#lust potion

The air in Fred’s upstairs office hangs thick with the scent of spicy sweet potions, singed parchment, and the faint smokiness of his latest fireworks experiment. Twilight filters in through the dusty window panes, casting amber pools of light over stacks of joke-shop catalogs and glass jars labeled Fainting Fancies and Calming Draughts - and one dangerously over-potent vial crouched low on his desk.

You hadn’t meant to drink the whole thing. Fred’s mischievous grin when he handed you the cup should’ve tipped you off. But you’d trusted him. Now your skin is humming as though every nerve ending is lit aflame. Your pulse thunders in your ears and your palms are slick with sweat.

“Fred,” you whisper, voice unsteady as you stumble toward him. He swivels in his leather chair, hair tumbling into his eyes. He looks alarmed - his freckled cheeks paling under the flicker of candlelight.

“(Y/N), are you - are you alright?” He jumps up, twisting the chair so hard it groans.

You can barely focus on his face. All you can see is the flush racing up his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Your head swims, and your jaw goes slack. “I thought it was a… confidence boost,” you manage, voice thick. “But it’s… it’s too much.”

Fred’s gaze darts to the vial at the edge of the desk. He grabs it, face falling. “Blast it, I miscalculated,” he mutters, corking the bottle. He sets it aside and steps toward you. His long fingers hover at your elbow. “You shouldn’t have drunk that much.”

The potion’s thrill claws at your insides - an overwhelming ache that can only be soothed by him. You reach out, tugging on his tie until he’s close enough to taste. You press your mouth to his neck, sucking gently on the pulse point. He gasps, hand flying to your wrist.

“Fred,” you croak, breath warm against his skin. “Please… I need you.”

His breath hitches. “(Y/N), wait—” He tries to pull back, but you tug harder on his tie, pulling him back to you. His hands trail down to your waist as you guide him, your lips trailing hungrily along his collarbone.

In a blur of motion, Fred yanks the fabric of your top over your head, tossing it aside. Your breath catches in your throat, the cool air rushing over your bare skin as he works quickly, peeling your jeans off with a frantic urgency. His fingers brush your skin with heated intensity, skin against skin, as your heart races faster, pulling him closer.

Before you know it, you're left in nothing but your underwear, your body bared to him in the dim, flickering candlelight. The only sound is the rapid thrum of your pulse and Fred’s breath hitching as he looks you over—eyes darkening in hunger.

You almost forget how to breathe as Fred takes a step back to admire you, his hands tightening around the fabric of his own shirt. You feel heat flood through your veins, your body begging for the release only he can give.

“Please, Fred,” you whimper again, your body trembling as the potion’s effects spread deep within you. “I need this.”

His gaze flicks to the desk, his lips parting as he steps forward, fingers pressing against your inner thighs, urging them apart. The heat of his body is so close now, and your need for him is unbearable. You slide your hands down his chest, yanking open his pants and freeing him from his restraint.

As soon as you do, Fred groans, lowering you onto the desk where the last remnants of his catalog spill onto the floor. Your back arches instinctively, desperate for the connection you crave. Fred doesn't need any more invitation. He slides into you effortlessly, his rhythm swift and commanding.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Fred growls, his hips snapping forward as he sets a pace that makes you cry out in pure, frantic need. The potion buzzes in your veins, intensifying every sensation as he fills you completely, the weight of his body making everything feel so real, so right.

You can only cling to him, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Fred’s fingers curl into your hip as he thrusts up through your slick underwear, desk rattling beneath you. The rigid edge presses into the small of your back, arching you perfectly around him. Every inch of him inside you feels like a promise of release.

You grip the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles blanch, head thrown back, mouth open in a ragged moan. “Fred,” you gasp, voice trembling on the edge of collapse. “Oh god, Fred—harder.”

His green eyes darken, filled with equal parts need and concern. He doesn’t hesitate. He slams into you, hips pistoning faster, each thrust driving you closer to the brink. The friction of his cock against your most sensitive walls sends shockwaves through your body.

“I—can’t—stop,” you cry, chest heaving. “It’s too much.”

Fred’s breaths come in ragged bursts as he keeps up the relentless pace. You feel the coil of pleasure twist tighter. Your second orgasm rips through you, a blinding white heat that leaves you trembling and breathless, your back arching so far you can’t even see straight.

He holds you through it, thrusting just enough to keep you on the edge, then pulls back, letting you catch your breath—only to drive in again without warning. The sting of overstimulation mixes with the bliss until all you can do is scream his name.

“Fred… please…” your voice cracks, “one more time.”

With a low growl, he answers you. He positions himself deeper, pushing into you until your hips slam against the desk with a wet, echoing sound. The pressure builds between your legs until your third orgasm crashes down, your body convulsing around him, squeezing him tight.

Fred groans deep in his chest. His pace falters, then picks up one last time—slower, deeper, until he spills inside you, hot and trembling. He holds still, letting his release merge with yours, both of you riding out the aftershocks together.

When the world finally stills, Fred eases out and collapses beside you on the desk, skin and hair damp with sweat. You turn to him, breath returning in ragged pants.

“(Y/N)…” he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. “Are you okay?”

You trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. “I’m… perfect,” you whisper, voice soft. You wince as the desk edge presses into your hip, and he scoots closer, draping an arm across your waist so you can sink down onto the carpeted floor together.

Fred props himself up on one elbow, eyes flicking to the shattered vial on the desk, potion residue shimmering on the wood. With a resolute grimace, he leans forward and sweeps the pieces into a scrap of cloth, stomping them flat. “No more experiments,” he vows quietly, “unless you’re fully aware of the consequences.”

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his freckled cheek. “Next time,” you tease, “just give me the safe stuff.”

you pick it up, turning the bottle between your fingers as you watch the dark red liquid slosh around within the delicate glass.

“we’re closed,” tom’s voice rings out behind you and you turn to face him. his eyes narrow under his gently tousled curls as he turns his attention to the little bottle in your hands.

“that’s not for sale, either,” he starts flatly, reaching out to grab your wrist and return the bottle to his desk but you step back quickly, evading his touch. you dangle the bottle between two fingers, holding it up and moving just out of the way every time tom steps forward, his eyes darkening.

he reaches for his wand tucked in his robes, holding it loosely between his fingers as he holds it up.

“now, riddle, that’s not playing very fair,” you retort as you step back again, a small pout playing on your lips.

tom raises a brow as he steps forward, his eyes flickering to behind you, and he strategically plans his approach to you, eventually cornering you against a wall. a devious smirk plays on his lips as he leans in, the tip of his wand poking against your throat as he whispers, “darling, you know i don’t play fair. now give that back.”

your eyes widen as tom’s wand pushes harder against your throat, forcing you to lean your head back, and your body goes limp against the wall as you contemplate giving in. you purse your lips, staring into his eyes before uncorking the bottle with your thumb and pouring the liquid down your throat.

it burns as you swallow, tom’s wand pressing harder against your skin as your throat bobs. the glass bottle falls to the ground with a soft clink.

you blink, a sudden fuzziness taking over your senses. as your sight unblurs, your eyes catching onto details you never noticed: the way tom’s shirt hugs his chest, how his adam’s apple bobs whenever he’s angry, the way his veins pop as he grips his wand to your throat, or the way his body is pressed right up against you, his hot breath feathering across your cheeks.

“oops,” you giggle, your knees shaking a little. tom scowls, and he leans in closer, close enough for you to touch those soft lips—

“do you have any idea what you just consumed?” tom growls as he stares down at you. you let out a soft laugh.

“you wish you could consume me,” you sigh dreamily, eyes trailing down to his hips, and your hand reaches out tentatively.

tom slaps your hand down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pins it to the wall next to your head. “look at what you’ve done, darling, the effects are already sinking in.”

you blink wildly, your pulse skittering as he pins your hand to the wall, his face inches away from yours. if he just leans in to kiss you, and slip his hand under your shirt, and let you grind your hips against his—

fuck, you are horny. 

it comes out as a whimper, a plea, before you even could register the words that left your mouth. “tom, please.”

tom tsks, his eyes flashing. “please, what, darling? i don’t know what you want.”

you whine, your common sense thrown out the window and smashed into a million shards as you push yourself onto him, letting your aching core rub against his thigh. your brain hurt, and you couldn’t think clearly, the only thoughts in your head were tom, tom, tom.

tom smirks as you hump his thigh, rubbing your clothed pussy against his pants, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “is the doll in pain?” he asks with mock-concern, his brows raised. his thighs tighten up at the sight and feeling of you getting off on his leg, and tom feels his dick swell up against the fabric of his pants.

he pushes you off suddenly, a frown furrowing his brow as he adjusts his robes. wordlessly, he turns and walks to his desk, sitting down firmly on his chair, his legs spread, before beckoning to you.

