Did Harry really get his Slytherin qualities from Tom Riddle, or were they always meant to be? [AU, Dark, Heavy Sexual References, not a Children Story!]
To the average observer, I am simply your normal magical teenager. My parents are kind and loving to my brother and sister, as well as myself. My mother is a stay at home kind of parent who enjoys reading and has a Slytherin personality, though she was a Gryffindor. My father doesn't work simply because he is descended from a wealthy pureblood family, the Potters. NaÃ¯ve, brave, and rash; he is a Gryffindor to the core. My younger brother, Blakemore, is a Gryffindor as well, taking after our father in every aspect. At fourteen, he is five foot ten inches tall, a hair taller than me. He is broad and his movements lack any grace to them. He is better at transfiguration than many in his year, but far from the best. His third year at Hogwarts he made the house team, chaser just like daddy dearest. His obsession with emulating our father is beyond annoying.
Our sister, the middle child, looks something like our mother. She is five foot seven, just shorter than me, with brilliant red hair. Her eyes are those of our father, smooth and soft hazel. She is a Hufflepuff. She is intelligent enough to be a Ravenclaw, but too shy to be open about it. Her grades are average theoretically, but nearly top notch practically. She is the one who takes highest marks for Transfiguration in Hogwarts. She is petite and can usually be found slinking in shadows and other out of sight locations. Honestly, I expect so much more of the fifteen year old girl.
Mother, like most witches her age, is still exceedingly beautiful. Unless the lot of us were around, one would never know she had three children already. Even I find it hard to believe her thirty seventh birthday is just two weeks beyond my seventeenth. She stands as tall as I do, reaching five feet nine inches tall. Her hair is the same brilliant red of Calla, my sister, and her eyes are similar to my own, though much lighter. Her body isn't entirely petite, but she doesn't round anywhere. Her breasts are not large but not entirely small either. She is considered one of the smartest in her generation, which I cannot deny. Aurora Sinistra, our Astronomy professor, attended with her and pales in comparison to Lily Evans.
James is my father. I dislike him. Not because is a bad person, but because he has what I want and I cannot simply ask him for it. He is tall, reaching six foot even. He has hazel eyes, as I mention before. His was in the auror academy for a short time, before dropping out. He, like I, was spoiled by his parents. Don't take that as something it isn't, now. My parents treat us all equal. Meaning simply, we are all spoiled. He was captain of his house quidditch team, a chaser for his entire time on the team. He liked to pretend he was better than he was, carrying a snitch and telling others that seeking was simply too easy. He was considered one of the top students of his year, being the top in transfiguration. How the hairless ape was better that my mother at anything aside from posturing and preening is beyond me.
Myself, I look like my father, loathed as I am to admit it, with my beautiful mother's brilliant jade eyes, though darker in color. These unnaturally green eyes have led me to the beds of numerous women, both in and out of Hogwarts. Most are pleasing, physically, but still leave me longing for something they don't have or can't give. My wand is thirteen inches, Hungarian Horntail heartstring, made of yew. I excel in Charms, most notably illusionary and enchanting. I am rather talented in the mind arts, having completed Occlumency training to the point that I can withstand an attack full on from my mother, as starting to learn Legilimency as well. Rather than quidditch like father, which I am naturally proficient at, I obsess over knowledge. More than likely why I am seeker for the house team, Ravenclaw. I remember how proud mother was when I told her I made Ravenclaw. Her beaming smile is still one of my most prized memories.
What isn't so normal about this teenage wizard is that I am considered the Boy Who Lived. Spoken with capitals if you don't mind. What this means is that, simply put, I am the only known survivor of the killing curse. The dreaded Dark Lord Voldemort took it upon himself to attack out home after one of father's friends betrayed us in 1981. I wasn't really surprised it was one of his friends, given that he lacks the ability to properly judge the character of others. Sirius Black, my godfather is another example of this. He is just as arrogant and stupid as father. Both are bullies, hiding behind flimsy excuses of pranks in the name of harmless fun. They annoy me nearly as much as those two twits, Fred and George Weasley.
