The familiar iron gates of Parkinson Manor loomed ahead as Pansy approached on foot, her mind still reeling from the day's events. What the hell did he mean, exactly? The question had been circling through her thoughts like a vulture ever since she'd watched Harry Potter walk away with that knowing smile.
She'd burned her bridges with the Malfoys in spectacular fashion. Called Lucius a Death Eater in front of half the Ministry. Told Draco his father was a coward who got good people killed.
Good people?
Had she really called her own father good? The man who'd spent years kissing Lucius Malfoy's arse and teaching her to do the same?
Maybe I did mean it. Her father might have been weak, might have been a follower, but at least he'd never pretended to be something he wasn't. Unlike Lucius with his public face of nobility and the wretched darkness he kept private.
Not unlike my own father.
The thought was unpleasant, but not false.
And now Potter was offering her... what exactly? She couldn't shake the way he'd looked at her, like he could see straight through every mask she'd ever worn.
You've always belonged to someone.
The bastard wasn't wrong. First her father, then the expectation that she'd belong to Draco.
But what did he mean about choosing?
The front door opened before she could reach for the handle. Her mother stood in the entrance, and Pansy's stomach dropped at the expression on her face. Cordelia Parkinson looked like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the ground crumble beneath her feet.
"Inside. Now." Her mother's voice was tight with barely controlled fury.
Pansy stepped into the foyer, noting how empty the house felt without her father's presence. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch her with disapproving eyes, as if they already knew what she'd done.
"Mother, I can explain—"
"Explain?" Cordelia's voice rose to a shriek. "Explain how you publicly humiliated our family? How you destroyed years of careful alliance building? How you spat on your father's grave?"
Here we go.
Pansy straightened her spine, preparing for the storm she'd known was coming.
"I told the truth."
"The truth?" Her mother's laugh was hysterical. "You called Lucius Malfoy a Death Eater in front of the Minister of Magic! You accused him of getting your father killed!"
"Because he did get Father killed!" Pansy shot back. "He convinced him to join that attack at the Cup. Promised him glory and favor, and what did Father get? A fucking gravestone!"
The slap came so fast Pansy barely saw it coming. Her cheek stung as her mother's hand connected with her face.
"How dare you use such foul language in this house," Cordelia hissed. "How dare you dishonor your father's memory with such lies."
Lies?
Pansy touched her burning cheek, anger flaring in her chest. "They're not lies, Mother. And you know it."
"What I know," her mother said through gritted teeth, "is that Draco Malfoy sent me a letter. He told me everything. How you screamed at him and Narcissa like a common fishwife. How you made a spectacle of yourself in front of the entire Ministry."
Of course he had.
Little ferret probably ran straight home to write it.
Pansy had expected as much, but it still stung to have it confirmed.
"Good," she said defiantly. "Let him tell everyone. At least they'll know where I stand."
"Where you stand?" Cordelia's voice cracked with desperation. "You stupid, foolish girl. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I've told the truth about what happened to Father. I've refused to pretend the Malfoys are anything other than what they are."
"What they are is powerful!" Her mother grabbed Pansy's shoulders, shaking her. "What they are is influential! What they are is our only hope of maintaining any standing in society!"
There it is.
Pansy saw it clearly now, the fear lurking behind her mother's fury. This wasn't about honor or family loyalty. This was about survival in the only world her mother knew how to navigate.
"The Malfoys lost their patriarch, Mother. Lucius is dead. Their power isn't what it used to be."
"You think that matters?" Cordelia's grip tightened. "You think Narcissa Malfoy is some helpless widow? She's one of the most cunning women in our circles. She'll find ways to rebuild, to maintain influence. And now you've made yourself her enemy."
"So what if I have?"
"So what?" Her mother's voice rose again. "Draco will be the head of the family now. He'll remember this insult. He'll make sure everyone knows you can't be trusted. Who do you think will want to associate with us then?"
Us. Always us, never just Pansy. Never about what Pansy wanted or needed. It was always about the family's position, the family's reputation, the family's convenience, or rather, her mother's now.