“come here, darling,” tom says smoothly, all signs of the man he was when you first walked in gone. “on your knees.”

you quickly come to him, falling promptly to your knees when you approach. you rest your chin on his knee, looking up at him with those pretty little eyes, your core aching with need. tom takes your chin in one hand, tilting your head up and making you bat your lashes. he curses, feeling himself throb and strain against his pants.

you try to keep your eyes trained on his face but they still trail down to the tent in his pants, making warmth pool down to your stomach at the sight.

“didn’t know you were such a slut for me every time you came in here,” tom growls as his fingers dig into your skin as he grips your jaw. you let out a muffled whimper, and he chuckles, a dark, thirsty sound.

tom’s other hand comes down to his crotch, and he pulls down his fly and unbuttons his pants, pulling them down to his knees, revealing the large bulge under his boxers. he tugs at your jaw, pulling you in closer between his legs.

he raises a brow, dipping his chin down expectantly. with eager fingers, you pull down the waistband of his boxers just enough to let his erection spring free from the confines of his clothing.

you feel a slick wet your underwear, your pussy burning and aching at the sight of his cock. tom lazily wraps his free hand around the base, jerking himself off slowly as pre-cum glistens from the tip.

tom jerks your head closer to his cock, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches your tongue flick out to wet your lips. fuck. he feels his member swell up in his hand at your face, so ready for him, so fuckable.

“such a pretty little mouth for a fucking slut, hm?” tom coos, his thumb running across your wet lips. you nod breathlessly, your pulse quickening and your core dripping at his words. how could such dirty words come from such a proper… gentleman?

“suck,” tom orders as he leans back against his chair, widening his legs slightly as you scoot yourself closer to him.

you close your eyes as your tongue flicks out to lick the tip of his length, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. your lips pepper kisses on his tip, slowly taking in more of him in your mouth as you reach up to wrap one hand around his base. you ease him in, muffling whimpers and whines until his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

tom reaches down to grab your hair, forcing your eyelids to open up and look up at him, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. he smirks as you gag around his cock, a shiver of pleasure rushing down his spine.

“you look so much better when that slut mouth of yours is filled up,” tom observes, his fingers tightening around your hair, pulling your head up. he groans as your hand wraps around him, and you ease him out a little, letting your tongue swirl around his cockhead. “this cockslut is finally fucking quiet and doing what she’s told.”

his member stifles a soft moan from your lips, and as your lashes brush against your cheeks, tom tugs at your hair, forcing your eyes open again.

“no. keep your eyes on me, doll,” tom orders sharply, leaning in slightly. his cock throbs in your mouth as you bob your head up and down, almost a nod.

you continue to bob your head, moving your hand in time with your head, and tom throws his head back, his mouth open in a soundless groan. you finally let him out with a pop, gasping for air as you moved closer to him, letting him close his legs around you.

your clit burns against your clothes as you moved, and you shift to sit on tom’s foot, rubbing your pussy against the top of his shoe. you place kitten licks across the tip of his cock as you grind against his foot, your core’s burning appeasing slightly at the friction.

tom looks down at you with narrowed eyes, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “who said you could ride me?” he demands, his hand tangled in your hair moving down to your chin. he sneers as you whimper around his cock, your ministrations on his foot ceasing immediately.

“please—please, tom, please—” you whine, your mouth full of his member. 

“does it hurt, darling?” tom inquires, his eyes glittering under his curls. “does the doll need something to ride because her pussy hurts?”

you nod wildly, your lips parting around his cock as you silently plead him. tom smirks, and he prods his foot against your core.

“fine, fucking slut,” he hisses as you gratefully suck him, sitting back down on him and rubbing against his shoe.

your pussy burns at the friction, slick coating your underwear as your hips bucked against tom’s foot. you feel tom’s fingers entangle themselves back into your hair as your throat bobs around his long cock, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat again.

tom grunts, his thighs clenching as he sees your soft lips around his member, your clothed pussy rocking against his foot, your pretty eyes watering as you gagged around his length. his hips buck involuntarily in your face, making you gasp out, a broken moan falling from your lips as you greedily continue to suck him off.

“fuck. look at that pretty mouth sucking off my cock like candy,” tom growls, his fingers tightening around your hair as he pulls you closer. you whine softly, your hips rocking faster and harder against his foot.

tom’s cock twitches inside your mouth and you can see his balls tighten. you moan, lifting your hips to grind against his leg, your pussy aching as you rub hard against his pants. he lifts your head up by tugging at your hair, his eyes searching yours. you suck his cock harder, taking him in deeper as he groans, feeling his release build up in his lower stomach. 

his member swells up in your mouth and you let out a small whimper at the sensation. fuck, you dreamt of this. tom pulls at your hair again, this time more desperate and needing. tom throws his head back, all his muscles tensing as his cock expands inside your mouth.

he groans and you feel his hot cum in your mouth before you taste it. tom fills your mouth up with warm jets of his load and you moan around his member, ceasing your grinding against his leg to greedily swallow up every last drop of his cum.

“take it all. swallow it, fuckdoll,” tom breathes out, his fingers tugging at your hair. another moan escapes your lips and he sneers, bucking his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth.

you gulp the last of his load and pull him out slowly, the salty taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. your tongue glides over your lips, lapping up any drops of tom’s cum left on your face.

his cock slaps up to his abdomen once released from your mouth, and tom grunts as he feels himself harden again, at the sight of you licking up his cum from your lips. “tastes good, doesn’t it?” he growls as he pulls you up by your hair, forcing you onto his lap.

“yes tom yes, tastes so good,” you mumble as tom’s hands push you up to his desk next to him, and he stands up, sliding his pants and boxers down to the ground, placing himself in between your legs. you watch him shrug off his robe and unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned and bare torso to you.

your swollen lips part, and you’re already salivating at the sight of tom riddle, standing in front of you, naked.

he pushes you down and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head on his desk as his other hand starts taking off your clothes. tom’s mouth crashes down on yours and you feel his tongue immediately claim your mouth, swirling and exploring every inch of it.

he helps you take off your blouse, and essentially rips off your skirt, leaving you with nothing but your panties.

tom hums into your mouth. “no bra, darling?” he tsks. “how naughty of you. as if you were begging to get fucked by me.” he pulls away from your mouth and you whine, your hands struggling against his.

tom’s free hand brushes against your panties, and he chuckles as his fingertips brush against the slick-soaked fabric of you underwear. “so fucking soaked for me.” he hooks his fingers around the hem and tears them off, leaving your pussy bare and wet to him.

he pushes his fingers up your entrance and you bite your lip, stifling a whimper as slick coats his fingertips and he barely touched you. tom hisses with satisfaction, dipping two of his fingers deeper into your pussy, and you arch your back off his desk at the sudden penetration, a low moan escaping your lips.

he grunts, his cock throbbing as he fingerfucks you on his desk, his fingers curling and thrusting and pushing into your pussy. tom fixes his gaze on your face, the way your cheeks are flushed and you’re gasping out every time he plunges his fingers into your hole.

“why didn’t i fuck you sooner?” he asks himself aloud. he wonders when the potion’s effects will wear off and you’ll run away from him.

“tom!” you moan out, your tits shaking as your whole body shudders and arches off his desk. tom smirks and leans back in to kiss you, swallowing your moans and silencing your whimpers. he moves his tongue inside your mouth in time with his fingers, dragging his fingers against your tight hole before pushing them right back in roughly.

tom pulls his fingers out of your dripping pussy, pressing his fingers against your lips. you open your mouth eagerly, obediently as he shoves his fingers onto your tongue.

“that’s right. taste yourself, you slut. so fucking eager to get fucked by me, aren’t you, doll?” tom hisses as he watches you suck and lick your own juices off his fingers. his lips twist into a smirk as you nod slowly, and he lets you focus on his fingers as he aims his hips at yours, letting his cockhead rub against your clit.

you gasp, releasing his fingers from your mouth as you feel tom’s hot cockhead prod against your wet folds. he teases you, pushing in an inch and pulling out, watching you shudder and hear your soft, breathy moans escape your lips.

tom shallow-fucks you, grunting as he restrains himself from pounding into you until he’s balls deep, letting his cockhead dip into your sweet pussy and pulling out, before he lets your cunt swallow his cock whole.

his grip on your wrists tightens as he clenches his jaw, not being able to take it anymore. without warning, tom slams his hips into you, drilling his cock deep into you with a grunt.

you arch your back immediately, a loud moan leaving your throat as tom begins to pound your pussy. “moan like the whore you are for my cock,” tom growls into your ear as he thrusts his cock into you, letting it drag against your walls slowly before shoving himself back in.

he fucks you hard against his desk, making it move with every thrust of his hips. you moan loudly, the pleasure of his cock buried inside you making you see stars. tom shifts your legs, pulling them up to his shoulders to give him a better angle. he drives into you, the head of his cock pushing up against your g-spot, forcing a moan out of your lips and making you clench around his length.

a sweet pressure builds up in your lower stomach as tom ravages your pussy, his pace unforgiving. every time his cock hits your sweet spot, your vision goes dark and all you can hear are your moans and his grunts.

