The Man in Charge by Dasteiza
Books » Harry Potter Rated: M, English, Harry P., Hermione G., Narcissa M., Daphne G., Words: 3k+, Favs: 229, Follows: 291, Published: Mar 25
Powerful Harry Potter arrives to a new universe and creates havoc among the Death Eaters. Sub Hermione. Sub girls
Chapter 1
Harry sat on the edge of a king-sized bed with white Egyptian cotton sheets, and the remnants of an early evening rain painted wavering lines across the windows. The air in the room hung heavy with the faint, sweet smoke of a burning incense stick. The glass in his hand glowed amber in the light of the crackling fire. Harry's silhouette in the window reflected a man that any woman would swoon over. He had broad, powerful shoulders, a muscled swimmer's chest, and a cheeky smile that would instantly dampen the panties of any woman near him. Harry had a strong, chiseled jawline and raven hair that refused to be tamed. He looked thirty, perhaps, but his real age was far beyond that.
He sipped his glass, and the firewhiskey burned his throat, and woke a deep, silent satisfaction. Harry had not merely landed in this world … he had dominated it. Every spell, every duel, and every subtle conversation played in his favor. He'd been summoned here by a stroke of luck and pulled from a timeline just one degree off from this one. The only thing in his old world was the memory of friends and lovers who had long since passed. His summoner … some mad warlock from Eastern Europe who had been trying to summon a copy of his dead son from a similar universe. Needless to say, it didn't work out for him too well. Harry quickly incapacitated him and wiped his memories of the event. Harry then ransacked his house, took all his research on summoning, and helped himself to everything else of value. That was the price for annoying Harry Potter.
A year later, Harry found himself in a posh flat in London, with a closet full of expensive tailored clothes and a daily routine of pleasure. Harry enjoyed the finer things in life.
Harry wasn't a glutton, but when there was something he wanted, he just had to have it. The Hermione Granger of this world was the first thing he truly wanted since landing in Universe 886-B, as the mad warlock had labeled it in his notes. She was eighteen, as brilliant as ever, and subordinate in a way that delighted him. Her mind was razor sharp, and her body was unspoiled. He thought of the smattering of freckles over her shoulders and the way her hair framed her pale, beautiful face. He thought of her sweet lips that were so often pressed together in silent mortification, and the blush that set her skin aglow with the right word or the right touch.
Harry poured another finger of firewhiskey and walked to the window. It was raining again. The English weather was as miserable as always, Harry thought. Across the hall, the bathroom light shone under the closed door, and he pictured Hermione in the shower. He wondered if she would do as she'd been told. He hoped so, but Harry knew better than to count on her obedience. She tended to get too nervous and chicken out. He found her meekness adorable, and something deep in his chest twisted with anticipation at the possibility of catching her out. If she skipped a step, he'd know instantly. He would feel it when he ran his fingers across her skin.
The clock on the nightstand blinked 8:17. Harry returned to the bed, let his bathrobe slip open, and waited.
The Man in Charge
Hermione stood in front of the steamed-over mirror, counting her breaths. She had placed her wand on the toilet tank, just in case, but the ritual was supposed to be entirely nonmagical … even if the product wasn't. Hermione trusted Harry, but some habits from Hogwarts were impossible to break. She exhaled, wiped a circle in the glass, and examined the face that stared back. Her eyes were wide and nervous, and her lips were pulled into a tight line. Her hair had frizzed out in every direction, which wasn't anything new for her.
She slowly undressed with careful, awkward movements. Her cardigan, skirt, plain white blouse, and socks were each folded and stacked on the little wicker hamper by the door. She left her bra and panties for last. She did not like to look at herself naked, but she forced herself to do it now. Her body was thin, but not athletic, with unexpectedly lush curves. The swell of her hips, the soft undercurve of her buttocks, and the roundness of her breasts kind of surprised her. She really didn't spend much time examining her own form. When showering, she was usually in and out with focused efficiency. Any second not studying was a second wasted after all. Her nipples stood out pale and pink against her skin, and the crinkled tips jutted out from her slightly puffy areolas. She touched her thigh and flinched.
The bush between her legs was the worst. She'd always hated it. There was too much hair. It was too wild and curly, and it was always a little damp even after showering. She imagined Harry's hand there, his fingers sifting through the dark pubic patch, and she bit her lip. Would he find it disgusting? Would he laugh? Would he care?
Hermione shook her head, trying to banish the image, but the ache between her legs made itself known. Harry had left a note with a bottle of thick blue gel. He gave her instructions on how to use it. The label read "For Magical Hair Removal, Complete Below-Neck Solution." She had read the instructions three times, just to be sure.
She opened the bottle and sniffed. It smelled neither good nor bad. Hermione squeezed out a large blob and shuddered at the texture. It was thick, gooey, and cold. She spread it over her left arm and then over her right. It tingled in a strange way. She smeared some under her arms. She then did her legs, thighs, and ankles. Hermione then did her chest. Her skin felt cold and prickly.
She hesitated, staring at the triangle of hair between her legs. She'd tried to shave once, years ago, but the cuts and stubble had been really annoying and itchy. This would be better … at least she hoped. She worked a fresh handful into her pubic hair and lathered it over her mound, between her lips, and even around the puckered star of her asshole. That had been in the note. "Don't forget your backside." Harry's handwriting was clear and unambiguous. When she was done, she was blushing furiously.
Her entire crotch was now painted blue. She squirmed and tried not to imagine Harry touching her there. Now she had to wait two minutes. The seconds seemed to go on forever. Her skin felt hot and cold at the same time. She stepped into the shower and watched a bead of blue goop drip from her thigh and plop onto the shower floor.
When the time was up, she turned on the hot water and let the spray wash everything away. The paste washed away in ribbons of pale blue. She watched the hair vanish down the drain. The last to go was the thick patch at her mound, which sloughed off in a single, shameful mat.