"Maybe I don't care about associating with people who only value power and blood status," Pansy said quietly.
Her mother stepped back as if she'd been slapped again. "Don't care? This is your heritage, your birthright. This is everything your father worked for."
"Father worked to make other people rich and powerful while we scraped for their approval!" The words exploded out of Pansy before she could stop them. "He spent his whole life bowing and scraping to the Malfoys, and what did it get him? A death that meant nothing!"
"You will not speak of your father that way." Cordelia's voice was dangerously quiet now. "You will not dishonor his memory."
"I'm not dishonoring his memory. I'm refusing to repeat his mistakes."
"His mistakes?" Her mother laughed bitterly. "His mistakes were trusting you to understand your duty. His mistake was thinking you had any sense in that pretty little head of yours."
The insult hit home, but Pansy pushed past the sting. She was finally beginning to see something in her mother's eyes, something that made everything click into place after all these years.
"This isn't about Father at all, is it?" Pansy said slowly. "This isn't about my duty or family honor. This is about you."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're scared." The realization came with crystal clarity. "You're terrified that without the Malfoy connection, without their protection, you'll have nothing. No status, no security, no place in the society you've spent your whole life trying to climb."
"That's ridiculous," Cordelia denied, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Is it? Look at you, Mother. Really look at yourself. When's the last time you did anything that wasn't about maintaining appearances or securing invitations to the right parties?"
Her mother's face flushed red. "I have maintained this family's position through very difficult circumstances. I have preserved what your father built."
"Father didn't build anything!" Pansy's voice cracked with emotion. "He was a follower, just like you are. Just like you've tried to make me."
"You ungrateful little bitch." The words came out as a whisper, but they carried the sheer intensity of years of frustration that had been piling up. "After everything I've sacrificed for you, everything I've done to secure your future—"
"Secure my future? You mean secure yourself a comfortable retirement by marrying me off to Draco." Pansy felt something break inside her chest, some last connection to the woman who'd raised her. "That's all I've ever been to you, isn't it? A commodity to be traded."
"You are my daughter, and you will do your duty to this family."
"No." The word came out stronger than Pansy had expected. "I won't."
"You will write to Narcissa Malfoy tonight," Cordelia continued, pretending she heard nothing. "You will beg her forgiveness for your outburst. You will grovel if necessary to repair the damage you've done."
Grovel. The word hung in the air between them like a curse.
"Absolutely not."
"You will do as I say, or you will face the consequences. The Malfoys have long memories, Pansy. They don't forgive easily. Do you want to spend the rest of your life as a pariah?"
"If it means I don't have to spend the rest of my life as their pet, then yes." Pansy's voice was getting stronger with each word. "I'd rather be a pariah than a slave."
Her mother's face went white. "You don't know what you're saying. You're upset, you're not thinking clearly. When you calm down, you'll realize—"
"I'll realize what? That I should have kept my mouth shut? That I should have smiled and nodded while they talked about Father like he was expendable?" Pansy's anger was building now, all the rage and grief and frustration of the years past finally boiling over. "That I should have pretended to be grateful for the scraps they threw us?"
"Those scraps kept us alive! Those scraps gave us a place in society!"
"Those scraps made us into beggars!" Pansy screamed. "They made you into a coward who's more afraid of losing an invitation to tea than she is of losing her daughter!"
The slap this time was harder, sending Pansy stumbling backward. But instead of shame or submission, she felt only fury.
"There it is," she said, touching her lip where it had split. "Show me who you really are, Mother. Show me the woman who'd rather hit her daughter than face the truth about herself."
"The truth?" Cordelia's voice was shaking now. "You want the truth? The truth is that you're a foolish child who thinks the world owes her something. The truth is that without connections, without alliances, we are nothing in this world."
"Then maybe that world isn't worth being part of."
"Easy words from someone who's never had to fight for survival. You think you can just walk away from everything? Go where? Do what? You have no skills, no prospects, no future without the connections I've spent years building."
She's right about that much. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Pansy remembered Harry Potter's words. The question is whether you get to choose who you belong to now.
