Chapter 47

Shook to the Bone (Amelia Bones)

All Characters are 18+

The first couple of weeks back at Hogwarts passed in a blur of ordinary, perfect chaos. Classes started straight away, the castle felt alive again, and Harry spent most evenings either in the Den or sneaking off with Ginny for a quick shag in an empty classroom. Life, for once, was uncomplicated. He woke up every morning stupidly happy to be back where he belonged.

That Saturday he sat at the Gryffindor table demolishing a full English breakfast while Ron rambled on about the Quidditch match against Slytherin that afternoon.

“Flint’s still got those new Cleansweep Nines,” Ron said through a mouthful of bacon. “But if we keep the Chasers tight and you fly rings round their Seeker like last time, we’ve got it in the bag.”

Harry grinned, stealing one of Ron’s sausages. “Reckon I can manage that.”

They were still arguing over who had the better Beaters when Professor McGonagall appeared beside them, tartan dressing gown immaculate despite the early hour.

“Mr Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office when you’ve finished eating.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “What’ve you done now?”

“Nothing,” Harry said automatically, though his stomach gave a small flip. McGonagall’s expression gave nothing away.

He finished his toast, wiped his hands on his robes, and headed up to the gargoyle. “Sherbet lemon,” he muttered, still the password because Dumbledore refused to change it.

The spiral staircase carried him up. He knocked once and pushed the door open.

Dumbledore stood behind his desk in violent purple robes covered in tiny silver stars. Amelia Bones sat in one of the chintz armchairs, stiff-backed and formal in deep green robes. Her monocle glinted in the morning light.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said warmly, eyes twinkling over half-moon spectacles. “Good of you to come so promptly. Madam Bones wished to speak with you privately. I shall leave you to it. I have a sudden craving for lemon drops downstairs. Best of luck in the match this afternoon, Harry.”

He swept out with a rustle of robes and a wink, the door closing softly behind him.

Harry turned to the older woman, offering a polite smile. “So, what can I do for you, Madam Bones?”

Amelia Bones settled back in the chintz armchair, folded her hands in her lap and fixed Harry with a steady look.

“Since I took over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement I’ve had time to see just how thin on the ground we really are,” she began, voice crisp but not unkind. “The Auror Office especially. Even with your Godfather cleared and back in the field, we’re stretched. What you managed last summer was extraordinary, Harry. Truly. But there are still plenty of dark witches and wizards who didn’t get the memo that the war is over.”

Harry nodded, leaning against the edge of Dumbledore’s desk. He had expected something like this the moment he saw her.

Amelia continued. “I’m here to offer you a position. Graduate Auror, fast-tracked, the minute you leave Hogwarts. We need people with your instincts, your power, and frankly your name still carries weight.”

Harry pushed a hand through his hair and gave her a lopsided smile. “You do realise I’ve still got another full year of school after this one, right?”

“Exactly why I’m here now,” she replied without missing a beat. “Best to get ahead of the queue. I’ve heard half the professional Quidditch scouts have already booked seats for today’s match. They’ll be fighting over you by summer. I’d rather the Ministry won.”

Harry laughed softly, genuinely amused. “Fair point. I’ll definitely take it on board, Madam Bones. It’s an honour, honestly.”

He paused, letting the polite smile linger for a second, then let it shift into something a little sharper, a little warmer.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping just enough to change the temperature in the room, “people keep telling me I’ve got talents they want to sign up. But hardly anyone ever asks about the ones I don’t put on display in a Quidditch stadium.”

Amelia’s eyebrow arched behind her monocle, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Is that so, Mr Potter?”

Harry pushed off the desk and took one slow step closer, hands loose at his sides, green eyes locked on hers.

“Very much so.”

Harry didn’t crowd her. He didn’t need to. He just let the silence stretch a second longer, then another, until the only sound in the office was the soft tick of Dumbledore’s instruments and the faint crackle of the fire.

He took one more lazy step, close enough that the faint scent of her perfume reached him, close enough that the hem of his robes brushed the toe of her polished boot.

“See, most people only ever see the broom or the wand,” he said, voice low, almost conversational. “They never ask what else I’m good at with my hands.”

Amelia’s chin lifted a fraction, but she didn’t move away.

Harry let his gaze drop, slow and deliberate, over the severe line of her robes, the neat row of buttons, the faint rise and fall of her breathing. When his eyes came back to hers they were darker, amused, utterly shameless.