Once clean, she stepped from the shower and toweled off, and for the first time in her life, her skin felt utterly smooth. She ran her fingers over her stomach, up her arms, and down her legs. She touched between her legs and gasped. Her pussy looked glossy and pink, and the lips were completely bare. Her asshole was a perfect, hairless ring. She touched it too, her curiosity overpowering the embarrassment she felt. There was nothing. She couldn't feel a single hair anywhere.
Hermione saw herself in the mirror and tried to imagine what Harry would see. She bent, spread her legs a little, and turned to view her ass in profile. It was rounder than she expected, with a pleasant lift. She remembered something Parvati had said in her old dorm room. "Men love a girl with a big ass." Hermione had no idea if that was true, but she found herself comforted by the thought.
She wrapped a towel around her chest, blushing, and tiptoed back into the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the cold tile. She could hear Harry moving on the bed. She tried to steady her breathing. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, eyes averted and bracing herself for his reaction.
Hermione stopped in the doorway with her hands balled tight around the towel. It felt like she couldn't breathe. Harry stood at the foot of the bed, waiting for her. He'd let his bathrobe fall entirely open, and his cock jutted outward, nearly horizontal. She was not prepared for the sheer size of him. It was as thick as her wrist, and its length … she stared, mind frozen, unable to compute that it could possibly fit inside a human body.
Harry saw her staring and smirked. He then flicked his wand at her. She felt a ripple of warm air sweep over her body, drying the beads of water left on her arms and thighs. The towel slipped a little, and Hermione scrambled to keep it up, her cheeks on fire.
"Come here," Harry said, his voice a rumbling purr.
She hesitated, so he added, "Now." The word held a casual authority that left no room for argument.
Hermione tiptoed across the thick carpet, holding her towel tight to her heaving chest. Harry's eyes drank her in. They ran down the length of her legs, the bare curve of her shoulders, and the shape of her hips beneath the towel. He made no attempt to hide his arousal. His cock was standing hard, proud, and without shame.
He leaned in and let the tip of his cock brush the cotton at her belly. She gasped shakily. He gently cupped her cheek and turned her face up to his. "Show me," he ordered.
Hermione's hands shook as she released the top of the towel. She felt the tension in the knot, and with the gentlest tug, the towel unfurled, slipping down her breasts, over her stomach, and finally pooling around her feet. Her nipples were tight and pink from the sudden exposure. The cold air and her own excitement made them impossibly sensitive.
Harry's eyes widened slightly. His hands moved to her waist, and his fingers glided up and over the ridges of her ribcage. He rotated her by the hip, so the firelight danced along every inch of her bare skin. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all."
Hermione was so embarrassed that she wanted to crawl into a hole, but she couldn't look away from his face. He was enthralled by the smoothness of her skin. He thumbed the soft skin just below her navel, then let his hand fall further. He traced the crease where her thigh met her pelvis, and then it moved higher, over her mound. The skin there was silky smooth and very sensitive. She shivered at his touch.
"You followed my instructions," Harry said in a husky, aroused voice
.
Hermione nodded, unable to find her voice. Her heart was beating so fast that she was afraid it might explode.
Harry dropped to his knees before her. He pressed his face against her lower belly and grazed her skin with his lips. "You have no idea what you do to me," he told her. She felt the warmth of his breath and the prickle of his stubble. His lips brushed the skin above her slit. He softly kissed her inner thigh, and then again, just above her clit. Hermione's knees trembled, and she gripped his shoulders for support.
He buried his nose against her bare mound and inhaled deeply and loudly. The noise tickled her skin as the sound vibrated. "You smell really good," he told her as he inhaled her aroused scent, and Hermione almost believed it.
Harry stood, and the head of his cock grazed her belly button. She could smell his manly scent, and it made her pussy throb. He hooked an arm around her back and guided her to the edge of the bed. She sat down nervously.
He let go and said, "Crawl onto the bed. Get on your hands and knees."
Her cheeks blazed red. "Like … now?" Harry didn't repeat himself. He watched and waited with an expectant smirk on his lips.
Hermione turned, climbed onto the mattress, and positioned herself on all fours as instructed. The sheets felt slippery against her knees, and her arms shook with the effort of holding herself up. She could feel the cool air on her pussy and asshole. She felt completely exposed. She tried to hide herself by clamping her knees together, but Harry's palm pressed against the inside of her thigh.
"Wider," he said.
She parted her legs. She knew, from the way the air moved, that Harry was crouching behind her, staring at every she had to offer.
"Wider," he told her again. Hermione's knees moved further apart, and they didn't stop until she couldn't spread them anymore. Her cheeks were so hot that she was surprised they didn't burst into flame.
"Arch your back," he ordered. "Ass up, just like that."
The humiliation was beyond words. Hermione closed her eyes and surrendered to it, letting the flush sweep over her whole body. She heard Harry breathing, and she could feel his warm breath caressing her naked pussy.
Harry's hand slid up the length of her thigh, over her hip, and around to her belly button. He pulled her backward, adjusting her pose. She felt utterly helpless.
Then, his hands parted her cheeks. She could feel him looking directly at her asshole. She could practically feel the heat of his gaze. He ran a single finger along the seam, up from the very bottom of her pussy to the tight puckering hole. Harry gently ran the tip of his finger around the rim, teasing her. Her legs nearly gave out.
"Oh, Hermione," Harry said. "I'm going to have so much fun with you."
The line was so brazen that it made Hermione whimper loudly. Her embarrassment burned, but so did her uncontrollable need. She felt a fat drop of arousal drip down her inner thigh.