"Maybe you're right," Pansy said quietly. "Maybe I don't have prospects or skills or connections. But at least I'll have my right to choose."
"Right to choose doesn't pay for food or shelter. Right to choose doesn't protect you from enemies."
"And groveling to the Malfoys does?"
"Yes!" The word exploded from her mother's lips. "Yes, it does! That's how this world works, Pansy. That's how it's always worked. The strong protect the weak, and in return, the weak serve faithfully."
"Listen to yourself." Pansy stared at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. "Listen to what you're saying. You're talking about serving faithfully like it's something to be proud of."
"It is something to be proud of. Loyalty, duty, service to those above us—these are virtues."
"Those aren't virtues, Mother. Those are chains." Pansy felt something cold and hard settle in her chest. "And I'm done wearing them."
Her mother's face twisted with desperate anger. "You are barely an adult, Pansy. You know nothing about the world, nothing about survival, nothing about the realities of life. You will do as I say because I am your mother and because I know what's best for you."
"What's best for me? Or what's best for your social standing?"
"They're the same thing!"
"No, they're not." Pansy's voice was deadly quiet now. "They never were. And I'm done pretending they are."
She turned toward the stairs, intending to go to her room, but her mother's voice stopped her.
"If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything. Your inheritance, your name, your family. Is your pride worth that much?"
Pansy paused on the bottom step, her hand gripping the banister. For a moment, she wavered. Everything she'd ever known, everything she'd been raised to value, was tied up in the world her mother represented.
But then she thought about her father's funeral this past afternoon. About the hollow words of sympathy from people who'd never really cared about him. About the way they had spoken of honor while defending a man who'd led others to their deaths for his own ambition.
About the way Harry Potter had looked at her like she might actually be worth something more than… whatever she was worth now.
"Yes," she said without turning around. "It is."
"You stupid, selfish little bitch." Her mother's voice cracked completely now. "You'll regret this. When you're living in squalor, when no one will associate with you, when you realize what you've thrown away, you'll come crawling back."
Pansy turned to face her mother one last time. The woman standing in their expensive foyer, surrounded by portraits of dead ancestors and furnished with wealth built on others' backs, looked smaller somehow. Diminished.
"Maybe I will regret it," Pansy said. "But at least it will be my choice to regret."
"Don't you dare walk away from me. I am your mother. You owe me respect, you owe me obedience."
"I owe you nothing." The words came out flat and final. "You want to know what I've learned about loyalty and duty, Mother? I've learned that they only flow one way with people like you. You demand them from others but never give them in return."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it? When did you ever stand up for Father when the Malfoys treated him like a servant? When did you ever defend me when other pureblood families looked down on us? When did you ever show loyalty to anyone except whoever could give you the most social advantage?"
Her mother opened her mouth to respond, but immediately closed it again. The silence stretched between them.
"That's what I thought," Pansy said. "You know what, Mother? I hope the Malfoys do blame you for what I said today. I hope they cut you out of their precious social circle. Maybe then you'll understand what it feels like to be expendable."
"Pansy, please." For the first time, her mother's voice held something other than anger or desperation. It held fear. "Don't do this. We can fix this. We can make this right."
Alas, it was too late. Something had broken in Pansy, some final thread that had connected her to this house, this life, this woman, and this version of herself.
"No, we can't," she said simply. "Because I don't want to fix it. I'm done with all of it."
She turned and headed up the stairs, her mother's voice following her.
"You'll be back! You have nowhere else to go! No one else will take you in!"
She's probably right. But Pansy didn't care anymore. She'd figure it out. Anything was better than staying here, slowly suffocating on other people's expectations.
In her room, she pulled out her school trunk and began throwing clothes into it. She didn't have much money, but she had a little. Enough for a room somewhere, at least for a while.
Her mother appeared in the doorway, watching her pack with something like panic in her eyes.
"This is madness. You can't survive on your own."
"Watch me."
"Where will you go? What will you do?"
Good questions. Pansy didn't have answers to either of them. But she kept packing anyway.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I'll figure it out."
