Chapter 34

New Recruit (Daphne Greengrass)

Harry rounded the corner with half a grin already tugging at his mouth, still chewing on the last of his Honeydukes stash, when he walked right into her.

Daphne Greengrass.

Of course.

Her hand caught his chest like it was rehearsed, stopping him in place. She didn’t even look surprised—just smug, like she’d been waiting there on purpose. Tie loose, blouse untucked, skirt a bit too short for it to be accidental.

“Harry,” she said, voice like velvet and poison and sex. “Fancy running into you.”

Harry looked her over without a shred of subtlety. “What a completely unexpected coincidence.”

She smirked. “You look like you’ve been having fun lately.”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” she said, stepping in close, barely a breath between them now. “I’m just wondering when I’m getting another turn.”

His grin sharpened. “You’ve already had a few.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “And I still think about the second one.”

That second time. Behind the charms corridor, half-clothed and breathless, her face pressed to the wall while he growled her name like it was a spell. She’d come shaking, nearly crying, swearing he ruined her thighs for the day.

Harry’s cock twitched at the memory.

Daphne leaned up, lips brushing his ear.

“Missed the way you fuck me when you think no one’s listening.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “And what, now you want a quick little reunion?”

She didn’t say anything. Just grabbed his wrist, turned, and led him down the corridor like she knew exactly where they were going.

The cupboard was tight. Familiar.
The door slammed shut. The air turned hot in an instant.

Daphne pushed him against the wall and started unbuttoning her blouse without a word, breath already shallow, eyes sharp and focused like she’d had this planned for days.

“You know,” Harry said, watching her work, “I really have missed fucking you.”

She gave a short laugh, letting her shirt fall open. “I doubt as much as I have.”

He stepped in, kissed her hard, hands sliding down to her arse like they never stopped doing it. “You're so fucking sexy” he muttered, “want me to fuck you?.”

“If you don't I'll kill you.”

Her skirt was already rucked up. No knickers. Again.
He gripped her thigh, pulled her up, let her wrap one leg around his hip.

“You’re so fucking ready for it,” he growled, guiding himself against her, cock pressed right at her entrance, slick already.

Daphne bit her lip. “Then don’t tease.”

He slammed into her in one thrust.

She gasped, hard, head knocking gently against the cupboard wall.

“F-fuck, yes—”

Harry groaned, thrusting again, deeper this time. The cupboard creaked with the force of it.

“You miss this?” he muttered against her neck, hips snapping.

“All the fucking time—”

He grinned, fucked her harder. “Then maybe I’ll take you there after.”

“Take me where?” Daphne said through her groans.

He bit her shoulder, hips still pounding.

“To the Den,” he whispered. “And I’ll really show you what you’ve been missing.”

"What the fuck is the Den?"

Harry just smiled, "Oh you'll see."

The cupboard was sweating.

Every breath was heavy now, skin slick, the air thick with sex and that desperate, familiar rhythm that said this wasn’t new—but fuck, it still meant something.

Harry’s hand slammed against the wall behind Daphne’s head, steadying himself as he thrust up into her again, again, again. Her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, blouse hanging half-off, hair a mess, eyes wild.

She was soaked. Practically leaking down his cock with every snap of his hips.

Daphne moaned, loud and real. No performance. No filters.

“God, fuck—you always—always—do this to me—”

“Yeah?” Harry panted, grabbing her arse and lifting her just slightly, changing the angle. She gasped—louder—and her back arched.

“Fuck, there—”

“You still thinking about time number two?”

Daphne nodded furiously, forehead against his. “I never stopped—”

Harry grinned, kissed her sloppily, hands digging into her thighs like he didn’t trust her not to float away.

He fucked her harder now. Short, punishing thrusts that made her cry out into his mouth, legs shaking.

“I swear to Merlin,” she gasped, “you’re fucking possessed—”

“I’m just good,” he hissed. “You want to come?”

