"Yes, that's what the bloody list is for!" Daphne snapped, and Harry watched, transfixed, as a flush of anger spread from her cheeks down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt. He found himself wondering how far down that blush went, whether it reached her chest. "Some of us follow the rules around here! Some of us don't think we're above basic courtesy just because we've got a scar and a savior complex!"

And here we go again, Harry thought with a mixture of annoyance and something else he didn't want to examine too closely. Daphne bloody Greengrass, always ready to remind me I'm not as special as everyone thinks.

It had been like this for years. Ever since first year, they'd been competing. For marks, for recognition, for the top spot in every class. She'd been the only person at Hogwarts who'd never treated him like the Boy Who Lived, never given him special consideration. To her, he was just another rival to beat, another obstacle between her and being the best.

And bloody hell if that hadn't made her the most infuriating person he'd ever met.

Even now, after everything he'd done, after defeating the darkest wizard of all time, she still looked at him like he was just some arrogant git who thought the rules didn't apply to him.

Which, to be fair, I suppose I am in this particular instance.

Harry looked up at her, really looked, and felt something stir in his chest that had nothing to do with anger. Even furious, she was absolutely stunning. Her school shirt hugged her curves in all the right places, the fabric stretched across her breasts. The way her lips were pursed in anger made him wonder what they'd taste like, what sounds she'd make if he kissed her senseless.

Where the fuck did that thought come from? Harry shook his head, trying to focus on the situation at hand. This is Daphne. Your academic rival. The girl who's made it her life's mission to prove she's better than you. You can't be thinking about her like that.

But his cock had other ideas, and he felt it beginning to stir beneath the water.

"Are you even listening to me, Potter?" Daphne demanded, and Harry realised he'd been staring at her tits for a good ten seconds.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said, forcing his eyes back up to her face. "You've got a reservation. I get it."

"Then get out!"

Harry felt his cock twitch beneath the water at the commanding tone in her voice, and he shifted uncomfortably. This was not the time to be getting hard. This was definitely not the time.

Think of something else. Anything else. Snape in a dress. Filch naked. Voldemort's face.

None of it was working.

"Well," Harry said, settling back into the water more comfortably and letting his arms spread along the marble edge, deliberately casual, "I got here first, so by all means, suit yourself if you don't want to wait."

Daphne's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"The bath's big enough for two," Harry said, gesturing at the enormous tub that could easily fit half a dozen people. Steam rose from the water in lazy curls, and he could see her eyes tracking the movement of his hand, following the line of his arm back to his chest. "If you've got a reservation, don't let me stop you."

For a moment, Daphne looked genuinely stunned. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again like she couldn't quite process what he'd just said. Harry watched as a series of emotions flickered across her face. Surprise, indignation, and something else that might have been interest. Then her chin lifted in that familiar gesture of Slytherin pride, and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You know what?" she said, her voice deadly quiet. "I think I will."

Harry's confident smirk faltered as Daphne's hands moved to the buttons of her shirt. "Wait, what are you—"

"You said the bath was big enough for two," Daphne said coldly, her fingers working at the buttons with sharp, decisive movements. The first button came undone, revealing more of that tantalising cleavage. Then the second. "Don't think I'm going to back down from your little challenge, Potter."

Challenge? Harry thought, but he kept his expression neutral even as his cock began to harden properly beneath the water. Two could play at this game. He deliberately looked away, focusing on the far wall as if her undressing was of no interest to him whatsoever.

But bloody hell, he could hear everything. The rustle of fabric as she shrugged out of her outer robes, the soft thud as they hit the floor. The whisper of her shirt being pulled from where it was tucked into her skirt, then more buttons being undone. Each sound seemed impossibly loud in the steamy bathroom, echoing off the tiles and making Harry's imagination run wild.

What colour is her bra? he wondered. Black? Green? Lacy? Is she the type to match her panties to her bra, or does she not bother because no one's supposed to see them anyway?