"Pansy, please. I'm begging you. Think about this rationally."
For a moment, Pansy's hands stilled on her trunk. She looked at her mother standing in the doorway, and for just an instant, she saw not the social climber or the demanding parent, but a frightened woman who genuinely didn't understand how to exist outside the only world she'd ever known.
Maybe I should feel sorry for her. But the sympathy wouldn't come. There had been too many years of being treated like a chess piece, too many moments when her mother had chosen status over her daughter's happiness.
"I have thought about it," Pansy said quietly. "For the first time in my life, I'm thinking clearly."
She closed the trunk and lifted it from the bed. It was heavier than she'd expected, but she managed.
Her mother stepped aside as Pansy walked past her into the hallway.
"If you leave now, don't expect to come back," her mother called after her, desperation making her voice shrill. "I won't have you embarrassing this family any further."
Pansy paused at the top of the stairs. "Good. That makes this easier."
"You're making the biggest mistake of your life."
"Maybe." Pansy started down the stairs, each step feeling like a small victory. "But at least it's my mistake to make."
The front door closed behind her with a final-sounding click. Standing on the steps of Parkinson Manor with her trunk at her feet and no clear destination in mind, Pansy felt something she hadn't experienced in years.
She felt free.
Now what? The question should have terrified her. Instead, she found herself thinking about green eyes and a knowing smile, about words that had seemed like a threat but might have been an offer.
The question is whether you get to choose who you belong to now.
Maybe it was time to find out what choice really meant.
XXXXX
"And there, we're all done," Alisia said with a grin, her wand moving with a flourish as she stepped back from the chair.
Ginny blinked a few times, her hand moving to her temple. "That felt... strange. Like someone was rearranging furniture in my head."
"The memories will settle naturally," Alisia assured her, tucking her wand into her robes. "Give it a few minutes. The false recollections will feel as real as any other memory you have."
Harry watched from his position against the wall, his arms crossed. "How detailed did you make it?"
"Detailed enough to fool any Auror's questioning," Alisia replied, her blue eyes meeting his. "You two hid in an abandoned hut, heard the screams and explosions, waited until it was all clear before getting out. Simple but believable."
Irina looked up from the tea she was brewing at the small kitchen counter. "The beauty of a good lie is in its simplicity. Too many details and it becomes suspicious."
"Exactly," Harry nodded. "The Ministry will want to close this case quickly. They won't dig too deep if the story makes sense and is backed by memories."
Ginny stood from the chair, stretching her arms above her head. "I have to admit, this place is cozy. Much better than I expected when you two said you were moving to Hogsmeade."
The cottage was indeed modest but comfortable. Warm wooden beams crossed the ceiling, and a stone fireplace crackled in the corner. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes that Harry suspected contained more dark magic than the average wizard's collection.
The cottage was not too far from The Shrieking Shack, and Harry suspected the owner must be desperate to be rid of it due to its location, which was why these two had gotten settled in within a day.
"We wanted something that felt like home," Irina said, bringing over a tray with four steaming cups. "Bulgaria has its charms, but after what happened..."
"We felt we needed a fresh start," Alisia finished, settling onto the couch. "And being close to our Master was important."
Harry accepted his tea, noting the way both veela watched him. Their devotion was still new, the bond between them fresh but undeniably strong. "The Ministry still doesn't know you're here?"
"Officially, we're still missing," Alisia confirmed. "Two Bulgarian veela who vanished during the chaos. It's better that way."
Ginny curled up beside Harry on the small sofa, her body naturally gravitating toward his warmth. "What about your families? Won't they worry?"
Irina's expression darkened slightly. "Veela society isn't like human families. We were performers, nothing more. Our troupe was disbanded after the attack anyway."
"Their loss," Harry said simply, and both veela smiled at his words.
"You always know what to say," Alisia murmured, her voice carrying that sultry quality that came effortlessly to her kind. "It's one of the things we adore about you."
The conversation lulled as they sipped their tea. Harry could feel the tension in the room, the way the three women kept glancing at him and each other. There was something electric in the air, something that had been building since they'd arrived.
