Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

At twenty-two, Gabrielle Delacour was one of the top models in the wizarding world. With her silvery blonde hair, soft pale skin, and a gorgeous pear-shaped figure, it was no wonder that she had graced the cover of Witch Weekly no less than four times.

Of course, being part veela didn’t hurt, either.

Naturally, when she strode into the crowded conference room, the quiet hum of conversation stuttered. She wore her hair loose, but combed back over the shoulders, and was sporting a tan sleeveless knit dress that hugged her curves and showed off her legs. It took a moment before the eyes of the room dragged themselves off her, and talk resumed at a slower pace.

Her manager, Jamie, beckoned her over to the table, where he was speaking to a tall wizard in dark grey robes.

“Ah, here she is now. Miss Delacour, this is Harry Potter, from the Auror office. He’s going to be providing security for our upcoming trip.”

The bottom fell out of Gabrielle’s heart.

“Harry!” she said, shaking his hand with a broad smile. “It has been so long since we have seen each other!”

Harry chuckled as Jamie’s face grew a bit confused. “Miss Delacour and I first met at Hogwarts, during the Triwizard Tournament. We were only children at the time, but I’ll never forget the circumstances under which we met.”

“Yes,” said Gabrielle. “You saved me from a watery doom, as I recall.”

“Marvelous!” said Jamie, clapping his hands. “Nothing like bonding with old friends to make a business trip more interesting then, eh? I expect you two will have a lot to talk about but first we have a protocol conference to endure—I mean watch—from Mr. Abbott.”

He ushered them to adjacent seats at the conference table, and Gabrielle quietly marveled at how much Harry had changed since they were kids.

Gone was the skinny teenager who had pulled her from the lake. In his place stood a somewhat built professional with a charming smile and windswept hair. He was a head taller than her, and carried himself with an easy confidence. He had a jaw now, a strong one, and his green eyes twinkled, and his face was not at all unpleasant to look at…

The presentation had begun. A small man cast his shadow in the light from the projector, and began droning in a stilted voice about the agency’s goals for the upcoming fiscal year. Harry and Gabrielle exchanged brief, exasperated glances, and smiled when they caught themselves.

A playful giddiness rose within her. On impulse, she let slip some of the power of her allure, her hereditary power to compel the minds of men, just enough to poke at the edges of Harry’s mind, and only enough to get a reaction from him if he was already thinking of her.

There was no way he would respond, at least not noticeably, she reasoned with herself. Sure, she had hidden a crush on him since she was eight, but so had half the witches and wizards in the country. He probably hadn’t spared her the slightest thought since his fourth year. There was no way he would actually react to her magical flirting.

Gabrielle started when Harry’s hand rested lightly on her knee.

She sent a questioning look at him out of the corner of her eye, but he took no notice, continuing to observe the presentation with a placid smile on his face. His hand lightly squeezed her knee, as though reassuring her.

She couldn’t do this. It was impossible. It was irresponsible. She was engaged, for God’s sake, to a wealthy and respectable wizard. There was absolutely no way she should respond to Harry’s touch.

But his hand was so warm…

Gabrielle swallowed, her heart pounding. Very slowly, she spread her legs, subtly inviting him in.

Harry took the hint, his fingertips slowly tracing higher and higher up her pale, creamy thigh until they burrowed under her skirt. His touch was electric, sending goosebumps up Gabrielle’s back, and she quickly glanced from side to side to make sure no one had noticed that her head Auror’s hand was sliding into her panties in the middle of the meeting.

His index finger dipped into her waistband, pulled it back and let it snap against her navel. She shivered in a combination of arousal and fear, and one or two heads around the table turned with a slight frown, trying to detect the source of the noise, before returning to the presentation.

Biting her lip guiltily, Gabrielle glanced at Harry again. His face was perfectly calm, as though nothing was amiss. It made her want to scream.

His hand slipped into her panties, cupping her mound, gently massaging it up and down. Gabrielle bit back a pleased sigh as his palm started to grow damp with her arousal. Pretending to stretch, she arched back in her seat as much as she dared, trying to quietly press herself against his wonderful fingers.

Harry shifted, raising his hand slightly higher to gently circle her pearl with two fingers, and Gabrielle slumped back a little as the pleasure started to make her lightheaded.

Trying desperately to control her breathing, she struggled not to cum, her toes curling in her shoes as tingles erupted all over her. Her nipples were pebbled to hard points that were very nearly visible even through her knit dress, and her hands had a white-knuckle grip on the edge of her seat as Harry played with her pussy.

His rhythm was flawless, like a metronome relentlessly beating out the time against her clit. Her body was singing for him, glorying in the relief it never got from Pierre, welcoming the touch of the hero it had been dreaming about since she was a girl with an almost messianic fervor, and she was almost terrified of how much she never wanted him to stop touching her.

Clenching her jaw, and fighting to keep her face blank, Gabrielle endured the biggest orgasm of her life so far with stoic determination, nothing but the faintest tremor passing through her lower body as her mind exploded into pure bliss. Her eyes fluttered shut for perhaps a second longer than was normal, for when she opened them again the presenter had stopped speaking, and was gazing at her with a look of mild concern. Harry’s hand quickly slipped out of her sodden panties, and she couldn’t quite hold back the disgruntled hiss that followed it.

“Miss Delacour, are you feeling a bit ill?”

Scrambling for a moment to remember who she was, she managed to reply breathlessly, “I do feel a bit faint. I may need a glass of water. Would you excuse me for just a moment?”

She didn’t wait for a response, quickly shoving her chair back, rising and straightening her dress in one graceful motion, and stalking out of the conference room without looking back. She heard Harry say something to the others as she left, but not a million Galleons could have tempted her to remain in that room a second longer.

Storming down the hall, her head whirling, Gabrielle hardly paid attention to where she was going. Harry Potter, the man she had been crushing on hopelessly for fourteen years, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, had just fingered her to an impossibly fast mind-blowing orgasm under a conference table in a crowded room.

“And you let him do it,” said a voice at the back of her mind. “You liked it.”

“Shut up!” she thought furiously.

“He was better than Pierre.”

“Hey!”

Gabrielle turned, and was not quite prepared for the wave of mingled emotions that rose within her at the sight of Harry Potter hurrying up the corridor.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she hissed as he drew closer to her. “You think women just fall down at your feet when you toss them a wink? You think no one will notice if you slip a hand up my skirt? C’est tellement stupide de penser que tu peut te comporter comme ça qu’ils devraient révoquer ton statut d’Auror…”

Harry glanced back and forth, and taking Gabrielle by the elbow, started to lead her down the corridor as she continued to berate him in rapid French, taking no notice of where they were going.

She hardly registered Harry shoving open a door into a dark, cramped space, and had just taken out her wand with the intent of giving him a good and proper curse when suddenly his hands were on his shoulders and his mouth was on hers and…Oh! He was kissing her, soundly and deeply and very, very thoroughly.

Gabrielle was vaguely aware that her arms had fallen around his shoulders, which were broad, and she was kissing him back, on lips that were softer than she would have guessed. His kisses were light and pleasant, with only as much force behind them as they needed to press themselves to her lips, and he let her control the pace as she gently nibbled on his lower lip. The taste of him was heady, like wine, and as her hand gently caressed his jaw, she felt the barest hint of rough stubble there, and made a note to remind him to shave before they did this again…

Feeling daring, she swiped her tongue against the intersection of their mouths, teasing entrance, and felt a leap of scandalous delight as his tongue slipped effortlessly inside, chasing hers with predatory intent. She opened her mouth and tilted her head back, beseeching, and he took the back of her head in hand and plundered her.

She pressed herself closer to him, molding her shape against his, and he sank his fingers into the meat of her ass, grinding his hardness against her crotch. Her knees went weak at the thought of how she was making him feel…how he was making her feel…

Harry pulled his mouth from Gabrielle’s, and as she chased after the lost kiss he murmured, “I know you were charming me back there. If you want to do this, say now. We have to be quick so they don’t suspect.”

Panting and flushed, Gabrielle nevertheless mustered the presence of mind to fix him with a withering glare. “I am a veela. I will not be satisfied with just one!”

With a grin that made her insides go all swoopy, Harry’s hands fumbled at his belt buckle. Gabrielle slid her thumbs into her panties and quickly wriggled them down her long, smooth legs. She nearly tangled them around her ankles in her haste, but Harry seized her about the waist as she clumsily righted herself, and hefted her whole body up into his arms. Gasping in surprise, Gabrielle wrapped her legs around his waist, and found her back slammed against the wall.

A long, sustained moan broke from Gabrielle’s perfect lips as the blunt fullness of Harry’s cock slid inside her. His hands were gripping her haunches hard enough to bruise, and her voice was wavering on a high note in time with his movements.

Gabrielle’s jaw shook as their hips connected. He was actively lifting her up in time with his movements just as much as he was thrusting forward to meet her, muscles tensing under his robe. She briefly entertained the idea of feeling up his biceps, but decided she wasn’t willing to forgo the safety of having her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Ohhhh, oui, oui, oui, baise-moi, baise-moi, baise-moi…” Gabrielle keened, eyes squeezed shut, bouncing gently on Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts. “Ouiouioui, comme ça, çomme ça…”

Harry growled, picking up the pace, and through her haze of arousal Gabrielle noticed a pulsing red glow over his shoulder. Belatedly, she realized her wand was still loosely gripped in her hand, and red sparks were flying from the tip every time his cock slammed home inside her.

“Ouhhhhh, je vais jouir, ‘Arry!” she cried.

Squirming and twisting violently against Harry’s chest, Gabrielle came hard for the second time that day, desperately humping out of time with Harry as her glistening arousal coated his cock. Offering no respite, Harry continued to pound her into jelly, and Gabrielle’s head limply flopped onto his shoulder as he thrust up into her.

“Merde! Je n‘ai jamais joui comme ça,” she whispered dazedly.

With a groan, Harry’s pace stuttered, and he hauled Gabrielle a little higher so his cock slid out of her passage, just before his seed arced into the space between them, and splattered in a sinuous line onto the hem of Gabrielle’s dress.

His muscles shaking with exertion, Harry turned and let his back fall against the wall, sliding to the floor with Gabrielle still curled up in his arms. Labored breaths filled the air for a while before either of them spoke.

“Zis was my favorite dress,” Gabrielle moaned, her voice hoarse and throaty. She pinched at the white stains on the fabric.

“It’s my favorite now, too,” Harry chuckled. Gabrielle glared at him.

“I can’t walk around like zis.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender, then reached over to fish his wand from the crumpled heap of his trousers and Vanished the incriminating stain. Gabrielle extracted herself from his lap, and stood to begin patting down her rumpled clothes and mussed hair.

“I’ll leave first, and tell them you went home,” said Harry as he pulled his pants back up. “When you’re sure the corridor is empty, Apparate out, and tell anyone who missed you that you felt ill and took a nap.”

“I cannot go ‘ome. I ‘ave a photoshoot in two hours,” she snapped, her French accent getting more pronounced in anger. She was aggravated by his calmness, his apparent need to rationalize this…whatever it was…into a security matter, as though anything he had just done could be considered remotely professional.

“Where can you say you went, then?”

“Alette’s,” she said, surprising herself with how quickly she caught onto his brainwave. “We often meet zere to share professional charms and zings…things.”

He nodded. “Good. Go there, and say you took your time. We didn’t see each other after we left the conference room. I’ll call you when I get home.”

She caught his arm as he reached for the door. “I don’t know what you think just happened, but it cannot happen again. I am engaged, and you are technically working for me.”

He did that grin again. “Alright, but before you decide anything, there’s something you should know, Miss Delacour.”

Trying to ignore how her heart had picked up a bit, Gabrielle raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And what is that, Mr. Potter?”

“I was using my left hand in the conference room.”

“So?”

“I’m right-handed.”

Her mouth opened a bit as she tried to process his sheer effrontery, but he winked and was gone before she could muster a retort. Resisting the urge to stomp her foot, she straightened her dress, glowering silently to herself as she prepared to Apparate out.

Chapter Text

Cameras snapped like machine guns, lingering traces of smoke rising from the great glass bulbs like a sleeping dragon’s breath with a faintly acidic smell to match. For Gabrielle, each thick, heavy lens was an inquisitive eye, and she stared into them without a hint of uncertainty or fear. Her job here, what really set her apart from her competition, was that she was not here to merely wear clothes. She was here to communicate. I am the life you want, she said to her audience on the other side of the glossy page, with every heavy glance and coy smile. I am an interesting person, wearing interesting clothes, going to interesting places. My calendar is full. My conversation is captivating. I am passionate and vivacious and charming and Alive, and you could be just as Alive as I am if you would just buy these clothes.

Unfortunately, her bosses weren’t really concerned with communicating Alive-ness. They were more concerned with her face, her hair, and how visible certain parts of her body were on camera.