Needless to say, Voldemorts attack failed, and I lived. No one truly understands how I survived. My father's friend, Remus Lupin, hadn't though. He was my guardian while my parents were at St. Mungo's giving birth. The unexpected arrival of Calla had saved their lives. If she had come on time, three weeks down the line, none of them would be alive. It is for this reason I keep her close to me, helping and protecting her. She isn't really a bad girl, I've come to find. Now I am a figurehead for the fight against Voldemort, leaving my sixth year, a celebrity given everything he wants.
Which is why I am stalking angrily off the Hogwarts express. I want something bad enough that I can taste it, yet I cannot have it. He has it. But I have decided that tonight, I would do the only logical thing I could. I would simply take it from him. I studied in the restricted section all year long, owl ordering books through darker allies within Ravenclaw, until I found the things I needed. The dark magic left an addicting buzz when I used them, but it was worth it to acquire my treasure.
"Hello Harry, dear," Mother greeted, her voice soft and caring. "Why so angry? Did something happen?" she asks in a concern filled voice as she hugs me. I hug her back, relishing in her touch and scent.
"Nothing really," I tell her smiling, though frowning mentally at the loss of her touch. "Just Malfoy being a twat like normal."
She gives me a hard look at my language. She has never approved of such obscene words in parental presence. I try to control it most of the time, but my temper gets the best of me at times. "Have you seen your brother and sister?"
"Calla was right behind me. I expect she went off to bid some friend a final farewell," I tell, resting the back of my hand on my forehead in a dramatic pose.
Mother snickers slightly, trying to hold it in. "Oh, behave you."
"It isn't my fault teenage girls are overly dramatic about everything. Blake is probably off bullying some first year. The intelligence of a rock, that one has." I tell her a frown on my face.
"Be nice," she admonishes, "You weren't always the brightest boy either you know."
"He still isn't very bright," A mocking voice calls. Turning I see Calla slowly walking up, her posture declaring she wasn't willing for ideal talk with strangers. Megan Jones, a Hufflepuff from my year, trailed behind her.
"And Empress Calla of the most ancient and intelligent house of Hufflepuff knows all." I drawl sarcastically.
Mother laughs open quietly while Megan cracks a smile. Calla wears a playful smirk. "Glad you have recognized that, brother mine."
"Bah," I breathe, turning my attention to Megan. "'Lo Megan," I greet embracing her.
Megan is a pretty girl. She has all of the elegance and beauty that purebloods breed their children to have. She was small, five feet six inches tall, and had a small chest. Her skin is tanned, something that most purebloods aren't. I know Megan enjoys working out doors and dirtying her hands as well. She isn't the typical pureblood; that is for sure. Her personality is quiet and reserved. She doesn't talk much to those she doesn't know, but is quite friendly. Privately amongst friends, she is far more open and talkative. She can be quite excitable and hyperactive in some other private... activities as well.
"What's this?" My mother asks in a amused and curious voice. "My son has his first girlfriend?"
Megan blushes while I give mother a bored look. "No, Mrs. Potter. I'm not Harry's first..."
"No, but the overgrown bat does have a taste for Hufflepuff girls." A voice interrupts her. Blakemore and his ever faithful sidekick Colin Creevy are not far away. Colin has a sort of obsession with me. I can't count the times I have found him hiding round corners waiting to snap pictures of me.
Mother frowns deeply at him. She never liked that James or Blake seemed to look down on one house or another. "Come along you three, we should get home for dinner. It was lovely to meet you... Miss..."
"Megan," The girl answers. "Megan Jones."
Mother smiles at her kindly. "Lovely to meet you, Megan."
Dinner was a lovely affair. James had missed it as he was off with Black doing one thing or another. Mother was rightly angry at him for it as well. She didn't let it show, however, and smiled happily, joking with those of us around the table. Blake ran off in one direction while Calla headed in another. I assisted Mother with the dishes before heading to my own room to plan. Being in the home of two adult spell casters gave me a loophole to the laws about underaged magic. This helped me tremendously. At quarter to nine, I got up and prepared myself. Navy blue sleeping clothes on my slim frame, I left my room quietly.