"So," Ginny said, breaking the silence, "how does it feel to have your own place? Free to do whatever you want?"
"Liberating," Irina answered, her dark eyes sparkling. "Though it feels incomplete somehow."
"Incomplete how?" Harry asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
Alisia set down her cup and leaned forward. "We've been thinking about our night together. When we first... when we all came together."
"That was incredible," Ginny said softly, her cheeks flushing pink. "I've never felt anything like it."
"Neither had we," Irina admitted. "Veela magic combined with... well, with what we share with you, Harry. It was intoxicating."
Harry felt his lips quirk a bit. "What are you getting at?"
"We want to inaugurate our new home properly," Alisia said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"And there's only one way to do it," Irina added, moving closer to where Harry sat.
Ginny's hand found Harry's thigh, her fingers tracing small circles. "I think I have an idea what you two are getting at."
"Do you now?" Harry's voice was amused but it still had that husky tone that made all three young women shiver.
"It's the only way we could think about," Alisia grinned. "What better way to start our new life in our new home than to have our Master help us out like the great Master he is?"
"In every room, on every surface," Irina said boldly with a grin, her cheeks flushed with desire.
Harry stood, setting down his cup with exaggerated slowness. The three women watched him with rapt attention, waiting for his response. He could feel their need, their desire, radiating from them in waves.
"Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Desperately," Alisia added, rising from the couch.
"We've been thinking about nothing else," Irina confessed, moving to stand beside her fellow veela.
Harry looked at each of them in turn. Alisia and Irina, the deadly beautiful veela who had pledged themselves to him after that night of blood and passion.
"Then come here," he commanded softly.
As Ginny lounged on the couch, the two veela women moved toward him without hesitation, drawn by his voice and the power he wielded over them. Irina reached him first, her hands sliding up his chest as she pressed herself against him.
"We want you so badly," she murmured against his neck.
Alisia joined her, their hands coming up in exploring Harry's body through his clothes. The veela's touch carried that supernatural allure, making Harry's skin tingle wherever they made contact.
"This house needs to know who its true Master is," Alisia said, her lips brushing his ear.
"Every room should echo with your name," Irina added, her voice husky with desire, her fingers working at the buttons of Harry's shirt.
Harry smiled, and the predatory expression on his face made them all weak in the knees.
The afternoon sun streamed through the cottage windows, casting golden light across the wooden floors. Outside, Hogsmeade went about its business, unaware of the heat building within the modest walls of the veela's new home on the outskirts of the village.
Harry's hands moved to Irina's waist, pulling her closer as Alisia pressed against him from the behind, their large tits mashing against his body. The scent of their arousal mixed with the lingering smell of tea and the wood smoke from the fire.
"I love how you take control," Ginny whispered, her hands quickly working her clothes off. As much as she wanted to be included, there was a perverse sort of fun watching and enjoying Harry command two older veela women who couldn't get enough of him.
"We all do," Alisia said, her voice breathless against Harry's neck where she pressed featherlight kisses, her tongue darting out to taste him.
"Show me how much you it then," Harry challenged.
In response, Irina smirked, her blue eyes bright with mischief and desire.
She stood on her tiptoes and captured his lips in a demanding kiss, one hand tangling in his dark hair while the other darted downward to grab his throbbing manhood through his trousers. She let out a moan of approval upon finding him hard and ready for them and began rubbing his bulge over his clothes.
Meanwhile, Alisia's hands roamed freely, mapping the muscles of his back and shoulders as she kept kissing all over his neck, sucking on his earlobe before drifting downwards once again.
The cottage felt alive with their combined energy, the magic of two powerful veela women focused entirely on one man. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and exactly what they all craved.
"So where first?" Harry asked against those soft lips that quickly dropped, kissing along his jaw.
"Upstairs," Alisia murmured against his neck, her voice rough with want.
"Upstairs it is then," Harry smirked, and Irina yelped before she giggled as Harry grabbed her delicious rump and hoisted her over his shoulder. Alisia grinned when he repeated the same with her, and with a breathless laugh each, both veela women gazed at each other lustfully as their Master began walking with them upstairs.