Several of them were standing in a little knot of expensive robes behind the snacks table, whispering to each other as they watched her with a disapproving sort of look. Jamie was casting them anxious glances from time to time from his station behind the photographers. Gabrielle wished he wouldn’t do that. She had, from time to time, tried to give him an introductory sort of education in her style of communication, but he had demonstrated a commendable resistance to education of any sort. Gabrielle supposed that was how he became a talent manager in the first place.

With a huff, Jamie sliced his fist through the air, and the camera flashes immediately ceased. He approached the stage the same way a defendant would approach the bench.

“Look, Gabby,” he murmured, glancing once again at the disapproving knot of velvet at the back of the room. “You’re giving us great stuff here, like you always do, but the publishers feel we need a little more…a little more heat, you know.”

Gabrielle was not surprised, but felt obliged to conjure up a look of puzzlement for the sake of her manager’s understanding. “Jamie, I am modeling a trench coat.”

It was true. She was sporting a long beige trench coat with a matching beret and short-heeled boots, her silver-blond hair done up in a tight bun. Apparently, the 1940s were coming back into fashion.

“I know,” said Jamie, his eyes drifting yet again to the publishers, “but, you know, the publishers have a policy, and…”

Gabrielle silenced him with a hand. Her great talent was that she could feel the hollow, aching shape of that indefinable quality that so many people felt they were missing in their lives. She could fill that shape, not with anything as crude as words or posture, but simply by being before them, and letting all their unsaid doubts and desires fill up the space that was her. They were quietly desperate for it, and being desperate, would see answers for it everywhere, even in the pages of a magazine. If her bosses didn’t see the value in that, she was under no obligation to give it to them.

Jamie’s look of relief made Gabrielle think of a little boy who had just found his lost dog, and he practically danced back to his spot behind the cameras.

“Fine,” she thought to herself, shrugging her coat into a looser shape. “They want heat? I’ll give them heat.”

The looks she gave the camera now were coy, lips parted, eyes hooded. She gave half-turns, sat primly on the floor, and artfully crossed her legs. With every subtle lean and twist, she told miniature stories: She was a debutante caught unaware by a lover at a party. She was an innocent rising star about to meet a handsome, but older producer. She was an ice queen of high society about to meet her match in an earnest young reporter. Every smile was a column’s worth of gossip, every pose a hint of scandal. She would write the stories with a look, and the people would fill them in like they always did, and then they would think “If only that were me…”

It wasn’t working. The velvet knot were still shaking their disapproving gray heads, Jamie’s smile was becoming more and more forced by the second. Gabrielle internally resigned herself to spending the whole day on this damned stage.

A door quietly opened at the edge of the studio, and Harry Potter edged in, unobtrusively.

Inspiration is a funny thing. No one can really say where it comes from or how it works, least of all the one who receives it. But, happily for the publishers of Foretelling Fashion, it struck Gabrielle Delacour that day, and struck hard.

Men and women alike were startled at the look of sheer want in her grey eyes, but that fright quickly dissolved into a warm, giggly sort of feeling that arose from the fact that Gabrielle Delacour was looking at them. She was radiant in the stage light, her glowing hair making a pale golden halo about her angelic face. She arched her back, her round, perky breasts pressing up against the fabric of her shirt like they were begging to be set free. Her long fingers brushed the lapels of her heavy coat, teasingly suggesting what might happen if she were to shrug it off, and a shiver ran down your spine. Gracefully, one leg landed in front of the other, as though she were striding towards you, hips perfectly poised as though they were used to swaying, and only stayed for a moment because she wanted you to notice how artfully they were balanced. Her lips, her perfect pale pink lips were ever so slightly open, and your heart ached at the thought of pressing your own to them…

The cameras flashed furiously, the whole crowd was staring agog, the publishers were nodding approvingly, and in the middle of it all, Jamie’s grin was so wide it outshone the lights on the stage.

Gabrielle, however, only had eyes for the Auror in gray robes at the back of the room, who was not quite managing to conceal the giddy smile on his face, nor the sudden tightness that seemed to be afflicting his trousers.

“And I could do that without using my veela allure,” she thought smugly. “The shoe’s on the other foot now, Mr. Potter.”

She was vaguely aware that Jamie was joyfully calling for the set to be stuck, and that the crew was slow to respond because every nearly every man and woman in the studio was staring at Gabrielle like they were in a trance, but her eyes never left Harry’s as she descended gracefully from the stage and strode through the crowd like a queen.

She could feel arousal seeping from the crowd around her, and was pleased to find that Harry was no exception as she stopped before him.

“Miss Delacour,” he murmured, still not fighting off his smile. “You’ve finished earlier than expected, I see.”

“Yes,” she hummed, tilting her head a bit. “Since my afternoon has just opened up, would you care to have some lunch with me?”

She tried to communicate with her expression that this lunch would not actually involve eating lunch.

His eyes lit up. “I’d be delighted.”

Smiling calmly, she took his arm, and they strolled towards the exit as the hubbub around them gradually increased in volume and magnitude.

…

When he opened his eyes, Harry was momentarily surprised to see that Gabrielle had apparently not teleported them to the café she had mentioned on their way out, but to the front hall of a spacious modern apartment with white walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and hardwood floors.

He didn’t get a chance to ask about it before Gabrielle’s hands firmly twined themselves in his tie and yanked his head down to hers. She kissed him hard and fierce and hungry, burying her fingers in his messy black hair almost to the point of pulling on it. Her tongue demanded entrance to his mouth without preamble, and to his surprise, he found himself submitting to her.

His hands drifted towards her waist but she smacked them away without even looking. He hissed, pulling back a little bit.

She glared at him, her eyes blown dark and wide with lust. “I am in charge now, Monsieur Potter. You will touch me when I decide you may. Is zat clear?”

That should not have been as hot as it was. Harry swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled, and moved to kiss him again, and Harry silently thanked his lucky stars that he had gotten this assignment.

She was so small under him, and she looked so soft and delicate, but there was real strength in the arms that were currently holding him bent down, and she showed him again when she turned him around the corner, still firmly connected at the mouth, and started leading him down the halls by the tie like a bridled horse.

Eagerness started to get the best of her, and she broke the kiss to skip excitedly down the hall ahead of him, laughing excitedly, and she shrieked with delight when he scooped her up in his arms. She cupped his face and kissed him sweetly as he sprinted down the hall, instinctively shouldering his way into the room at the end.

Luckily for him, this was the bedroom. It was big and airy with sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a magnificent view of downtown London, but he was too preoccupied with kissing the slender young witch in his arms to notice it. The bed was big and round, and he was able to deposit her giggling form onto it without breaking the kiss for more than a moment.

Harry crawled atop her, and she ran her hands down the length of his chest before she kissed him again. His skin remembered her light touch, and delightful tingles swirled down his back.

He threaded her hair through his fingers, and surged forward to press a line of hasty, panting kisses to her temple, her ear, her delicate jaw. Her head twisted slightly, offering him her pale throat, and she moaned, throaty and faint.

“Oh, ‘Arry…”

His teeth sunk into the soft flesh of her neck, just above her collarbone, and she whimpered, her heels scrabbling against the silk sheets as he started to suck. His lips sealed themselves to her skin, and he delighted in the taste of her as well as her musical moans, which echoed acoustically in the vaulted chamber. She squeaked when he suddenly clamped down hard, and her legs pointed stiff and rigid.

Harry released her with an audible pop, and grinned at how heavy her breathing had gotten, her chest rising up and down fast. “Weren’t you saying something about being in charge?”

Her answering smile was ferocious. “Oui…you may have distracted me wiz zat…but I know how to get you where I want you.”

Her elbow dug into the mattress, and in a flash she was straddling Harry’s lap, who she had pinned to the bed with one hand on his chest.

“You will stay zere if you want zis to continue…” she purred, her eyes glinting.

Harry wisely decided to do what she said.

Gabrielle flung her beret to the corner, and shrugged her way out of her large trench coat. With a coy smile, she unbuckled her belt, and pulled it out of its loops, very slowly, subtly grinding her core against Harry’s crotch.

Harry’s breath grew ragged, his eyes feasting on the sight of Gabrielle slowly revealing inch after inch of porcelain flesh. He could feel his cock grow a little harder as she pulled her shirt over her head and shook her hair free of its bun until it cascaded over her slender shoulders and brushed her round, snow-white breasts.

Now clad only in her pants and boots, Gabrielle smirked, rolling her hips teasingly against him. Harry moaned, wanting to preserve the image in his mind forever.

He reached for her waist again, but again she slapped his hand away. He pouted up at her.

“No, my boy,” she said soothingly, carding a hand through his hair. “First, I must do what I had not ze chance for last time,”

She started to unbutton his robes, pushing them impatiently off his shoulders, but resisting any of his attempts to help. She did take the opportunity to lean in and kiss him, and Harry responded with an eagerness that had been held back by her restraint.

Placing her hands on his bare shoulders, she pushed herself backwards, and bent to his belt. Undoing it swiftly, she yanked his pants and briefs down with one stroke, and pulled out his cock. It was just as thick and girthy as she remembered, and she could feel her underwear get a little wetter as she remembered what he could do with that cock.

Looking him right in the eye, she planted a light kiss on the middle of his shaft. Harry shuddered.

She placed another light kiss just above that. Harry started to squirm.

With deliberate care, she kissed her way higher and higher up Harry’s throbbing cock, finally pressing her lips to his thick, plummy head. Locking eyes with him, she tilted her face down, pressed the flat of her tongue to his slit, and slowly started swirling it in delicate circles around his weeping slit.

“Oh god, Gabrielle, that feels amazing” he groaned, arching his head back as suppressed tingles radiated down his cock.

“I should think so,” she thought to herself smugly, swirling her tongue around his cockhead. With one hand she reached up to caress his balls, gently rolling them in her palm, and he made a choked mewl.

Opening her mouth wide, she let some of her accumulated slobber dribble off her outstretched tongue onto his dick, then firmly grasped his rigid length and rubbed up and down with quick, artful flicks of her wrist.

“Oooh,” she cooed as a drop of precum started to well up at the tip. “You like zat, Auror Potter?”

“Yes, I do,” said Harry, his expression dreamy.

“Don’t my soft hands feel good on your cock?” she lilted, gently squeezing him.

“Nng…you’re a dirty little tease,” he choked, his legs twitching slightly on the bed.

“I’m your dirty little tease.”

A guilty thrill ran down her spine as her hot little mouth returned to his cock.

“You don’t belong to him. You belong to Pierre.”

Gabrielle slurped loudly on Harry’s cock, slowly running her tongue around the base of his plummy head.

“I don’t belong to anyone. I am a person. I cannot be possessed.”

“Do you enjoy me, Auror Potter?” she cooed, popping her lips off the tip of his length.

His groan was answer enough.

“Has anyone ever been zis good to you, Auror Potter?” Ducking her head, she wrapped her soft lips around his balls, her warm, wet tongue slithering them around in a blissful massage as she continued to pump his cock.

 “NGHH…no.” Harry’s hips were twitching, and his eyelids were growing heavy as the pleasure got deeper. Her little hand, slick with her spit, was squeezing him just hard enough to really feel it, alternating firm strokes on the way down and a relaxed grip on the way up.

A flushed, needy heat was building in Gabrielle’s nethers as she savored all Harry’s sweet moans and grunts. She rolled his balls out of her mouth on her tongue, then licked her way back up to his cockhead. “Has anyone every sucked your cock the way I do, Auror Potter?”

His cock jumped. “No, Gabrielle,” he said in a shuddering sigh.

The sound of her name murmured so softly from his mouth was unbearably sensual, and Gabrielle had to pause for a moment to process the unexpectedly tender pang.

Shaking her head, she started to lick him again, loudly slurping on his cock and swiping her tongue over his weeping slit. Tasting a flash of bitter precum, she spat down on his cock, then ducked to kiss his balls again, caressing them in her mouth one by one with infinite gentleness.

“Cum for me,” she said softly, and bent to envelop his cock in her soft lips.

Thick white cream spurted deep into her mouth, and Gabrielle nearly choked before she remembered to breathe through her nose. Harry’s cock jerked inside her mouth, unexpectedly leaping to hit the back of her throat, and Gabrielle suppressed a powerfully uncomfortable gag, her eyes watering as she forced her jaws to remain still.

“God, Gabrielle,” Harry wheezed, his fists bunching the sheets. “I’ve never…no one’s ever…”

She silenced him with her eyes, letting his glistening cock fall from her lips in a lewd motion that she carried with sensual grace. “I know.”

She opened her mouth to show him the glistening white cum that coated her tongue, letting a big glob hang off the tip, then slurped it back in with a playful giggle.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as Gabrielle rose to her knees on the bed, swinging her silvery-blonde hair to the side. Topless, she looked incredibly hot, her tits bouncing slightly with her movement.

Gabrielle smirked as she started to unbutton her pants, sliding them down to her ankles as she toed off her boots. In two smooth motions she was wearing nothing but white, lacy panties. Harry’s eyes roved down her long, smooth legs.