Harry leaned forward, and she felt his hot, wet tongue press against her clit. The spike of pleasure shot up her spine. She let out a whimper and dropped her head to the mattress. He licked her slowly and began to circle her clit with the tip of his tongue. His hands cupped her ass, pulling her open wider, making her utterly available to him. She could hear herself getting wetter. The licks began to sound sloppy wet as they mixed with Harry's moans.
He lapped at her pussy, sometimes dipping his tongue inside, and he flicked it against her clit again and again. Hermione's legs shook. She bit down on a pillow, muffling her gasps. Harry took his time as he explored every inch of her smooth, sexy body. He paid special attention to her asshole, kissing around it and licking the tight ring before moving back to her pussy. The stimulation was overwhelming, intense, and totally new. She had never been touched like this.
Hermione realized she was grinding back against his face, desperate for more. Her arms barely supported her now. Harry noticed and pulled back for a moment, letting her collapse flat onto her elbows. He positioned himself behind her, and his cock rubbed against her thigh.
With one hand, he spread her lips. With the other, he pressed a single finger against her clit and rubbed little circles around it while the tip of his cock pressed into the seam of her pussy. Hermione moaned loudly. It was a sound she had never made before. Harry slipped the head inside and held it there. Her pussy immediately latched onto it and squeezed it tightly.
"Are you ready?" he said in a gentle voice.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her body was wound so tight she thought she might burst. Harry slowly and patiently eased himself in. Even so, he stretched her open until her wet, silky lips were nearly at their breaking point. She gasped and clung to the sheets. He waited, letting her adjust before slowly withdrawing and pressing in again, a little deeper. Her body trembled around him.
When he was finally fully inside her, Harry leaned over her and kissed her between her shoulder blades. "You feel incredible."
She shivered violently. Part of it was from the words, and another part was from the sensation of being so utterly filled. Harry rocked his hips a few times to let her get used to the feeling of being fucked. The friction was very pleasurable, and the pressure began mounting in her core. All it took was a few thrusts of his perfect cock to have her whimpering as she teetered on the edge of orgasm.
"Say it," he said. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," she answered immediately. It came out as a whisper, lost in the sound of her ass being clapped.
Harry's hand snaked around her waist, and his fingers easily found her clit. He rubbed her little bead as he fucked her, and the pleasure became almost blinding. She felt her pussy contract as she hurtled toward the edge. Harry knew how close she was as well.
"Good girl," Harry said. "Cum for me."
That was all it took. Hermione's orgasm hit her like a runaway truck. Her body locked up, and every muscle spasmed. She screamed into the mattress, and her pussy clamped down on Harry's cock so hard it hurt. She felt a hot, wet rush of liquid. She was squirting, she realized, and the knowledge mortified her, but Harry only groaned in approval.
He pulled out and stroked her body from behind, his hands gliding over her ass and back. He pressed the tip of his cock against her asshole teasingly, but didn't enter her. Instead, he spread her cheeks open and admired his work. Hermione panted while Harry examined her still-cumming pussy.
"You're a natural," Harry said, and there was laughter in his voice. "We're going to have to work on your stamina, though." Hermione could only lie there, exhausted. The sheets beneath her were soaked through. Harry rolled her onto her back and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her forehead and then her lips. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll get lots of practice."
She buried her face in his chest, unable to meet his gaze, but she basked in the comfort of his embrace. Harry stroked her hair until her breathing slowed. Harry then smirked and asked, "Ready for round two?" He reached between her legs and cupped her wet, naked pussy like he owned it. Hermione spread her legs a little wider and let him.
She managed a laugh, even though her legs were still shaking. "Give me a minute," she said, and he grinned wider.
They lay there with Harry's hand caressing her sensitive pussy. Hermione mewled cutely and squirmed against his touch. She whimpered loudly when he began lightly rolling her swollen clit between his fingers. Harry was still hard and ready. She had never felt more exposed, more alive, or more wanted.
The embarrassment lingered, but it was less now. It was more like a badge of honor, maybe. She'd done it. She'd obeyed, endured, and, in the end, loved it. She gripped Harry's free hand, entwined their fingers, and stared at him with pure devotion.
Chapter 2
The knock came at precisely 9:00. Harry checked his watch and nodded. He already knew she would be right on time. The air in his penthouse apartment was thick with the heady scent of incense. He was in the kitchen when the knock echoed down the hall. He left the lights low. There was a single table lamp on in the living room, casting shadows around his flat.
He crossed the carpeted floor and opened the heavy door with a turn of his wrist. Hermione stood in the hallway, bathed in the dull golden light of the corridor. She was pale and beautiful, and her hair was slightly damp from the drizzle outside. A long, belted trench coat covered her from throat to ankles, and the collar was turned up to hide her trembling jaw. She shivered in the cold draft of the hallway.
"Good evening," Harry said with a sensual tone in his voice.
Hermione answered with a tight nod. Her fists were buried deep in the coat's pockets, and she nervously rocked back on her heels. "Good evening, Harry," she responded with a slightly shaky voice.
"Come in." He stepped aside. She entered, and her heels clicked across the threshold, leaving a wet trail on the floor. The moment she was inside, Harry shut the door behind her and leaned in close. "Let me take your coat."
Hermione's shoulders hunched in embarrassment. She hesitated, glanced up at him, then slipped her arms from the sleeves and surrendered the coat. Harry took it and hung it carefully on the hook by the door.
She was exactly as he had told her to be. She wore the black spaghetti-strap top that was way too thin to keep her warm in the cold outside. Her hard nipples tented the thin material. The top left her arms and shoulders bare, with the edge hugging her ribs just under the curve of her breasts. The skirt was little more than a wide black ribbon. It was so short that every inch of her sexy thighs was exposed to him. The only thing that kept it decent was the pleated fan of fabric that barely protected her modesty. Her legs were shapely, smooth, and trembling. She wore black heels on her feet, as he had instructed.
