Chapter 3. Good and Bad News
After the exciting fun at the beach, they returned to their hotel room. If his mum noticed he stayed longer than usual in the shower, she didn't mention it. Though the humorous glint in her eyes made it clear she knew why. It was hard not to when he had his erection pressed up against her for the better part of an hour when they spooned at the beach.
In the afternoon, they wandered the city hand in hand, like a newly wed couple rather than a mother-son pair. They went to all the popular tourist spots: museums, cultural sites, cafes, parks, you name it. By the time they were tired and returned, it was already night.
"I'm knackered." His mum drops into a chair in the hotel lobby.
Harry stops in front of her, his hands on his waist. "The lift is right there," he deadpans, pointing at the set of lifts on the other side.
The man at the reception desk looks at them, typing away at the computer, his impassive face not betraying his thoughts. Even though it's night and the peak tourist season, the hotel lobby is empty, not another soul in sight. Perks of staying at a ridiculously expensive beach hotel, he reckons.
"My legs are dead, Harry." She slumps against the backrest of the chair, opening her arms, looking utterly adorable. "Carry me, please."
His lips twitch at her attempt at puppy eyes. Coupled with her cute outfit—a blue long skirt and a fluffy white blouse—she's really undeniable. While Lily Potter in a sexy bikini is to die for, Lily Potter in a cute outfit livens up the very world.
"Fine." He offers his hand.
She readily grabs onto it and jumps to her feet, her 'dead legs' seeming full of life now. But he doesn't poke holes in her story and sweeps her into a bridal carry. She gasps, not protesting, bringing her arms around his neck, sighing exasperatedly. "When I said I wanted to be carried, I meant a piggyback ride."
"You should've been more specific, then." He grins, marching towards the lifts, holding her close—one hand under her shoulders, the other under her knees.
"I should have." She bemoans, not seeming to mind how romantic it looks. Then again, he's supposed to act like her boyfriend in front of others. Who cares if the only other person here is a perpetually bored hotel receptionist. It's still a good opportunity to touch her.
Stepping into the lift, he sets her down and presses the button in the panel. She leans into him as the lift closes, her face on his chest, her arms around his neck. "I had a great day—tiring but great." she mumbles, looking up at him, smiling lazily, caressing his face.
"Me too, Mum." He runs his fingers down her spine. The wide straps and the cut of her blouse leaves the upper and lower back bare, exposing the soft pale skin. His fingers graze her here and there, his thumb rubbing against a spot near her waist, just above her skirt. "I particularly found it ingenious when you nearly fell into the lake. That was truly impressive."
She sighs and flicks him on the forehead. "You were supposed to forget that."
"Never." He lightly slaps her bubbly backside in retaliation. "I won't forget a single moment."
She chuckles and hugs him, pressing her face against his adam's apple, breathing in his warmth. "Aren't you getting too familiar with me, darling?"
"Aren't I supposed to be your boyfriend?" He cups her arse this time… with both his hands, his fingers splayed greedily over the expanse of her juicy backside, giving it a light squeeze, marvelling at how soft and shapely it is. His heart beats like a drum, and a pleasant tingle pools in his groin. The texture of her cotton skirt is very thin, so thin that he can also feel the silk of her knickers under his palms.
"Not anymore, you dolt." She giggles and steps away, waving her finger 'threateningly' at him. "You can be my boyfriend tomorrow, when we go back to the beach. Now revert to my darling boy."
Before he can say anything, the lift door opens on their floor. And standing right outside their hotel room is his dad.
"Well, well, well, you two have been running around the city, I see."
His mum squeals in delight and runs over to glomp him. "James! Tell me you're here for good!"
Harry gives his dad a quick hug as well, overjoyed to see him but also dreading what comes next. He was actually happy to have his mum all for himself. But now that his dad is here, there won't be any reason to play the possessive boyfriend. Shame.
He berates himself for feeling selfish like that and focuses on his dad.