“so fucking tight,” tom groans as his hips slam against you, filling you up balls deep in one stroke. you shatter around him, moans falling breathlessly from your lips as you cum around him, your body shaking underneath him.

the pressure inside of you is so good, the way he stretches you out and fills you up. your pussy clenches around him forcefully as he continues to thrust into you, fucking your orgasm out of you.

tom swears, his cock twitching inside of you as his movements become sloppy and quicker. his hand tightens around your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin as he feels his own orgasm approaching.

his breathing becomes ragged and he pushes himself into you with one last thrust, burying himself deep inside of your tight pussy. you let out a breathy moan as tom releases his load inside of you, long jets of cum filling you up as he groans into your mouth, messily kissing your wet, swollen lips. “mine. all fucking mine,” he hisses as he rocks his hips against yours, riding out his high. “i don’t care if that was a lust potion, you’re my fucking cockslut now, is that clear?” tom breathes into your ear, making your heart skip a beat.

you kiss him, and his grip on your wrists loosen, finally letting you cup his face as you murmur, “i didn’t actually drink the potion, tom.”

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For Garreth Weasley, it was more a struggle than for most. Since the end of sixth year, when he’d convinced Lucan Brattleby to try his latest potion, and the poor lad had ended up in the Hospital Wing with scales, feathers, and the ability to burp luminous, sausage-like bubbles that took days to pop, the entirety of Gryffindor House had put a blanket ban on accepting so much as a biscuit from him. The other houses learned very quickly after this that no matter how much gold he offered, no matter how many favours, no matter how much he begged, it just wasn’t worth spending a week in hospital for.

But Garreth knew the only way to discover ✨The Perfect Potion™✨ was to practice, practice, practice, and in order to make sure his experiments actually achieved what he thought they should, he needed to test them. He always made sure he had a few poison antidotes on hand just in case, so he wasn’t entirely sure what all the fuss was about.

So it was that Sebastian and Ominis found themselves accosted by the boisterous redhead one early February morning in their seventh year, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower.

“Seriously, Sallow, I’ll pay you fifty galleons. Fifty! Think what you could do with that money!”

“Fuck off,” came the terse reply. “I said no eight times already, I’m not going to change my mind.”

“But if I can get this to work ahead of Valentines-”

“Unclog your ears, Weasley, he said no,” Ominis said, using his wand to pour a cup of tea with the cool indifference only a Slytherin pureblood seemed able to master.

Garreth narrowed his eyes. “I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance, Gaunt. Heard your family’s fallen on hard times.”

“It’s no secret,” Ominis said, supremely unbothered. Then, a tiny smirk touched his lips. “That said, I’m surprised you’ve got fifty galleons to offer in your entire family’s account.”

Unlike Ominis, Garreth was just a little bit touchy about his family’s fortunes. He needed to make this potion work ahead of Valentine’s so he could sell it for a huge profit! It would be so popular and he’d be rich and famous and would be able to make sure all his family were comfortable, what was so wrong about that?

Perhaps this was why Garreth decided to do what he did. Maybe he was just in a bad mood and wanted to cause a bit of trouble. Or maybe, just maybe, he was having withdrawals from seeing his potions at work and was determined to do anything to get his creation tested. He pretended to see Peeves causing havoc on the other side of the Tower, and when Sebastian turned to look, he upended the tiny, pink potion into Ominis’ tea.

He shared a grin with Leander, and groped for a notepad as Ominis picked up his cup.

“Alright, fine, suit yourselves. But it would have made an absolute killing, and I’d have given you commission for your help,” he said, trying to be nonchalant.

“Whatever.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I’ve enough to be worrying about without dealing with beetles falling out of my ears, thanks.”

Ominis shook his head and sipped his tea, closing his eyes at the warmth that slid past his lips and down his throat. He let his mind wander a little, and as it always did when he let it have some form of free reign, it landed squarely on the most incredible woman he’d ever known, the Hero of Hogwarts, for whom he had harboured a secret, burning love since their ill-fated trip to the Scriptorium.

A slim line appeared between his brows as the warmth from the tea seemed to settle under his collar, before spreading over his chest, creeping down his torso to pool between his thighs, and something began to stir.

Ominis, like any other man of his age, was no stranger to random bouts of wilful disobedience from his personal basilisk, and so he elected to ignore it, crossing an elegant leg over the other, hoping no one else had noticed. He took a slow breath and another drink, wondering vaguely why this particular standing to attention was coupled with something that felt concerningly like arousal. Yes, thinking of her certainly fired him up him like nothing else did, but he hadn’t been thinking of anything particularly ungentlemanly. He was in public, after all.

His hands tightened on his cup as the unspecified heat began to intensify, his half-mast blooming full, and as he heard Garreth leaning forward in his chair, and the scratch of quill on parchment, he began to put two and two together.

Uh-oh.

“Soooo…” Garreth said, in a voice so overly casual that it sent a thrill of fear through anyone in the vicinity that had recently had a drink. “How are we all feeling today? Normal? Bit hot under the collar? Thinking of anyone in particular?”

Ominis faced him, quite certain that steam might be curling up from under his shirt as his heart began to pound.

“What have you done?” he managed.

Garreth laughed. “Only what I had to. Don’t worry, the effects won’t last more than a few hours. I think.”

There was a clatter as Sebastian lunged across the low table, followed by a smash as the teapot shattered. Garreth yelped as Sebastian gripped handfuls of his robes and wrenched him out of his seat.

“What did you do?” he demanded, snarling.

“I needed to test my potion,” Garreth said, shoving him back. “Just slipped him a bit, that’s all!”

“What the fuck do you mean, you slipped him a bit!?” Sebastian barked. “What the hell is it meant to do?”

“I’m not sure yet, that’s why I needed to test it,” Garreth said, proudly. “It’s only a variant of a love potion that’s meant to make anyone you like want you in bed, nothing to worry about. Gaunt, tell me exactly what you’re feeling, spare no detail.”

“Are you insane?” Ominis hissed, hunching forward as his arousal twitched, nudging insistently against his belt and threatening to pop right out over the top of his waistband. “You better have an antidote for this, you cretin!”

Garreth gulped and edged behind Leander as Sebastian drew his wand, aiming it at his nethers. “Antidote? It’s only in the testing stages, I’ve not had time to-” he yelped as Sebastian fired a curse at him, and Leander had to put out a small fire on his robes.

Ominis felt his cheeks sear as another thrum of unspecified interest surged through him, his mouth drying. There was an insistent, needy ache growing in his lower abdomen, and he got the feeling that if he didn’t take care of it soon, he was going to be in serious trouble. It didn’t help that he could sense his friends staring at him, Garreth’s lack of subtlety and his shortening breath all but confirming the state he was in.

“Undercroft,” he managed to growl to Sebastian out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t follow me.”

“You okay?” Sebastian asked, as Ominis tugged his robes tight about himself and rose.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, trying to stand as casually as he could without revealing his significantly growing problem. “Do try not to kill that little bastard while I’m gone, I’d like to do it myself.”

The cool of the Undercroft’s stone walls did little to alleviate the heat in his body as Ominis shouldered his way through the hidden entrance, his pace increasing as he half ran towards a stack of crates at the back, positioned deliberately to hide a pile of cushions and blankets for the rare instances when he just couldn’t ignore his body’s needs. Ominis hissed between his teeth and turned his wand about the Undercroft, hoping that she wasn’t down here. Merlin, he’d never live it down if she saw him like this.

Hell, it was embarrassing enough to be in this predicament, but for his friends to know as well! The thought scalded him, making him cringe. It was worse that they knew why he’d gone off by himself. Yes, everybody did it, but that didn’t mean everyone should bloody know about it when he did! It was hard enough to find alone time as it was, but for anyone else to know… Ominis groaned. With the way gossip spread, the whole bloody castle would know that the infamously stoic Ominis Gaunt had needed to dash off and have a wank by the time he reemerged, if his past luck was anything to go by.

No matter. The state he was in, it wouldn’t take long, and then he could try and forget about the whole, sordid mess. After he’d murdered Garreth, of course.