Harry spent a few long seconds drinking in the sight. It wasn't just the bare skin, or the adorable trembling, or even the evidence of her arousal that had him turned on. It wasn't the way her nipples strained at the fabric or the subtle shiver in her thighs either. No, it was the look in her eyes. She knew she should leave, but she wanted to stay even more. The battle raged in her, and Harry already knew which one would win.
"You did well," Harry said, not hiding his pleasure. "Better than last time, anyway. There's no cardigan to hide behind. And you wore the skirt."
Hermione blushed fiercely and dropped her eyes to the floor. "You said to."
"And you obeyed." He closed the distance and reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. She shuddered at the touch and leaned in. "Did you follow all my instructions?" he asked, though they both already knew the answer. She nodded.
"Say it."
"I followed your instructions." She swallowed. "All of them."
"Good girl."
The praise hit her hard, and she inhaled, her eyes bright with relief. Harry placed his fingers on her chin and tilted her head up until their eyes met. "Show me," he said. "Lift your skirt."
Hermione hesitated, but only for a split second. She grabbed the hem of her skirt, and with shaking hands, she lifted it until her pussy was fully exposed. She wasn't wearing panties, just as he'd ordered. Her skin was perfectly bare, without a hint of hair. Her glossy pink slit was tucked away between her trembling thighs, and Harry could only see a tiny portion of her taut, pale lips peeking out.
Harry crouched for a better look. "Turn around," he commanded.
She turned very slowly and lifted the skirt so her ass was on display. It was thick and round, with a nice flare to her hips, and a perfect little crease where her ass met her thigh. Her skin was flawlessly smooth. Harry ran a finger lightly along the bottom curve, then slid it up along her crack to the tiny, hairless pucker of her asshole. He made her stand there with her skirt lifted for several silent seconds.
"Perfect," he said, and watched her knees nearly buckle with relief. "You can put it down."
Hermione exhaled. She turned, and the skirt settled around her hips. She tried her best to keep her hands steady. Harry stood and crossed his arms as he looked at her. "I want to see all of you," he stated and stepped back.
She didn't need further explanation. Hermione's trembling fingers went to the hem of her top. She slowly peeled it upward, exposing her flat, pale stomach, the lines of her ribs, then the soft undercurve of her breasts. She hesitated with the top halfway up, her face burning, before forcing it over her head. The fabric snagged for a second on her nose, and her hair tumbled free in a cloud of frizz.
Her breasts were round, perky, and wonderfully bouncy. The nipples were pale pink, with puffy areolas and goosebumps all across her chest. Hermione was unsure of what to do with her arms, so she crossed them over her stomach, hiding nothing.
"Keep going," Harry said, keeping his eyes on her body.
Hermione nodded and slipped her thumbs under the waistband of her skirt, bending slightly as she shimmied it down. She stepped out of it, not daring to look up. Now she stood in front of him, completely naked except for her black heels, and her hands twisted together at her belly. She trembled as she stood there exposed, awaiting his judgment.
Harry circled her, taking in every detail. He loved the smoothness of her hairless skin, the slenderness of her calves, and the way her plump and glossy pussy lips stood out. Her asshole was a tight, crinkled little hole with no trace of hair. He walked a full circle around her before finally facing her again. He smiled in approval.
"I have something for you," he said.
He walked to the dresser, opened a drawer, and rummaged through it until he produced a small black box. He opened it and withdrew a jet-black silk choker that was the width of his thumb. It had a single silver lightning bolt at the front. He held it up for her to see.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
Hermione nodded, and her face went bright red. "A …" she began, but her voice faltered. "A collar."
Harry shook his head. "A choker," he corrected her. "But it's also a gift." He held it in both hands and walked back to her. "Kneel."
She sank to her knees without hesitation, and her thighs brushed together. She could feel how sensitive her wet pussy was, and the pleasurable friction made her shudder. Hermione straightened her back and tilted her head up slightly, giving him access to her delicate neck. She kept her eyes fixed on his, even as her cheeks blushed bright pink.
Harry walked behind her, draped the choker around her neck, and fastened it with a gentle click. He ran a finger under the silk, ensuring it fit perfectly. It was snug but not too tight. He tugged lightly on the silver lightning bolt, testing her. She immediately arched her neck and back, presenting her bare breasts to him.
"Good girl," he whispered in her ear, and she quivered all the way down to her toes.
He walked around to face her again, and the choker gleamed in the light. Hermione looked up at him with her full, sexy lips slightly parted. Her breath was short and shallow. She wanted to reach for him, to bury her face in his thigh, but she waited for the order.
Harry made her wait a little longer. He undid the button of his trousers, then slowly unzipped. His cock sprang free, and it was already thick and hard. It was pointed directly at her. Hermione inhaled sharply. She stared at it with fascination and intimidation, but her hands dutifully never left her thighs. He ran his thumb along her jaw. "You know what I want."
Hermione nodded, leaned forward, and parted her sweet lips. She softly and slowly took the head between her lips, and her eyes never left his. Her tongue circled the tip, and she moaned at the taste. Harry let his hand rest lightly on the back of her head to let her know that he was still in charge.
She began to work him faster, using her lips and tongue to give him as much pleasure as she could. Harry's cock was thick, and her jaw ached almost immediately, but she never pulled away. She inhaled his manly scent and let his cock glide deeper into her mouth. The choker squeezed lightly every time she swallowed, reminding her of her place.
Harry let her set the pace. He stroked her hair, ran a thumb along her cheek, and let her worship him in whatever way she wanted. She found a clumsy rhythm. Hermione didn't excel at sucking cock just yet, but Harry planned to give her plenty of practice. However, the sight of her, naked and kneeling with a beautiful, flushed face, was almost too much for him.