My first stop was Calla's room. I had no intention of hurting my favourite of my siblings. Simply keeping her out of my way. She lay on a couch in her room, reading a muggle novel. Slowly pushing the door, I slid into her room. She looked up and smiled at me, greeting me kindly. Closing her book, she stretched herself, several popping sounds echoing in the silent room.
"That felt lovely," She sighed contently, leaning back into the couch.
I grimace. "That is disgusting."
"Maybe, but it still feels great."
I smile at her and poke jokingly. "You wouldn't have that problem if you didn't read all these trashy romance novels." I pick the one she was reading up and flip through the pages. "Written pornography is all these things are. I don't see why mum lets you read them."
She poked her tongue out at me childishly. "She lets me because I am a mature young woman who can handle such graphic material."
"Meaning she doesn't know," I snort.
Calla grins sheepishly. "Something like that, yeah."
I wrap an arm around her small frame and hug her to me. "Don't worry; I won't tell." She smiles her thanks at me. "Calla," she looks at me questioningly. "You know I'm sorry, right?" My voice is sincere as I ask her this.
"Sorry for what?"
"This," I tell her simply. "Consopio," Calla fights the sleep that threatens to swallow her valiantly, but ultimately succumbs to its blissful grasp. I lay the book down on the couch next to her, level my wand on her once more and whisper. "Obliviate."
When she wakes she will think she simply drifted to sleep reading her book. Her dreams will be filled with thoughts of her latest crush sweeping her off her feet romantically. Passionate sessions in romantic locations. All of her fantasy's will play before her sleep filled mind. The Consopio charm is a powerful charm that induces sleep and holds the victim by playing their fantasies for them. The downside is that after four hours, they begin to become less realistic and its hold over the victim lessens quickly.
With Calla asleep for at least four hours, I move to find the rest of the houses occupants. Various house elves scramble about mindlessly. Being the next heir, a few words ensure they don't interrupt me. Upon reflection, a few further words and I have all of the information I need. The master, my father, is out of the house still. Something the mistress is none to pleased about. Blakemore is in the library, while Mother is in the drawing room. Smiling slightly, I walk towards my annoying brother. Just outside the library I lift one of the hereditary axes from the axe and shield display. I slip in and find him sitting facing the door. As I move closer, he looks up at me.
"What do you want, almighty one?" He sneers his best Gryffindor sneer. I smile sickeningly at him and his eyes glance warily over my being. I watch his eyes stop at the large axe I have enchanted to be feather light. "Dad is going to kill you when he finds out you had that."
I bite back a sneer at the mention of the fool, and send an amused look at poor little Blakemore. "I'm afraid not, Blakey boy. The only one dying here is you."
"What?" He asks confused, standing and backing away as I heft the axe into the air. "Come on, man." His voice is laced with fear. "Don't play around like that."
Half a foot from him I look directly into his hazel eyes. "I'm completely serious." I swing the large axe like a cricket bat directly at his chest. Its light weight lets me put more force behind it, traveling faster than I could normally swing it. Before he has a chance to move, the axe lodged itself deeply into his chest. Blood sprayed forth, coving the floor, table, and books. Even I was not free of the shower. His body sunk to the floor as he strained to breathe, his lungs and heart severed by the metal within him. It took five minutes for him to succumb to death, his eyes wide and full of fear.
Meticulously, I clean the library. I am the first thing I clean. A wand wave and the blood no longer stain me, flesh or clothing. The books are far more difficult to handle than simple cleaning charms. Being old and susceptible to damage, great care must be taken to avoid damaging the preservation spells on them. Specialty charms had been invented for such purposes, and I, being a man who loved to read, knew them. They simply were incredibly complex things to cast. The floor and tables were easier to clean. They, like my clothing, were rendered pristine. Glancing at the body I remove the axe. A debate runs through my not so right head. Transfiguration is the answer, I decide. I may not be very good at it but I manage. A few failed attempts, more than I am willing to admit to, and I manage to transfigure the body into a beat up old book. Randomly, I throw it onto a pile, and leave, the clean axe in its proper resting place.