“Yes—”

“Then beg.”

She whimpered, actually whimpered, fingers digging into his back.

“Harry—please—just—fuck, I need it—please make me—”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, then dropped his hand between them, fingers brushing her clit in rough, tight circles.

Her whole body jolted.

“Oh my God—”

“Come,” he whispered. “You’ve earned it.”

That was it.

Daphne shattered. Loud, clinging, body seizing up around him as the orgasm hit like a curse, hips twitching, legs spasming around his waist. She sobbed into his shoulder, helpless and hot and fucking wrecked.

Harry groaned, nearly lost it right there—her cunt clenching around him, still pulsing like she was trying to drag him down with her.

He didn’t move for a few seconds. Just let her ride it out, kissing her jaw, her neck, the curve of her ear.

Then she finally looked at him.

Eyes glassy. Mouth swollen. Still breathless.

“You are such a fucking menace.”

Harry grinned. “Takes one to fuck one.”

She laughed, weak and broken and gorgeous.

“You done?” he asked.

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t come yet.”

“Didn’t ask about me.”

“Well,” she breathed, brushing her lips over his, “you’re not leaving my side until you do.”

Harry groaned low in his throat.

“No complaints from me...”

Harry finally pulled out of her with a slow, wet sound that made them both groan. Her thighs were twitching. His cock was still hard. And the cupboard walls were probably cursed now, permanently.

Daphne was slumped against him, flushed and glowing and still catching her breath when he spoke.

“But, not here. Let’s move this.”

She looked up, lazy and curious. “Where?”

He kissed her once, just to make her shiver again.

“The Den,” he said. “About time I gave you access.”

Her eyes snapped into focus.

“Wait. What even is this Den?”

He smiled again, already pulling his clothes on with a flick of his wand. “I've got a feeling that you'll like it.”

Daphne didn’t say a word. Just grabbed her wand, fixed her hair with a charm that didn’t do nearly enough to cover how recently she’d been fucked, and followed him.

They walked in silence—well, Daphne tried to walk. Her legs still trembled every few steps, and Harry definitely noticed, but said nothing. Smug prick.

The corridor they stopped at was empty. Forgotten. Dead end.

Daphne tilted her head. “Isn’t this—?”

“Not for you. Not yet.” He stepped closer to the wall, rested a hand against the stone, and whispered something she couldn’t hear.

A soft glow.

Then he turned to her.

“Give me your hand.”

She gave it without question.

Harry pressed his wand to her palm. “Daphne Greengrass,” he said clearly. “Access granted.”

The wall shimmered. Shifted. A door formed—tall, black, elegant, pulsing faintly with magic.

Her eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

Harry just smirked.

He pushed the door open.

And the moment they stepped through—the Den greeted them.

Warmth wrapped around them. The faint scent of sweat, magic, and something sweet. The room breathed. Lights dimmed to a soft glow. The enchantment triggered instantly—their clothes vanished with a soft ripple, robes, shirts, skirts—all gone in a blink.

Daphne gasped. “Oh—fuck—”

Harry didn’t stop moving.

He pulled her by the hand, led her through the lounge space, past a couple of the girls who were fingering eachother, straight to a velvet-cushioned couch in the center. Daphne was more than surprised and startled, but she looked interested. No. She looked horny.

He sat. Spread his legs.

Cock already hard again. Proud. Waiting.

“Come here,” he said. Calm. Commanding.

Daphne obeyed without a second of hesitation.

She climbed into his lap, straddling him, skin flushed under the Den’s soft lighting. Her nipples were already hard. She was soaked again. The room wanted her to be.

Harry brushed her hair back. Looked at her.

“You like it?”

She nodded, breathless. “It’s filthy.”

“Good. Because I’m about to fuck you like you belong here.”

She grinned. “I already do.”

Then she sank down onto him.

Slow. Stretching. Gasping. Until he was buried deep again, and her hands were gripping his shoulders, and her cunt was clenching like she hadn’t just come hard in a cupboard fifteen minutes ago.