Biting her lip, she slid her thumbs into the thin waistband, and slowly, slowly, slowly, edged them down past the swell of her pale, smooth thighs. Rocking back onto her butt, she raised her pointed toes into the air and bent her knees towards her face to slide her panties to her ankles. Whipping them off her feet, she flung them with a devilish smile at Harry’s awed face, and artfully parted her legs in the air like a ballerina, slowly lowering them until they rested on the sheets on either side of the cock pointing rigidly at the ceiling.

This was Harry’s first time seeing Gabrielle fully naked, and her nimble, petite body left him utterly speechless. Her shoulders were narrow, and her form was fit and slender, but there was a defined musculature in her ivory arms and legs that he hadn’t expected. Her taut stomach and round little breasts were arched proudly towards him, begging for his touch. There was a bouncy, gleeful sort of energy in the way she held herself, like at any moment she could spring up and tackle you with giggles and kisses. She resembled a statue of Aphrodite…no, not Aphrodite. She was too light, too playful to memorialize any sort of virtue. Gabrielle was more like a wood nymph, sparking radiance and joy from her bright grey eyes.

She was very, very alive. There was no other way to say it.

“Zat was quick,” she commented, eyes lighting on his erection.

“Can you blame me? Look at you.”

Watching him with suppressed mirth in her eyes, she put one foot on his chest and playfully shoved him back down onto the sheets. Heaving herself upright, she walked forward on her knees until she was straddling his head, and dropped her bare, glistening slit right onto his face.

Harry seized her hips, and this time she allowed it to keep her balance, gyrating against his face as he started to eat her out. His lips were warm, wriggling against her soft pink folds, and she tangled her hands in her hair, giggling lightly as Harry licked his way up her pussy.

His tongue was lashing her clit mercilessly one moment, making her moan lewdly and rock against his face, then he thrust it deep within her passage in the next, making her shriek with scandalized delight.

“Oh, you naughty boy,” she moaned, pressing herself harder onto his talented mouth. “Mmm, don’t you dare stop doing that!”

His fingers dug hard into the flesh of her thighs, but Gabrielle could hardly bring herself to care that he might leave bruises at the moment. Harry sucked and slurped at her dripping arousal, pulled back to press a kiss to her clit that made her whimper, then fairly attacked her pussy with his tongue. He was perfectly in tune with her body, every nip and lick timed to match with the ebb and flow of her electric pleasure, driving her up the wall with tingling, sensational delight.

Gabrielle moaned and whimpered and shrieked as he worked her pussy, the big wave building momentum and force inside her. Harry was preparing for it. Just a little nibble here…a tweak there…a big lick here…NOW!

He fastened his lips to her clit and sucked hard, and Gabrielle bucked so wildly against his face that it pressed his head into the mattress. With a hoarse, trembling cry, she came right against his face.

As her twitches started to ease, she lifted herself up on trembling legs, and peered down at Harry’s smug smile gleaming wetly between her thighs.

“I am very glad you were assigned as my protector, Auror Potter,” she said in a weak, shaky voice.

Still grinning, Harry deftly flipped them over, to the sound of Gabrielle’s happy squeal, and laid her flat on the mattress as he covered her face, her neck, and her breasts with kisses, while a laughing Gabrielle pretended to fend him off, finally pulling him close by his hair for a long, soothing kiss.

Harry pulled away after a time, his gaze heavy with lust. “Sit on my lap. We’re not done yet.”

His voice made butterflies swarm in Gabrielle’s tummy, and she sat up eagerly as Harry maneuvered himself behind her. She leaned back and relaxed, Harry’s hard cock pressing between her ass cheeks. With a cheeky grin, she wiggled her butt.

Harry growled in her ear, and she bit her lip as goosebumps pebbled her naked skin. His hands ran flat over the soft planes of her tummy, her ribs, her pert breasts, her shoulders. He kissed the back of her neck, and she squirmed against him, a light moan dropping from her lips. He pinched one dusky pink nipple, and she gasped, her back arching into the air.

Harry chuckled, both hands now gently tweaking and massaging her tender little nubs, and Gabrielle started to whimper as heat pooled in her belly again. One hand started to drift towards her hood, but Harry’s hand darted down to pin it to her leg.

Grasping her hand, Harry brought her arm up over her shoulder to his face, and gently pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Gabrielle whimpered again as the heat in her belly exploded, and rolled her hips in the air to show how much she needed him there.

“Keep your hands at your sides, love,” Harry murmured as he gently nibbled on her earlobe. “I’m going to take good care of you.”

Gabrielle swooned, her eyes rolling up in her head. Harry was so warm, so comforting, so titillatingly deft with his hands as he stroked her. Their scents were becoming intermingled, warm and heavy in the late afternoon sun, and she sighed as she relaxed into his broad chest. She could trust him. He would take good care of her.

Her hands gradually relaxed, resting atop her knees, and Harry’s hands crept between the valley of her thighs.

“I mentioned I was right-handed, right?”

This made Gabrielle want to roll her eyes, but the thought was blown out of her mind when Harry’s fingers started to gently circle her hood. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, and she spread her legs a little wider for him.

Harry’s whole hand was starting to move now, the pressure around Gabrielle’s clit getting firmer as he started to work his wrist. He broke the pattern to tap her right on the button, and she inhaled sharply and jerked against him. He kissed her neck.

Gabrielle’s moans were getting breathy and high, and the rolls of her hips were becoming rhythmic. Harry’s pace did not falter or increase, steadily pounding out the titillating rhythm against her clit.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabrielle,” Harry panted, pressing another kiss to her temple. “You’re doing such a good job.”

Gabrielle whimpered, her legs starting to shake. Harry seized the underside of her left thigh and held it firmly to the side as he continued to rub her clit. This sent a fresh bolt of arousal through her and she squealed, quivering in Harry’s arms as a little spurt of her arousal leaped from between his fingers, and stained the white silk bedsheet.

Her squirt only quickened the passage of Harry’s fingers, and he resumed his pace with steely determination as Gabrielle trembled and whined.

Gabrielle squeezed her eyes shut as she felt herself approach the peak. It was going to be a big one. She was almost scared of how much she wanted to cum.

“Here it comes,” Harry panted.

Gabrielle howled as she exploded into a mind-blowing orgasm. Her hips bucked wildly, Harry momentarily losing contact with her clit, and she thrashed like an animal caged by his limbs. The back of her head cracked hard against Harry’s jaw, and worry sliced through the stars that were shooting past her eyes.

“’Arry?” she panted, trying weakly to turn herself around. “I am so sorry, are you ‘urt?”

She was cut off by Harry’s lips clamping over hers, and she immediately returned the kiss with gusto, moaning into his mouth. He laid her on her back on the mattress again, and she went pliant in his hands, trying to hold him as close to her as she could. Every part of her was warm and happy and exhausted and singing “Harry, Harry, Harry…”

His hand was suddenly back between her legs, and Gabrielle bolted upright as her oversensitive clit panged sharply. He was rubbing her fast now, his fingers blurring as they circled her squelching wet folds.

“…toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoocmuch…”

She babbled, syllables tripping over her tongue as she clutched weakly at Harry’s arm with both hands, incoherently trying to explain that she couldn’t handle what he was doing to her.

His left hand snuck beneath his right as he bent over her prostrate form, and Gabrielle squeaked as he slipped a finger up her moist passage. It wriggled and curled inside her, blindly pressing up against places that made lights explode behind her eyes and little rivulets of arousal run down his wrist. The invading finger pinned itself to a place inside her that made her mouth fall open, and for a moment she panicked as she felt a sudden swelling pressure below her navel that made her think she was about to pee…

Gabrielle’s hips rose up, and she squirted hard in the air, her cum spraying like a fire hose from underneath and between the blur of Harry’s fingers. Her voice broke trying to scream, and she collapsed back onto the mattress, twitching violently from the waist down as the most powerful orgasm of her life so far wracked her small frame. Her legs kicked the sheets at random as her lips fluttered soundlessly. Harry’s hands finally left her pussy, still gushing clear fluid, and he curled up on his side, watching her warmly as she shuddered her way through a long series of aftershocks.

Eventually, her breath evened out, and her legs stopped twitching, and Gabrielle finally opened her eyes, basking in a warm golden afterglow. She sighed, stretching her whole naked body as luxuriously and contentedly as a cat, and turned to look into Harry Potter’s smiling eyes. The sun was almost setting behind him, illuminating his naked body with an orange halo.

“I didn’t know you were a squirter.”

“Neezzer did I,” she replied. Her voice was raspy and sensual.

Harry grinned, inching closer to her. “Your voice sounds so hot like that…”

She beat him to the kiss, darting forward to press her lips to his, then pulling away to whisper in his ear: “I sound like this because you fucked me so good.”

The kiss dissolved into giggles, and Gabrielle held Harry’s face in her hands for a while before she rolled onto her back and gazed calmly at the vaulted ceiling.

“What do we do now?” asked Harry.

“Now,” said Gabrielle as she tried to regulate her breathing. “We will take a break…for fifteen—no, ten minutes…and zen I’m going to give you…ze muzzer of all blowjobs…”

On the other side of the hall, the doorknob clacked.

Gabrielle’s heart stopped beating.

Her fiancé was home.

Chapter Text

Gabrielle moved fast.

Whirling off the bed, her legs immediately gave out from under her, and she went sprawling painfully onto the glossy hardwood floor. Harry chuckled.

Scrabbling like a disturbed crab, she twisted her hands into the sheets, and laboriously hauled herself up over the side of the bed. The glare she sent Harry shut his mouth at once, although his smirk remained. Gabrielle wanted very badly to kiss that smirk, and was leaning in on the point of doing so when the front door creaked open.

Pulling back so fast it gave her whiplash, she shoved Harry’s clothes at him with one hand, and sent a wordless charm to slam the door shut with the other.

“Merde!” came a pained voice from the door.

“Who’s that?” whispered Harry, standing there uselessly with his arms full of clothes.

“C’est pas le bon moment,” Gabrielle hissed, pushing him towards the balcony. “Il faut que tu t’en ailles, maintenant!”

His face actually broke at this, so crestfallen that it wrenched at Gabrielle’s heart, and she very nearly reconsidered the whole situation right then and there, but then….

“À qui tu parles?” came Pierre’s voice, frighteningly close.

Where Gabrielle got the preternatural speed that she moved with next, she never knew. In one motion, she shoved Harry backwards over the railing, spun around, and Summoned her bathrobe from the closet, whipping it over herself just as Pierre came in the bedroom door.

“Personne,” said Gabrielle, trying not to appear out of breath.

…

Convincing Pierre that the swinging door and deceptive echoes had been the result of a malfunctioning Atmospheric Charm had been frighteningly easy. Excusing herself from his greeting kiss and ducking into the shower without further explanation had been less so.

In the shower, a wet and naked Gabrielle stared at the wall like the answers would appear out of the linoleum.

Should she stop? Could she stop? Did she love Harry? Did she love Pierre?

She loved how she felt when she was with Harry. She loved how easy it was to feel that way.

She also felt a little bad about pushing him off a building.

She loved how he always knew how to touch her. She loved how gentle his hands were. She loved kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him until little tingles of joy were running up her spine, just like they were now…

Looking down, Gabrielle realized that her hand had migrated between her glistening legs, and was gently running up and down her slit.

Well, she had been interrupted earlier…

Planting one hand on the wall, she started to rub more firmly, sometimes tapping lightly on her pearl, teasing herself with ticklish little bursts of sensation as she worked her body up to a crescendo.

“Harry…” she moaned, pressing deeper into herself.

She didn’t notice the shadow gathering on the steamed glass door.

Gabrielle started when she heard it rattle open, one arm rising reflexively in an attempt cover her breasts as she spun around.

Pierre stood there, a pressed dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, his glasses fogged with escaping steam.

Gabrielle squeaked. He had heard her! And heard her crying another man’s name from the shower! She raised her hands, ready to plead, cry, defend herself—but paused when nothing else happened.

Having opened the shower door, Pierre was apparently content to stand there motionless as Gabrielle’s shower water dripped onto the bathroom floor. His square, cheekbone-y face was perfectly impassive.

Hesitantly, Gabrielle reached out, and wiped the fog off his glasses.

“Ah,” she thought. “That would explain it.”

Pierre’s blue eyes were dreamy and unfocused, and there was a noticeable strain in the fabric of his underpants. Apparently, he had been getting dressed for the evening when the veela allure seeping from Gabrielle’s indulgent shower had hit him like a freight train.

Gabrielle stood there, lips parted in amazement as water poured over her head. She had lost control of her allure! That was only supposed to happen when…when…

When she found her veela mate.

“Pierre is my mate!” she thought to herself, joy starting to break like a rising sun. “It will all work out now! It has to!”