Dressed in his work robes, it appears as if James Potter directly floo-ed from his office. Not to mention the exhaustion in his form and the apprehension in his eyes. His dad doesn't look like someone ready to unwind on a beach. No, he looks more like a death row convict preparing to be hanged.
"Let's head inside. I have good and bad news."
That steals the eager smile from his mum's face, whose exhilaration is replaced by unease.
Without another word, she uses the card and unlocks the door, hurrying inside. Harry and his dad trail after her, closing the door after them. Discarding their shoes near the entrance, they move further in.
His mum helps his dad out of his robes, and they sit down on the bed side-by side. Harry drags a stool away from the vanity and places it in front of them, perching atop it.
"Tell us, what happened, James?"
His dad leans back on his elbows, staring up at the ceiling. "Do you remember, Lily? How relieved we were when we somehow killed Voldemort?"
"I do." His mum's smile is wistful and anxious. "Despite what others say, the duel didn't last for an hour. It barely went on for a minute before a stray spell finished him off. I've never felt more fortunate in my life. I was prepared to die that night."
"Me too. I didn't think we'd survive. I thought you'd have to enact that ritual to sacrifice your life to provide Harry an impenetrable protection. Thank Merlin it didn't come to that. Even in the best scenario, Harry would've been an orphan."
It's weird listening to them talk about him as if he isn't right there, but he remains quiet, aware his dad is going somewhere with this.
"That was always our biggest fear, of leaving Harry alone in the world," mutters his mum. "We know how badly orphans are treated in both the muggle and the magical world. It's the reason why we've sunk our whole earnings in running good orphanages, where children can eat what they want, live a decent life if not a lavish one."
His dad nods slowly. "Yes, we promised each other that day, over the cooling corpse of Voldemort, that we would change the world for better, where even if Harry were orphaned, he'd have lived a good life."
"I know." His mum takes his dad's hand and squeezes it gently. "Isn't it why you've been trying to become the Minister? To root out corruption and make this nation a better place? I know I always yell at you for not spending enough time with us, but I am proud of you, of still striving for a promise we made nearly sixteen years ago."
His dad brings her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "I know, Lily. I know you'll be my biggest supporter. So you will be glad to know I have finally found someone willing to help me sway the Neutrals in the Wizengamot, effectively changing the regime. They're willing to give me 10 million galleons. That's more than enough to buy all of those Neutral votes."
10 million?!
Did his dad sell his soul or what? Why would anyone part with that sum of money?
His mum must think the same, because instead of congratulating his dad, she fixes him with a worried look. "James… what's the catch?"
His dad slips off the bed and begins pacing before them, looking tense.
"The one willing to fund me is Olivia Krasiniki herself, the wealthiest witch in the world. She's starting a new magazine and wants to feature you as the first model. As you can guess, your name alone would make it an instant hit. It's a mutually beneficial deal."
"What type of magazine?" his mum asks, her voice trembling, already fearing the worst.
Harry too has his fists clenched, glowering at his dad, unable to believe his ears.
"A… boudoir magazine," his dad answers reluctantly. "BUT, you won't have to go full nude or anything. At most, you'll be required to pose sensually… and go topless for a few shots. I have talked it out with Mrs. Krasiniki."
…
…
Both Harry and his mum gape at the sheer shamelessness of his dad.
His mother's eyes well up and she shakes her head angrily, her voice hoarse and enraged. "No. I won't. Absolutely not."
"But—"
"Enough, Dad!" Harry leaps to his feet, standing between his parents. "She won't do it, you hear me. My mum is not some whore you can pass around to your wealthy clients for favours!"
"Harry!" His dad explodes, raising his hand to slap him before thinking better of it. "How dare you accuse me of that? It's a modeling job, not prostitution!"
"Why don't you do it then?" Harry yells back. "Go sell your dick pics to this Olivia bitch!"