He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth, bracing a hand against the wall as his mind flooded with thoughts of her, as it always did when he needed to attend to himself. He focused on the faint brush of her hand against the back of his when they studied together, her fingertips cool as she handed him a book or stack of parchment, each light touch sending sparks through his skin that never failed to stiffen his cock. He whimpered softly as he recalled those few times he let her embrace him, his attention always zeroing in on how her ample breasts pressed against his chest, his hands resting just above the curve of her hip. What he wouldn’t give to feel these things without the cursed barrier of her clothes…

And Merlin, the sound of her voice, low and rich, some sultry note always winding about underneath it, as if she was but a moment away from singing or whispering nothing but sinful filth into his ear, her dark chuckles, the freedom of her laughter never failing to set his heart to racing.

Then the scent of her hair… citrus and exotic blossoms from some far off, sun-drenched land infused his mind as he wished and wished he knew what it was like to have those silken strands fall over his face as she rode him.

Ominis fought with his belt and the fastenings of his trousers, unable to stop thinking about her, imagining all those things she could do to him that would only ever be in his mind. She was too good for him, too perfect, too glorious, but it never hurt to imagine. Imagination never hurt anyone. His lower lip found its way between his teeth as he took himself in his hand, instinctively setting up a rapid pace that, when he’d been this worked up before, had brought him blissful relief in little under a minute.

But something was wrong. He could feel his hand sliding along his length, feel the pressure as he tightened his grip, but it brought him about as much relief as sticking it in a jar of numbing potion would have.

“Oh, come on,” Ominis hissed, gripping himself tighter in a vain effort to evoke some of the promised euphoria such an act usually provided him, even going so far as to spit in his palm, but it didn’t work. To his horror, it served only to heighten his need, and brought him no relief.

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

Almost an hour later, Ominis emerged, limping and red-faced, his breathing ragged and his hair dishevelled, his cloak pulled tight about his body.

“Well?” Garreth asked, eagerly, quill and notepad at the ready.

“Piss off,” Ominis snarled. “If you can’t get me an antidote in the next five minutes then what good are you?”

Sebastian shouldered Garreth out of the way and leaned in close.

“No better?”

“Fuck off. I don’t want anyone near me.”

“What about New Girl?” Leander piped up, clearly enjoying himself far more than was appropriate for the Slytherin’s suffering. “Bet you wouldn’t mind her being around you right now.”

Ominis spat a string of violent curses in Parseltongue at the thought of the Hero of Hogwarts assisting him with his predicament once again, before he tried to push away the idea as it sent another painful thrum of arousal through him. Unfortunately, the idea of her didn’t want to be banished and remained stubbornly inside his head, doing things no self-respecting woman would ever do, let alone to him.

“She hasn’t been new for two years,” Sebastian said, placing his foot firmly on Leander’s hip and shoving him away as Ominis clung to the wall, biting his tongue to stop himself groaning. “If you’re not going to help, then sod off.” He gripped Ominis’ shoulder, leaning close, and Ominis wriggled away, hissing as his skin tingled. “Mate, maybe he’s got a point. She’s good at potions, maybe she could do something about this? Plus, you like her, and she likes-”

“Never,” Ominis growled. “She can never hear of this.”

“Okay, then maybe we should get Professor Sharp, he’d be able to-”

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone I will kill you myself!” Ominis snarled.

It was getting decidedly hard to think, and Ominis huddled against the wall, bent almost in two as wave upon wave of rising need threw itself about his insides. If he didn’t do something soon, he was either going to explode or go completely insane. It was all he could do not to grab at himself, despite the fact that he was in public and he knew that it wouldn’t help one bit.

Sebastian shared a worried look with Garreth, whose eagerness to see the effects of his potion in action had worn off upon seeing how decidedly uncomfortable Ominis was. Yeah, it had been kind of funny to see him so embarrassed, but this was a problem. How could he sell his potion if the effects were this drastic, and didn’t wear off quickly?

“Maybe just… I don’t know, try and sleep it off?” Sebastian suggested, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry mate, I don’t know how else to help you.”

“I know a way you can,” Leander laughed, and quickly shut up as both Sebastian and Ominis glared at him, drawing their wands.

“Go up to the Room of Requirement,” Sebastian said, giving Ominis a little shove between the shoulder blades that made him yelp. “Garreth, you go too, there’s potion stations up there, and you better get to work on an antidote, or I’ll hang you off the Astronomy Tower by your balls.”

With a barely restrained whine, Ominis disillusioned himself and all but ran for the stairs, the outline of his figure vanishing as he rounded the bend. Garreth took one look at Sebastian’s murderous expression and followed, jotting notes on his parchment as he went. No sooner had he vanished than Sebastian took off, pelting through the castle, seeking the one person he hoped might be able to put an end to his brother’s suffering.

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

“How long’s he been like this?” she asked, matching Sebastian’s pace as they hurtled towards the Room of Requirement.

“A bit more than an hour or so, I think,” Sebastian panted, struggling to keep up. “It’s really bad.”

She cursed under her breath, her long, dark hair swishing to and fro. “What did Garreth say it was meant to do?”

“Turn people on so they’re easier to get into bed,” Sebastian replied, glowering. “Or words to that effect. He wants to sell it ahead of Valentine’s Day.”

She made a face, her small nose wrinkling. “Creep. As if it wasn’t bad enough having to worry about love potions. Poor Ominis.” They slowed as they reached the seventh-floor corridor, and she glanced at him. “I presume he’s… um… tried the usual methods?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I guess so. Didn’t ask, he’s embarrassed enough. He’s going to kill me when he finds out I’ve told you.”

“Me in particular?” she raised a brow, and Sebastian hesitated. It wasn’t a secret to those who knew him well that Ominis was madly in love with the woman before him, but he hadn’t thought she’d figured it out. His silence seemed to be all the answer she needed, and a little smile touched her lips. “Leave it to me. He’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

“What are you going to-” Sebastian began, but she’d vanished into the Room of Requirement before he could finish. With a low sigh, he crossed his fingers, counted to ten, then followed, finding the large space mostly empty, save for a sweaty Garreth standing before a table of five cauldrons, each of them hissing different coloured steam. His nose was bleeding.

“What happened there?” Sebastian asked, and Garreth glowered.

“That cow just punched me,” he said, thickly. “Didn’t say a damn word and ran off to the bedroom.”

Sebastian grinned. “Can’t say you didn’t deserve it.”

Garreth wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Shut up and help me with these, would you? Whatever she’s planning, I hope it works, because none of these antidotes look promising right now.”

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

Ominis twisted and writhed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His clothes lay discarded on the floor of the small room, the light satin sheets of the bed dragging across his fevered skin as he desperately sought some form of relief from the blazing need surging through his body. But no matter how much he rutted against the mattress, no matter how fervently he beat himself, he couldn’t break through the barrier between desperate desire and the enduring numbness that denied him, over and over.

He couldn’t say how much time had passed. He couldn’t say how long he’d been tangled in these sheets, moaning softly as he chased a high that tormented him as it danced away, again and again. His mind was fragmented, consumed by a primal, visceral need for relief, for this aching agony to end, for the heavens to open and just please let him come.

So scattered was he that he barely registered the door opening, the footsteps hushing over the carpet as he gripped handfuls of his hair, curled in a ball on his side. But he heard the sharp intake of breath, smelled that torturously familiar scent that was so deliciously her, and his tormented mind took on a crystal clarity as pure, unadulterated panic flashed through him.

“No, no!” he gasped. “No, not you!”

She pulled up short, her brows drawing together a little as Ominis struggled to pull the fraying threads of his brain back together.

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” he whimpered softly as another agonising pang of need surged through him, intensified by the fact that it was her standing there, and he curled up tighter, his hands tensing in his hair, trying to hide his shamed face as he tried to burrow under the sheets. “I… I don’t want you to see me like this.”

She was concerningly quiet for a moment, then her footsteps sounded once more as she approached, and Ominis bit down on a high-pitched whine as she settled on the bed, her weight pulling the sheets tight against his skin. He fought not to writhe, every nerve ending on fire as he curled up tighter.

“Please… please leave,” he begged. “I-I c-can’t…”

“This needs to be fixed,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Ominis, you can’t go on like this. I want to help you.”

“Then get me a fucking antidote,” he spat, his limbs trembling as he fought to remain still. He didn’t care that he swore in front of her, something he vowed never to do in front of a lady, he was too concerned with retaining some miniscule shred of dignity. Shame and humiliation burned a torturous path through his body as he bit down on another low whine, his cock throbbing at the thought of her being so close to him, her beautiful scent, her delicious voice sending waves of primal desire through him.

She couldn’t be here. She had to leave, or he was going to do something they would both regret.