Bumps in the road were only natural, her mother had told her long ago, when it came to mates. Veela weren’t always ready to accept the momentous change of their inner magic first starting to shift and click into place with someone else’s. Why, when her Aunt Cecilia first felt the tug of her mate’s magic at a diplomatic peace conference, she’d responded to the poor woman’s offer of an introductory handshake by shouting “NO!” and jumping from the twelfth floor of the United Nations headquarters on 42^nd Street directly into the cargo deck of a passing East River garbage barge. For three weeks, she’d gallivanted about the Bolivian countryside, breaking every heart she came across in a hedonistic effort to forget the swooping feeling she’d felt in her stomach when her eyes had first met those of her intended mate. Eventually, the bond’s promise became too much, and she'd flown several thousand miles to the French embassy in Kenya to sheepishly ask that enchanting young lady if she’d like to get coffee with her sometime. They’d been happily married now for almost twenty years.

“This is just like that!” Gabrielle thought. “I was acting out because I was nervous about pledging myself to Pierre!”

Smiling, she took Pierre by the collar, and pulled him into the still-running shower with her. Water soaked his white dress shirt.

Wordless, she kissed his neck, his lips, her hands busy shucking off what clothes he’d managed to put on. Now, she could make it up to him. Harry would understand. It would be all right now. It was just veela magic.

Pierre was still in her thrall, apparently unresponsive to her soft lips pressing themselves to the hollow of his throat, and down his chest. That was fine. He would adjust.

She positioned him against the shower wall. Placing her feet carefully on either side of him, trying not to slip in the little rivulets of shower water, she sank herself on his cock in one smooth motion.

Her lips parted in a quiet “oh,” as she gently bounced herself on his cock. His hands raised themselves to her breasts, and his thumbs flicked sparkingly over their pebbled peaks.

It was so nice, so easy when she had him to herself like this, Gabrielle thought, swirling her hips in an enticing little dance. She tilted her head back, waiting for the telltale explosion of feeling that marked the culmination of their mate-bond.

Diving forward, she sucked Pierre’s lip into her mouth, angling her hips forward to slide him deeper inside her, desperately seeking pressure on her clit. Gripping him by the shoulders, she started to ride him harder, until her breasts and belly jiggled with the rolls of her hips.

The pleasure was light and heady, like a good glass of wine, Gabrielle thought. With Harry, it had been different—with Harry, she had been pinned to the edge of a bone-shaking eruption until she thought she couldn’t stand it, and then the release had left her shaking and breathless and wet.

Gabrielle started to bounce a little harder, panting as Pierre gazed aimlessly at her face.

She curled her legs around his, sliding a hand down her tummy to rub at her aching clit. If Pierre was fully conscious, perhaps he could slide a clever finger inside like Harry had done, blindly wiggling and curling around until he bulldozed past her sweet spot, and her toes curled and her body sang and her voice cracked into a screamingly perfect orgasm that left her boneless and sated and empty…

A weak cry sounded in the shower, and Gabrielle slumped against the mostly-unconscious Pierre. It was done. She had her mate. No one else could make her feel like this.

She pushed back his wet locks to kiss his forehead, and marveled that her lips couldn’t feel the scar there.

…

Her friend Aubergine met her by the door, looking rather uncomfortable in her plain, but fetching black dress, and led her through the lush and opulent lobby of the opera house to where Pierre stood at the center of a fawning crowd.

“Still not a fan of formal wear, I see,” teased Gabrielle.

Although her tone was light, her mood was weighed down by the epiphany that had hit her like a very slow car crash in the hours following her coupling with Pierre in the shower. After several stress-filled hours of pacing and fretting, she’d resolved to enjoy herself this evening, (as much as she could at an opera), and to start composing a plan to deal with the new problem after having sleeping on it.

“Well, there’s no point in competing with you,” said Aubergine.

Gabrielle had selected a draping white dress overlaid with a gold pattern of miniature fleur-de-lys. The neckline just barely kissed her breasts from underneath, leaving her slender shoulders and upper back completely bare, but burying her lower half in an avalanche of layered fabric. She practically glowed in the evening light of the opera house.

“Nonsense,” said Gabrielle, linking arms with her friend. “You must not be afraid to be noticed, my friend. You are beautiful, and the world needs to see you.”

“Quite right,” said Pierre, breaking away from his conversation to smile at them.

“It’s nearly time,” said Aubergine, looking away as a little blush tinged her cheeks. “Shall we find our seats?”

“Almost,” said Pierre. “We’re just waiting on the security detail.”

A sinking feeling entered Gabrielle’s stomach, right as Pierre’s eyes lit up at someone over her shoulder.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” he said jovially. “Are you a fan of the opera?”

…

For the tenth time that evening, Gabrielle cursed whoever had made this seating arrangement to an increasingly torturous series of the worst fates she could imagine.

Somehow, out of literally every other human being on planet Earth, that thrice-damned imbecile had chosen to put Harry Potter in the seat directly behind her own.

There was a slight incline between the rows of seats, even here in the box, so she imagined that in his current position, Harry’s eyes were just about level with her silverblonde hair. She could imagine the warmth of his body (the warmth she had pressed herself to so blindly in the darkness of the broom closet) radiating across the inches of air between them, his eyes dancing over what little of her he could see backlit by the stage lights, the little ghosts of his breath kissing her bare shoulders.

To the outside observer, it would appear that Miss Delacour’s eyes were glued to the stage, leaning slightly forward in complete rapture of the performance, with her fiancé sending little approving glances over his shoulder at her from time to time as if to admire what a student of the opera she was. The truth was that she couldn’t have told him what color the curtains were. She was busily occupied with two major problems, namely the traitorous thoughts of Harry that kept drifting through her mind, and the familiar ache they were kindling between her legs.

“What if he were to lean forward, and kiss the back of your neck?” suggested an evil voice in her head.

Gabrielle clamped her thighs together beneath her dress.

“He wouldn’t dare!” she thought back, desperately trying to cool the flush she could feel building up in her chest. “There are people all around us!”

“It’s dark,” said the voice smugly. “He would lean forward so easily, like he’s just picking something up off the floor, so casually that no one bothers to look, and then he presses his lips beneath your hair, right to that spot where he knows it’ll make you squirm.”

In her stomach, a hot, slow heat started to pour down like oozing lava. Gabrielle moistened her lips.

“Or maybe he’ll go lower,” mused the evil voice, “and kiss you between your shoulder blades instead, make you shudder in your seat like a wanton little whore.”

That idea sent tingles all the way down to her toes, and she had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering aloud in the opera box.

“He’d be able to do it silently, too,” said the voice. “Remember how he made you cum in front of a whole room full of people? He knows your body so well, he could probably make you squirt into your panties with one hand, and clap the other one over your mouth right when you open it to let out your helpless moaning. Then, while you orgasm, he’d gather you up in his arms and press a flurry of kisses behind your ear, until you’re a shivering, squirming, deliriously blissed-out mess.”

Dizzying visions of Harry doing exactly that swam in front of Gabrielle’s eyes, eclipsing her view of the opera.

“They’d know,” came her weak reply, not sure if she wanted to deny the daydream, or plan it out to perfection. “It’s not that dark up here. Pierre and the others, they’d all see Harry kissing me, and doing…doing that…”

“What if he didn’t care?” whispered the voice.

Gabrielle’s jaw strained with the effort of silence. With mingled horror and delight, she realized a little trickle of wetness was leaking into her panties.

“You remember what his lips felt like on your skin?” murmured the evil voice.

Oh, god, she could never forget. His kisses had been hot and hard and fast and hungry, like he couldn’t possibly get enough of her, and wanted all of her at once. His hands had been just as demanding, roving heavy and firm all over her body. He had kissed his way up the side of her neck, and brushed his lips along her cheek to press against hers, then left a trail of kisses down between her breasts, and across the taut plane of her stomach. She could feel each one, like a little row of sparks falling on her skin. He had squeezed her smooth thighs with those big, strong hands of his before running them down to her knees to pull them apart, and as his head descended, guided by the hand she’d buried in his hair, she’d shut her eyes and tilted back her head in anticipation of his cocky smirk pressing a sinfully soft kiss to the very center of her…

Back in real life, Gabrielle’s breathing was getting dangerously heavy. Tilting up her head, she pretended to scrutinize the singers while her knuckles turned white on the clutch on her lap. She thanked her lucky stars she’d chosen a long dress for the evening; she didn’t think she’d be able to resist sneaking a hand up her skirt in her current condition.

“Mmm, there’s a thought,” said the evil voice. “Imagine everyone in the booth watching as you touch yourself to thoughts of Harry.”

A fresh wave of warmth washed over her pussy. Her damp lace panties slid against her rock-hard clit, and an unexpected jolt of pleasure ran up her back. Gabrielle squeezed her thighs shut, and started subtly grinding them together, back and forth, back and forth on her seat. She imagined chains wrapped around her waist, locking her to the seat, preventing her from rolling her hips enough to be noticed in the dim light. Thankfully, everyone seemed too occupied with the performance to look at her.

“Better yet,” continued the voice, seemingly bent on her ruination (or at least the ruination of her panties), “what if you claimed Harry in front of everyone?”

Gabrielle froze. This was a thought that would lead down a dangerous path.

Her imagination went turncoat, and drew a tantalizing portrait for her mind’s eye: Harry, sitting innocently in his seat in the opera box, looking unspeakably handsome in his formal dress robes; Gabrielle, blazing with evening finery, slithering onto his lap with a soft, commanding smile as the crowd of onlooking faces grow shocked. Now, she is gently turning his face up to hers with one well-manicured hand, the other descending to cup his swelling erection through his pants, as her lips take firm and loving control of his own, and now every scandalized face is crushed with impossible longing, because Gabrielle Delacour is sinking her teeth into the most desired bachelor in the Wizarding world with all the majestic ferocity of a lioness taking her prey...

She didn’t realize that she had stood up until Harry’s concerned face swam into view, the sight of which informed her that she was no longer in her seat, but in the aisle, one foot poised to step directly into Harry’s row. Pierre and Aubergine were looking up at her inquisitively.

“Please excuse me for just one moment,” she said quickly, and a bit too loudly, hoping this answered any questions she may have been asked while lost in reverie. “I must use the restroom.”

Pierre looked concerned. “You should not go alone, cherie. Monsieur Shacklebolt was insistent that…”

“I’ll go with her,” whispered Harry, standing up at her elbow.

“Yes!” cried the evil voice.

“No!” screamed her common sense.

Caught in the crossfire, Gabrielle trooped rather dazedly into the richly carpeted hallway with Harry in tow like an overzealous guard dog. They made it around the curving seashell-corner before he spoke.

“Hey,” he said, catching her elbow. “Are you alright? You look a bit flushed.”

Some part of Gabrielle’s mind registered that this was the first time he’d touched her without the intention of bringing her to an earth-shattering orgasm, which set off a vigorous internal debate.

“You’ve got him alone,” said her common sense. “Now’s the time to talk things through with him, and figure out a plan for what to do next,”

“Harry’s got a belt on,” said the evil voice. “What if he used that belt to bind your wrists above your head, and fucked you like that?”

Gabrielle decided that it would be easier to make a decision with a clear head, so she pounced on Harry, wrapping her arms around his neck for a deep kiss.

Harry was surprised at first, but started to kiss back when she nibbled on his bottom lip.

“This is a nice change,” he murmured, pulling a hair’s breadth away when her kisses started to impact his need for air. “The last time I saw you, you pushed me off a balcony.”

“You survived,” said Gabrielle impatiently, and pulled him back in.

Harry didn’t kiss in the hungry, desperate way she remembered. This was slower, more measured, like he wanted to take his time. His tongue didn’t wrestle with hers, but gently tangled and slid against it for what felt like a hundred heartbeats, as though he was luxuriating in the warm softness of her mouth, before he pulled back to trace the glistening outline of her kiss-swollen lips as she panted, somehow trying to press herself closer to him as her arms tightened around his neck, and her tiptoes strained with the effort of keeping their faces together.

They were horribly exposed out here, Gabrielle thought, but then Harry’s hands descended to her slender waist and gripped there, pulling her flush against the heavy line of his body, and then all thoughts of safety were gone. She reached behind him and gave his butt a firm squeeze, massaging it with both hands as his lips descended on hers again.

It could have been years that they stood there in the empty hallway, letting their hands roam all over each other, but eventually Harry pulled away, and the look in his eyes made the air leave Gabrielle’s lungs.

Harry’s panting face was red, his hair (somehow) even messier than usual, his glasses just a bit askew from when she’d thrown her arms around his neck, and God, all Gabrielle wanted to do was kiss that stupid smirk off his face, but when their eyes clicked into place, no more words were necessary, and Gabrielle gave a slow, evil smile that made Harry’s pants get noticeably tighter.

She turned, throwing just a little emphasis into the swing of her hips, leading Harry into the bathroom with a very self-satisfied look on her face.

She planted her palms on the wall, arched her back, and threw him a coy look over her shoulder.

To her surprise, he didn’t lay himself against her back and start kissing up the side of her neck. Instead, he got to one knee behind her, and started to gently gather up the hem of her long and heavy skirt.

Pulling it up, he exposed a few inches of her pale calves, and gave her a single, light kiss there that sent a wave of tingles up her spine.