He let her go for several minutes, until she began to make little noises of desperation. Her thighs squeezed together, and her hips rocked subtly with each thrust of her face. He knew she was already close to cumming, just from sucking him, and he wondered how long she'd last if he let her play with herself. Probably less than a minute, Harry figured.
When Harry felt his orgasm building, he tightened his grip on her hair. "Look at me," he said. Hermione looked up with glassy eyes, and her mouth stretched wide around his shaft. "Take it all," he told her.
She tried, and nearly managed it, but she gagged and pulled back at the last second. Spit ran down her chin and dripped onto her chest. She quickly apologized, but Harry only chuckled and cupped her cheek with his free hand. He wiped the drool from her chin, then guided her mouth back to the tip.
"Good girl. Try again."
She obeyed, again and again, until her eyes watered and her lips were swollen. Finally, Harry let himself go. He let out a low grunt and shot his load directly into her throat. Hermione gulped it down and shuddered from head to toe as she took all of it.
He pulled out slowly and let her catch her breath. She looked dazed, but proud, as if she'd just completed some herculean task. She was breathing heavily, and her perky tits jiggled with every strained breath.
Harry grabbed her under her arms and lifted her to her feet. He then kissed her forehead. "You did beautifully. I'm very, very pleased."
Hermione beamed with happiness and pride and let herself collapse against his chest. He held her until she caught her breath. His fingers gently stroked the back of her neck while her fingers brushed against the new choker.
"May I wear this home?" she whispered.
Harry nodded. "Of course, you may."
Hermione beamed and relaxed into his embrace. Harry scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. The night wasn't over.
The Man in Charge
The air in Diagon Alley was suddenly filled with the cracks of Apparition. Three Death Eaters appeared with their faces hidden behind silver masks that glinted in the morning sun. One of them fired the Dark Mark into the sky before his boots even struck the ground. The green skull and serpent billowed upward, casting a sickly glow and drawing every eye in the Alley.
A shout went up. Stall vendors abandoned their stands, shrieking. A shower of vintage chocolate frog cards burst from a toppled crate as its owner dove for cover. An older woman tripped, fell, and scrambled behind a cauldron display. The Death Eaters fanned out with grim purpose. They raised their wands and cast curses at random people. One began setting shops on fire.
The lead Death Eater, who was taller than the rest, lifted his wand, pointed it at a fleeing witch in butter-yellow robes, and barked, "Crucio!" The bolt of light caught her in the back, and she collapsed, spasming. Her scream curdled the air. The Death Eater stood over her, relishing the sight as his wand twisted in his gloved hand. The other two circled the Alley like hunting dogs. Their curses smashed into glass and stone, sending shopkeepers ducking for their lives.
Behind a charmed display of floating books, Harry saw the chaos unfold. He felt the old, familiar heat of adrenaline stoke his blood. Across the street, a girl with strawberry pigtails was paralyzed with terror, trapped between two converging streams of curses. Harry rolled over the counter, drew his wand, and cut through the chaos at a dead sprint.
He aimed for the Cruciatus-wielding Death Eater. All it took was a flick of his wand to send the man crashing into one of the burning shops. His screams were instantaneous, and Harry saw him writhing with his robes on fire before the burning man dropped out of sight.
One of the two remaining Death Eaters pivoted, and his eyes widened behind his mask when he saw the messy black hair and stunning green eyes. "It's him!" he yelled, his voice shaking with both fear and excitement. "It's Potter!"
The Death Eater fired a Blasting Curse at him, but Harry simply flicked the curse away with his wand. The batted curse hit a toppled barrel, and flaming splinters shot past his face. Harry slashed his wand, and a powerful Banishing Charm hit the Death Eater square in the chest. He toppled backward into a fruit cart, upending a mountain of squashed plums. He scrambled to his feet, holding his bruised chest while breathing heavily.
Both brought their wands up, channeling twin streams of furious, overlapping curses at Harry. Shoppers and bystanders screamed as the curses slashed overhead in a flash of bright colors. Red jets, green lances, and a purple blob of light raced across the street. Harry barely moved. He walked through the onslaught at a measured pace, deflecting curses with casual, effortless flicks of his wand. Fiery bolts sizzled into the cobblestones behind him, but none grazed his black jacket or tousled hair. To Harry, the air was thick with slow-moving projectiles, each as harmless as a spitball.
One of the desperate Death Eaters roared and cast the Killing Curse. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted. The emerald beam sliced straight for Harry's chest. With a mere twitch of Harry's wand, a chunk of shattered curb leapt up and intercepted the curse in a flash of green fire. The stone vaporized with a thunderclap, but Harry never broke stride. The air was suddenly filled with dust and smoke.
The second Death Eater, a short man with a rough, gravelly voice, tried to scuttle sideways behind a stack of barrels. Harry's wand flicked again, and the barrels detonated, blasting the Death Eater head-over-heels into the gutter. Harry watched him crawl on his hands and knees like a rat, trying to get away, and with a sweep of his arm, he sent a twisting, blue lance of light straight at him. The curse hit the man square in the right butt cheek.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGH! MY FUCKING ASS!" he shouted in agony as his butt cheek was ripped apart in a shower of blood and meat. He was too busy crying about his ruined buttocks to see his wand fly straight into Harry's hand.
The other Death Eater tried to attack when Harry was fooling around with the assless wonder. Harry saw his shadow in the cobblestones. Without turning, Harry jabbed his wand to the side, and the Death Eater yelped as he was yanked up by the ankle, inverted, and left dangling in the air. His robes fell over his head, exposing pale legs and striped boxers. The man flailed, dropped his wand, and let out a high-pitched squeal while the crowd gawked.
Harry did a quick scan of the Alley. There were still a few civilians ducked behind overturned carts. Smoke drifted from several burning storefronts, and the sickly glow from the Dark Mark tinged the whole street and green light. But the Death Eater attack was over. Harry had not even needed to raise his voice.