It seemed she either couldn’t sense the danger, however, or she didn’t care. She slid closer to him, a cool hand finding his shoulder, such a simple touch making his hair stand on end as he fought with himself not to grab at her. He had to maintain control, no matter how difficult. He was a gentleman, he was proper, he wasn’t one of those base louts that thought with their dicks and followed wherever they pointed, he was… he was…

Fucking hell. He was desperate for her.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder, pushing lightly, and little by little he uncurled enough to reveal his face, his skin flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“You poor thing,” she murmured. “Will you let me help you?”

Her hand slid over his shoulder to his chest, and Ominis bit down on a whine. How often had he tormented himself with fantasies of this exact thing happening? It almost made him want to weep with the frustration of it all, because he knew all too well that nothing would come of this but further humiliation.

“P-please… don’t,” he whimpered as she peeled the sheets back, moving closer to him as she trailed her fingers over his stomach, the muscles contracting at her touch. “It won’t… it won’t d-do anything… I c-can’t feel-”

His next words were cut off by a yelp as the heel of her hand grazed the aching head of his length through the sheets, sending a surge of pleasure so powerful through him that it snapped his head back.

He could feel her touch.

His hands flew out, one latching onto her wrist, the other winding into her hair. She came to him willingly, her lips brushing his hesitantly for a heartbeat before he crushed his mouth to hers, moaning helplessly as she found his aching steel through the sheets, her palm curving around the shape of him.

Ominis launched up, hooking an arm around her neck, his free hand shoving at the covers. There was no longer room for hesitancy or fear or embarrassment – any last shred of lingering dignity had been eviscerated by her kiss.

All Ominis knew is that he needed to be held, to be kissed, to be touched, and to be fucked. Right. Now.

He shoved at the sheets covering him as her lips moved from his to lavish attention on the side of his neck, her hand travelling down his chest sparking through his nerves. A high, desperate whine escaped him when she showed no hesitation and wrapped her hand around his fevered length, the soothing cool of her skin a balm to his burning flesh.

Even through his maddening haze of desperation and need, Ominis was dimly aware of the inexplicable skill she displayed, each swift, twisting stroke of her hand designed by some omniscient power, it seemed, so perfectly did it make his body sing. Her pace was steady, her grip firm but not tight, and his mind went to pieces. In all his furtive, shameful imaginings of being with her at last, he had never once suspected that she would know just how perfectly to treat him.

She murmured gentle encouragement to him, her words a song of sin and fire as her touch sent him ever higher on a glittering ladder that seemed heaven bound. Ominis bucked helplessly against her, his hands alternately clutching and tugging at her clothes, knowing in some deep, primal way that the simple touch of her hand, no matter how glorious, would never be enough.

It seemed she understood this as well, for her lips left his neck, trailing down his body, each press of her lips tensing the muscles they touched. Something in the back of his mind set up a wild protest, the part of him that was still human underneath his frantic desire screaming that he would never live this down, but even this stubborn part of him was silenced when a searing heat enveloped him from head to base, hard at the edges and so deliciously soft in the centre, something long and dexterous winding about his entire length.

The sensation of her mouth on him in such a way pushed a yell that was almost a scream from deep within his lungs, flying up his throat so harshly that it roughed the edges of his voice, his hands flew to her head, winding his fingers into her hair and driving himself as deep as he could. He didn’t care that he might choke her, that he might make her wretch, he just needed more of that sensation, more of this heavenly feeling of pure euphoria.

She didn’t choke, and she didn’t retch. She tightened her lips, hollowing her cheeks and sucking hard, her throat closing over the tip of him as he threw his head back, yelping in wordless ecstasy. Her arms wound around his waist as his legs fell apart, anchoring them together as her head bobbed at a steady, rapid pace, and if Ominis had the gift of sight, he would have seen the entire cosmos.

"Fuck... yes..." Ominis gasped. "Right there... don't stop, please don't stop..."

And yet it still wasn’t enough. Though each swipe of her tongue drew a whining moan from his lips like silver thread, the pulsing of her throat in time with his racing heart, his body stubbornly refused to fall over the edge upon which he teetered. Almost rabid, Ominis gripped he hair, pulling her back up to crush his lips to hers, tugging at her clothes so forcefully that her blouse tore.

In response, she pinned his wrists over his head. He had no time to protest this as she straddled him in the next moment, leaning down to capture his lips with hers once more, holding him tight with one hand as the other slid down, grasping him firmly and angling him up.

Ominis could never have imagined the euphoria that he experienced next. One moment, he was aching, spit-slick and cool in the empty air, and the next he was enveloped in searing satin and silken fire. If her mouth had been the cosmos, this was heaven itself. He could barely draw breath to moan as she seated him fully inside her, and even through his primal haze, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t understand it, that he, Ominis Gaunt, was being loved by her.

He thrust up with abandon, garbled pleas and frenzied, worshipful praise flowing from his mouth between urgent kisses, his hands held firmly above his head as she rode him like a graphorn. Her hair swung down, the silken tresses brushing over his face and chest like he’d always dreamed of. He began to feel a delicious, prickling heat pooling at the base of his spine, in the pit of his stomach, his skin tingling as he ran full pelt towards the edge. Something within him knew he needed to savour this, to commit each and every detail to memory as she herself released a soft, breathy moan, but that single sound, the knowledge that came with it being that he was making her feel good was too much for him.

"Fuck... fuck... FUCK! YES! YES!"

The spell was broken, the potion overcome as Ominis’ entire body went taught, his balls drawing up tight as he finally, finally came like a fucking hose. His head snapped back, his moans rising to echoing yelps as his back arched, his hands pinioned above his head as he writhed, the sensation so much more intense than anything he had ever experienced before, going on and on and on until he was certain he might go mad. But end it did, and he fell back, utterly boneless and exhausted, his breath trembling as his body quivered, the warm weight of her comforting as she settled to lie atop him, her lips soothing once more at his neck.

“Are you alright?” she asked, after some small time had passed. Ominis could only mumble non-words, his mind still scattered, his not quite feeling his body as he should now that there was this sudden absence of primal need. Little by little, the last few hours came back to him, and he felt his chest grow tight. Wincing as fresh shame burned a path through him, Ominis turned his face away.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he managed, his voice cracking. “Y-you shouldn’t have… my behaviour… I never should…”

“Hush,” she brushed his hair back, pressing a delicate kiss to his temple. “I was happy to, Ominis.” She pulled him closer, a hand at the back of his head, and he curled into her automatically, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The lingering ache in his body melded with his utter humiliation, contrasting bizarrely with a feeling of purest bliss. He held onto it, onto her, knowing that once she left this bed, this room, she’d never want to speak to him again. She had helped him, yes, but that was what she did. It wasn’t because she liked him. How could anyone like someone as depraved as him?

As if she could read his thoughts, she gave him a little squeeze, her lips brushing his ear.

“You know, I’d be happy to do this again,” she murmured, and he felt her lips stretch into a smile against his skin as his heart leapt. “With you, and only you. Only… let’s leave the experimental potions out of it next time, hm?”

Because I'm under no illusion that where I'm going I will be treated well. That could potentially include not clothing me, among other obvious things. Best to show up prepared.

When I can't possibly think of anything else to fuss over, my feet run circles in the living room. It takes a great deal of concentration and magic to settle my worried thoughts, sending that nervous energy to the mausoleum in my mind. The one designated for memories of Thomus and me. Any spare memories are swept up like cobwebs or fallen petals from dead flowers. Anything they could use to hurt me is sealed away tight.

Eventually I find myself sitting on the stairs in the dark, just waiting, watching as the room gradually lightens.

When I hear rushed footsteps up the front path and the frantic metal clanging of the door handle, I don't even jump. My eyes are on the door as Thomus swiftly steps in, calling my name before he's barely closed the door behind him.

"Darling—" the words are caught between us when he sees me on the stairs. He pants, but measures his breath as his eyebrows meet in confusion. It's too dark in here for me to read his eyes. "You're up."

"Couldn't sleep," I admit carefully without looking away. It's not a lie. "What happened?"

His eyes stay locked on me, obviously watching for my reaction. "Edinburgh Castle was attacked by the Order. They tried to steal Lots."

My heart is beating so fast, I'm afraid it's going to jump out of my throat, betraying my own measured expression.

"Good," I simply say, casually raising my eyebrows.

His eyes narrow and brows snap together again as if I'm the crazy one. "It's a bloodbath."

My face falls, my throat tightening.

He starts taking steps toward me. "Splinched limbs. Feral werewolves. Dead Death Eaters. Dead Lots. Parts of the castle are blown to bits."

I can picture it - and I really don't want to. I feel my mask slip as I swallow around nothing.

"Please tell me some escaped," I whisper.