"Not even going to watch?" Daphne asked, and there was something almost disappointed in her tone, something that made Harry's pulse quicken. "How very noble of you, Potter."

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the wall, even as every instinct screamed at him to look. "Unlike some people, I have manners."

He heard her snort of derision, a very un-ladylike sound that somehow made her more appealing. More human. Then came more rustling fabric, the soft sound of her shirt hitting the floor, and Harry's imagination immediately conjured up an image of her standing there in just her bra and skirt.

Don't look, don't look, don't look, Harry chanted to himself, but his resolve was cracking with each passing second. His cock was now properly hard beneath the water, throbbing with need as he imagined what she must look like.

The sound of her skirt's zipper being pulled down seemed impossibly loud, a slow rasp of metal teeth that made Harry's mouth go dry. He could picture it so clearly, the fabric parting to reveal her panties, the skirt sliding down those impossibly long legs.

Fuck it.

Unable to resist any longer, Harry chanced a quick glance in her direction.

His breath caught in his throat.

Daphne was standing there in just her underwear, and Merlin's beard, what underwear it was. Black lace. Of course it was black lace. The bra was barely there, just thin straps and lace cups that pushed her breasts up and together, creating a cleavage that could kill a man. Her tits were spectacular, full and round and straining against the delicate fabric. They rose and fell with each breath she took, and Harry found himself mesmerised by the movement, imagining what it would feel like to cup them in his hands, to feel their weight, to take those nipples into his mouth and suck until she was moaning his name.

His gaze traveled downward, taking in every perfect inch of her. Her stomach was flat and toned, the kind of body that came from blessed genetics and careful attention. Her skin was pale and smooth, practically glowing in the candlelight, and Harry wanted to trace every curve with his tongue.

And then there were her panties. Matching black lace that rode low on her hips and high on her thighs, the fabric so sheer he could see the shadow of her pussy beneath. They clung to her curves like a second skin, and Harry could make out the distinct line where her arse met her thighs, that perfect crease that made his hands itch to grab and squeeze.

Her legs seemed to go on forever, long and shapely and ending in delicate feet with toenails painted a deep crimson. She had her hands on her hips in a pose that was pure defiance, and the movement emphasised every curve, made her look like some sort of ancient goddess standing before him.

"See something you like, Potter?" Daphne asked, her voice tinged with smug satisfaction. She'd caught him staring, and she knew it.

"You wish," Harry managed, though his voice came out rougher than he intended, gravelly with barely suppressed desire.

Daphne's lips curved in a knowing smile, and Harry could see the triumph in her eyes. She knew exactly what effect she was having on him. His eyes drank in the sight of her for one more desperate second before he forced himself to look away again, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal.

Get it together, Potter. She's just trying to make you uncomfortable. Don't give her the satisfaction. She's always been like this, always trying to get under your skin, always needing to win.

But bloody hell, it was working. His cock was now painfully hard beneath the water, throbbing with each beat of his heart. He could feel pre-cum beading at the tip, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that would ease the ache.

He heard her soft laugh, a sound that went straight to his cock, then the whisper of fabric against skin. The sound of her bra clasp being undone, the straps sliding down her arms. Harry's imagination immediately filled in what he couldn't see, conjuring up an image of her breasts being freed from their lace prison, bouncing slightly as they settled, her nipples hard and rosy in the cool air.

Don't think about it, Harry told himself desperately, but it was like trying not to think about a Hippogriff when someone tells you not to think about a Hippogriff. His mind was completely consumed with the image of Daphne Greengrass topless just a few feet away from him.

There was a longer pause, and Harry held his breath. This was it. She was taking off her panties. Right now, in this moment, Daphne was sliding that scrap of black lace down her legs, revealing her pussy to the steamy air. Was she nervous? Confident? Was she wet? The thought made him groan internally.

The sound of water being displaced told him she'd entered the tub, and Harry risked another glance in her direction.