Gabrielle shivered, and a little shuddering sigh slipped from her lips.

Rucking up a few more inches of fabric, Harry kissed the back of her knee, and Gabrielle had to bite her knuckle to keep from making a full-throated moan.

Harry climbed her body with kisses, barely skimming her legs and flanks with his fingertips. The exquisite torture of knowing what he could do to her made Gabrielle melt, and by the time he was fully upright, and pressing his hardness to her, all she could do was press back against him and whimper.

His left hand dragged her bunched-up skirt up and over the pale swell of her ass, pinning it there with his thumb. As if reading her thoughts, he leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck.

Gabrielle’s mouth opened silently, unable to make a noise appropriate for the feeling this produced, and Harry’s right hand slipped around her waist and under her rucked-up skirt to cup her mound.

“Wow,” he chuckled, softly rubbing through her panties. “You are really wet.”

His voice was low, roughened with need, and that more than anything else impressed on her how real this was, how much different and better it was to feel the warmth of his skin on hers.

“I was thinking about you…during the opera,” she gasped, bucking erratically against his hand. “You were so close to me. I wanted you to kiss me, and touch me, and keep touching me even if everyone saw. I love to feel your hands…EEP!”

She squealed as a finger hooked the bottom of her panties, tantalizingly brushing the spot where she wanted it most.

“Oohhh,” she shuddered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” said Harry conversationally. “Where do you love to feel my hands?”

His finger started to tease her from underneath, gently dragging up and down her tender folds.

“I…oh…I love feeling your hands…all over my body,” moaned Gabrielle desperately, and then his knuckle brushed her weeping slit. “Oh…I love how you’re touching me right now!”

She looked down, and was rewarded by the sight of his hand sliding into her lacy black panties. The fabric outline of his fingers started to swirl in titillating circles.

With one arm, she reached backwards and fisted a hand on the back of his head.

“Talk to me,” she gasped, bucking erratically against his hand. “Let me hear the sound of your voice.”

His hips jerked, and she got a flash of the hard shape pressed against her ass.

“That dress,” he said in a strangled voice. “It looks like it’s always about to fall off. I thought you must be trying to kill me.”

“I’ll…I’ll remember that…” she panted, bracing herself against the wall as his fingers swirled faster around her aching clit. “Maybe I’ll wear it to my next Ministry function.”

Harry groaned, and laid his forehead against the back of her head. “You are trying to kill me.”

Gabrielle giggled, but then Harry put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Mignonne, enlève ta robe pour que je puisse te baise.”

She froze. “Qu’est-ce que tu m’as dit?”

“J’ai dit,” he said calmly, kissing the back of her head, “que je te veux nue.”

She obeyed without conscious thought, letting the skirt drop into place, slipping it off the shoulders and letting it flump onto the floor before turning and jumping into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips.

“Since when do you speak French?” she demanded.

He grinned sheepishly. “Since yesterday. Well, I started learning phrases yesterday.”

“Well then,” said Gabrielle impishly. “Let’s see if you can understand this.”

Gabrielle snapped her fingers, and Harry’s pants flumped down to his ankles. His member bobbed free, and bounced against her undercarriage.

She put her forehead against Harry’s, and closed her eyes.

“Je te veux me baiser,” she breathed. “Je veux ta bite. Je veux que tu me fasses jouir. Je veux que tu me fasses ta cochonne.”

His heavy inhale indicated he understood. With a shaking finger, he pulled her panties to one side, then seized her about the waist, lifted her up, and slammed her down on his cock.

“Oh, ouiouiouiouioui!” came Gabrielle’s wavering scream, clenching around his heavy bluntness as he shoved her up and down, his hips slapping loudly against her rippling ass. His cock was so absurdly satisfying, more so than any other she’d had, stretching her out so deliciously until she was a flushed, drooling mess.

Harry pounded up into her, the tip of his cock kissing her innermost sweet spots, and she could feel each thrust tipping her a little further over the edge.

“Uh…uh…je…je t’aime, Gabrielle!” Harry cried. “Je t’aime!”

Her eyes snapped open.

Like an avalanche, her orgasm crashed down on her without regard for whatever complicated things she may have been feeling at the time, and her vision exploded into stars as a surging little explosion from Harry’s cock seeped molten heat deep into her belly.

All the tension left her body at once, and she would have sagged to the floor like a rag doll had Harry not scooped her back up, and lowered their tangled forms to the floor on trembling legs.

For several moments, they did not speak. Gabrielle lay panting on Harry’s chest as he forced his breathing to slow.

“Er…sorry about that,” said Harry, eventually. “Heat of the moment, and all that. You don’t need to…”

“Eet is true,” Gabrielle interrupted, squeezing her eyes shut. “I know eet is true. I can feel eet.”

She felt, rather than saw Harry’s frown. “What do you mean you can feel it?”

Gabrielle did not want to open her eyes. Up until now, she might have persuaded herself that this whole passionate whirlwind of sex and laughter had been a lark, or a fantastic dream, something she could move on from if and when she wished. Now, to go back was to steep herself in even more treachery and confusion than she already had.

“I can feel your love for me because…”

She swallowed.

“Because we are mates.”

A beat.

“Mates?” asked Harry. “What does that mean?”

Chapter Text

Gabrielle was in heaven.

She laughed to think of how silly she had been before, crying about fidelity and hopelessness on the bathroom floor like a brokenhearted teenager, when happiness had been right beside her all along, wearing crooked glasses and a mop of messy black hair. Two weeks it had been since then, and there was no one else in the world but Harry. Her allure writhed in joy when he was there, and cried for him when he was gone. All her thoughts were of him, the taste of his mouth, the way the corners of his eyes, green as a fresh pickled toad, crinkled when he smiled. It made her wonder what he would look like when he was older.

Of Pierre, she hardly thought at all. She had barely seen him anyway, what with wedding preparations, and his work obligations, and when they did cross paths, their meetings were brief and perfunctory, as she was beginning to feel their whole relationship had been. When the wedding itself crossed her mind, it was as a distant dream, pithy and unimportant next to the all-consuming need for her mate.

Thankfully, the threat of Dark magic was rising, and her bodyguard had been assigned a lot of extra hours with her to account for all the threats.

“You know,” murmured Gabrielle from her favorite armchair one evening. “I bet you could be using this time a lot more productively.”

Harry looked up from between her legs. “A lot of Aurors would consider this a very productive evening.”

His finger curled inside her in such a way that made her whole body shiver.

“Are you sure?” she grinned, settling herself deeper into her seat. “There are probably a lot of Dark wizards out there you could be catching right now…”

“Yeah, probably,” murmured Harry, and bent his lips to his task.

Gabrielle bit her lip, running her fingers through his hair, and let her head tilt back as the familiar warmth washed up through her belly. Harry had gotten so good at this…

There was a knock at the door.

Her eyes snapped open. Like a startled meerkat, Harry’s head snapped up from between her bare legs.

“Gabrielle?” came Pierre’s muffled voice from the door. “Are you there?”

“Not again.”

Gabrielle leapt to her feet, and skittered down the hall to the door, just barely managing to flick the chain shut before the knob rattled.

“I’m here,” she said quickly. “Don’t come in, I’ve…um…”

She turned to signal to Harry, and nearly had a heart attack when she found herself face-to-chest with him.

“Mumblemumps,” he mouthed down at her.

“Mumblemumps?” she asked.

“Mumblemumps?” asked Pierre.

“Yes, mumblemumps,” said Gabrielle quickly, turning back towards the door. “I, um, must have caught them at that photoshoot zis morning. I…oh…”

A familiar hand was gently scratching down the front of her thigh.

“What was that?” asked Pierre.

“I…um…don’t want you to catch it too,” she blurted out, trying to ignore how friendly Harry’s touch was getting. “You better just stay out there.”

She turned around, ready to motion Harry away, but he was too quick for her. His lips were on top of hers in a heartbeat, and tremendous force of habit impelled her to rest her hands on his shoulders and let him plunder her mouth.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, cherie. I just came by to drop off the seating plan, if you’d care to take a look.”

Harry’s kiss was so soft. Gabrielle marveled at the teasing little flicks of his tongue as her wrists twined behind his neck, pressing herself deeper into the kiss. She wanted more from him, more of his hunger, like he was going to devour her…

“Gabrielle?”

She pulled away.

“Um, is there somewhere else you can go tonight?” she asked, as Harry buried his nose behind her ear. “I really don’t think it’s safe to come in.”

She was currently wearing nothing but a thin turtleneck sweater that Harry was slowly inching over the swell of her breasts.

“I was hoping to talk to you about the trip as well.”

Pouting at her, Harry pressed a long kiss to the faint hollow at the base of her sternum. Her eyelids fluttered.

“The trip?” she asked, winding her fingers into Harry’s hair.

“The trip to Chartres, to look over the cathedral.”

“Oh yes,” she breathed as Harry left a trail of kisses down her front.

“All the details have been arranged, so you can leave tomorrow morning. If you have any extra luggage, send it to my address, and I’ll take care of it. Make sure you dress appropriately. It’s very important to preserve decorum.”

The hem of her sweater dragged slowly up and over her breasts. One pink rosebud jiggled free, but the other caught the rough fabric edge, and pulled her sweater to a point before snapping off, leaving her mouth hanging open at the unexpected burst of tingling.

“Ohhhh…” she moaned as Harry pressed a slow kiss to one reddened nipple, then the other, soothing the harsh buzz with soft lips. Her knees drifted together as arousal pooled in her belly, and a draft of air rode across her naked pussy.

“Oh, there’s one more thing. You know Harry, your security guy?”

Opening his mouth wider, that security guy started to lave his way down her breastbone.

“Yeah?” asked Gabrielle tremulously.

“I think he should go with you to Chartres. There are rumors of a new Dark sect in the area, and I’d feel a lot safer if you had an Auror present.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of how safe Pierre would feel if he knew that same Auror was currently mouthing his way down her ivory tummy, doubtless with the intent of eating her out until she screamed.

“Pas de problème,” she almost moaned as Harry flicked her belly button with his tongue.

“Great,” said Pierre. “Oh, one more thing. Can you hand me that file on the Gascogne deal? I left it on the coffee table.”

Harry blew a gentle breath across her folds, and Gabrielle sank her teeth into her finger to keep from moaning.

“Um…I don’t want to open the door while I’m sick,” said Gabrielle desperately, as Harry’s lips started to trace the juncture of her thighs. “Are you sure you need it?”

“Yes, it’s very important. I can work on it at Aubergine’s, but I need those documents.”

Harry grinned deviously up at her, and pressed a kiss to her bare leg.

Swearing quietly to herself in French, Gabrielle extracted herself from him with difficulty, and sprinted back down the hall. Snatching up the first manila envelope she saw, she hustled back, feet slapping loudly on the hardwood floor, shoved Harry out of sight, whipped the door open the barest fraction possible, and shoved the folder through.

“Thanks, darling.” Taking the envelope, Pierre captured her arm, and pressed a kiss to her wrist.

Taking advantage of her new position, Harry nipped playfully at her buttock. A squeak escaped Gabrielle’s lips.

“Ooo, I’ve never heard you make that sound before,” said Pierre, sounding interested. “Mumblemumps can’t be that bad, can it?”

Harry pinched her butt sharply, making her jump.

“Nonono,” she said quickly, as Harry’s hand started to trace the contour of her ass. “It’s very bad, very sick, best that you leave immediately.”

“All right, darling,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Be well.”

“You too,” she called.

She did not relax until she heard his footsteps disappear down the hall.

With a shuddering sigh, she strode back into the living room, and looked forlornly through her window out at the nighttime lights of Diagon Alley.

Harry’s warm presence came up behind her. He rested his chin on top of her head, and swept his hands up and down her arms. Gabrielle smiled.

“Obviously, this threat at the cathedral needs to be taken seriously,” murmured Harry, his hands already creeping under her sweater again. “We need to conduct a thorough investigation.”

“Mmm?” Gabrielle nuzzled sideways into his shoulder. “How thorough?”

She pressed her ass back against the familiar hard shape in his pants, and he choked back a groan. “Three days.”

She reached back over her shoulder and caressed the back of his neck. “Four.”

“Four days,” he breathed, as his hands covered her breasts under her sweater. “More if we find any security risks.”

She scratched gently at his hair. “The cathedral is big. Lots of places to hide.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I intend on looking absolutely everywhere.”

He’d picked her up so many times now that it was second nature to both of them. Gabrielle let the weight fall from her legs the instant his arm brushed the back of her knee, and he rose with her as though she were weightless. Their lips met easily, and Harry’s feet knew the path to her bedroom without the assistance of his eyes.

…

Harry was in hell.

He was sitting in a luxurious horse-drawn carriage rolling through the sky several hundred feet above the English Channel. Sitting across from him was Gabrielle, looking unbearably pretty and prim in her pale blue jacket and pencil skirt, with her silver-blond hair done up under a matching pillbox hat. Her bright eyes and mirthful smile told him she was perfectly aware of how much he wanted to kiss her perfect pink lips and rumple her crisp white shirt, and was basking smugly in the naked hunger radiating from his side of the carriage.