"I would if they asked me! I have made thousands of sacrifices for this family, for this country. I work tirelessly to provide you two all the comfort you need. I barely sleep for three hours so I can work more, make everything better. I'd do it in a heartbeat if it were me. 10 million for a day's work? To help create a better world, where there's no corruption, where the criminals are tried and punished instead of bartered away for bribes ? I would do it with a fucking smile on my face!"
…
…
Harry has no rebuttal to that. He throws him a disgusted look and sits down beside his mum, holding her tightly against him. She lies limp in his arms, her eyes glassy, unseeing, unfocused, tears running down her face. Her lips part, and she gulps, then she says in a tiny voice, "Fine, I'll do it, James. I'll make the sacrifice you want me to, but I won't forget this. I won't ever forgive you."
"Mum!" He cups her face. "Don't! You're not obligated to do this. You don't have to do this. Don't let him guilt trip you."
She shakes her head, prying his hands off her face. "Harry, please, don't make this harder than it needs to."
He bites back a scream and stumbles away from her. Wrenching the door open, he storms out, unable to recall a time when he was more furious, more helpless. People around the world have already made her a sex figure, crowning her the most beautiful woman. They've been cutting out pictures of her from newspapers to do unspeakable deeds, even his own mates. And now his parents will hand them what they always wanted, a dirty magazine full of his mum's nudes.
If that's not prostitution, he doesn't know what is.
He takes a long walk on the beach to calm his pounding head. It takes nearly two hours before he feels he can go back and not scream his throat raw. His dad isn't there when he gets back to the room. But his mum is. She's lying in the bed, on her side, facing away from the door—from him.
He ignores her and showers in the bathroom, hoping it would drain away the embers of rage burning beneath his skin.
It doesn't.
Changing into a comfy pair of t-shirt and shorts, he climbs into the only bed, not even sparing his mum a glance. With his back to her and a wide, insurmountable space between their bodies, he shuts his eyes and goes to sleep. Tries to, at least.
He doesn't get a wink of sleep the whole night.
~xXxXx~
"Harry," his mum waylays him on his way to the bathroom.
After they woke up, she tried numerous times to pry words out of his mouth, but he remained mute, not willing to utter anything, content in giving her the cold shoulder. While he mostly blames his dad for this whole mess, his mum's not totally clean either. She had the right to say no—she should've said no instead of letting his dad guilt trip her into doing this degrading thing.
But as she steps between him and the bathroom door and looks up at him with moist eyes, his cold fury wavers. "What?"
"I—I need you to accompany me, to be there for me when I go for the shoot. I can't do this without you."
The audacity to ask him to witness her humiliation. Did she even hear what she said?
"You want me to be there when you strip in front of who knows how many people and do obscene poses?" He cannot help but laugh in disbelief.
He feels like an arse as the tears finally spill from her eyes. "It will be an all women crew, James assured me. And yes, I want you to be there, so I don't break in front of strangers."
All women crew? Maybe that will ease the shoot for her, but in the end, those magazines are meant to be handed to men. Life would become worse for her. She'd be expected to wear more revealing clothes. She'd be expected to smile and blush when passersby compliment on her body. She may even have to give autographs on these very magazines!
"You're already broken." He sighs, brushing the tears from her eyes.
She leans into his touch, giving him a watery smile. "Please don't hate me."
"I don't hate you. I'm angry for you. And I feel betrayed that you're not just as enraged." He tucks a stray curl behind her ear.
"I am just as furious," she mutters, looking into his eyes, all wretched and vulnerable. "I still can't believe how James could ask me that. I'm still in shock that my own husband is willing to sell my intimate pictures for his ambitions. But it also makes sense. I've seen James work relentlessly for the past sixteen years. I know how deeply he was affected by the battle with Voldemort. I know how he can rationalise this to himself, waving it away as a small sacrifice on my part. In his eyes, he has sacrificed a lot for his dreams and the family, and he expects us to sacrifice too, to support him."
"Now you're rationalising it for him, making it seem like some noble sacrifice." He withdraws his hand from her face, glowering at her.