In the drawing room, Mother sits fuming in a chair, staring at the fireplace. "Stupefy." The spell catches her from behind and she slumps down onto the arm. I smile. That was simple enough. Now, I had the ...simple... task of overcoming her mind.
"Creofames." A white wave of magic left my yew wand, delicately touching her temples. The magic wormed its way forward desperately as her magic fought it. The electric pleasure of the dark magic grew stronger and stronger as moments passed. The spell was one without a name. Its purpose was simple. It was to leave a vision in the subconscious mind. The subconscious would read this memory as a fantasy. The stronger you pushed the stronger the fantasy became. I had no false hopes that I could craft a memory strong enough that she would willingly act out, nut I had that angle covered as well. Five minutes I fought, and won only from sheer power. No one in my family could deny I was more powerful in the area of raw power.
A tired smile flits across my face as I whisper an incantation. "Oneirataxia." A purple haze drifts from the tip of my wand, slipping into Mother's nose and slightly parted lips as she breathes it in. The more of it she breathes, the stronger the spell will be. When the cloud is gone, I obliviate and enervate her.
Standing over her, I place my hand on her shoulder and shake her gently. "Mum? Are you alright?"
She looks up at me, confusion in her eyes, before looking around the room. "I'm fine, dear." Her voice is soft and melodic. "I must have dozed off."
Concern fills my eyes as I look at her. "Are you sure, because I can call Mrs. Longbottom if you like."
"No, I'm fine, Harry." She smiles softly at me. "Really I am, but thank you for being so concerned."
I slide into a chair across from here. "So where is dad? Did Professor Dumbledore call him for something?"
She heaved a frustrated sigh as she glared at the fireplace in front of her. "No, he doesn't know where he is, and neither does Sirius."
"...Would he notice if there was a dragon in front of him?" I ask dryly. Mother knew my opinion of the great womanizing twit of a prankster, so I felt no need to hide it from her.
She didn't seem to feel the need to defend him tonight however. "Somehow I doubt it. But he and James are always attached at the hip."
"If that is so, and he was supposed to have plans with him, why doesn't Sirius know where he is?"
She shrugged, her glare intensifying. "Apparently, he wasn't ever with Sirius. Black didn't even know anything about plans today."
"Hmm," I hummed.
Beyond the room, in the foyer I could hear feminine giggly along with my father's deep laugh. My eyes narrowed instantly and glared at the door. "James," My Mother's sickly sweet voice called. "Would you mind coming in here." Anger stormed through her normally calm jade eyes.
James entered the room slowly and, I noticed with irritation, alone. "What about your guest?" I ask staring at him.
"Pardon?" His smooth voice fills the room. I would believe it genuine confusion if I hadn't known him.
"Your guest," I repeat. "The female that was giggling out there with you. Calla is asleep. Mother is here. You had to have brought someone home."
He blushes in embarrassment as I call him on his bluff. I can't tell if it's that he was it is because he was caught or that he is genuinely sorry. I sincerely doubt it is the latter, however. A young girl, slightly older than myself enters the room, face hidden beneath her hands, humiliation running across her entire body. A very familiar body, I might add.
"Hello again, Patricia," I greet her coolly. Mother's eyes are on me in an instant, asking silent questions. "Patricia Stimpson is a former girlfriend of mine. The only thing I remember about her is she has a very odd shaped birthmark on her left buttock. The only problem is..." I pause dramatically. "... We only dated for two months."
"I see," the words come out in an angry growl. "And what the hell is she doing with you. James?" She glares harder at him, anger radiating off of her, but I could see fear mingling with her thoughts. She thought the worst, and was probably right, as well. I wouldn't have put it past the fool, given he went through women like tissue paper in school.
James shifts about nervously, while Patricia seems to get a sort of irrational courage. She latches onto his arm, glaring at my mother. "He is my boyfriend. James is bored with you, and wanted someone else."
Anger, hatred, hurt, sadness; many emotions flicker across my mother's eyes. "Get out, you little tramp. " Her voice is gold and not a small amount threatening. "You as well, Potter!"