The reason he couldn’t do either of those things was sitting on her right and was named Aubergine. She was babbling in French about her first trip to the Delacour family’s ancestral cathedral, which she had apparently been hearing about since they were girls.

“The very foundations were actually laid by the first of the Delacour clan,” she said excitedly. “And there are ancient runes carved into them that respond to those of the blood…”

Catching his eye, Gabrielle gave him a teasingly sympathetic pout. He could just hear her musical voice saying, “Control yourself, mon coeur. We have three days, after all.”

Three days. Three days before this little glass paradise they’d built would shatter.

He shook himself out of his reverie in time to catch a question thrown at him by Aubergine, and covered up his lag by pretending to struggle with French. Gabrielle gave a little giggle that sounded like the sunrise, and Harry’s heart ached.

He remembered Gabrielle explaining veela mates to him, their naked legs tangling together atop her big drapy dress, laid out like a picnic blanket on the floor of the opera house bathroom. He remembered dragging his fingers over the tender peak of each perfect breast, one after the other, as she murmured in a low voice about compatibility and blood magic, ancient bastions of the magical world. He remembered tracing the outline of her belly button, making her voice shudder midway through the story of the ancient pact that had made the veela what they were today. He remembered her pouty pink lips beginning to tremble as she described what would happen to them now, and how he had surged upward to soothe her with a kiss, and then another, and then another, until she at last became supple to his repeated, tender entreaties, and they made sweet, gentle love on the floor for the second time that night.

Before their conference had devolved into a haze of kisses and bites, Gabrielle had described the attributes of a mate bond much like one would describe the symptoms of a psychological disease: infatuation, rampant desire, erratic behavior that could border on the obsessive, and an overwhelming need to make sure one’s mate was safe and happy at all times.

Harry wasn’t sure that was the case. Sure, he had felt all that stuff, but as far as he was concerned, so would any bloke that laid eyes on Gabrielle Delacour, and had had told her so right to her beautiful face. She had been laying atop him at the time, which put him in an excellent position to watch her blush fiercely and mutter “Se taire,” before pressing her lips firmly to his, wrapping her arms around his head, and arching her back as deep into him as she could.

What he was worried about was firmly grounded in the real world: the fact that his new lover was engaged to someone else. Up until now, that inconvenient little fact had floated away from his thinking like a dream, a trifle, a trivial little problem that was blown out of mind by the sight of Gabrielle’s smile. But since then, he had met Pierre, even shaken the man’s hand with the same fingers that had only a few hours earlier been plunging between his fiancée’s shaking legs. Now, he had teased and made love to Gabrielle with Pierre only a door’s width away, and cold horror was beginning to trickle down his back.

“Homewrecker,” chuckled a voice inside him. “The word doesn’t capture what a piece of scum you are.”

Guilt was curling in his stomach, a thick warmth rotting him from the inside out. It was unfamiliar, uncomfortable, something he hadn’t felt in earnest since the dark days of the war, and the wish that he could talk to Gabrielle about it only made it the ache of wrongdoing worse.

Three days. Three days until they would have to decide, one way or another.

He straightened up in his seat. Gabrielle or no Gabrielle, he had a job to do, and he would do it. He was an Auror, for Merlin’s sake. He would keep his feelings under control, veela magic be damned.

And then Gabrielle crossed her legs, which pushed up the hem of her skirt just the barest fraction past her knee, and he clenched the edge of his seat as a wave of fire roared up inside him, hot and needy and wanting.

“That is simply not fair,” he thought wretchedly.

…

Notre Dame de Chartres was the most elegant building Harry had ever seen. Outside, two magnificently mismatched towers framed a great rose of stained glass. Walking under the lintel of the enormous main doors, crammed to the brim with interesting little statues, Harry found himself in a space that felt more wide and open than the street outside, with a gloriously arched ceiling stretching for miles over his head. At the other end of the sea of wooden chairs rose an altar, featuring a rising cloud of angels cast in marble, bathed in glorious light from the pointed windows. He’d never been a particular fan of churches, or architecture for that matter, but he felt the oddest sense of calm steal over him as he crossed the hushed threshold, as though the space itself were soothing his worries.

Gabrielle strode a few feet ahead of him, her heels clacking loudly on the stone floor.

“Shall we begin the tour?” she asked with a broad smile.

She was positively glowing in the churchlight, inconceivably bright and happy. Harry swooped down on her with a fierce kiss that she reciprocated at once, her arms wrapped tightly around his back. His hand sneaked up her front and squeezed her breast through her shirt, leaving a hand-shaped wrinkle in the crisp white silk.

“You masher,” she moaned, teeth sinking into her lower lip as his hands made themselves known around her waist. “I know you were waiting to do that.”

She kissed him under the jaw, her hands roaming his chest, and desire thickens in his belly.

“And you are a devious little minx who wore this outfit on purpose,” murmured Harry, running a finger down her leg.

Gabrielle kissed him hard, pressing herself into him until his solid line of warmth was all that she could feel, and had to catch her breath before she could speak again.

“You think I am not so affected?” she whispered into his shoulder. “If anything, it is more, with what you decided to wear.”

Her fingers curled into his black blazer. The best Harry could think was that it looked very bodyguard-ish.

His teeth grazed the side of her neck, and she shivered against him.

“This outfit turns you on?” he rumbled, sounding amused. “How?”

“It…ah!” she gasped as he nipped. “It makes your shoulders look broad!”

She squirmed against his front, her breath getting lighter and faster as his hands traced the familiar paths up and down her back, her arms, her sides.

“I have an idea,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

The tone of his voice should have been her warning, but his kisses were too soft, his hands were too warm, and her eyes were glassy with want.

“Of course, my love,” she whispered back.

He grinned, and snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, velvet darkness wrapped over her eyes, and a cord quickly bound itself around her wrists. Another snap Vanished her clothes, and her feet were suddenly bare on the cool stone floor, sending a little thrill of nerves up her back.

“Harry,” she said nervously. “O-out here?”

“Yes,” came Harry’s voice. “That’s what makes it fun.”

…

Her arms were resting on curved stone, her legs half-spread, knees up, on what may have been a stone table of some kind. Blindfolded, the only clue to her whereabouts was a soothing draft of cool air. It kissed a prickling trail of goosebumps across her skin.

Biting her lip, she allowed herself to relax, lolling her head to one side so her hair fell over her bare shoulder in a ticklish cascade.

Edging forward, her toes slipped over a smooth marble edge, and with a jolt of mingled terror and awe, she realized where Harry had put her.

…

“Absolutely glorious,” thought Harry.

Naked and blindfolded, Gabrielle was reclined in the lap of the altar, at the foot of the swarm of marble angels. Indeed, it looked like she had fallen from their midst, pale and delicate as she was, but flushed pink across her face, her neck and breasts, her flanks quickly rising and falling with her breath. She shifted her legs, and the space between her legs caught the light, glistening faintly. From where he stood, Harry could just barely make out her clit, an indistinct dot of flesh that was just beginning to swell.

…

The realization of how exposed she was made a little bolt of fear run up her spine. She tried to cover her breasts, but the brush of her arm against the stiff little bud sparked enough of a tingle to make her gasp, and she leaned carefully back into the embrace of cool marble as her hands decided to play idly across her tummy instead.

She imagined the cathedral filling up with people. The churchgoers would pour in, chattering idly about nothing, a background hum that would slowly fall silent as they got close enough to the front to catch sight of her, laid out like a sacrificial lamb on the altar. What would they say at such brazen effrontery?

With a grin, Gabrielle stretched out luxuriously on the altar, her hands smoothing down her front to meet between her legs, where her clit was just beginning to throb. The first surge of aching wetness made her gasp, and her fingers began to draw shaky circles through her folds. A choked-off moan filled the air as both hands worked busily at herself, and her hips rose slightly into the air.

“Ok,” said Harry. “You need to be brought under control.”

As before, cords wrapped themselves around her wrists and yanked her arms apart, while a belt slipped between her jaws and tightened itself behind her head. Slowly, more cords slithered over her body like snakes. They twisted under her slender arms, across her taut stomach, and wrapped around each leg, but narrowly avoided her breasts and aching pussy.

“Beautiful.”

She jumped when Harry’s voice murmured in her ear. His hand slid down her back, and she whimpered from behind her gag as a fresh surge of wetness made her thighs grow damp.

“You’re going to get married here in a few days,” he breathed, playing idly with her hair. “Imagine if they could all see you now, tied up and naked on the altar of the most sacred place in veeladom. Defiling a sacred place with indecency.”

Gabrielle moaned as the ache between her legs became molten fire. Her thighs quivered in their restraints.

“What would everyone think of their good girl then?” Harry whispered, his fingers tapping idly on her hard little pearl. “They’d know you’re just a little slut who needs to be put in her place.”

Gabrielle twisted her head. She needed more, more than his hand, more, more, more…

Harry snapped his fingers again. Gabrielle whirled around, thumping to her knees and bending nearly in half to present her flawless bum, pressing her face to cool marble. Her hands fastened themselves behind her back, and with a muffled plea, she spread her legs as wide as she could within her restraints, begging for entry.

Harry sucked in a breath as he stepped up behind her, fumbling with his pants. She’s a vision like this, all long legs and lean curves, stretched out and helpless, breath shaking, trembling with the effort of staying upright for him. Her snatch is dripping down her leg, radiating heat, and her toes are already curling in anticipation atop the marble as he runs a hand over the pale globes of her ass, but a needy little whine reminds him that he still has a job to do.

He hisses as he sinks inside her, her velvet heat made sinfully tight from her thighs being pressed together, and the slap of their hips quickly fills the vaulted space as her moans become too much for the gag to hold back.

Behind her blindfold, Gabrielle’s eyes roll up in her head. From behind, hot, heavy fullness is boring into her, rhythmic and relentless and strong, feeding the delicious ache that her mate had stoked up so well. She hears him choke off a groan, and a bolt of smugness interrupts the rhythmic waves of pleasure pounding her from behind at the thought that her mate is enjoying this just as much as she is. She clenches, and the growl she gets in response makes goosebumps prickle up her back.

“Cheeky,” he mutters. Gabrielle would have tossed him a smug grin, if it weren’t for the gag in her mouth.

This is good, Gabrielle thinks as her cheek slides up and down on the altartop with his thrusts. Pins and needles are dancing up and down her arms and legs, but the ache melds beautifully with the rolling pleasure of Harry fucking her hard from behind. The cords are the only thing keeping her in position, as her mate seems determined to actually pound her into jelly. She’s at his mercy, a tool for his pleasure.

Merlin, this is giving her ideas…

Harry bends further over his captive, dropping to one knee, and planting the other foot just before her knees. Seeking balance, he reaches up to grab a marble angel’s foot, and another little surge of guilt runs through him when he thinks of what he’s doing.

Maybe this could be date night for them someday, Gabrielle thought. He could tie her up in ropes and use her as he liked, or enchant these cords of his to wriggle all over her body like snakes until she’s tingling and panting and begging for release. There were so many things for them to try, and she wanted a lifetime with him to try them all…

These thoughts dissolve into gleeful mush as Harry’s thrusts reach a crescendo, and with a trembling squeal, Gabrielle slams into her release, painting the altartop with moisture as Harry presses soothing kisses between the V of her bound arms on her back.

She’s clenching hard now, wetness pouring from around where his dick plugs her entrance. Harry’s pace stutters, and his hands tighten around her ribs. It proves too much for him, and Gabrielle’s toes curl yet again as liquid heat floods her insides.

He slumps down on top of her, pressing clumsy kisses to her hair between murmurs of praise, and undoes her knots with fumbling fingers. Her body’s relief at being released is like a second orgasm all to itself, and she sinks bonelessly onto the altar as blood rushes back into her trembling limbs. She’s fairly certain that her entire lower half has simply melted.

Harry eases her onto his lap, heedless of the cum drooling from her snatch, and she relaxes into him like a beanbag chair. Blissed-out and comfortable, she is content to sandwich his half-hard member between her buttocks, and tease him with little grinds and squeezes as errant twitches run through her legs.

“Are you ok, love?” asked Harry, running a hand down her thigh. “That wasn’t too much, was it?”

“It was perfect,” said Gabrielle sleepily, her eyes fluttering. “Next time, I want to tie you up.”

Chapter Text

Gabrielle strolled into the Auror division of the Ministry that morning with the absolute best of intentions. She was going to greet Harry in a polite and professional manner, sit down at his desk, and have a conference to establish where they were, where they wanted to be, and how they were going to move forwards without digging themselves in any deeper.

She reviewed the circumstances of their last meeting as she rode up in the lift. Her fingers drummed on her leg as she recalled how they’d talked, how they’d kissed…

How he’d slipped her out of her clothes and bent her over the sacred altar…

A little blush tickled her cheeks, and she cleared her throat, though she was alone in the lift. That was fine. It was natural. She was on her way to one of the highest levels of the Ministry of Magic, and she would act like a professional even if her brain insisted on bringing up sexy memories.