He walked over to the nearest downed Death Eater, who was trying to crawl for a battered coin that had fallen from his pocket. It was a Portkey. No doubt both of these idiots had one to make their escape. He caught the Death Eater by the scruff of his robes, pulled him upright, and deftly plucked the Portkey from the man's grasp.
"Not today," Harry said. The Death Eater tried to spit at him, but Harry only smiled and flung him aside with a gesture. Harry pointed his wand at the dangling Death Eater, and his wand and Portkey flew straight into Harry's outstretched hand.
Aurors had arrived in force, wands drawn and ready for battle. Harry was already offering them the confiscated Portkeys and wands, as if he'd simply found them on the side of the street. "You'll want to take this," Harry said, handing the coins and wands over to the nearest Auror. "They were about to leave. There's a third in there," Harry said, jerking his thumb at the shop that was engulfed in flames.
The Auror nodded, staring at Harry with wide eyes. Harry hadn't been here long, but he already had a deadly reputation among the Ministry and Voldemort's forces. Neither of them wanted to tangle with him if they didn't have to. "Thank you, sir. We'll secure the area."
Harry nodded and waved his wand one more time. The dangling Death Eater suddenly dropped from the air with a terrified yelp. His head slammed straight onto the cobbled ground with a sickening thunk. He groaned once and passed out. Harry dusted off his hands and walked back down the street with the calm of a man who'd just finished a morning jog. He checked his sleeve for scorch marks and found none. He didn't even look winded.
The crowd parted for him with something between awe and fear. A little boy tugged at his mother's sleeve and said, "Did you see that? That was Harry Potter!" The mother shushed him, but her eyes followed Harry as he strolled away.
He paused at the doorway to his favorite bakery and looked up. The Dark Mark still hung overhead, casting green light over everything. Harry eyed it for a moment, then flicked his wand. The Mark collapsed in on itself and was snuffed out like a blown candle. Harry smirked and entered the bakery, feeling he had earned himself a treat.
Chapter 3
The marble throne room echoed with the furious voice of Lord Voldemort. His scarlet eyes blazed, and his serpentine face twisted in disgust as he raged at the pathetic assembly of Death Eaters trembling before him. Wands dangled limp in uncertain hands, and their legs quivered with fear. "Fools!" Voldemort hissed, rising from his seat so abruptly that Bellatrix flinched and Lucius nearly dropped to his knees.
"You let that insufferable man slip through your fingers again?" Voldemort's voice was deceptively calm, but the air in the room seemed to constrict with every syllable. "Am I surrounded by incompetents? Do you need me to guide your every step and hold your hand?" He stalked the marble floor, his cloak trailing like the shadow behind him, and he paused in front of Nott, who stared at the floor, sweat glistening on his brow.
Voldemort's thin, pale finger jabbed the air, landing inches from Nott's face. "You. I put you in charge of the Diagon Alley raid. Yet Potter killed one of my followers, captured two others, and continued shopping without a care in the world," he hissed. "And, pray tell, where were you during all of this?" Voldemort asked.
Nott gulped loudly and trembled as he was forced to look his dark master in the eyes. "Well, My Lord … You see … my wife had come down with the flu, and my dog needed his rabies shots, so I …"
"SILENCE, YOU PITIFUL FOOL!" he snarled. "I don't want to hear your excuses!"
He turned and stalked from one Death Eater to the next, his contempt radiating in waves. "Yaxley, you lost a dozen men to Potter last week. Do you know how tedious it is to replace twelve full-grown wizards? And you, Dolohov …" He snapped his head around, simultaneously freezing half the room with his gaze. "... I am told you turned and ran while your men fell. Are you all so incapable?"
"It w-was really more of a brisk jog, My Lord," Dolohov studdered while averting his gaze.
"SHUT IT!" Voldemort shouted.
Bellatrix, dutiful as ever, dropped to her knees, groveling, "My Lord, we will find him. I swear on my life …"
"Spare me your oaths, Bella," Voldemort spat. "I want results, not blubbering." He raised his wand, and the tip glowed with a furious, sickly light. "Listen well. By sundown, I want Harry Potter at my feet. If I do not have him, I will flay the skin from the next of you to fail me." Several Death Eaters gasped. "You will scour the countryside, the cities, and even the sewers if you must. Do not return here without him. If you must, burn the world to ashes."
He let the heavy and suffocating words hang in the air. Everyone in the room shook and trembled, knowing that it was going to be bad for them, no matter what. Voldemort swept his gaze across the room one last time, then swept back his cloak and seated himself, his eyes burning with the anticipation of their inevitable failure.
The cowed and desperate Death Eaters exchanged glances filled with terror, shame, and a mounting sense of doom as they prepared to carry out his impossible, bloody command.
The Man in Charge
The two Death Eaters assigned to the Upper Flagly night patrol had neither names that anyone could remember nor reputations of their own. The first was a stringy, pale man with patchy facial hair and the half-crazed look of someone who had spent too much time being berated by a crazy Dark Lord. The second was plump, with jowls that wobbled in the yellow lamplight, and he sweated constantly through his dark wool coat, despite the chill. They had drawn the short straw, which meant they would spend the evening trudging up and down drizzly cobblestones and keeping a nervous lookout for Harry Potter.
Upper Flagly's main wizarding section was alive with the Saturday-night crowd. Aurors, off-duty Hit Wizards, and Ministry flunkies were all drifting between the magical pubs and clubs that dotted the relatively short street. The two Death Eaters kept to the shadows, their faces hidden by low-brimmed hats and thick scarves. They did their best to look like just another pair of men out for a stiff drink.