A naked and aroused Ginny quickly shot to her feet and followed behind them, her clothes easily forgotten. She wanted some for herself, but she knew when to be patient. After all, good rewards came for those who waited for their turn. She had learned as much by now.
XXXXX
"Fuck, Harry, you're so deep," Irina gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as Harry thrust deep into her quivering snatch, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her body shuddered, still sensitive from the orgasm he'd already given her.
The bed creaked under their rhythm, the wooden frame groaning with each powerful movement. Sweat glistened on Irina's skin, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow. Her blue eyes locked on Harry's, filled with raw devotion.
Alisia knelt beside them, her hands roaming Irina's trembling thighs, spreading them wider for Harry. Her own body buzzed from the climax Harry had wrung from her earlier, her skin flushed and lips swollen.
"Take her, Master," Alisia purred, her voice thick with arousal. She leaned down, kissing Irina's neck and nipping at her collarbone. Irina moaned, arching into the touch, her body caught between Harry's relentless thrusts and Alisia's teasing caresses.
Ginny sprawled across the bed, her lightly freckled skin glowing in the afternoon light filtering through the curtains. Her bare chest heaved, her body still tingling from the orgasms Harry had coaxed from her earlier, first with his fingers and tongue and then with his magnificent cock.
She watched Harry fuck the veela, her hazel eyes dark with hunger.
"Fuck, you're so fucking good," Irina said, her voice hoarse.
Ginny propped herself on one elbow, her free hand trailing down her own body, teasing her sensitive folds as she soaked in the sight of Harry dominating Irina.
Harry's hands gripped Irina's hips, pulling her harder against him. His cock slid in and out of her gushing pussy, slick with her arousal. The wet smacking sounds of their bodies filled the room, mingling with Irina's sharp cries and the low murmurs of Alisia and Ginny.
"You feel so fucking perfect," Harry growled, his voice rough. He shifted, changing the angle, and Irina's scream tore through the air as he hit her clit with each thrust. Her walls clenched around him, her body trembling on the edge again.
"Harry, please," Irina begged, her voice breaking. "I'm so close again."
Her hands clutched at him, desperate, her veela allure pulsing through the room, making the air thick with desire. Alisia's fingers found Irina's clit, rubbing tight circles all around it, and Irina's head fell back, a choked moan escaping her lips.
"Yes, yes, fuck!"
Harry didn't slow, driving into her with steady, punishing thrusts.
"Come for me," he ordered, his voice low and commanding.
Irina's body obeyed on its own volition, another one of her massive orgasms crashing over her. Her scream echoed in the bedroom she would be sharing with Irina, her walls spasming around Harry's cock. Her legs shook, and Alisia held her thighs, kissing her through the waves of pleasure.
As Irina's cries faded to whimpers, Harry slowed, pulling out carefully. His cock glistened, hard and throbbing.
Irina panted, her body limp, but her eyes burned with adoration as she looked at him.
"You're incredible," she whispered, reaching for him. Harry allowed her to pull him in an embrace, their naked sweaty chests pressing wetly as he kissed her, deep and possessive, before turning to Alisia.
Alisia was ready, crawling toward him on her knees, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders.
"My turn to please you again, Master," she said, her voice sultry. She gently pushed him onto his back, and Harry let her, his hands reaching out to rest on her hips as she swung one leg over his waist and straddled him. However, before she could sink onto his cock once again, Ginny moved, quick and eager.
"I think after everything, our Master deserves to have us all make him feel good together," Ginny said, her voice playful but her eyes blazing with heat. She settled between Harry's legs on her knees, her hands wrapping around his shaft.
Alisia pouted but didn't protest, sliding off to join her. Irina, still catching her breath, crawled closer, her lips brushing Harry's thigh. The three women surrounded him, Alisia to his left, Irina to his right, and Ginny right between his legs.
Ginny moved first, her tongue flicked over the tip of Harry's cock, tasting Irina's arousal mixed with his precum. She moaned softly, her lips closing around him, sucking gently.