The lift was taking an awfully long time. It occurred to her that Harry had never told her what his official rank was. Did Aurors even have ranks? If so, he should definitely end up as the boss one day, if he wasn’t already.

She wondered what he would look like after a few years in such a job. Perhaps all the activity over the years would have filled out his arms and shoulders a bit more. Maybe he’d pick up some weight around the midsection as well. That’d be no crime, she always thought his trial of a childhood had left him far too skinny, even now, and a bit of softness would make him much easier to snuggle with. He might even gain an inch or two of height after a few years of eating properly for once. Perhaps some bits of gray would touch his coal-black hair at the temples, giving him a more mature aspect. He would look very dignified then, with his glasses and everything. She could just picture him sitting behind a crowded desk, his green eyes piercing her through those glasses, the very image of the “stern professor” look…

An unexpected throb of heat ran down her midsection, and she cleared her throat again, straightening out her skirt. She’d been sorely tempted to pick out a short one that was an absolute marvel for her legs, but had forced herself to admit that the choice would doubtless lead the meeting in a decidedly unprofessional direction. Nevertheless, she still had a reputation as a fashion icon to uphold, so she’d opted for a polka-dotted day dress with a square neck and dark bolero jacket with a matching hat, blocky heels, and white gloves, a vintage outfit that still managed to look modern amongst the dreadfully staid robes of the deeper Ministry. Macette, it was like Britain had never made it past the Middle Ages, and that was coming from someone who technically owned a cathedral.

It was therefore with firm resolution and the knowledge that she looked absolutely stunning that she politely greeted the Auror office secretary, who let her in without preamble, and opened her mouth to address Harry.

Unfortunately, the afterimage of an imagined older Harry was still lingering in her mind, so the lovely smooth skin and fully black hair of her own Harry rising from his desk to greet her struck her afresh, and she completely forgot that she wasn’t going to kiss him in greeting when he took off her hat and bent his mouth to hers.

Belatedly, she remembered that she was there for purely professional reasons, but by then it seemed a waste not to take his chin in her hand and kiss him back firmly, and maybe reach around his slim flank to squeeze at his delightfully firm ass.

He’d retaliated then, nipping sharply at her bottom lip, and the shiver she’d made against his front had made his arms tense, practically crushing her against his front, and he’d quite swallowed her half-moan of complaint that he was wrinkling her dress.

“To what to I owe the pleasure?” he murmured against her lips.

“I have broken off my engagement,” she whispered back.

He stilled. “What?”

“This morning,” she breathed, nuzzling against the side of his neck. “He took it rather well, considering. We never really got the chance to know each other. Truth be told, he might have a better chance with Aubergine.”

Harry seemed rather stunned. His hands actually began to slip from her sides, something she’d never known to happen before.

“That’s…I…wow…”

She fixed him with a look. “Are you pleased?”

The next thing she knew, she was pinned against the wall, and Harry’s hands were making a thorough explanation beneath her short jacket. Somehow, her own wrists had crossed themselves above her head in a manner reminiscent of their time in Chartres, allowing full access to her midsection that Harry was taking full advantage of.

Gabrielle prayed that his secretary had gone for her lunch break.

She couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. Everything was shifting, warm pressing, jostling arms and legs. Their lips made faint whispers every times they pulled apart like little declarations of love that the other one swallowed and gave back tenfold, until her fingers were drawing lines down the back of his jacket, and his were pulling her hair from its bun, and somewhere along the line her own jacket had disappeared.

Apparently frustrated that his roaming hands had found no openings in her dress at the waist, Harry growled and whirled her around to press her to the desk, attacking her lips with renewed vigor.

Dizzied by the quick transition from vertical to horizontal, Gabrielle clutched at his shoulders and moaned into the kiss. He was devouring her, stealing her breath, overwhelming her mouth with the taste of him, and his hands were making her warm and happy everywhere they touched.

It occurred to her in a dim, distant corner of her mind that this was precisely the opposite purpose for which she’d come to the office today, and resolved to tell him at the first opportunity.

Harry broke the kiss, pulling in a deep breath against her cheek, and said, “I can’t get enough of you,” in a deep, breathy voice. His knees bumped and tangled into hers as though words could not express his need for closeness.

Well, she’d get round to telling him eventually.

Gabrielle seized her mate by the roots of his hair and hauled him back down to her, kissing him hard and hungry until her lips started to tingle with numbness.

Harry leaned into the kiss with just as much vigor, but broke away when her hands started to fumble at the latch of his belt. Gabrielle gasped as his weight suddenly vanished from her front, and she had a split second view of Harry tossing up the hem of her dress and disappearing beneath it like a magician.

She felt warm hands slide up her inner thighs and whip her panties off with speed borne of expertise. Tingly wet kisses began to decorate her legs at random, triggering them to spread as a wide, guilty smile broke across her face.

“…’Arry…”

Her voice was weak and went unheard as wet lips applied themselves to her snatch, and her head thunked back onto the desk as the familiar waves of heat started lapping at her core.

Gabrielle closed her eyes and clutched at the edge of Harry’s desk, trying to keep her breathing steady as the world started to tilt underneath her. The fact that she couldn’t see Harry working so diligently between her legs apparently added something to the experience, because when two fingers slid inside her and began pumping at just the right speed, she quite forgot who she was. She wound her legs tightly around Harry’s head and gasped for air, rolling her hips against his face in time with his thrusts in an effort to chain him to this perfect rhythm.

It occurred to Gabrielle that Harry might not be able to breathe like this, and she decided that it would be a worthy sacrifice as long as he finished what he was doing first.

“Oh, ouiouiouiouioui, commeça, jussecommeça nounours, ohhhh oui…” she cried, pressing her thighs around his head like very tight earmuffs. She bit her lip, the pace of her hips stuttering as they ground against his face, and she felt him pull one hand out with effort and grasp firmly at her thigh, pinning her in place, and a fresh wave of heat crashed over her. She could feel little drops of her arousal trickling down over her clenched ass cheeks, tickling over her asshole, soaking into the fabric of her dress, and moaned as she wriggled ineffectively in Harry’s grip, desperate to press even harder against his face.

His mouth popped hard off her clit, drawing a gasp from her trembling lips as he wrenched his face out of her. She felt him draw a deep breath of air that tickled across her belly before he dove back in, licking and fingering in perfect tandem. She felt herself rise a little higher on the electric waves with every push of his fingers, until at last he drove her over the top with a hoarse, stuttered cry, her legs relaxing the death-grip they held on his neck as unimaginable pleasure wracked her brain to pieces.

So much for being professional.

Her vision blurring, she shuddered through a delicious rippling aftershock before a prickling rush of blood ran down her legs. Belatedly, she realize her crossed ankles were being lifted into the air, making her body into an L-shape on the desk. Harry was holding them up in one hand, and with the other he was gently stroking her ass.

He pressed a light kiss to the back of her ankle, and a violent shiver ran up Gabrielle’s spine.

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais?” she asked dazedly, trying to peer at him around her raised legs.

“Je te baise, mignonne,” he whispered back, she could hear the smug grin on his face.

She didn’t have time to think of a retort because his fingers shoved hard into her raw, dripping snatch, and all her energy became focused on keeping a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk.

“Ohhhh, Arry!” she squealed, feeling the desk rock as Harry’s fingers plunged in and out of her. This was a harder, more desperate pace than he’d fucked her with a moment ago, and it set the inner motor of her tummy revving harder as she rocketed out of a soft afterglow into a dawn of burning white sensation.

An instant later, words were beyond her. Her eyes rolled up in her head, fluttering eyelids showing only white in a way that she distantly noted as being ridiculous from whatever far-off place her conscious mind had gone, but this was secondary to the all-consuming presence of him inside her,

“So beautiful,” Harry murmured, pressing another kiss to her tense calf. “You are just so…incomparably…beautiful…”

His speech was idle and almost distracted as most of his attention was locked on keeping his wrist in motion. Gabrielle whimpered, pushing herself back on his hand as best she could being trussed up like a game bird, the desperate need toreciprocate rising in her.

Her orgasm bowled her over like a freight train, hot and raw and almost stinging in its ache, right on the heels of her first, and her body quaked as she painted the back of her dress with her squirt.

Her mind left her body, and for an eternity she stepped long through silver clouds before prickling sensation returned to her limbs, and she found herself reaching blearily for Harry as he clambered over her.

Apparently, he wasn’t done with her yet, as he was pushing the hem of her dress up over her knees and past her waist, gathering it into an uncomfortable bunch over her tummy. He had divested himself of his trousers while she’d been gone, and she smiled at the sight of his cock wobbly batting at her knee as he made his adjustments.

Clambering over her, he sank inside with practiced ease, and she sighed at the familiar stretch as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in welcome. The part of her that still burned for him wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and pin him into place, potentially forever, but the overwhelming majority of her was quite too well worn and sated and content to bother with anything more demanding.

Harry was evidently of the same mind, as he was fucking her at a pace so slow and relaxed it could be called lazy, although he maintained it to an admirable degree. Gabrielle made a pleased hum, stretching against him and nestling her head against his.

“Mmmm, mon amour, ne t’arrête jamais,” she said blissfully, rocking gently in time with his hips.

“You want it harder?”

“Non. I just want to feel you inside me.”

“I thought a veela was nevaire satisfied wiz just one?” Harry teased.

“Yes, well, sometimes she is satisfied with two,” she said, making a sleepy grope for his butt.

They stayed like that for a long time, gently rocking the desk back and forth with little squeaks until Harry’s strength finally gave out and he emptied himself inside her. Gabrielle wrapped her legs around him as he tried to extract himself, and he slumped back down in defeat, aiming exhausted kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose that made his chin bump awkwardly against her face, and she giggled.

They stayed like that even longer, wrapped in each other too close even to kiss, until their mess dried and became itchy, and they hauled themselves up to wobble around in search of their clothes.

Gabrielle saw her hat on the floor, and remembered that she’d picked a wide-brimmed one in the hopes it might remind her to keep Harry’s lips from approaching her own.

Oh well.

“Let us go to lunch,” she said as she straightened up, tilting that selfsame hat back upon her head.

“Lunch?” he asked. “You mean like a date?”

“Yes, a date. You are familiar with the concept?”

“In theory.”

“Zen we ‘ave nothing to worry about. Get your coat.”

The martial tone with which this command was delivered left no room for argument, and Harry was surprised to find himself obeying without conscious thought.

…

Walking down the hall, Harry became conscious of the fact that they were attracting stares, or at least more stares than two such people as themselves normally would.

He was on the point of asking why when he looked at Gabrielle and the words died in his throat.

She was glowing. Her cheeks were rosy, her smile blinding, and her eyes bright. Even those wisps of hair that escaped her hat looked shiny, bouncing with each step she took.

His eyes roaming down, Harry quickly realized that you didn’t need to be an Auror to deduce what had put Gabrielle in such a good mood. Her neat little polka-dotted dress was wrinkled and rumpled and mussed beyond belief, almost threatening to slip off one elegant shoulder. She had clearly only made a cursory effort to pin her hair back down after shaking it free, and her gorgeous face was rather a bit too flushed for such a short walk. That, and she was clutching Harry’s hand in an absolutely iron grip.

Whenever a witch or wizard passed within their orbit, their gaze grew unfocused, and a dreamy smile would spread across their face as though lost in happy memories, suffused with the blissful energy radiating from a very thoroughly satisfied veela. Harry could feel rather than see the hungry eyes and lustful thoughts tracking over Gabrielle’s body, as well as his own, to his surprise.

“Don’t be so modest, nounours,” said Gabrielle, as though reading his thoughts. “You are a very sexy wizard.”

Harry might normally have tensed at such an open display of forbidden affection, but it was quickly becoming evident that something important was changing in their relationship. His impeccable detective instincts were telling him that this was but the opening salvo to a full and open declaration that might blow both their lives into total chaos.

Instead of the wave of panic he was expecting to feel, the realization left him only with a sort of dull relief. The subterfuge which had been so alien to him was gone, and whatever his sins had been, he could face them now on his own terms.

That, and also he was getting a bigger dose of Gabrielle’s allure than anyone else, so it was hard to think of anything else except how good she looked from behind in her rumpled dress. He wondered if prolonged exposure to her allure meant that he would eventually build up a resistance to her charms.

“No,” said Gabrielle, casting him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “In fact, my father says ze effects only grow stronger wiz age.”

Fuck. He was finished.

…

They went for lunch at a little café on Diagon Alley that Gabrielle knew. Harry’s security instincts informed him that they were quite surrounded by a number of innocuous café-goers sporting suspiciously camera-shaped bulges under their robes. He didn’t bring this up with his companion because something in the smugness of her smile suggested that these guests, although uninvited, were not unexpected.

“Well then,” said Gabrielle, setting her comically tiny coffee mug into its comically tiny saucer. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”

“Yes. Can you read my mind?”