It was while skulking in the alley behind a dirty pub that they first spotted him. Out of a side door of the Garrotted Gargoyle, the most notorious club in the district, stepped Potter. He was taller and broader in the shoulders than the gossip suggested. He had the wild black hair and those unmistakable green eyes that seemed to glow even under the sickly street lamps. But he wasn't alone. Hanging from his arm was a blonde bombshell whose platinum hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose curls. It was none other than Narcissa Malfoy. She wore a red dress that clung to her hips and thighs, showing off every cock-hardening curve the woman possessed. Her heels clicked with every step as she leaned into Potter's side, laughing softly at something he had just whispered in her ear.
"That's him," hissed the stringy one, his voice full of nervousness. He ducked behind a rusted rubbish bin, searching for the right moment to attack. "Bloody hell, I think that's Malfoy's wife with him!"
The plump one squinted, uncertain if it was really her. "You sure? Last I heard, she was holed up in France with the kid. Maybe she's …"
"Look at the ass on her. I'd know that ass from anywhere. That's Malfoy's wife."
The two watched as Potter spun Narcissa around. His hands found a home on her wide, jutting ass, and she pulled him down into a kiss so full of heat that the Death Eaters each shifted awkwardly, overcome by jealousy. When she finally broke away, she nipped at Potter's lip, whispered into his ear, and then strolled up the street, her wide hips swaying. After a few more steps, Narcissa disappeared with a crack of the air.
Potter lingered in the alcove, taking in the cool air. He pulled a small bottle of liquor from inside his jacket pocket, drank it down, and tossed it in a bin before smoothing back his unruly hair. He looked like he didn't have a care in the world. He must not know he was being hunted by practically every Death Eater in the country. The Death Eaters exchanged a look. This was their chance.
They spilled from the alley in a coordinated pincer attack with their wands drawn, and their steps were nearly silent on the wet stones. The stringy one led with a silent Stunner, and red light burst from his wand tip, painting Potter's coat with color. Potter spun before it even left the wand, ducking so low that the spell singed the shop sign behind him. The plump Death Eater let off a volley of Bone-Breakers in rapid succession, sending up chips of mortar and glass. Potter snapped his own wand up and, with a single, contemptuous flick, caught both men in a localized hurricane of wind and glass. The first Death Eater was thrown against the wall, his head cracking against the brick, but he was up again instantly, with blood running down the side of his face. The second Death Eater landed on the pavement and groaned, still clutching his wand.
They circled Potter at a distance, sending a crossfire of curses, but he played them with effortless cruelty. Harry ducked, spun, and countered, always moving, and always grinning like he was thrilled to be back in battle. He let one curse graze his sleeve, just to see the look of hope flare in their eyes before he extinguished it with a brutal counterattack.
The stringy Death Eater tried to close in for a point-blank attack, but Harry pointed his wand at the man's elbow and lazily flicked his wand. The swirling streak of light struck, and the arm came off at the joint, spraying blood all over the street. The Death Eater howled and dropped to his knees, cradling the stump in disbelief. He used his last remaining hand to shakily point his wand at Potter, but he punted the wand from his hand and sent it clattering into the gutter before turning his attention to the plump one. The plump Death Eater tried to backpedal, but Harry snapped off a Blasting Curse that struck him square in the chest. Where his chest had been, there was now only a wet, smoking crater and a rapidly collapsing husk.
The stringy Death Eater tried to crawl away, but Harry loomed over him, pressed a boot into his back, and muttered a Severing Charm. The man's head separated from his body before he had even registered the pain. The head rolled a foot across the pavement, and its mouth was still opening and closing in a last, desperate plea.
Harry slipped his wand back into its holster and surveyed the carnage with a soldier's detachment. He retrieved the wands of his fallen enemies, snapped them in half for good measure, and then stepped over the bodies, his boots leaving smeared, wet prints on the cobblestones. He flung the broken wands into the nearest rubbish bin and carried on. After all, Narcissa was waiting for him in a London hotel.
The Man in Charge
The Burrow was empty except for Molly, who was busy doing laundry. Hermione stood in the hallway, wearing a brown knit cardigan. She reached out and knocked on Ginny's bedroom door. The sun was barely up, but Ginny Weasley had always been a morning person, and Hermione was desperate for girl talk with the only person on earth she trusted with the truth.
The door opened after three brisk raps of her knuckles, and Ginny's face appeared. Her red hair was a tangled nest, and her cheeks were still blotchy from sleep. She wore a threadbare Chudley Cannons t-shirt and a pair of loose, high-waisted pajama bottoms. "Hermione!" she said in a still sleepy voice. "Come in!" She stepped aside and waved her friend into the room.
Hermione let herself be ushered inside. Ginny's bedroom walls were full of posters of Holyhead Harpies players. There was a shelf of battered Quidditch gear, and at least two dozen photos, mostly of friends. However, there was an unusually large number of photos of Neville Longbottom, the Boy Who Lived. Ginny flopped back onto her unmade bed, grabbed a rolled-up newspaper from the covers, and patted the mattress beside her. Hermione joined her and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Sorry for the mess," Ginny said. She then snorted. "Actually, I'm not sorry. You've seen worse." She unrolled the Daily Prophet, smoothed it with the palm of her hand, and tapped at a column on the front page. "You have got to hear this. Harry Potter is at it again."
Hermione frowned and glanced down at the column. The headline read, "POTTER STRIKES AGAIN! TWO DEATH EATERS DEAD IN UPPER FLAGLY." Beneath it was a moving picture of Harry Potter. The article described how Harry had "single-handedly dispatched his adversaries using advanced combat magic and a ruthlessness unseen since the great Wizengamot purge of 1793."
Ginny read aloud with enthusiasm. "Eyewitnesses say Potter showed remarkable physical prowess and unusual brutality, completely outclassing the Death Eater scum. You should see the bit about the guy's head. It literally …" She mimed a chopping motion against her neck, then grinned.