She winces at his comment. "Maybe you're right. But I have to do this. I can't be the reason for his broken dreams. Just for once, I'll do this. There will be a sacrifice on his part as well. And he knows that. He will lose his loving wife, his lifelong partner. I won't be able to look at him the same way. I won't be able to love him the same way. There will be an unbreakable wall between us. The family will be ruined. And James will be the one at fault. That's why I don't want you to hate me. I'm already losing a husband, I don't want to lose my darling son too."
Her grip on his shirt is desperate, her emerald eyes are opaque with tears and despair. "Please, Harry, love me like you always did. Be the one constant in my life, who won't ever give me up for anything. Be my lone pillar of love and support. No one else can do that but you."
Faced with her misery, he realises his anger is so insignificant compared to what she's going through. It will be her who will humiliate herself in front of a camera, not him. He can't come anywhere close to understand her suffering. And instead of being a reliable son, on whom she can lean on, he's acting like a petulant self-absorbed child, who can't see any further than his own feelings.
He decides to be better and takes her in his arms, letting her cry her heart out. He carries her to the bed and becomes her blanket—her comforter, with which she can hide from the world for a little longer. He kisses her. He hugs her. He lets her rage at him. But not for a moment does he let her go. He keeps her tight in his grasp, holding her just as tightly as she holds him.
Later this week, they'd go and suffer for his dad's ambitions, but today, they'll lie in bed together and wallow in their rage and despair.
~xXxXx~
That night, his mum proposes an interesting activity.
"Enough moping around." She plops down beside him with a purposeful air, smelling fresh and soapy. Her long crimson hair is wet and unbound, falling in waves down her back. A fluffy white towel is wrapped around her middle, hiding what needs to be hidden—just barely. Even the glimpse of her glistening collarbone and bare thighs could make eye contact a challenge… for anyone else. But he's not everyone else. He's long since learned when to sneak a glance and when to ignore the instinct.
Now is the time to ignore it. So instead of dropping his gaze to her milky cleavage, he keeps eye contact. "What do you mean?"
"We can't let your dad ruin our holidays. I say we go to a nightclub and let loose to compensate for the gloomy day." She flashes him a white smile, as if it's the best idea that can pop into a human mind.
"Mother dearest." Harry pinches her cheeks, earning a fond grumble. "You want to dress up and enter a den of rowdy drunk teenagers? That's asking for trouble. Even at a nearly empty beach yesterday, we found men vying for your attention. And you want to go to a crowded nightclub?"
"Now that you've said it, it does sound foolish. But—" She takes his hands in hers and smiles bashfully. "I still want to go drink and dance and forget the coming shoot for a little while. I don't know when was the last time I did that. Probably before you were even born. And you will be there, my 'boyfriend', who will protect me from rude boys."
Harry's mind is awhirl with ideas of how he can use the opportunity to do so much more than just dance. Maybe it's time to up his game. Why remain content with brief gropes and not-kiss kisses? What's there left to destroy? His dad has already ruined the family dynamics. So he doesn't have to hold himself back for his sake. Now, as long as it doesn't hurt her, as long as she doesn't say no, he will escalate.
"If that's what you want," he replies, squeezing her hands.
Her smile widens and she pecks him on the cheek. "Thank you, love," she breathes on his mouth. "I know I can always count you."
"Wear something sexy." He tips her chin to claim her mouth, kissing her softly. He wishes he could plunge his tongue inside and plunder her oral cavity. But it's too soon for that. So he merely moves his lips against hers sensually. When he breaks the kiss with a soft pop, he finds her lingering, her lips inching towards his.
Then she shakes her head and slaps his chest, giggling. "You rascal, asking your mum to dress 'sexy'."
"Since I'll be your boyfriend, I'd rather have an entertaining night."
She gets off the bed to go rummaging through the wardrobe. "Fine, 'boyfriend' of mine, I'll show you sexy."
Harry leans back on his elbows and ogles at her thighs and the curve of her arse. With the way she's bent over before the wardrobe, it would be a missed opportunity if he didn't.