“No. You are just spectacularly easy to read.”

He frowned. “Not sure if I believe that.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” She pulled her croque-monsieur towards her and began to slice it up. “Are you sure there was nothing else you wanted to ask me?”

Cameras began to slide out from under coats and jackets like guns, but Harry found that he didn't really care. The sunlight was catching in her eyes, a smile was dancing across her lips, and he really didn’t need to think very hard about what he was going to say.

“Marry me.”

“You intend to make an honest woman of me, is that it?” she asked, her eyes not leaving her fork and knife. “Rather old-fashioned of you, I should think.”

“No,” he said. “I just can’t stand the thought of not being at your side from now until the end of time.”

Gabrielle took a meditative bite. “Hmm. As it ‘appens, I have recently broken off one engagement, to a wizard whose wealth and prospects far outweigh your own. What could you have to offer me?”

“My heart. My home. My devotion. My fortune. My soul, should you require it. Some pretty good jokes I learned from Ron. Also, your veela magic chose me.”

“Hmm.” Gabrielle tapped her chin with one finger. “I suppose that is enough. Very well, I accept.”

Grinning, he leaned across the table to kiss her gently on the lips, and that’s when the cameras started to flash.

…

For the past two weeks, Rita Skeeter had been preparing a painstakingly detailed story on how Harry Potter had been having a sordid and illicit affair with Wizarding radio star Celestina Warbeck, so the news that the selfsame man had just publicly admitted to a having an affair with fashion mogul Gabrielle Delacour hit her hard enough to send her collapsing onto her desk in a dead faint. Upon being revived by an alarmed Prophet intern, she had demanded that an emergency edition be sent out at once, with their guilty faces in full view on the front page.

Neither Harry nor Gabrielle were aware of the storm raging in London. They were kneeling on a patch of soft grass in a circle of standing stones, deep in the Delacour woods.

Harry snuck a glance at Gabrielle. She was wearing a ancient-looking type of dress called a chiton in the blue tartan of the Delacour clan, the same colors he wore on his braccae. Her blonde hair was loose about her shoulders, save for a single braid where a lock of his hair had been braided into hers. He sported a similar one just above his left ear, a sliver of silver in the black.

Her expression was pious and calm, as though praying, but one eye cracked open almost as soon as he turned, apparently sensing that he was peeking.

“Oh, forget it,” she sighed, getting to her feet. “They ‘ave almost certainly left by now.”

“Wait, you mean your family, and the officiant? This whole time, we were just waiting for them to leave?”

She gave him a patient look. “What did you think we were doing?

“I don’t know. Meditating? Completing the ceremony?”

“The ceremony was all that walking and stuff we did earlier, remember? We were just waiting for my family to get far enough away so they wouldn’t hear us.”

“Hear us do what?” Harry tried to ask, but was silenced by Gabrielle tackling him solidly to the grass.

“Nous sommes mariés, nounours,” she grinned, her bare knees peeking from under her skirt as she straddled his waist. “Ils doivent nous donner un peu de temps privé.”

Harry’s face was quite curtained in by her silver-blonde hair. Her smile was soft, her eyes were bright, and she looked so desperately kissable that he couldn’t stand it, but when he surged up to meet her, his head crashed back down on the grass.

Gabrielle’s musical giggle made his desire to kiss her surge into a pressing need, but once again his head barely made it a fraction of an inch off the ground before it crashed back down, and he swallowed a pained groan.

He felt fingers trace lightly over his jawline. “Struggling, mon coeur?” Her voice was light with amusement.

He gave her a suspicious look. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Something you care to explain, dear wife?”

Sarcastic as it was, the word made butterflies erupt all through Gabrielle’s tummy, but she kept her state well enough to say “I ‘ope you did not think that your taking charge would be a regular occurrence. We are laying in the center of our veela ‘eart-stones, the very center of our clan’s magic. You are not a Delacour yet, but I am. Until you are, these stones obey me.”

Her eyes hooded, she leaned down until her lips were just barely brushing his, and murmured in a low voice as she started to gently rock herself against his crotch.

“And I do not want you to move.”

Harry was quite sure that he died at this point, unable to do anything except stare up into the darkening sky. Stars were starting to wink into place overhead, and he wondered briefly if it would get cold out here with no shelter. He hadn’t felt a trace of cold so far, which probably had something to do with the very warm woman snuggled into his chest, drawing a slow, patient line of kisses down from his ear to his chin.

“Such a nice jawline my husband has,” she said approvingly, kissing along the edge of it.

Harry suppressed a chuckle. “A nice jaw? Someone can have that?”

“You call me a liar? If I say my husband has a spectacular jaw, then you must take me at my word. I happen to be an expert in analyzing the beauty of the male species, and the jaw can be a very important factor in the construction of the face.”

She crossed her arms over his chest and studied his face. “Although, I must admit it is not my favorite feature of yours. Your nose is quite attractive. Aquiline, like a king’s.”

She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. 

“Hmm. On second thought, perhaps it is instead your mouth, which seems ready at a moment’s notice to shout heroic spells, flash a disarmingly inept smile, or say something so monumentally foolish as to make every girl weak in the knees for miles around. It is also admirably suited to fit mine. Clearly, this must be my favorite feature of yours.”

She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, and her fingers curled into his tartan robe as he did his best to reciprocate from his forced recline.

“Again, perhaps not,” she sighed, breaking the kiss. “It is a lovely mouth, to be sure, but it never seems to say what you are really thinking. For that, I must look into your eyes, eyes of such piercing greenness that they could pierce a girl’s heart if she weren’t careful. In them, I can read your intentions like a book.”

Harry stared very hard at Gabrielle, trying to make his current intentions as clear as possible.

She leaned forward and kissed each of his eyelids, the brush of her lips as light and delicate as a draft of air from a butterfly’s wing.

“But I can also read your heart, nounours. A good heart, strong, if a bit weighty in some areas, and left light in others. That is why I love you, I think. I can see a place in your heart that was meant for me to fit.”

She kissed him properly then, and Harry found that the hunger for her that had risen in his belly a moment ago was kindling to a warm, soothing simmer as he tried to put everything he was feeling into the place their lips met.

The hunger came back a moment later as the heels of her palms dug into his chest, and she shoved herself down him in a way that rather bunched up his braccae around the midsection.

Gabrielle fished about for a moment in the layers of tartan before pulling out his cock, and her eyes drifted back to meet his just as her lips landed lightly on the plummy swell of his cockhead.

“I am so glad this cock belongs to me now,” she murmured, sprinkling light kisses around the crown.

Her lips parted around the tip, and she began to suckle, working gently at his crown with her lips while her tongue danced teasingly over his slit, but refusing to move an inch further down his shaft, a titillating sensation that only made Harry ache for more of her. He groaned, but the temptress did not respond, merely sealing her lips tighter around his cockhead and pulling hard enough to hollow her cheeks, her hands gently massaging his thighs through his robe.

The stones around them were starting to…well, if he had to put a word to it, he would say they were humming, but he couldn’t quite hear anything, he was just somehow more aware of them then he had been when they arrived. That was saying a lot, considering the vast majority of his attention was focused on the beautiful young witch huddled over his crotch.

He choked as her tongue swept deep into his slit, which sent an unexpected bolt of tingling right to his very center.

“God!” he wheezed.

At once, Gabrielle’s mouth left his cock, and she fixed him with a disapproving look. “From now on, ze only name I wish to hear from you is mine. Understood?”

“Oui, madame,” said Harry, his Auror instincts kicking in for a moment.

She gave a satisfied nod, and returned to her work, sucking his cockhead back into her mouth before releasing it with a pop!

“Ngk!”

“What delightful music you make, my love,” said Gabrielle, finally running a hand up his shaft. “You are my favorite instrument to play. I wonder what other sounds I can draw from you.”

Her finger snuck underneath, and gave a quick stroke to the skin underneath his balls.

Harry jerked within his invisible restraints.“Guh!”

“Ooooh, I liked that,” said Gabrielle, sounding pleased. She cupped his balls and gave a daring squeeze.

Harry sucked in air and made a curiously weak moan.

Alternating between her hands and her mouth, Gabrielle played a symphony on her new husband’s body for what felt like an eternity, drawing gasps and moans in surprising new tenors, until his breath got so uneven she feared he might pass out. Harry teetered on the brink of orgasm, the wet pull of Gabrielle’s mouth growing more insistent, then slackening every time the tight knot in his belly threatened to burst.

At last, she picked herself up, dusting grass from her knees. She gathered up her skirts and raised them over her knees, stepped over Harry, and sank down on his achingly hard cock, drawing a sigh of relief from both parties as they were finally joined. Swirling her hips in a tantalizing pattern, Gabrielle bit her lip and let her head tilt back, fucking herself hard onto Harry’s cock at her own perfect pace.

As pent up as he was, Harry clung to his release, determined not to give in until he gave his wife the full measure of satisfaction. She leaned forwards over him, her hands digging into the grass on either side of his head, the pale arch of her throat shining above his face as he moaned, and at last the measured thump of her ass against his thighs began to stutter, and she gasped her release into the night air. With a groan, Harry spilled himself inside her, and they panted together for a moment as she rocked back onto her knees, still impaled on his shaft as their mess oozed out from where he was plugged inside her.

Harry shifted, feeling the delicious ache in every muscle, then froze. “I can move again.”

“Notre lien de mariage est consommé,” said Gabrielle blissfully, her eyes still closed. “Comme Delacours, nos pouvoirs sont égale au sein de notre territoire.”

At once Harry Delacour-Potter grabbed his wife by the waist and pressed her to the grass, furiously smothering her face with kisses while she began to laugh. He wrapped his lips around a spot on her throat and sank his teeth in, turning her breathless laugh into a shriek, and her legs kicked helplessly under his as he sucked a deep purple mark into her skin.

After a time, her eyes became glassy, and her kicks lost their force as the continued pressure of Harry’s lips began to rebuild the fire in her belly.

Pulling away, Harry down looked at Gabrielle with dark eyes, and the growl of his next words made shivers go all the way down her spine.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that, mignonne.”

He hauled her up into his lap, held her there for a moment with more kissing, then turned her around and shoved her playfully back onto the grass. She landed on her hands and knees, happy little giggles still bubbling helplessly from her belly, and felt a sudden draft of cool air across her backside as Harry flipped up the hem of her chiton. He delivered a crisp slap to her exposed ass, making her give another breathless little shriek and tremble as he caressed the reddened cheek, then slapped it hard again.

“We’ve never done it this way before,” she thought gleefully to herself as she felt Harry’s weight line up behind her.

To her surprise, she felt his fist curl itself into her loose hair, and he began a slow, inexorable pull that made a line of prickling electricity start to tingle all the way across her scalp, down her spine, and straight into the pit of her stomach, where a fresh wave of heat washed over her pussy.

Gabrielle made a high-pitched sound that Harry could not resist, and he slammed home inside her, throwing a wave of sparks up inside her as the remains of his old cum squished around his cock, and she flushed at how absolutely dirty it made her feel. His hips were merciless, filling the night air with rhythmic slapping as he pistoned in and out of her, each thrust sending a wave of happy aches through every inch of her. Her moans started to bleed into each other, tears welling in the corners of her eyes as Harry pulled harder at her hair. One thrust was hard enough to make his balls slap against her clit, and the unexpected thrill made her trembled in his grip, arching her back harder and raising her ass a little further into the air.

“You look so good like this, Gabrielle,” Harry groaned, his fingers digging into her hip. “So tight. Your fucking body…absolutely gorgeous.”

Gabrielle whimpered, arching her head back up towards him, and tried to rock herself back as best she could in this unfamiliar position. “H-h-harder…”

“You want more?” he gasped, pulling a little harder at her hair so she squeaked. “I’ll give you more, darling.”

The pace he set then was brutal, his iron length slamming into her so hard it made her toes tingle. Gabrielle felt like her insides were being pounded out by Harry’s cock, pushing her open until she was nothing but jelly. Her arms were quaking with the effort of holding herself up against him.

“Haaaarrryyyy,” she cried. “I’m gonna…”

“I know,” he grunted, keeping to his pace. “I’ve got you.”

Her voice broke as she screamed into her orgasm, her arms quivering. Falling forward, Harry’s hand landed hard in the grass next to her own, and he buried himself as deep inside her as she could go, and in one, two, three quick thrusts Gabrielle felt the heat blossom inside her again, trickling warmly down her thigh.

They gingerly let themselves down on an untrampled bit of grass, and laid together, Gabrielle wearing Harry like a blanket as he murmured the incantation to clean them up.

“How was your first taste of married life, sweetheart?” asked Harry, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I can’t feel my legs,” said Gabrielle sleepily. “Perfect.”

“Good.” Harry yawned. “Funny, I don’t feel a bit cold in here. Is that more Delacour magic?”

“Yes,” said Gabrielle, her eyelids starting to flutter. “I’ll tell you more about it in the…in the…”

“…Gabrielle?”

But she was already asleep.