"Lily," the ignorant man presses, shaking the teen from his arm. "Don't do this."
"Do what?" she snarls. "Throw you into the street where you belong? I want you out of my house, now. I will send your things to Black tomorrow. You aren't welcome here any longer."
"Lily, you can simply cut me out of my children's lives."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Why would any of us aside from that little twit, Blakemore, want anything to do with you?"
"Oh shut up, you hypocritical bastard." I glare at Patricia. "You've had enough women to be called a womanizer as well, so don't pretend to be innocent."
"Maybe I have," I admit. "But I have always respected them and never once in my life have I been dishonest or cheated on any of them. I," I begin, my eyes flicking to James. "Have the courage to tell my partner when I no longer feel things will work between us, whatever the reason may be."
"I don't care," My mother snarls at something James says. "I want you out! Now!"
A sullen and defeated James Potter slowly turns and leaves. Patricia glares once back at us before latching to his arm, playing the comforting wench. She is immediately shrugged off and he apparates away. I slide an arm around Mother's shoulders. "Mum?" I question softly.
In an instant, the anger and hatred floods away, leaving only the dominating waves of sadness and betrayal. Tears spring instantly to her eyes, and a sob falls from her lips. As I wrap her in a comforting hug, she buries her head into my shoulder, crying unabashedly. I run my hand through her silk hair, the other drawing comforting circles on her back as everything flees her. Whispers of soft nothings leave my lips, filling her ears. Gently, with deliberate care, I lead her from the room to a spare guest bedroom. She weeps for nearly twenty minutes, long after her supply of tears has failed her, before drifting to a restless sleep. Some time along the way, I drift into an uneasy sleep as well.
"Harry," I heard some time later. It was just a soft whisper. "Harry," it came again, stronger, shaking me this time. My eyes slide open and notice Calla standing before me. I stand and slowly creep out of the room, careful not to wake Mother. She followed, mocking my attempts at silence.
"Yeah?" I ask her once we are out of the room.
"Where is dad? Or Blakemore, for that matter?" Concern stains her voice as she speaks. "It's almost four in the morning and neither of them are anywhere in the house."
Anger streaks through my unnaturally green eyes and Calla recoils slightly. "James," I sneer hatefully, "Will not be returning in the near future. As for his clone, I have no idea. He was here last I checked... Although..."
She looks at me in surprise and curiosity. "Although?"
"James and Mum got into a fight earlier. James was apparently cheating on Mother." My eyes are tainted once more by my vindictiveness and anger. "He could have heard it and followed him."
"Dad was cheating on mum?" Calla is in complete shock. Outwardly, James always seemed happy with his wife. He was never satisfied with a single woman, though. I've seen him flirt with others before. But that is neither here, nor there. All that remains is for him to be taken care of. I intend to do it myself, as well.
"Yeah." I answer quietly. "Look, just go back to bed. It will all be sorted out soon enough, I'm sure."
She looks to protest before yawning. "Alright, but I expect the full story in the morning."
"...Very well," I placate her. "Now off with you." She bids me a good night before heading off to her room once more. I'll have to do something with the book that was once my brother soon. I'll take care of it when I deal with James, however.
Turning, I re-enter the guest room, closing the door behind me. Sliding back onto the bed, an arm snakes its way around my waist when I have gotten comfortable, holding onto me tightly. Turning, I notice mother is awake. She lay on her stomach, staring at nothing. Her eyes close when I run my hand through her hair. She murmurs something into a pillow that I can't quite make out.
"Pardon?" I ask, staring at her in concern.
"Why?" she asks, her voice quiet and strained. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," I tell her with conviction. "You didn't do anything wrong." I pull her to me, hugging her, pushing all of the feelings of caring and love I can through my touch.
"Then why?!" she asks desperately.
I give a helpless shrug. "Some people don't need reasons." I venture. "You were in the same year as him, so you know him better than I do. I'm sure you remember what a womanizer he was."
She squeezes her eyes closed, "But he changed so much."