She was settled on the opposite side of the enormous bath, and the bubbles and foam strategically placed around her body provided just enough modesty to be maddening. He could see the curve of her shoulders, elegant and pale, with droplets of water clinging to her skin like diamonds. The elegant line of her neck led down to her collarbones, and just below that, the swell of her breasts was visible above the waterline, the upper curves of her tits creating a cleavage that made his mouth water.

Her hair was pinned up now, probably with her wand, exposing the graceful line of her neck and making her look both more vulnerable and more regal somehow. A few strands had escaped to curl around her face, softening her features.

This is insane, Harry thought, trying to will his erection away. This is Daphne Greengrass. The girl who always, always has to prove she's better than you.

So why does she suddenly look so bloody gorgeous?

They sat in charged silence, the only sounds the gentle lapping of water and the distant drip of the enchanted taps. Harry tried to focus on anything other than the naked woman sharing his bath. He counted the tiles on the wall. He mentally reviewed his Potions essay. He thought about Quidditch strategies.

None of it worked. His cock remained stubbornly hard, aching with need.

He chanced another glance at Daphne and found her looking at him with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met, and for a moment, something passed between them. Recognition? Desire? Challenge?

Then Daphne looked away, reaching for one of the bars of soap floating in the water. Harry watched, transfixed, as she began to lather her arms with slow and deliberate movements. Water ran over her pale skin in rivulets, and Harry found himself imagining what it would feel like to run his hands along those same paths, to feel her wet skin beneath his palms.

Stop it. Stop thinking about her like that.

But he couldn't help himself. He watched as she moved to her shoulders, her neck, the tops of her breasts. Her hands disappeared beneath the water, presumably washing her stomach, and Harry's imagination filled in the rest. Was she touching herself between her thighs? Was she as turned on as he was?

Time seemed to stretch and warp. Minutes felt like hours. Harry forced himself to do a few laps of the enormous tub, swimming from one end to the other, trying to burn off some of the tension coiled in his body. It didn't help. If anything, the movement just made him more aware of his erection, the way his cock bobbed heavily in the water with each stroke.

Get out, he willed her silently. Just get out so I can wank in peace and forget this ever happened.

But she seemed in no hurry to leave. She settled back against the opposite edge of the tub, her eyes closed, looking for all the world like she had nothing better to do than soak for the rest of the evening.

Harry's fingers were starting to prune, his skin wrinkling from the prolonged exposure to water. His cock, however, remained stubbornly hard, aching and throbbing with a need that was becoming almost painful.

Finally, after what felt like half an hour of the most sexually tense silence Harry had ever experienced, Daphne opened her eyes and fixed him with a look.

"Well?" she demanded, her voice breaking the silence like a spell. "Since you were here first, I suppose you'll be getting out first. You've hogged the bathroom long enough."

Harry's mind raced. He couldn't get out, not with his cock standing at full attention beneath the water like some sort of fleshy periscope. She'd see it immediately, would probably laugh at him or worse, tell the entire school that Harry Potter couldn't control himself around her.

Though to be fair, he thought, any bloke would have the same problem with a naked Daphne Greengrass in his bath.

"Actually," Harry said, trying to sound casual despite the way his heart was hammering in his chest, "since you're the one intruding on my bath, maybe you should leave first."

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "Intruding? I have a reservation, Potter. You're the one who's breaking the rules here."

"And yet you're the one who chose to join me," Harry pointed out, unable to resist needling her. "I was perfectly happy bathing alone."

"Fine," Daphne snapped, and before Harry could protest, she was rising from the water like some sort of sea nymph, determined to prove a point.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

Harry tried to look away, he really did, but it was absolutely impossible. Every instinct, every base desire, every hormone in his teenage body demanded that he stare.

And bloody hell, what a sight.