'Tonight will be fun.'
~xXxXx~
The nightclub is loud and filled with lights that would be epilepsy-inducing—if either of them were epileptic.
A wide ring of balcony runs along the edge of the cylindrical room, a level above the main floor, giving the place a coliseum-like feel. From four points, wide staircases curve down to the central pit where the dance floor is already alive with motion, though only half full. Even so, the music is deafening—bass-heavy and relentless—thudding through the floor, the walls, and into the chest like a second heartbeat. Strobe lights flicker in erratic patterns, casting brief, stuttering shadows that make everyone seem like they're moving in frames. The atmosphere is hazy, thick with sweat, perfume, and artificial fog.
There's more than one bar counter tucked into the shadows on the balcony. Bartenders move quickly behind them, slinging drinks, uncapping bottles, wiping spills without missing a beat.
The space is enormous, surprisingly so, easily larger than Hogwarts' Great Hall, and far more claustrophobic. The whole place feels like it was designed to drown out thought and make people forget where they came from—or who they are—if only for a few hours. Perfect for his mum.
"This is amazing!" his mum shouts, yanking on his collar to scream directly in his ear.
Her breath is hot against his neck, and it sends a tickle skittering down his spine. He turns to give her a look, but the moment he does, words fail him.
She hasn't held back tonight.
Her long crimson hair has been styled into loose, glossy curls that tumble down her back in soft waves. Dark eyeliner frames her vivid green eyes, making them look impossibly wide and feline in the dim lighting. Bold red lipstick draws a stark contrast against her pale, porcelain skin. And the no-makeup makeup smooths her skin into something ethereal.
Then there is her dress.
A black sleeveless thing barely skimming past the base of her arse. It's tight and moulds to her hourglass body like liquid shadow, leaving her arms and collarbones exposed. A plunging cut slices down the front, offering a mouth-watering view of her cleavage. Her breasts are full, round, and perfectly shaped despite the absence of a bra. The firmness of her mounds beneath the shimmering material is nothing short of obscene, the impression of her nipples faint but unmistakable, already inviting lingering stares.
Sexy lacework runs up the sides of her thighs, cinching the hem close to her hips while leaving slivers of skin exposed. Thin crisscrossing laces stretch across her entire back like a web, pinning the flimsy thing to her body. The visual feast is completed by a pair of stiletto heels, strappy and black, elongating her legs and giving her an extra inch of height.
Lily Potter had never worn black like this before. And she had never looked more breathtaking.
"Like what you see?" she teases, stepping close enough that her heat and fragrance seems to subsume into his.
He lays a flat hand across her back, aroused by the sensation of her bare skin beneath his palm, and gently guides her towards the bar. "Planning to get plastered tonight?" he asks instead.
She perches gracefully on a tall stool, carefully adjusting her dress to avoid flashing anyone. He slides onto the one beside her.
"Yes," she sighs, folding her arms on the counter and resting her cheek against them. "I want to be so inebriated that I forget which way is up."
He hears her, but barely. His attention is fixed on the smooth expanse of her back. Every time the strobe lights flicker across her skin, another detail demands his gaze. The deep cut of the dress, the way the black laces dig into her back. It's a visual he won't be forgetting any time soon. And the way her spine arches just slightly as she leans forward? It's enough to make his blood thrum and his jeans grow tight.
"That means I'll have to be the responsible one tonight."
"Why else would I bring you?" she says cheekily.
Before he can retort, a bartender in a suit stands behind the counter. "What can I get you, madam?"
"Your strongest drink," his mum replies. "I want to feel like I don't exist."
Harry winces at the crack in her bubbly demeanour.
"That would be a sad world," the bartender says softly, keeping his eyes firmly on her face. "But I understand. It's one of those days. No worries, I'll be back with the magical concoction."
"Appreciate it, son." His mum waves him away. The bartender snorts at being addressed as such but doesn't protest.