There must be something about my expression that makes him answer. "I know some did," he says, sounding truthful. "They were doing a head count when —"

Thomus is interrupted by a resounding boom that makes the cottage tremble, rattling everything inside of it, even shaking out hidden dust. He immediately jogs to the window while I stay on the stairs.

"Well that was bloody quick," he mutters.

I don't bother to ask who it is.

With his wand he quickly closes the curtains and lights the fire, a strange determination set in his face. He comes to the bottom of the stairs. "Go pack a bag," he orders.

I blink. "Wait, why?"

His eyes continue to study my face, but he answers plainly. "Because someone accused you of playing a part in the Order's plan tonight."

He's… not reacting to this like I thought he would. "Do you believe them?"

He huffs, his tone frank. "I denied the accusations, of course. You've been with me the whole night on the other side of the country… But I was still ordered to provide my memories for proof of your alibi."

"Did they see Rodolphus?" I ask. That has to be why he wants to leave.

"No, but they saw other things from tonight," he admits.

The same boom strikes again and once the house settles, we hear someone shouting his name from outside. Thomus ignores them, focusing on me.

"So they're doing all this because we had dinner?"

"No," he sighs. "It's because loving you is a death sentence."

My chest squeezes my heart out between its ribs. Inside I'm screaming and crying and throwing up because loving me shouldn't be this fucking hard. On the outside I just breathe through the heartbreak, my face blank, staring up at him, but not really seeing.

He kneels before me, putting a heavy hand on my knee. "So we have to go," he urges.

I just shake my head. "I can't."

He looks at me as if I've grown two heads. "Why not?"

I feel my frustration rise and I let it show by narrowing my eyes. "That's the first question you've asked me."

He doesn't miss that strange response either. "What questions should I be asking you?"

"If any of it's true, maybe?!" I burst out.

I vaguely hear recognizable voices shouting Thomus' name and more, but we ignore them.

He stares at me, processing, before scoffing. "Impossible."

My eyes widen. "Do you say that because you don't think I could or because you think I wouldn't?"

His blue eyes harden to ice before he stands and starts to pace. Upon hearing more concerning blows to the property line, he takes a glance outside.

"Or does that stubborn Malfoy ego refuse to believe it happened right under your nose?" I goad, unable to help myself.

He braces a shoulder against the door and takes out his wand. His quick glance at me is not kind. "The only thing I refuse to believe is how strong your death wish is."

I practically jump to the floor to stand. "I don't have a death wish!"

"Then what do you call that out there?!"

"The plan!"

Another boom strong enough to feel beneath my feet isn't something Thomus can ignore any longer. With a deep breath, he opens the door and stands at the threshold, his height and cloak blocking most of my view.

"Thomus!" a Death Eater's scratchy voice yells. I climb back up the steps enough to see Yaxley's strawblond head from where he stands behind the front wall. "Enough of this! Bring forth the Mudblood and end this nonsense!"

Thomus doesn't say anything at first, but I spot Lucius staring our way, so they must be having a moment. Lucius is too much of a gentleman to shout, I guess.

"We just need the girl," Jake presses. "No one's going to get hurt."

Inky black smoke shoots down from the sky as Bellatrix Apparates, joining the crowd. Thomus' stance shifts upon seeing her, like he's immediately bracing himself, and it's for good reason.

"Playtime's over!" she shrieks and fires several red flaming spires toward the cottage that are stopped by the barrier. The impact of them is hot and it pops a crack into the ward like thick bottled glass.

At that Thomus turns and quickly shuts the door, muted and frustrated shouts erupt on the other side. He steps away from it, staring me down.

"I wish you'd have told me," he says, surprising me with his sincerity.

"You're the enemy, Thomus."

He comes toward me, his hand outstretched towards my face, but I step back just as his fingers brush my cheek. I can't stop my chest from aching when he doesn't stop the sadness from clouding his face.

"But I'm not your enemy," he swears. When the wariness doesn't clear from my expression, he takes a moment to recenter. "I don't know or care about this fucking plan of yours, but if you think the consequences are anything other than death, you're wrong."

My head shakes before my words come. "No. That's not —" I swallow. "It's not supposed to happen like that."

"Darling, they're not here because of the attack," he says. "Though if they believe you've something to do with it regardless, it doesn't matter. Your plan is in the muck and it's over. We must leave."

I just stare at him, feeling hyper aware of the milliseconds to the moment I break.

"You don't get it, do you?" I ask.

"Get what?"

"I did it. I brewed the bombs."

He looks as if I could knock him over. "Why?"

Honestly, I could scream. My tongue's thick and my throat feels strained from restraint.

"Because my best friend's dead," I manage to say, glaring at him with hot tears in my eyes.

"And how're you going to avenge her — by dying yourself?!" he releases angrily.

"I don't know and I don't care!" I fume. "That motherfucker needs to die! You say that there's nothing you can do, that you don't have any control over any of this. But guess what? I did and I have!"

His expression changes from anger to something that looks like pity, but from his words it's actually understanding.

"And I love you all the more for it," he says, and my locked up heart starts batting against the walls of it's tomb. He reaches out for me again, fingers threading and locking around mine. "But if you want to continue, we can't stay here. If you come with me, I promise I'll help you."

The sense in his words finally starts to form in my head. Because here it is, exactly what I wanted to hear

"Okay," I whisper.

His hand yanks me forward so his other can cradle my head as he kisses me, the length of his wand along the back of my head. When he releases me, he quickly turns and checks the window.

"How's the barrier look?" I ask.

"Like it's going to crumble any second," he snaps. "Oh great, Dementors."

In a couple long strides, he's at the fireplace throwing Floo Powder in, and calling for Remmy. I turn and bolt for my backpack, fishing out my locket necklace to have as a contingency. When I meet him in the living room, it's over my shoulders and the fire still isn't green.

"They closed the Floo," he grumbles.

"Could we make it to the Apparition point just outside the gate?" I ask.

He sighs. "Latest protocol for ambushes are to cast a wide, but temporary Anti-Apparition spell."

"How temporary?"

"Twelve hours."

I bark out a desperate sounding laugh. "Yeah that's not gonna work."

He calls for Remmy again, but when the elf doesn't show, I know that's not a good sign.

"Oh, wait!" I swing my bag off my shoulders, shoving my hand into one of the smaller compartments on the side. I pull out a small drawstring bag and hand it to him. "Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder Balls. They were new at the Weasley's shop last time I went."

"This should give us cover to at least escape to the woods," he says, eyes already seeing ahead. "If we run —"

"Why on earth would we run, Thomus?" I ask. He gives me a bewildered look, but I just smile. I hold up my hand, summoning the car keys from underneath the mattress. They fly to my hand and I swing the keys around my finger by the ring. "When we can drive?"

"Drive? You can operate one of those?"

"Getting a broom licence is a lot harder than a No-Maj driver's license," I say as I creep up to the window for a peek. I can see the car still tucked off to the side of the cottage.

There isn't a gate at the end of the driveway, so that's good. One less thing to worry about. I hold up the key fob and press the unlock button. The lights flash but the car doesn't beep.

"If I throw the powder in different directions, they won't know which way we're headed," Thomus says, coming up behind the door.

"Good idea," I agree. "Make sure you get into on the side closest to us.

He nods. "Alright."

He puts his hand on the doorknob and I hastily put mine over his, looking up at him. "Thank you," I whisper. "For trusting me."

He swallows and nods again. "Stand back."

Thomus opens the door a smidge and with his wand, sends the little black balls flying over the yard. Some go towards the front gate and the back yard, but most I can tell went to the car. With his wand raised, Thomus grips my hand and yanks me out of the cottage.

There's shouting and the sound of glass shattering above our heads, but that doesn't stop us as we charge forward in the blackness, trampling over the fresh spring foliage that takes up the front yard.

I hear Thomus hit the car first, literally. It's only when he's opened the door that I let go of his sweaty hand and slink my way around the engine to the driver's side. I toss my backpack into the backseat the moment my ass lands in mine. Thomus clears the car cabin of the darkness as I fumble anxiously with the keys, trying to get it in the ignition. When it finally roars to life, my shoulders sag with relief before I have to scramble to get my seatbelt on.

I glance at Thomus to make sure his seatbelt's on before shifting into drive. Immediately, I regret my confidence in being able to drive this thing when my muscle memory takes over and wants me to shift with my right hand, but smacks the door instead.

The break and accelerator petals are the same, at least, so I force myself to just put the car in reverse.

"Wait!" Thomus shouts. His hand frantically captures mine. "I need to touch the tattoo as we go over the barrier."

With his fingers holding tight to my arm, I ease off the break before hitting the gas. The car's transmission whines as we fly backwards out of the cloud of smoke. I cut the wheel right as I pass the gate, turning us to face our attackers.