Hermione tried to keep her face neutral, but felt her cheeks coloring. "That's … impressive," she said, refusing to admit her heart was racing.
Ginny rolled onto her side and propped herself up on an elbow. "That's not even the best part. Listen to this. 'Potter was last seen leaving the scene with an unidentified witch, described as stunningly beautiful, blonde, and dressed in red. Her identity remains unknown, but speculation is rampant.'" Ginny waggled her eyebrows. "That's so hot. You know what I'd do to get a night with Harry fucking Potter?"
Hermione laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, I'm sure you'd be first in line," she said, though her voice wobbled at the end.
Ginny was still grinning. "Admit it," she said, poking Hermione in the thigh with her toe. "You're dying to hear the details. I know you read every word of these, don't you?"
Hermione bit her lip and looked away, feigning interest in the view of the orchard outside the window. In truth, she had read every article … sometimes twice. Sometimes she would read it with a hand between her thighs, but that was before she had access to the man himself.
Ginny rolled to her back and gave a dramatic sigh. "I really wish I had a man like that. I bet he's even good at … everything, you know? I've been trying to get Neville to date me, but you can't exactly have a relationship with someone who's never around." Neville was hidden away, safe from Voldemort's thugs. His friends hardly ever saw him these days.
"I've been seeing Michael, but he's not exactly blowing my socks off," Ginny continued. She glanced over at Hermione, who was still blushing furiously. "What's going on with you this morning? You're acting like a first-year with a crush."
Hermione forced a smile, then shrugged, hoping Ginny would drop it. "It's nothing, really. I'm just tired, I guess. I've been helping Professor Vector with the new Arithmancy curriculum, and it's …"
"Don't bullshit me, Hermione. I know that look." Ginny looked up with narrowed eyes. "You're blushing like mad. Come on. Spill."
Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head with a nervous laugh. "I really can't," she said. "It's … complicated."
Ginny sat up fully now, her gaze laser-focused. "You're shagging someone. Aren't you?" Ginny's tone was gleeful, as if the possibility of Hermione finally finding a man was a delicious piece of gossip. "Is it someone I know?" Ginny asked, leaning forward with great interest.
Hermione hesitated, and her brain flipped through a thousand possible lies, each one weaker than the last. She could see Ginny's excitement growing, and Hermione could tell she was ready to pounce. "Please," Ginny pleaded. "I need to live vicariously through someone. Michael's so … vanilla."
Hermione's face was now fully pink. She twisted the hem of her cardigan anxiously. "You have to promise on your life … and the Holyhead Harpies that this never leaves this room," she whispered.
Ginny nodded rapidly. "I swear it on my Quidditch captaincy."
Hermione took a deep breath, then let it out in a slow, trembling exhale. "It's Harry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Harry Potter."
Ginny's jaw dropped. "No. Fucking. Way."
Hermione nodded, and her lips pressed into a thin, guilty line. "Yes."
Ginny squealed, then clamped both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were bright and wide. "Are you joking? You're not joking. Oh my god." She kicked her feet in the air, then flopped backwards, laughing hysterically. "How did this happen? When did this happen?"
Hermione found herself grinning despite her nerves. "Do you remember the day the Death Eaters tried to set fire to Gringotts, and one of them got stabbed in the bum by a Goblin spear? I went to Diagon Alley to see the damage, and I met him there. He was talking to the Goblins. We talked, and then he took me to lunch. After that, I went to his flat a few times, and eventually we …" She trailed off, her eyes unfocused when remembering pleasure.
Ginny shrieked again, softer this time, and rolled up to a seated position. "You lucky bitch," she said, and hugged Hermione around the shoulders. "Was it amazing?" She released her hold and leaned in, her eyes shining with vicarious glee. "I want every detail."
Hermione hesitated. She'd expected embarrassment or even jealousy, but Ginny was radiating unbridled curiosity. "It's … intense," she said softly, and reached to her neck. Ginny then noticed the black silk choker securely wrapped around Hermione's thin neck. Her eyes widened even more.
"Is that …" Ginny reached out and brushed her fingertips across the silk material. "Did he give you that?"
"Yes," Hermione said, blushing again. "He … he has a way of making you feel … owned. I don't know how else to describe it."
Ginny's mouth was open again. "Oh my, Hermione. You're a sub. Our shy bookworm, Hermione Granger, is a bloody sub." She giggled, both delighted and scandalized. "I'm obsessed. Please tell me he's taken you to bed."
Hermione nodded, unable to speak, and Ginny squealed and grabbed a pillow, smothering her own face to keep the sound from attracting Mrs. Weasley. After a moment, she resurfaced. "Did he … did you …" She fanned herself, breathless and unable to go on. "I'm dying. I'm literally dying."
Hermione hugged her knees and waited for the giggling to subside. "He's different from any guy I've ever met," she admitted. "He's so … confident. Maybe even cocky. He just takes what he wants. It's scary, but it's …" She bit her lip and trailed off.
"Sexy?" Ginny guessed, her eyes shining. "Like, really, really sexy?"
"Yes," Hermione said through a massive blush, not trusting herself to say more.
Ginny waggled her finger at the choker. "So you're like his … what exactly? Girlfriend? Plaything?
"I don't know what we are," Hermione admitted, picking at a loose thread. "We meet when we can. He says he's protecting me, but it's more than that. He … he's always in charge, and I like being possessed by him."
Ginny shook her head in admiration. "That's so fucking hot. You know, after reading about him all last year, I kind of fantasized about this, but you actually did it." She sent her a mock glare. "I can't believe you beat me to it."
Hermione looked down, uncertain, but Ginny squeezed her hand. "All this is safe with me. I won't tell a soul," she promised, and Hermione smiled. "But I absolutely have to meet him," she added, and Hermione's eyes went wide.