Harry lays his head near hers. "Should I be offended that the man didn't even bother asking what I want?"
She smiles, patting his cheek as they wait there with their heads laid on the counter. "I suppose you're invisible due to my radiance."
"Probably. I think I'll get by with weaker drinks. I don't want to imagine what'd happen if neither of us is sober enough to apparate back to the hotel room."
The bartender returns with a cocktail and slides it before her with a smirk. "I call it the Zombie. A few shots and you'll go loony."
"Now that's some tagline." She chuckles, picking the wineglass and downing it in a single gulp.
Harry and the bartender wait expectantly for her reaction.
"Hmm, it tastes fruity. One more." She raises her wineglass towards him.
The bartender reluctantly fills it. "I advise you to go dance and have fun while you can. You'll start feeling the buzz soon. And once it starts, you better find a safe space so you don't get ridiculed for your drunken antics."
She takes it slow this time, sipping it rather than chugging it. "Promises, promises."
The bartender looks at Harry. "I assume you're the gentleman with her. I advise you not to leave her side."
"That's not alarming at all." Harry sighs but nods, deciding not to drink at all and be her minder. The bartender moves away to cater to other customers.
"Shall we go dance, 'boyfriend' of mine?" She gets off the stool.
"Why not?" He wraps a possessive arm around her waist as they descend the stairs to the dance floor. With each step, her chest jiggles. And she doesn't complain when she catches him looking, only smirking.
Harry is actually surprised by her scandalous dress. Usually, she wears these reluctantly when she has to go into public, not because she wants to but because she has to.
Not tonight.
She seems to not care about the hundred stares on her. She doesn't frown as some whistle and throw obscene compliments as they make their way through the crowd. Instead, she smirks and winks at them, making his task of keeping her safe more difficult. He slaps a sneaky hand that tries to cop a feel of her bum. And the drunk moron only grins and wiggles his fingers. His mum giggles and calls him 'human trash', and the moron thanks her for the compliment.
It would be impossible to find a solitary spot with the way she attracts attention. So he resorts to magic.
He holds the wand at his side and mutters the 'Notice-Me-Not' and 'Confounding' spells. At once, the trailing fanatics blink and disperse away, finding better things to do than drool at some redhead.
"Spoilsport." His mum laughs as he tucks away his wand. Her face has developed a pink sheen, no doubt it's the alcohol setting in. "Their attention was amusing."
"And bothersome if we wanted to dance."
She doesn't argue and begins to sway and shake her hips, matching the rhythm of the slow music, looking like sensuality personified.
He fears she'd have actually slept around tonight if he weren't present. Probably as revenge against his dad. He's glad he's here to rein in her vengeance, that he can stop her from doing something she'd regret.
"Dance, darling." She grabs his shoulders and presses in close, stealing his breath. Then, as the beat drops, she starts jumping with glee, her eyes glassy, hollering at the top of her lungs with everyone else.
He's too taken with her bouncing breasts to dance properly. He puts his greedy hands on her waist and lets her keep jumping. He wonders if it's magic that keeps her melons from rolling out of the ridiculous neckline. Because the way she leaps up and down and throws her head back and forth, they should be out in the open by now.
As the beat drop fades and a new song takes over, his mum finally relents, coming to a stop.
Her hair is tousled, curls falling wildly across her face. She sweeps them back and grins up at him, his eyes latching onto her scarlet lips. "I love this song!"
Her voice is too loud and too giddy, her face flushed a deep red. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was just excited to dance. But no—he saw her drink. He knows she's fully slipped into that loony, carefree mood. If the sudden burst of laughter wasn't a clear enough sign, her new dance move certainly is.
She spins around suddenly, back against his chest, her arms raised and swaying. The music pulses, low and rhythmic, a beat made for hips.
So she moves those… hips.
She presses her arse on his crotch suggestively, moving in time with the music, like a teasing wave, side to side, up and down, her movements bold and shameless. She doesn't care when her dress rides up and bares her, grinding her thong-clad backside against his jeans. The crowd around them blurs as the music takes over.