Water streamed off her naked body in rivulets, cascading down her skin and making it glisten like she'd been oiled for some pagan ritual. Her breasts were even more spectacular than he'd imagined, full and round and perfect, topped with hard rosy nipples that were puckered from the cool air. They bounced slightly as she moved, defying gravity in a way that made Harry's mouth water, and he watched, transfixed, as a droplet of water ran down the curve of one breast, following the swell before dripping from her nipple.

Her waist was narrow, emphasising the beautiful flare of her hips. And when she turned to reach for her towel, he got his first proper look at her arse.

Sweet Merlin's magnificent arse, I'm going to die.

It was perfect. Two round, firm globes of pale flesh that looked like they'd been sculpted by some Renaissance wizard with a particular talent for the female form. The kind of arse that made men write poetry, start wars, abandon all sense of reason. Harry could see the way the muscles moved beneath her skin as she walked, the slight jiggle that made his hands ache to grab and squeeze and spread those cheeks wide so he could see everything.

And between her thighs, just barely visible, he caught a glimpse of her pussy. Completely bare, the lips pink and glistening with moisture that definitely wasn't all from the bath. He could see the delicate folds, the hint of her entrance, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between her thighs and taste her until she was screaming his name.

"Your turn, Potter," Daphne said, wrapping a towel around herself but not before giving him an eyeful of everything she had to offer. The towel barely covered her, ending high on her thighs and dipping low between her breasts. "Unless you're planning to prune up like a house elf in there."

Harry's heart pounded as he realised he had no choice. If he refused to get out, she'd know exactly why, and that would be even more humiliating. At least if he got out, he could try to play it off, could pretend that his massive erection was just a natural bodily function and nothing to do with her specifically.

Who am I kidding? She's going to see my cock and know exactly what effect she has on me.

But Harry Potter hadn't defeated the darkest wizard of all time by being a coward. He'd faced down Voldemort, Basilisks, Dementors, and Hungarian Horntails. He could handle one Slytherin witch, no matter how gorgeous she was.

Fuck it. Why should I be embarrassed? I've got nothing to be ashamed of.

Harry stood slowly, water streaming off his body as he rose to his full height. He was acutely aware of his cock, of the way it jutted out from his body, thick and hard and absolutely impossible to miss. But he kept his head high, his shoulders back, refusing to show any embarrassment as he stepped out of the tub.

His cock swung with each movement, the impressive length swaying back and forth like some sort of fleshy pendulum. He could feel the weight of it, the way it throbbed with his pulse, the bead of pre-cum gathering at the tip.

He heard Daphne's sharp intake of breath and allowed himself a small smirk. Let her look. Let her see exactly what she'd been missing all these years by treating him like an enemy.

When he reached for his towel, deliberately moving slowly, his cock swung in a wide arc. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Daphne staring, her blue eyes wide and transfixed, her lips slightly parted. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Harry felt a surge of masculine pride.

The towel wrapped around his waist, but it did absolutely nothing to hide his arousal. The fabric was stretched taut by his impressive girth, tented obscenely in front of him like he was smuggling a Beater's bat.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, both wrapped in towels, steam rising around them, the air thick with tension and unspoken desire.

"Potter," Daphne finally said, and her voice was different now, breathier, with an edge of something that might have been triumph or arousal or both. She took a step closer, and Harry could see her throat work as she swallowed. "You're hard."

"I'm not," Harry lied automatically, though it was clearly pointless given the obvious tent in his towel.

"Hah!" Daphne's eyes lit up with victorious glee, and she took another step closer to him. The competitive fire was back in her eyes, that familiar need to win, to have the upper hand. "You are! Look at you, you're practically throbbing." She let her own towel slip slightly, revealing more of her cleavage, the upper swell of her breasts threatening to spill out completely. "Ashamed? It's alright, you can admit it. I'm hot. Is it the tits? The arse?"

The crude words coming out of her posh, proper mouth sent a jolt of electricity straight to Harry's already aching cock. But the smugness in her voice, the sheer arrogance of her assumption, made his temper flare.