There's a brief pause as I shift into drive where they just stare, all the wizards dumbfounded by the sight of us.

I flip them off and honk, hitting the petal to the floor. The tires spin in place a second before launching us at them. Several of the hooded figures have to dive out of the way and I can't help the snicker that cracks my face into a grin when I see them roll behind us from the side mirrors.

A hard left takes us down the lane Thomus and I had landed before that Dementor attack.

"Which way should we go?" I ask, seeing the trees open up to a three-way stop ahead.

Thomus is twisted in his seat, eyeing who we've left behind. "Ehm," he says, turning back around to see and then points to the right. "That way. Anywhere it's going to be crowded."

As I make what is a hundred percent a rolling stop into our turn, a strong force hits the back end of the car, sending the rear tires skidding. I'm desperately whipping the wheel to accommodate the shift as I floor it.

And immediately have to jerk the car to the left to avoid hitting oncoming traffic.

After that the coast is clear and I pick up speed again. The few cars there are, I manage to overtake on the two lane road. The next time I have to make a turn, I don't get to ask because the choice is made for me. Because I'm not mowing down crossing pedestrians, I make a left into the momentarily empty side of the intersection, and ignore the sounds of horns blaring behind us.

Of course the road takes us down somewhere that doesn't seem populated at all. Way more farmland than any any clusters of houses, putting us out in the open.

I manage a quick glance at Thomus, who's still got eyes behind us. "How much further before we can Apparate?"

I don't receive an answer. Instead I get a flashing orange seatbelt light, its sound smothered by the passenger side window going down and the wind rushing in. My head whips back and forth to keep my eyes on the road and on Thomus as he partially hangs out the window.

"Stupify!" he fires off behind us.

A dark blob tumbling into a ditch is all I can see from the rearview mirror. I end up jerking the wheel a little harder than I mean to as the road curves. It feels like we're going in a fucking circle. Out the corner of my eye, I see him jerk.

"You're not supposed to hang out like that!" I frantically shout. Blindly my left hand searches for something of his to grab onto, landing on his leg first, then jumping to his belt. I tug on it hard, hoping he'll take the hint, because he doesn't seem to have heard me with spells raining all around the car.

I have to immediately let go as I approach the back of a small truck far too fast and lay on the horn as I illegally pass it. The truck honks back.

Ahead, and approaching all too soon, is a figure standing dead center of the road. Her stature and hair are unmistakable. Already her wand is pointed right at us.

My eyes panic search for a spot to turn off — any clearing I could whip the car into — between us and her.

Ahead to our right, I spot a gap between a wooden fence that seems like an answered prayer. It's a split second decision, and as I'm leaning forward in my seat to prepare for the sharp turn, I glance at Thomus, who's still half-hanging out the window, a spell flying from his wand towards the one she had cast at us herself.

The spells collide and bursts into flame and rains sparkles, bright enough in the morning light to temporarily blind me. I squint through the spots in my vision and grip his pant leg, the only part I could reach again, as I slam on the breaks and whip the wheel to make the sharp turn before I can think twice.

A spell hits us from behind again, and this time, I can't regain control of the car.

Everything starts to happen in slow motion, just like every classic trope says, and I can't do anything to stop it.

The spell that hits us this time flips the car like it's nothing. I watch the ground go from below to above us, the sky becoming our road as the car rolls around and again. My body clings to gravity, testing the seatbelts strength against g-force and between the crushing walls of metal and airbags. Nausea hits fast and I just want it to stop, like a roller coaster I can't wait to get off.

The car lands with the heaviest crash that I feel with every part of my body. Especially the part of my leg that's crushed when the wheel well gives upon its final flip.

When my brain finally processes the pain and catches up, my leg and everything hurts. Opening my eyes, a broken windshield shoved into the ground greets me beyond the airbag. Panic tears immediately spring to my eyes from the pain and adrenaline. My chest fights the shoulder strap for my breath just to let out a tiny whimper.

When I turn my head and see Thomus isn't in the car, it's all I have in me not to outwardly panic yet. Locked in my head is the panic and pain, barely being kept out by my metaphorical back at the door. It's the only reason I can think through the shock, knowing I need to get out of here.

With shaking hands, I try to brace myself as I magically sever the belt and let gravity get me to my hands and on the knee that isn't trapped.

Shouting from outside spurs me to give zero fucks about blasting the broken pieces of bent car off of my leg. Pain rears its ugly face from behind the door and I scream as I lurch forward out of the car's grasp. I land face first into the dirt and squeeze it into my shaking fist as I shove pain behind the door again.

Shifting onto my hip, I force myself up, shoulders straight and my gaze hard as Death Eaters land around me. Kyle and Jake are here, too. Neither of them say anything, just keep me pinned with their wands like the rest of the Death Eaters.

"Where's my brother?" Lucius demands the moment he appears.

I'm desperate to know that too.

"Lucius!" Bellatrix shrieks, drawing everyone's attention to where she's kneeling. Lucius rushes to her, pushing back the brush to reveal Thomus.

Lying on his back, unmoving.

Bellatrix grabs his jaw and turns his head, revealing a severe and bloody gash.

No amount of Occlumency could hold back my grief as it pries apart the iron bars around my heart just to break it.

First it shows on my face as it crumples into blurry vision. Then it appears in my voice as I tear myself across the ground to get to him, stopped only by Bellatrix issuing a cold Crucio from her lips.

It stops me in my tracks, and I welcome the pain as it tears through my body. It's somehow better because it's powerful enough to overwhelm my grief.

Only I'm not truly free from the sight of the bloody gash on his head in my mind.

"Someone shut her up!"

And then my world goes black.

~*~

The bloody gash carved into his head is the first thing on my mind when I wake. That, combined with the pain emanating from my leg, makes me instantly bawl.

"Remmy —" a stern voice says and I feel a sharp slap across my cheek.

"Quiet," the elf orders from above me.

I sniffle loudly, but my next shakey sob is voiceless. My hands come up to cover my mouth and rub away leaking tears. I hide behind them as my bleary eyes land on Healer Smethwyck, knelt by my legs.

"That was unnecessary," Smethwyck admonishes the elf.

"I don't fucking care."

My eyes jump to Lucius, who's sitting across the room. The formidable gentlemen looks like he's had a bad day. No cloak or jacket, elbows on his knees as he sits forward so much his long hair make white curtains around his narrow face. Blood coats his white shirt and black vest, almost looking like a glove on his hand and fisted wand.

There's a renewed hatred for me in his eyes and I'm terrified of the reason why. It makes more silent tears flow, turning cold on my temples.

Smethwyck hands Remmy a vial. "Give her this before we begin."

The vial flies from their hands and I hear it shatter.

"Nothing for pain," Lucius snarls. His focus leaves me for his wife, who's giving him a disapproving shake of her head. "She should rot. It's not often I agree with your sister."

"You don't know why they were running," she says softly.

"Don't we?" he says, sardonic tone not lacking.

They fall silent as Smethwyck gets my attention again, making sure to make eye contact with me. "This'll be quick, but… brace yourself."

I shift onto an elbow, tucking my chin to my chest so I can shove the bunched collar of my shirt between my teeth. The spell he uses is a more advanced version of Episky; it easily snaps all my bones and ligaments back into place.

And the shock just as easily knocks me out.

~*~

When I wake for a second time, I'm alone. Shifting around, unable to be still while my leg throbs endlessly. I'm on a bed of straw with just a wool blanket thrown on top of it, and everywhere it touches my skin it itches.

The only light is a small candle burning, highlighting and casting shadows onto the stone walls that surround me in this little alcove. When I sit up, I can see the enterance to the large dungeon as it casts its own block of yellow light stretching across the floor. The barred door is closed.

My leg has been set and wrapped, with a couple bruised toes poking out. I'm still in the same clothes, but my right pant leg has been torn off at my thigh. By some miracle I still have my glasses.

But I take them off to bury my face in my hands.

Thomus.

Guilt and regret take their place right in my ribs, squeezing around my heart until my chest aches. Silent tears fall into my palms.

"Remmy," I hear a voice call from the darkness and it startles me. As I wipe my eyes and replace my glasses, there's a pop.

"Yes, Master?" the elf says just outside my alcove. He's looking into the darkness across the dungeon, where the first voice probably came from.

"She's awake."

The elf looks back at me and nods, popping out and returning a moment later with a pitcher and cup. He fills the cup and brings it to me, holding it out. "Master says drink."

When I take the cup, it looks and smells like water, so I drink, definitely feeling parched. I end up downing it and before I can ask, Remmy takes it from my hands to refill it.

"Thank you," I whisper to him, but in return he simply gives me a dirty look. It's not the first one he's given me, but this one hurts the most.