He wets his mouth and goes with the flow, placing his arms around her, allowing her to… dance.
"Dance—hick—with me!" She abruptly screams in rage, annoyed at the lack of movement, shocking him and the people around them, bending lower to rub herself more.
"Mum," he moans, following her command, dancing, running his fingers over her thin, shimmering dress, holding her by the waist and the belly as she moves with the music, humping and grinding without care.
Is this even dancing anymore?
He can't really complain, though. Her bare buttocks feel great. The weight, the heat, the feel is truly otherworldly. The only way it could've been better was if he were wearing nothing.
She tosses a sultry glance over her shoulder when she feels the hard press of his erection. "Someone's finally enjoying himself," she slurs and winks, taking his hands from her belly and putting them on her tits, moaning when he instinctively squeezes.
"Should we head back?" he asks, twirling and pulling her in his arms, tugging down the hem of her dress to cover her thick arse. While he'd love to keep 'dancing', people have started to gather around them, whispering and ogling. His mum isn't being subtle, and the Notice-Me-Not charm can only do so much.
Her face contorts in a sudden rage, and she opens her mouth to yell—then she blinks and shrugs. "'kay. I'm sleepy."
Emotional whiplash, much?
She chortles when she nearly trips on the stairs and breaks her neck, and whoops when he sighs in defeat and sweeps her up in a bridal carry.
Leaving the club, he finds a dark alley and apparates directly into their hotel room.
"Harry, I… I lub you." She's teary-eyed for some reason as he sets her down on her unsteady feet.
"I love you too." He ushers her to the edge of the bed where she happily sits down. "Now how about we sleep, hmm?"
She doesn't say anything and simply stares into the space, her face blank.
He sighs and lets her be for a moment, taking off his stuffy clothes.
Their outing was quite brief, but that was for the best. He couldn't allow strangers to have an eyeful of her divine butt just because she's drunk.
He scowls when he remembers how everyone will have an eyeful of her butt anyways, once she appears in that boudoir magazine.
He really hates his dad for that.
His introspection is cut short when he sees his mum struggling with her laces. The ones at her thighs are undone, but she can't seem to reach her back, muttering angrily.
"Allow me." He settles down beside her, working on her laces. A single pull is all it requires. And her dark dress loosens and slips off her perky breasts, gathering at her hips.
The view is mesmerising.
He cannot take his eyes off her, or his hands. He traces her spine with a single finger, from the nape of her neck to all the way down to the upper swells of her rear.
She arches her back and thrusts out her chest, giggling. "Harry!" Then she turns around and claims his lips.
He kisses her back, reciprocating the passion, meeting her tongue just as fiercely.
She tastes fruity.
His hands find her massive tits, holding them, caressing the hard nipples.
She moans on his mouth and presses closer to him, forcing his fingers to dig into her round wonders. Her lips are frenetic, wild and lusty, and her tongue moreso. Her heat is a physical thing enveloping him. He rubs the pads of his thumbs on her areolas, rolling her nipples beneath.
She pushes him down on his back and lies atop him, her body between his legs.
"Harry." Her voice is hoarse and needy as she pulls away, trailing kisses down his neck and bare chest.
He gasps and runs his fingers through her crimson mane, closing his eyes, patiently waiting for her to keep going. The wet trail of kisses stops for a moment as she yanks down his underwear.
There's a second of inactivity, a lull in her movements, and he opens his eyes to find her gawking at his towering mast. Her glassy green eyes flicks up to his and a proud smile takes over her scarlet lips. "My baby."
He groans as her fingers curl around his shaft with a strange familiarity. He stifles the urge to thrust as she slides her fist down to his base. But he cannot withhold his deep moan when her lips touch his urethra, when her scarlet lips open and slide down his glans. He shuts his eyes as her warm mouth engulfs half his cock.
Her lips are soft and plump, her wet tongue cushions the underside of his length, and he can feel her saliva dripping from his glans and running down the vein.