She thinks she's got me all figured out. Thinks she can just snap her fingers and I'll admit to wanting her. Thinks she's won this round.

Harry felt a surge of defiance, that same competitive fire that had driven him for seven years. The need to wipe that smug expression off her face, to prove that he wasn't as easy to read as she thought.

What would really get under her skin? Harry wondered, his mind racing for something, anything that would turn the tables. What would piss off a proud Slytherin princess more than anything?

Her sister. Astoria. They're both beautiful, both blonde, both...

That's it.

"Ashamed?" Harry asked, and before he could second-guess himself, before his rational brain could point out what a terrible idea this was, his hand moved to the front of his towel, deliberately gripping his covered shaft through the fabric. "With a cock like this? Please." He paused, letting his eyes rake over her body with deliberate appreciation. "Besides, I was thinking about Astoria, actually."

The effect was immediate and devastating.

Daphne's face went white, then red, then white again in the space of a heartbeat. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and Harry could see the way her chest heaved with sudden emotion, her breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath the towel.

"What," she said slowly, each word carefully enunciated like she was trying very hard not to hex him on the spot, "did you just say?"

"Your sister," Harry continued, warming to the theme as he saw how much it was affecting her. Part of him felt guilty, but a larger part, the part that had been competing with Daphne for seven years, was thrilled to finally have the upper hand. "I was just wondering what she'd look like bent over that sink there. Whether she'd moan my name when I—"

"You bastard," Daphne hissed, her eyes blazing with fury.

Harry expected her to storm out, to hex him, to do anything except what she actually did.

Without warning, she let her towel drop to the floor.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as her naked body was revealed again, but this time there was something different about the way she stood. She wasn't trying to cover herself, wasn't shy or embarrassed. Instead, she stood proud and defiant, her shoulders back, her chin raised, like she was daring him to look away.

Like she was daring him to compare her to anyone else and find her wanting.

"Astoria doesn't have these," Daphne declared, and Harry watched, mesmerised, as her hands came up to cup her breasts.

She pushed them together, creating a cleavage so deep and perfect that Harry's mouth went dry. Her fingers splayed across the pale flesh, thumbs brushing over her hard nipples, and Harry could see the way they pebbled even harder at her own touch.

"Mine are perkier," she continued, her voice charged with competitive fervour, that same fire she always had when trying to beat him at something. "Firmer. Natural perfection that no enhancement charm could ever replicate." She squeezed gently, making the soft flesh bulge between her fingers. "These tits are the envy of every girl in this castle, Potter. They're works of art."

Harry's mouth had gone completely dry. He couldn't have looked away if his life depended on it. The way she held herself, presenting her breasts like an offering, like a challenge, made his cock throb so hard it was almost painful.

His hand moved without conscious thought, pulling the towel from his hips and letting it drop to the floor. His cock sprang free, jutting out proudly, thick and hard and leaking pre-cum. If she was going to be naked, so was he. If she was going to challenge him, he was going to meet it head on.

"Even a cock as fat as yours would fit perfectly between them," Daphne continued, her eyes dropping to his exposed length, widening slightly at the sight before that competitive gleam returned. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and Harry could have sworn he saw her thighs press together slightly. "I'd squeeze them together so tight, use my tongue on your tip while I worked you with these perfect tits. Astoria could never make you cum the way I could. You'd coat my face, my neck, these gorgeous breasts with your seed, and you'd love every second of it."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Harry's hand moved to his cock instinctively, gripping the shaft, stroking slowly as he imagined exactly what she was describing. The image was so vivid he could almost feel it, the soft pressure of her breasts, the wet heat of her tongue.

Daphne's hands moved from her breasts to her hips, trailing slowly over the curve of her waist. "And my arse," she said, her voice taking on that challenging edge that had always driven him mad. "Astoria's got nothing on me there either."

She turned around slowly, deliberately, giving Harry a full view of her backside.