“I’m told I’m very thorough,” he murmured. “When I decide something’s worth my full attention, I don’t stop until everyone involved is… satisfied.”

A small huff of laughter escaped her, half surprise, half something else entirely.

“You’re bolder than the papers give you credit for, Mr Potter.”

“Harry,” he corrected softly. “And only with people who look like they can handle it.”

He reached out, not quite touching, just let his fingertips hover an inch from the top button of her high collar.

“I could kneel and recite Auror regulations if that’s what you came for,” he said, smile curling. “Or I could lock that door, vanish these robes, and spend the next hour showing you exactly why half the witches in this castle would kill to be where you’re sitting right now.”

His knuckles finally grazed the fabric, the lightest brush against the hollow of her throat.

“Your choice, Madam Bones.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “But I promise I’m much better at following certain orders than I ever was at Potions.”

The monocle flashed as her eyes narrowed, but the flush rising on her neck told him everything he needed to know.

Amelia did not flinch. She held his gaze for a long, measured moment, the way she might study a suspect across an interrogation table, looking for the tell that never came.

Then the corner of her mouth curved, small, deliberate, dangerous.

“You think you’re the first young man to try charming his way into (or out of) something with me, Harry?” Her voice stayed level, but the formality had thinned, like frost starting to melt. “I’ve put wizards twice your age in Azkaban for less cheek.”

Harry’s grin didn’t falter; it only sharpened.

“Good thing I’m not trying to charm my way out of anything,” he said. “I’m offering to put you in a much better mood than Azkaban ever managed.”

Amelia let out a soft huff that wasn’t quite a laugh. She reached up and, with two fingers, caught his wrist (not pushing him away, just stopping his hand where it hovered at her throat). Her grip was firm, Auror-strong, but her thumb brushed once across his pulse, testing.

“You’re my nieces friend,” she said, as if reminding herself.

“Irrelevant,” he countered. “Old enough to kill a Dark Lord. Old enough to know what I want. And right now that’s you, robes on the floor, legs over my shoulders, screaming my name loud enough that Dumbledore’s portraits blush.”

Her breath caught, just enough to be noticeable. The monocle slipped a fraction; she caught it and set it carefully on the desk without looking away from him.

“You’re impossibly sure of yourself.”

“I’ve had practice,” he said, letting his voice drop to that low, rough register that worked every single time in the Den. “And every one of them walked away smiling. Some limped. Most came back for seconds.”

“Just ask your Niece” Harry said with a smirk.

Amelia studied him for another heartbeat. Then she released his wrist and sat back, folding her hands in her lap again, but the posture wasn’t stiff anymore.

“Lock the door,” she said, quiet and clear.

Harry’s pulse spiked so hard he felt it in his teeth.

He flicked his wand without turning round. The bolt shot home with a soft, definite thunk. A second flick layered a Silencio over the room thick enough to smother dragon fire.

When he faced her again, Amelia was already reaching for the top button of her high-collared robes.

“Clock’s ticking, Potter,” she said, and the look she gave him was pure steel wrapped in heat. “Show me what all the fuss is about.”

Harry crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees in front of her chair. The thick carpet cushioned the impact, but he barely noticed. Amelia’s fingers were already on the third button of her robes; he brushed them aside and took over, popping each one free with quick, sure movements. Green wool parted and slid off her shoulders, revealing pale skin and black lace that looked expensive and severe all at once.

He didn’t bother with the bra clasp. One sharp tug and the lace tore; the cups fell away and her breasts spilled into his hands. Full, heavy, nipples already tight. He groaned under his breath and leaned in, mouth closing over one stiff peak, sucking hard while his thumb rolled the other.

Amelia’s head fell back against the chair, a low sound escaping her throat. Her hand came up and fisted in his hair, not guiding, just holding on.

Harry pulled off with a wet pop and moved lower. He pushed her knees apart, shoved the robe the rest of the way off, and found matching black knickers already soaked through. He dragged them down her legs and tossed them somewhere behind him.

She was bare, flushed, glistening. He didn’t tease. He spread her with his thumbs and licked one long, flat stripe from entrance to clit. Amelia jerked, thighs clamping around his ears.

“Fuck,” she hissed, the prim mask gone.

He did it again, slower, then circled her clit with the tip of his tongue until her hips started chasing him. Two fingers slid inside her easily; she was tight, hot, dripping. He curled them, found the spot that made her swear again, and worked it mercilessly while he sucked her clit hard.