Then she sucks. Then she blows.
He makes an incoherent noise, trembling, hanging onto her silky hair.
She spits his cock out and giggles deliriously, nudging his steel-hard rod. "So goooood. Ma baby's soo goood."
"Mum." He pants, waiting for her to get back to work.
She doesn't.
Her face falls on his crotch, and he hears snoring.
…
…
"This is the most ridiculous moment to fall asleep." He growls and sits up, aching torturously.
Without him under her, she falls on her belly, her face in the mattress, her legs hanging off the foot of the bed.
He rubs his face exasperatedly before swinging his legs down and standing up. He peels the bunched dress from her waist, leaving her in nothing but a black thong. Her voluptuous arse—those two firm shapely buns—hypnotises him. And he knows he cannot stop. He aches. He aches for her.
After laying her properly so her face is on the comfy pillow and her legs are resting in the bed, he sits beside her, tentatively fondling her peachy arse.
"I—I don't think you'd mind." He straddles her knees, his heart pounding in his throat. Putting his hands on her shoulders, pushing her firmly into the mattress so her arse is thrust up in the air, he lays his throbbing cock on her. It's not a new sensation. He spooned her at the beach and she ground against him in the club. But there's nothing between their skins other than her thong this time. With a little reluctance, he rolls her thong down to her thighs and then nestles the underside on her cleft, between her tight cheeks.
"Fuck." He moans, overwhelmed by the heat wafting over his cock.
Slowly, he presses his weight down on her butt, mesmerised by her firm round flesh that cocoon his cock, enraptured by her sleepy moan.
He hangs his head and fucks his mum's arse cheeks, sliding to and fro.
It's probably wrong, taking advantage of his drunk mum. But the aching cock is in control now. If he weren't so aroused, he might have not done it. But he is aroused, so this arse job takes place. His self-control is already frayed by holding himself back. He could just fuck her. Her pussy is just there, uncovered, leaking. Yet he rushes towards a climax, to regain his rationality. He could have also taken his time exploring her body, kissing every inch of her skin, sucking on her teats. But no, the longer he stays hard, the more his control will devolve.
So he doesn't hold back, doesn't try to last, shoving his cock through the valley of her arse, grunting.
He twitches with every shot of cum. His breaths are fast and quick, his cock quivering, shooting ropes of white on her bare back. One even stains a strand of her crimson hair.
When he releases his hold on her shoulders, his fingerprints are imprinted on her pale skin. He huffs and rolls off her body. A part of him wants to let his seeds remain on her skin, marking her. But he isn't aching hard anymore. Rationality and guilt flood his head. And he waves his wand, vanishing his cum.
Then he promptly puts on his underwear and a pair of t-shirt and shorts. He even pulls up her thong to the proper place, ignoring the twitch of his hardening cock.
He sleeps facing away from her that night, like the previous one. Though the reason is vastly different.
Tomorrow will be… irrevocable. He wants it to be. That's why he hadn't bothered to dress her up, leaving her half-naked. He wants her to ask how far they went. He wants to confess his sin. And then he wants her to snog him sober this time, to use that feisty tongue of hers.
Everything will change tomorrow. For the better.
A.N. I'm alive. So is this fic.
I think I should also clarify that there's no ntr in this fic, well the type where Harry (plus readers) feels cucked. Because well, from James pov it is... ntr? But whatever, we don't care about him.
Lily will have to do that photoshoot, and that magazine will end up in the world for people's pleasure, but the plotpoint is mainly there to destroy Lily/James relationship and give Harry an in rather than throw Lily into a crowd of men to be gangbanged. Not that type of fic, I'm afraid. Plus, Harry will participate in the photoshoot too, so that will be hot. Just trust me, you all gonna love it.
Hope that explains stuff. See you next chapter.
P.S. Say, do you all want this to remain strictly Harry/Lily? Because I have an opportunity to rope in Amelia Bones for a one hot smutty scene. Do tell me what you think about it.