It was magnificent. Two perfect globes of firm, pale flesh that seemed to glow in the candlelight. The kind of arse that made men abandon logic and reason. Harry could see every detail, the way the muscles shifted beneath her skin, the slight jiggle as she moved, the perfect symmetry of those round cheeks.

As she bent forward slightly, angling her hips, Harry felt his heart stop. The movement revealed everything. Her tight pink pussy, the lips glistening and slightly parted, and just above it, the tiny rosebud of her arsehole, puckered and perfect.

I'm going to die. I'm actually going to die from how hard I am.

"This arse," Daphne said, and Harry watched, completely hypnotized, as she reached back with both hands to grab handfuls of her own cheeks, "is the best arse this school has to offer. Fuller, firmer, more perfect than anything my little sister could ever hope to achieve."

She spread her cheeks slightly, giving Harry an even better view, and he could see everything now. The way her pussy lips parted slightly, revealing the pink interior. The way her arsehole clenched. The way moisture glistened on her inner thighs.

"Can you imagine how it would ripple as you pounded into me from behind?" Daphne continued, her voice husky now, thick with arousal that she was no longer trying to hide. "Every thrust would make these cheeks bounce. You'd watch them jiggle, watch the way my arse swallowed your thick cock over and over." She gave her arse a sharp slap, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls, and Harry groaned out loud as he watched the pale flesh turn pink. "You'd have a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back while you took me like an animal. Using me. Owning me. Making me yours."

She let her arse cheeks slap back together, the sound obscene in the quiet bathroom, and Harry's cock jerked hard in his hand, pre-cum leaking steadily now.

Daphne turned back around, and Harry could see that her face was flushed now, her chest heaving, her nipples impossibly hard. There was a wildness in her eyes, something almost feral mixed with that competitive need to prove herself better.

"And my cunt," she said, and Harry watched as one of her hands drifted between her thighs, her fingers trailing through the bare folds of her pussy, "would be so much tighter than anything Astoria could offer you."

She spread her legs slightly, giving him a perfect view as her fingers parted her lips. Harry could see how wet she was, could see the way her arousal glistened on her inner thighs, could see the pink perfection of her entrance.

"I'd squeeze you so hard you'd think you were going to split me in half," Daphne continued, her fingers circling her clit in slow, teasing movements. "But I'd take every inch. Every. Single. Inch." Her fingers dipped inside herself, just slightly, and she gasped. "I'd milk your cock with muscles that Astoria doesn't even know she has. I'd make you feel things you've never felt before."

She took a step closer, then another, until she was close enough that Harry could see the way her pupils had dilated, could smell the arousal coming off her in waves, could feel the heat radiating from her naked body. Harry's hand was moving faster on his cock now, his breath coming in harsh pants, his entire body trembling with the need for release.

"I'd ride you until you begged for mercy," she continued, her free hand reaching out to trace a finger down his chest, over his stomach, coming to rest just above where his hand gripped his cock. "I'd make you forget every other woman you've ever touched, including my pathetic little sister. You'd be ruined for anyone else. Completely and utterly mine."

Her hand wrapped around his shaft just below his own, her fingers not quite able to encircle his girth, and they stroked together. The dual sensation made Harry groan deep in his chest, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"And when you finally couldn't hold back anymore," Daphne whispered, her face now just inches from his, her breath hot against his lips, "when you were right on the edge of losing control completely, when your balls were churning and your cock was throbbing and you couldn't possibly last another second..." She squeezed harder, her hand and his moving in tandem up and down his length. "I'd squeeze down on you so fucking hard that you'd fill me with every last drop of your cum. You'd pump me so full that it would be leaking out of me for days."