Now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness down here, I can make out Lucius in the shadows.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

The words sounds like an accusation, and I suppose at this point, it is. My words come out small. "Because I hurt your brother."

"No, why are you here?" he demands, leaning forward. "In England."

My pulse starts to race, but I take a deep breath and give the same truthful answer like everyone else. "I had an internship at the Daily Prophet as a photographer."

"Who was your contact in the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Remus Lupin and Tonks." I'd heard they'd died during the battle of Hogwarts. Which makes me sad remembering, because I know they'd left a son behind.

His next questions come by rapid fire and it's not until the last one that I realize there must've been Veritaserum in my water.

"Did you place the bombs in Edinburgh?"

"No."

"Were you with my brother at the time of the attack?"

"Yes."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes."

Lucius doesn't ask me another question, sitting with this answer. It didn't seem to surprise him, but he's still not very happy about it. He shakes his head and mutters. "Fools — the lot of you."

He stands and moves toward the door. "Your new Master will arrive in the morning," he says, and then fires, "Is there another plan in the works?"

I feel compelled to answer, but also relieved it's still true. "No."

"Good," he says. "Your life was spared only because you have some powerful friends in the Confederation… and because he's alive."

Relief sweeps in, but is quickly replaced by chilling fear.

Yes, he's alive… but he's never going to want to see me again.

~*~

Hours after I've cried myself to sleep, I'm woken by the barred door creaking open. Hermione comes in and I nearly cry again. She's dressed in the softest-looking house robe and I bury my face in it when we hug.

"How's your leg?" she asks.

I shift on the blanket to allow room for her. "I can tell they gave me Skelegrow," I say, hearing the strain in my voice. "How's Thomus? They only told me he's alive."

She nods. "The healer's put him into a magically-induced coma while he recovers."

"Can you give this to him?" I fish the locket out from under my collar and unhook it with shaking hands. "And I mean on his neck."

"Of-of course, but are you sure? I did recall you mentioning it as a last resort."

I let out a long defeated sigh. "I know… I'm just not sure I'm going to be able to keep it."

She looks away in thought. "I suppose you're right. Though it means you won't be needing this either?" She pulls out a tiny vial and grabs my hand excitedly. "It's the antidote to the tattoo."

"No, I don't want it," I say after a moment of just staring at it. I give her a small smile. "Congrats on figuring it out though. Are you going to take it?"

She shakes her head. "Not quite yet."

~*~

After Hermione's visit, I try to sleep more, but the pain from my leg ensures that I don't. By the morning when Remmy comes to fetch me, it's more than halfway healed, but I have a limp.

When we arrive in the main hall, Lucius is standing with Avery and Kyle. Avery is signing papers on the table between them. As I arrive, Avery glances up at me and a smug grin curls his face.

"Your eagerness makes me ill, Aron," Lucius scoffs, quite literally turning his nose up and away in disgust.

Avery puts his quill down with finality and looks up at me with a wide grin. "Be ill all you like," he says. "I'm taking home a money maker."

Kyle and Lucius' expressions explode into surprise. Meanwhile, my heart rates gone into overdrive.

Avery confidently walks to me and I have to force myself not to retreat. Still, I jump when he puts his hands on me, immediately grabbing tit and ass.

A satisfied, low growl slips out, right into my ear and I can't help my shudder. "I know quite a few who've been dying to get their hands on you."

I look up at Kyle over Avery's shoulder and finally I see some apprehension cross his face.

Welp… it's a little too late for that now.

This is the choice I've made.

~*~

Thomus

By this point during the auction, Thomus Malfoy was bored. He sat with his head in his hand, knees spread wide as he slouched in the auditorium seat. By comparison, the young man he sat next to was stiff as a board, leg bouncing with nervousness as the audience around them roared with laughter. The spectacle on stage was dragging on, and they hadn’t even begun parading out the women – no, girls… they were most certainly girls. 

Thomus and his nephew were there for only one reason, after all. Draco had been preparing for this moment for weeks, just on the chance that they would succeed. He brought in contractors and interior designers to the Manor as if that would somehow make the Mudblood’s transition easier, but to Thomus it was decorating a prison cell and calling it home. Draco had filled it with her favorite things and chose the room adjacent to his. He had casted nearly every protective ward in existence and still worried if it was enough.

Thomus thought he was a fool. 

“Enough jittering,” he warned Draco in a low voice. “I’m sure the whole aisle can feel it.” The bouncing leg stopped.

“Sold to Walden Macnair for 15,000 Galleons!” Bagman’s voice boomed over the cheering crowd. Thomus barely noticed.

Draco had asked him to be there tonight as support. Support for what? Thomus didn’t ask for details, and yet he knew. Of course, it was a twisted sort of irony it had to be the most expensive Mudblood money could buy.

He mused on the multitude of other things he’d rather be spend his money on instead, but was interrupted when familiar bright, bright pink hair stumbled into the spotlight on stage.

Thomus immediately sat up straighter in his seat. His attention now focused on the very much alive young woman on stage. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been lying in the grass with a knife buried in her side. His eyes narrowed in on her bloody hands as she stood frozen, wide-eyed and terrified. The blood did not seem to be her own.

“Gentlemen, I think the lady could use a little dose of encouragement!” Bagman said and began to clap, the crowd following suit, roaring louder than they had a moment before. From behind her a guard reached out and shoved her toward Bagman at the podium. Men from the crowd heckled her as she moved across the stage. 

“Who the fuck’s gonna buy that fat slut?”

“What a fucking cow!”

“Oink oink piggy!”

“Show us the pretty ones we actually wanna fuck, Bagman!”

Thomus didn’t know why each comment made his blood boil. He watched her bravely square her shoulders and hide her bloody hands behind her back, staring blankly into the audience. The move unwittingly made her large breasts jut out unrestricted beneath the simple white shift she was wearing. The fact that he noticed just added to his annoyance. To distract himself, he made mental note of the names of each man who shouted insults at her. 

“Alright gentlemen!” Bagman hushed the crowd. He referenced the long scroll in his hand. “A little about our show-stopping heifer tonight: you might be surprised to find, she’s an American Mudblood!”

Thomus wasn’t surprised. He’d made note of her accent and the unusual way she casted her spells while dueling. Bagman read off her measurements, which he supposed were high numbers compared to the rest of the Lots, given the tempting state of her curves. 

“And – “ Bagman continued, “though I’m not sure who’d be surprised – she’s also a virgin, gentlemen!”

The air under Thomus’ mask suddenly became very hot and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. He didn’t know why this specific piece of information made his heartbeat quicken. She didn’t strike him as particularly pious. She’s 24 and from the states, one could hardly expect her to –

“Bidding starts at 5,000 Galleons!”

For once the theater quieted on its own accord instead of Bagman’s, and yet he still watched the crowd expectantly. Thomus waited with bated breath, his fist clenched tightly on the armrest of his stadium seat. He tried to Occlude, shove his actual desires down deep, and pretend like he wasn’t glad no one had immediately made a bid.

“Oh, come on!” Bagman said after a moment. “Don’t let her pink hair and size scare you off! At the very least you’re buying an excellent cook!” 

Thomus didn’t care what her cooking skills were like. He cared whether or not another man was going to make a claim on her before he did.

Wait, no, that couldn’t be right. He had no intention to –

“Alright! New starting bid is –“

“Oi! Hold up!” Thomus’ eyes zeroed in on Gregory Goyle Sr’s senseless oaf of a son as he hopped onto the stage. “You lot don’t get to lower the virgin minimum. I’m getting’ at least that!”

“Mr. Goyle, please take your –“ Bagman began.

“No, I don’t think so. I think I’m gonna show you all the potential you’re missin’ out on!”

Goyle grabbed the young woman by the top of her head and shoved her down to her knees. The roar of laughter from the crowd was deafening in Thomus’s ears. He was only half aware that he’d pulled his wand from his cloak. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow as his chest filled with rage watching Goyle’s belt begin to unbuckle. 

In this moment, Thomus didn’t give a shit about the consequences. He didn’t pay any attention to his reasons why. Fuck the consequences, fuck the logic. Fuck everything he’d ever been taught to hate about the pink haired woman on stage. He didn’t care about anything but putting himself between her and that simpleton. He didn’t have time to think, he just had to act.

At the same time that Thomus stood, shooting orange sparks into the air, he watched as she struck her head into Goyle’s groin. An unabashed smile broke out over hidden Thomus’ face and he laughed with the crowd as Goyle fell onto his back, clutching between his legs. The smile quickly vanished as her eyes found him standing alone, his wand arm in the air, orange sparks still fizzing out above him. Reality had hit him in the chest like a bludger. 

“And sold for 5,000 Galleons to… Thomus Malfoy!”