I smile sardonically. "Muggles have some saying about zebras and stripes that fits, but I don't know what it is. He can't change his nature, and unfortunately, this is his nature."
She sniffled. "But you turned out so much better." She protested. "And you are his son."
"But you raised me more than he did," I inform her. "He took more participation in Blakemore. Look how he turned out." I stop gathering my words carefully. I lean her face upwards to look at me. The purple haze in her pupils tells me she is still affected by my spell. Excellent. The spell strips away a person's ability to distinguish between reality and fantasy. It should ease her into my desires.
"Mum, you are a beautiful woman," I tell her stroking the side of her face. "Any man would be lucky to have you."
She blushes slightly at my compliment. "Thank you," She says simply, staring at me.
Slowly, I lean down and gently press my lips to hers. I notice her eyes flutter closed and after a moment she responds, pressing into me. My tongue dances along her lips, begging entrance. She grants it, her tongue colliding with my own. She tastes of the exotic teas she is so fond of. I find I enjoy her unique flavour. She moans as I gently suck her tongue, pushing and prodding it with my own. Suddenly, she pushes me away.
"Harry, no." Her voice is but a whisper as she speaks to me, still in my embrace. "We can't do this."
"Why not?" I ask, hurt in my eyes and voice.
She hesitates a moment, unwilling to hurt her own child. "Because I am your mother, Harry. It isn't right."
"Says who?" I demand. "It happens all the time in nature and in people. Look at purebloods," I wave my hand in a vague gesture. "They're all inbred twits." My eyes soften and I run a hand along her cheek again. She shudders under my touch. "I love you, mum. I just want to make you happy and show you how much I love you." My thumb brushes across her lips and I hurt slides onto my face. "Don't you love me anymore?"
"Of course I love you," she quickly protests. "But... Calla...Blake..."
"Blake followed James, and Calla is asleep." I gently press a soft kiss to her lips. "No one need know but us. Please," my voice is pleading. "Won't you let me show you how much I love you?"
She hesitates longer, but soon gives into me. Her tongue dances across my lips, the one begging entrance this time. Again I am overwhelmed by her flavour. Such a sweet taste it is. I lean into her, laying her back on the soft bed. I support myself on an elbow as a hand roams her beautiful body. The skin on her soft thigh is so smooth. She breathes a moan as my nails drag across her bare thigh. Her robes and shirt quickly found themselves discarded as were my own. Naked from the waist up, I couldn't help but admire her beautiful body. Her breasts hung ever so slightly, but still retained the look of her youth.
Reaching out, I grasp her breasts softly. Her head sways to the side as I knead them, flick, and pinch her nipples. Greedily, I capture one in my mouth. She moans louder as my teeth graze across her sensitive and hardened nipple. I swirl my tongue round it, suckling it with force. As I switch back and forth between breasts, I place a hand beneath her black silk skirt. It took a moment, but I find the spot I seek. Through her knickers, I massage her clit, causing her to moan deeply. Her hand worms its way into my silk pants as I suckle and fondle her. Her soft hand pulls me from my restraints, stroking me slowly.
Sitting up, I peal the now wet knickers from her body, displaying her neatly trimmed flower to the world. Grasping her hips, I roll her onto me, her garden just above my face. A long slow moan emerges from her as I apply my tongue to her. My tongue attacks her clit while I penetrate her with two of my fingers. As she drowns in the pleasure, she becomes a more willing participant. Slowly, she stops stroking me, and takes as much of me into her mouth as she can hold. I hold no conceptions that I am above average in size, but neither am I small. Her tongue danced expertly around me, swirling around my head. Flicking the tip ever so gently. Every movement she mad sent vicious and merciless waves of pleasure through my body. It was a vicious cycle. As the pleasure became she received became greater, she struggled to produce in me the same feelings. As I was overcome by pleasure I pushed further and harder, threatening to devour her in the bliss I created. Suddenly her body twitched and she let out a guttural moan, sucking harder and pumping her hand faster. As she came, I pressed my attack further and further, until I as well felt release. My seed filled her mouth and she greedily swallowed it.