Harry groaned. “Fuck, you feel made for this.”

“I am,” she moaned, rolling her hips. “I want to perform for you.”

He grinned. “Then show me what you’ve got, Greengrass.”

And she did.

She rode him.

Not shy. Not careful. This was claiming. Fast and hot and loud, her thighs slapping down against him, tits bouncing, hair a wild mess as she moaned and gasped and started talking—

“You want everyone to hear how good I fuck you?”
“You want them knowing I’m your new favourite slut?”
“You gonna let them watch next time?”

Harry’s hands gripped her arse, fingers digging deep. “Keep going.”

“I’ll do anything in here,” she gasped. “Anything for you. Just fucking use me—”

“Then come again.”

She did. Screaming. Writhing. Nails in his chest.

The Den pulsed around them, satisfied. They just stayed there for a minute, resting, before Susan screaming in the background brought them back to reality.

Daphne was still trembling.

She’d just come so hard her vision had blurred, thighs locked tight around Harry’s hips, chest heaving against his, sweat sticking to skin, lips parted like she couldn’t quite remember how to breathe right.

And yet—she was already rocking her hips again.

Harry watched her, breathless but grinning, his hands still gripping her arse like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he said.

Daphne gasped, still moving, still working him inside her like she needed every inch again.

“You let me in here,” she panted, voice wrecked. “This is your fault.”

He laughed. Low. Rough.

“You think just getting in means you’ve earned it?”

She froze—just for a second.

Then met his eyes.

“Then let me prove it.”

Harry didn’t blink. “Off.”

She climbed off him slow, cum dripping down her thigh, legs wobbling. Her face flushed, her lips glossy with sweat and breath and just the right amount of desperation.

He stood.

Grabbed her by one of her tits—gently, but firmly enough to make her moan—and turned her around.

Bent her over the arm of the couch.

The Den pulsed.

Magic in the air hummed like it knew what was coming next.

Harry stood behind her, hand sliding up her back, then down again to her arse. He spread her. Looked.

“Fucking hell, Daphne,” he muttered. “You’re dripping.”

“You did this,” she gasped. “You made me like this.”

He guided himself back in—slow at first, then deep. Hard.

She let out a broken cry.

Harry didn’t stop.

This wasn’t sweet. This wasn’t slow. This was fucking. The kind that echoed off velvet and marble, the kind the room welcomed. His hips snapped against her, the sound of it obscene, slick and loud and real.

Daphne was gone already.

“Harder—fuck, Harry, please—”

He grabbed her hair, yanked her back enough to growl in her ear.

“You want them all to hear?”

“Yes—”

“You want everyone who walks in here to know you’re mine?”

She moaned. “I am—I’m fucking yours—”

He slapped her arse—once, sharp—and she screamed, cunt clenching so tight he nearly lost it.

Her moans turned into words, now—desperate, filthy, frantic:

“Please—harder—I’ll do anything—just wreck me—I want to be fucked into this room—part of it—”

Harry fucked her like that was the goal.

Like she was just another piece of the Den. Something to be used, worshipped, claimed. Her hands scrabbled against the cushions, legs twitching, moans breaking into high, choked sobs as her orgasm started to build again.

He leaned down, mouth on her neck.

“Come again.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes you fucking can. You’re in my Den now.”

And she shattered.

Her whole body bucked, legs giving out, sobbing into the couch, pussy spasming around him until he had to pull out or risk losing it inside her.

He stroked his cock fast, once, twice—spurt after spurt of hot cum shooting across her back as she collapsed against the cushions, panting, shaking, ruined.

Harry stood there, still catching his breath, staring at the fucking masterpiece he’d just made of her.

Daphne turned her head, dazed but smiling.

“So,” she breathed, voice barely there, “that’s the Den.”

Harry leaned down, kissed the side of her mouth.

“That’s just the welcome tour.”