Amelia came fast, back arching off the chair, one hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the cry. Her walls fluttered around his fingers and he kept licking, gentler now, drawing it out until she shoved at his forehead.

“Enough,” she gasped. “Inside. Now.”

Harry stood, shoved his robes off in one motion, and kicked free of trousers and pants. His cock jutted up, flushed and wet at the tip. Amelia’s eyes flicked down, lingered, and her tongue touched her lower lip.

He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifted her clean out of the chair, and turned. Three steps and her back hit the wall beside the fireplace. She wrapped her legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and he thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

They both groaned. She was scalding, clenching around him like she was trying to keep him there forever. Harry pulled back and slammed in again, setting a hard, steady rhythm that rattled the portraits on the wall. Amelia met him thrust for thrust, nails raking his shoulders, heels digging into his arse.

“Harder,” she snarled against his mouth.

He gave it to her. The room filled with the slap of skin on skin, her broken moans, his ragged breathing. He shifted angle, hit deeper, and she shattered again, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the scream.

Harry followed seconds later, burying himself deep and coming with a rough growl, pulsing hot inside her. Her legs stayed locked around him, holding him there while they both shook through the aftershocks.

When he finally lowered her to the floor her knees buckled. He caught her, steadied her against his chest. Amelia laughed, breathless and startled, hair stuck to her forehead.

“Merlin,” she muttered. “The rumours don’t do you justice.”

Harry grinned, still half-hard inside her, and kissed the bite mark blooming on her shoulder.

“Told you I follow certain orders very well, Madam Bones.”

She swatted his arm, but her eyes were bright.

“Get dressed, Potter. You’ve got a Quidditch match to win.”

Harry’s grin turned lazy and dangerous. He was still inside her, half-hard and pulsing, her back pressed to the wall, both of them slick with sweat.

“We’re not finished yet,” he said, voice rough. “Not yet.”

Amelia’s eyebrows shot up, but the way her thighs tightened around his hips told him everything he needed to know.

“Potter, you have a Quidditch match in forty minutes.”

“Plenty of time,” he murmured, rolling his hips slow and deliberate so she felt every inch of him still buried deep. She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders again.

He pulled out just long enough to spin her around, hands on her hips, bending her forward over the arm of Dumbledore’s high-backed chair. The purple cushions looked ridiculous under her pale, flushed skin, but Harry didn’t care. He kicked her feet wider, ran one palm down the length of her spine, and watched her shiver.

“Hands on the seat, please,” he said

Amelia shot him a look over her shoulder, then obeyed, fingers curling into the velvet.

Harry slid back in with one smooth thrust and groaned at how easily she took him, how wet she still was. He set a slower pace this time, deep and grinding, letting her feel every drag. One hand snaked around to cup her breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her moan. The other slipped between her thighs, two fingers rubbing tight circles over her clit.

“Fuck, Harry—”

“That’s it,” he growled against her ear, nipping the lobe. “Say my name again when you come on my cock.”

She did, minutes later, thighs shaking, walls clamping down so hard he had to fight to keep moving through it. He didn’t let up, just kept that same relentless rhythm until she was pushing back against him, chasing a third.

He pulled out suddenly, spun her again, and dropped to his knees. Amelia barely had time to register the loss before his mouth was on her, tongue fucking into her, tasting both of them. She cried out, hands fisting in his hair, hips rocking shamelessly against his face.

When she came the third time it was with his name torn out of her throat, loud enough that the Silencio definitely earned its keep.

Harry stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slid back inside her while she was still trembling. Three hard thrusts and he followed her over, spilling deep again with a rough groan.

They stayed like that for a long minute, breathing hard, her forehead pressed to his shoulder.

Eventually Amelia laughed, shaky and disbelieving.

“You’re going to be doing that again, Potter.”

Harry kissed the top of her head, still buried inside her.

“Oh I know.”

He finally pulled out, steadied her when her legs wobbled, and started hunting for their scattered clothes with a lazy grin.

“Still got twenty-five minutes. Plenty of time to win a Quidditch match and think about round three later.”

Amelia fixed her hair with trembling fingers, retrieved her monocle from the desk, and somehow managed to look almost composed again.

“Get out of here before I arrest you for public indecency, Potter.”

Harry stole one last kiss, quick and filthy.

“I look forward to our interview for the position, Madam Bones. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

She could barely hide her smile as he left the room.