When we had recovered the strength to move, I lay her on her side, kneeling near her garden. I rest one of her legs over my shoulder as she guided me to her, into her. She felt so very good. My mind felt as if she fit me like a glove as I dove deeper into her, ravaging her. I took from her every ounce of pleasure she had to offer and gave the same in return. She moaned furiously, dragging her nails across my chest, whimpering and begging for more.
"Harry," She called, and I revel in the sound. "Harder! Faster! Give mummy more of your love." She pleased, voice tainted by pleasure and lust. Her fingers found her clit as I pushed on deeper into her, her flower clenching and unclenching. Roughly, I shove it away, digging my own fingers into her red bush, my thumb finding its way to her spot. I pinched it and she clenched around me suddenly, tightly; given a violent moan. "Harry!" She cried aloud. Rougher and more violently my thrusts became as I reached my peak. I freed myself from her and she grasped me, pulling me to my release. My seed fell onto her body, staining her stomach. Dressed only in her silk skirt, she snuggled into me as I lay behind her. In moments she was asleep, but I lay awake. My eyes were focused on the cracked door.
The light in the dining room was low, but the figure at the table was easy enough to make out. Calla sat in a long sleeper shirt. In front of her was a glass of some unknown liquid. Perhaps it was milk. She always did prefer milk to anything else. She sat, staring ahead of her at nothing. It appeared that she hadn't noticed my entrance, but I was willing to be she knew I was here. I slipped into a chair next to her, requesting a butterbeer from one of the house elves. She didn't look at me or even acknowledge my presence. I frowned and sipped the liquid.
"Is something on your mind, Calla?" I ask after many minutes of silence. She looks at me, an odd glimmer half hidden in the back of her eyes that I can't identify. She says nothing. "You saw mother and I." It isn't a question or a statement.
"Why did you do that?" She asks after two full minutes of silence. "It's.... wrong."
"She needed comforting." I tell her simply. "She wanted physical comfort." I look at Calla, "She has done so much for us all of our lives that I couldn't turn her down."
"But... It's still wrong."
"Maybe," I concede. "But it doesn't stop other purebloods from doing it. It didn't stop our family from doing it. Our great Grandfather married his cousin after all."
"But that isn't his mother!" She hisses angrily.
I stare at her for a moment and she fidgets in her seat. "You know," I say ever so slowly. "I think I know why you are so angry about it."
Her eyes flash at me. "Why?"
"You are jealous that it wasn't you."
Shock streaks across her face. "What?"
I rest my hand on her tanned, smooth thigh and run it beneath the oversized shirt. "You wanted to be the one beneath me, filled with me."
She leaps from her chair, staring at me in shock. "Don't be ridiculous, you are my brother."
I stand and grab her wrist, pulling her toward me and sitting her on top of our two century old table. She struggles but I hold her by the waist, standing between her legs and leaning into her. "But it doesn't stop you from wanting me. I know it was wrong to make love to my mother, but oh the pleasure I felt." She has stopped struggling, knowing she cant get away from my stronger grasp. "I can give you that same pleasure." I tell her kissing her on the neck softly.
In a smooth motion, I pull her shirt from over her head. Her arms instantly cover her small breasts. I kiss her neck again and continue examining her body. Tanned and petite, she is an excellent specimen of the female species. Her breasts are much smaller than our mothers, but still quite lovely. Her slim legs rise to white knickers.
"You naughty, naughty girl," I coo seductively. "You're all wet."
"No I'm not," She whispers in response.
"But you are," I tell her, grasping one of her hands. Slowly I drag it across her wet panties. "I can feel it, can't you?" I smile seductively at her. "Did you get off watching us, Mother and I?"
"No," she denies.
"It's alright," I whisper to her. "You can admit it to me. I know it was more arousing than your pitiful little novels. Taboo fetishes are always more pleasing because you aren't supposed to enjoy them."
I kiss her throat, pulling her arm away. She leans back as I take her nipple into my mouth. I am not nearly as patient with her as I was with mother. As her hands dig into my hair, trying to pull me away, I free myself from the silk I wear. She whimpers quietly as I force her knickers aside. Without pity, I plunge into her depths completely. She gasps loudly, throwing her head back. My descent was much smother than I had expected. She wasn't as pure as I had thought.