"Bloody fuck," Harry breathed, his hips bucking harder into their joined hands. His free hand moved to her hip, gripping the soft flesh, pulling her closer until their bodies were almost touching. He was so close now, right on the edge, his balls tightening, his cock pulsing in their hands.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Both of their hands on his cock, stroking in perfect rhythm. Daphne's other hand still between her own thighs, her fingers moving in slow circles. Both of them breathing hard, the air between them crackling with electricity. Steam rose around them, the bathroom feeling more like a sauna, the heat unbearable.

Harry could hear the wet sounds of her arousal, could see the way her thighs trembled, could feel his orgasm building, building, right there...

Then, suddenly, Daphne's hand released his cock.

"But you'll never know, will you?" she said, stepping back with a triumphant smile. "Not until you admit that it was me making you hard. Not my sister. Me."

Harry stood there, his hand still wrapped around his aching cock, his body trembling with unfulfilled need. He was right on the edge, so close he could taste it, and she'd just... stopped.

"You..." Harry gasped, unable to form a coherent sentence. His cock throbbed in his hand, desperate for release, and he could see the way Daphne's eyes tracked the movement, could see the satisfaction in her expression.

"I win this round, Potter," Daphne said, her voice smug and victorious. She turned away from him, her hips swaying deliberately, and Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from her arse as she walked across the bathroom to where her clothes lay in a heap.

She bent over slowly, deliberately, to pick up her black lace panties. The position put her arse on full display, her pussy visible between her thighs, still glistening with her arousal. Harry could see everything, could see the way her lips were swollen and parted, could see her tight little arsehole clenching as she moved.

Say something. Do something. Don't just stand here like an idiot.

But Harry couldn't move, couldn't speak. His cock was still painfully hard in his hand, throbbing with need, his entire body screaming for release. He could only watch as Daphne slowly pulled her panties up those impossibly long legs, the black lace covering her pussy inch by tantalising inch.

She gathered the rest of her clothes, still completely unbothered by her state of undress, and turned to look at him one last time. Her eyes dropped to his cock, to where his hand was still gripping his shaft, and her smile widened.

"Better luck next time," she said, and with that, she walked out of the bathroom, leaving Harry standing there naked, achingly hard, and completely speechless.

The door closed with a soft click, and Harry was alone.

For a long moment, he just stood there, trying to process what had just happened. His cock was still painfully hard, still leaking pre-cum, still throbbing with unfulfilled need.

She just... she just left me like this.

The absolute bitch. The gorgeous, infuriating, perfect bitch.

Harry's hand began moving on his cock, stroking fast and hard, his mind replaying every moment of what had just happened. The way she'd looked, naked and proud and defiant. The way her hands had cupped her breasts, the way she'd spread her arse cheeks. The things she'd said, the crude, filthy words coming out of that posh mouth.

"I'd squeeze you so hard you'd think you were going to split me in half."

"You'd have a fistful of my hair while you took me like an animal."

"I'd milk your cock with muscles Astoria doesn't even know she has."

"Fuck, Daphne," Harry groaned, his hand moving faster as his climax approached. He imagined bending her over that sink, grabbing a fistful of that perfect blonde hair, watching her arse ripple as he pounded into her tight cunt from behind.

He came hard, harder than he'd ever cum in his life, thick ropes of cum shooting across the bathroom tiles as his whole body shuddered with the force of his orgasm. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him as he imagined all the things he was going to do to Daphne Greengrass.

When he finally came down from his high, gasping and slightly dizzy, Harry looked down at the mess he'd made and laughed breathlessly.

Scourgify.

As he cleaned up and got dressed, his mind was already racing ahead, planning. Daphne had won this round, there was no denying that. She'd reduced him to a trembling, desperate mess and walked away victorious, leaving him gasping for release.

But the game wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Next time, Harry thought, a determined smile crossing his face as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, I'm going to make sure I win. I'm going to make her beg. I'm going to make her scream my name until her voice gives out.

Just you wait, Greengrass. Just you bloody wait.

Disclaimer: Harry returns to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year after defeating Voldemort. All characters in this story are consenting adults (18+).