Harry grunted, pushing himself up on his elbows as he watched her. "Fuck, Ginny," he said, his voice tight. Her mouth worked him slowly, her tongue swirling around the head before sliding down his length.
Irina joined her, her lips kissing along the side of Harry's shaft, her tongue darting out to lick where Ginny's mouth didn't reach.
"We taste so good together," she murmured filthily, her breath hot against his skin. Her hand cupped his balls, massaging gently, and Harry's hips bucked, a low growl escaping him.
Alisia's lips found his inner thigh, kissing and nipping, her hands stroking his legs. "We're all yours," she said, her voice soft but eager. She moved higher, her tongue tracing the base of his cock, joining Irina's efforts.
The three women worked in sync, their mouths and hands worshipping him, their veela magic and Ginny's raw passion blending into an overwhelming sensation.
Ginny took him deeper, her throat relaxing as she bobbed her head, her lips stretched around his girth. Saliva dripped down his shaft, and Alisia licked it up, her tongue brushing Ginny's lips in the process. The sight made Harry's cock twitch, his control slipping momentarily.
"You're all so fucking perfect," he said, his voice rough with heat. His hands tangled in their hair one after the other—Ginny's red locks, Alisia's golden strands, Irina's blonde waves—guiding them gently but firmly.
Alisia sucked at the base of his cock, her lips brushing his balls, while Irina's tongue teased the sensitive skin just below. Ginny's mouth moved faster, her moans vibrating around him.
The combined sensation was too much after all the delayed orgasms, pushing Harry closer to the edge. His breathing grew ragged, his grip tightening in their hair. "I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice strained.
"Do it," Ginny said, pulling off just enough to speak, her lips brushing his tip. "Come for us, Harry."
She dove back down, sucking harder, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. Alisia and Irina redoubled their efforts, their tongues and lips relentless, their hands caressing his thighs and balls.
Harry's body tensed, his orgasm building fast. "Fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking. The first pulse hit, and Ginny moaned as his cum filled her mouth, hot and thick. She swallowed greedily, but pulled off, letting Alisia take over. Alisia's lips closed around him, catching the next spurt, her tongue milking him as she sucked. Irina leaned in, her mouth joining Alisia's, their tongues brushing as they shared him.
Harry's groans filled the room, his body shaking as the three women took turns and drew every last drop from him. His orgasm seemed to last forever, their mouths and hands coaxing him through it.
When he finally stilled, his chest heaving, they didn't stop immediately. Ginny licked him clean, her tongue gentle but thorough. Alisia kissed the tip of his cock, her eyes locked on his, filled with adoration. Irina pressed soft kisses to his thighs, her hands stroking his legs.
"Damn, you three," Harry said, his voice hoarse. He reached for them, pulling them up to lie beside him. Irina curled against his left side, her head on his chest. Alisia nestled against his right, her lips brushing his shoulder. Ginny draped herself across his legs, her cheek resting on his thigh. They were all panting, their bodies slick with sweat, and the air heavy with the scent of sex.
"You're our everything," Ginny whispered, her voice soft but fierce. She kissed his thigh again, her eyes shining with devotion as she absently traced her mark.
"Always," Alisia added, her hand tracing lazy circles on his chest. Her own mark pulsed gently in perfect sync with her allure, a warm hum in the room.
Irina lifted her head, grinning. "I know it sounds bad, but I'm so glad those pricks decided to attack during the World Cup or we wouldn't have met," she said, her tone teasing but her eyes warm. She kissed his chest, right over his heart as her mark also pulsed brightly, sending tingles of warmth through her very being, soothing her.
Harry chuckled, his arms tightening around them. It did sound morose, but neither could give a fuck about it.
After all, he'd gotten two gorgeous veela women as his faithful. What was there to complain about?
To be continued…
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There are also character artworks for the ladies if you're interested in seeing what they might look like.
I'll be back soon with the next update for this fic. Meanwhile, check out my other fics if you haven't yet. Cheers!