"Who?" I demand.
She stares into my eyes, confused for but a second. "Smith," she answers breathlessly.
I growl angrily, taking my frustration out on her small body. My thrusts are rough and unforgiving as they pound into her with all of the force I can manage. She moans in pain and pleasure with her eyes clenched shut. Tears slowly slide down her eyes as she begs. Her body begs for more, pulling me deeper and deeper, while her words begged me to stop. I ravaged her without mercy, subjecting her to both the pain and the pleasure. She reached her climax first as I put the years of practice I had to great use.
"You see," I coo softly in her ear. "You enjoy being wrapped around me." I release her hips and she leans back onto the cool table. Her hips buck wildly into me as I slow my pace. I take a sadistic pleasure in her fight for more. "You want more do you?" She whimpers pitifully. "Not until you tell me."
"Please, I want you." She begged.
I smile before leaving her, yanking her from the table. A gentle push and she falls to her knees, my erection standing in front of her. Without words, she swallows it, clumsily emulating the actions my mother used. Though less precise, she has her own talent. The occasional soft contact of teeth excites me some how and I thrust harder onto her tongue. Her head no longer moves as I entwine my fingers in her red hair, fucking her mouth wildly. Her slim fingers work the base of my shaft as best they can with my sporadic tempo. Still riding the pleasure of her body, it takes only a small amount of work before my release comes. Jerking backwards, I leave her welcoming mouth, spraying outward. The sticky liquid coats her chin and dribbles down onto her chest and breasts.
At my commands, she stands and faces away from me, bending over the table. I run a hand across the soft skin of her bum. She shivers in anticipation as I move closer, spreading her cheeks. She looks back over her shoulder, confused for a moment, but her mouth shouts open in a quiet painful groan as I enter her. Her anus is tighter around the entrance and I feel it trying to push me back out again. Slowly, I push all the way into her hole. Her eyes are screwed closed as she struggles to keep calm. It takes several minutes but she relaxes into my rhythm and begins to enjoy the feel soon enough. Her hand dives into her completely shaven hole, stimulating her clit, as I enjoy her. She reaches climax again before I spill myself into her.
James Potter lay on the couch in the drawing room on one Sirius Black, pondering many things. The first of which being his extra marital relationships. Patricia had been the second, and he wasn't entirely sure what he had saw in the young raven haired girl. She was nervous most of the time and very high strung. Hestia Jones, the mediwitch that had taken care of Blakemore when he broke his arm over the summer two years ago had been the first. A past lover of his, he felt a desire to reconnect with her. It had simply gone farther than he had anticipated, he ending up in her bed twice.
Sirius sat glaring at the man he called a friend. Sure, Sirius Black may have had many lovers, but he had never once cheated on any of them. His glare was interrupted by an owl entering the room. It was one of the owls generally found in rent-an-owl post offices. In its talons was a book. Tied to the book was a single small piece of paper.
"James," Sirius called, tossing the book in his lap. "It's yours apparently." He watched as he unfolded the paper and read the small note. Confusion crossed the hazel eyed man's face. "What?" He asked James as the other man pulled out his wand. Silently James handed him the paper. It read:
You should keep a better eye on your children. This one was found wander about the streets. Finite the book.
"M?" Sirius questioned as the other man placed the object on a table and stalked across the room.
"Finite," James said firmly, pointing at the book.
The small, black, leather book that once lay on the table across the room vanished. In its place now lay a body. Pale and wide eyed, the corpse of Blakemore Francis Potter lay before them. Across the boy's chest, a huge gash could be seen. Sirius stared and James fell to his knees, eyes wide as well. His hands soon hid the tears that made their way down his face.
Thanks to Rain and LT2000 and everyone who helped. This will be a two chapter oneshot for now. Maybe later itll turn into an actual story but for now its just a two chapter one shot.
Dedicated To Exiled Rain from darklordpotter(dot)net