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Hogwarts, College of Witchcraft and Wizardry Ch. 11 (Harry Potter)
🕑 Added 2019-10-30 16:15:02 +0000 UTCA/N: New Chapter~
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In the end, thinking about what he’d seen of the Ice Princess so far, Harry decides not to make her wait. After all, if the purpose of her meeting with him is to be anything like Tracey’s, then Harry is going to have quite a lot of fun melting that tight body with his cock. Grinning a little at his own joke, Harry looks down at Tracy Davis where the witch is currently bobbing up and down on his member. With one hand in her hair, he’s able to push her further down his length, burying his cock in her throat and forcing her lips to suction around the base of his impressive girth.
“Swallow it all now, slut.”
Tracey flushes at the degenerating comment, but does as she’s told all the same, likely used to following orders, given her family’s status as vassals of House Greengrass. With a groan, Harry unloads down the young woman’s throat, and to her credit Tracey does her absolute best to swallow every last drop. She very nearly succeeds too, but a little bit of his seed ends up leaking out of the corner of her stuffed mouth all the same.
Still, as soon as Harry pulls back, Tracey brings up a hand to swipe it back in between her lips as quickly as she can, as if to try to make it so he doesn’t notice. He does, but he lets it go by uncontested, instead focusing on the letter from Tracey’s mistress that he holds in his other hand.
“Any idea what Daphne wants with me, Tracey?”
Blinking, the brunette witch ducks her head at being addressed, flushing and tucking a bit of her hair back behind her ear in a nervous tick of a gesture.
“Ah… I couldn’t say, Heir Potter. It wouldn’t be my place to speak for Heiress Greengrass…”
Translation, she did likely know at least some of it, but it would indeed be out of line for her to tell him. Harry hums and nods, able to appreciate the show of loyalty for what it was.
“Very well. Arrange a meeting between the two of us then, would you? Let me know what time works best for Daphne, and if it works for me as well, I’ll be there.”
Tracey bows forward a bit, doing interesting things to her breasts as she bobs her head in agreement.
“Yes, Heir Potter.”
With that decision made and the letter dealt with, Harry steps away and fixes up his clothing, tucking his cock back into his pants. Tracey, meanwhile, also begins to get decent, fixing herself up while not making eye contact with him the entire time. Harry ends up leaving the empty classroom first and going on with his day. Tracey, he figures, will likely report directly to her mistress. He expects to have an answer as to when he and the Greengrass Heiress will meet by the end of tomorrow.
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As it turns out, the next best time for Daphne is the next weekend, in Hogsmeade. As Sirius had told Harry, once upon a time, long ago, back before Hogwarts was a School for younger minds, rather than a College as it was now, they had Hogsmeade Weekends once a month, where the students were allowed to go down to the small town outside of Hogwarts if they could secure permission from a guardian or parent.
Of course, when Hogwarts became a College, it became untenable to start restricting the much older student’s travel time. Some of them had to leave the castle almost every day for work or family matters, given their ages. And on the weekends, well, they were expected to be more trustworthy with their free time. It wasn’t nearly as rigid these days, so basically every weekend had become a Hogsmeade Weekend, where you could either go down to the town to relax and spend some money, or stay at Hogwarts to catch up on your studies if necessary.
Needless to say, the small town had only grown with this change and the influx of coin from a bunch of bright young adults coming down from Hogwarts every weekend to enjoy the wares of the town and get drunk off of their asses. Of course, there were still the good, reputable establishments, and there were still the bad, disreputable establishments. The Three Broomsticks, owned by an absolute bombshell of a witch, Madam Rosmerta, was definitely the best pub in town. The Hog’s Head, by comparison, was a bit dingy and for those who required… cheaper prices.
So, it didn’t surprise Harry very much that he found himself meeting with Daphne Greengrass in the Three Broomsticks. It was the nicer place, after all. It also didn’t really surprise him that Tracey gave him a room number that Daphne would be in, rather than them meeting on the ground floor and just grabbing a table. After all, the heir of House Potter and House Black meeting with the heiress of House Greengrass out in the open… it was bound to draw some eyes.
Still, as Harry slips into the bedroom that Daphne has rented for this meeting, he can’t help but take note of the bed… he’ll be a little bit disappointed if they don’t use it by the end of this. Unfortunately, this isn’t like some of his previous encounters. Daphne isn’t stripped down to a glorious lingerie set, laying sprawled on the bed waiting for him.
No, instead the Ice Princess is sitting at the nearby table, and when she sees him, she stands for only a moment.
“Heir Potter.”
Harry inclines his head in greeting.
“Heiress Greengrass.”
“Please, sit.”
Daphne’s tone is perfectly perfunctory, and just slightly cold as she gestures at the chair across from her and sits back down. Ambling over, Harry does the same, sliding into the chair and leaning back as he regards the Greengrass Heiress in silence. He’s more than willing to wait for her to speak first in this… after all, she was the one who’d called this meeting.
Waiting a beat for something from him, Daphne eventually ends the silent pause by speaking.
“I do hope my gift found you well.”
Her tone is still short and cold, even as she talks about gifts. Harry finds himself furrowing his brow in confusion though. Gift? Well, in this he’s perfectly willing to admit ignorance, if there truly was a gift and he didn’t receive it.
“Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean?”
Here, Daphne’s eyes flash and her lips curl downwards into a frown.
“I sent my vassal to treat with you. I told her to take care of all of your needs. Was Tracey not up to task? Did she not make you happy?”
Now Harry understands… and he’s not sure he likes it. He knew the Greengrasses were cutthroat and ruthless, and he knew that Tracey had to have been given that letter from Daphne in the first place… but he’d thought that all the rest of it was of Tracey’s own volition. Truth be told, looking back, he’s still pretty sure that the roleplay and all of that… that was Tracey’s idea. Daphne might have been the one to point her vassal in Harry’s direction, but everything that Tracey did afterwards… he was pretty sure she wanted to do. She’d certainly enjoyed their time together.
Inclining his head, Harry hums.
“Ah, that. Yes, Ms. Davis performed spectacularly. It was not entirely clear that she was a gift from you… but I have no complaints about her skills, whatsoever.”
The slightest flash of distaste appears on Daphne’s face at that, but ultimately she nods and continues, ever the Ice Princess, ever the cold witch it seemed.
“Good. Then let us get on with why I called you here. I am given to understand that you have offered Hermione Granger mentorship and she has accepted, yes?”
Not exactly a secret, so Harry simply nods his head.
“Indeed.”
Daphne’s frown deepens.
“So then, you have been teaching her about us, about our world and our culture?”
Harry once again inclines his head.
“To the best of my ability, yes.”
Truth be told, Hermione had taken to almost all of it like a fish to water. She was perfectly at home in the wizarding world, and Harry considered their relationship more of a form of protection for her at this point, then a true mentorship. The only area in which he was actually tutoring her was magical etiquette, how to act around certain people and all of that. Hermione found some of it positively medieval, Harry was well aware, but she nonetheless soaked up everything he had to say.
“Then her impudence is your fault and it falls to you to rein in your charge, Heir Potter.”
Blinking, Harry tries to parse that. What the hell is she talking about?
“Sorry, you’re going to have to be more specific. What do you mean by her… impudence?”
Here, Daphne colors ever so slightly. Oh, she tries her best to maintain her icy cold exterior, her nose is still turned up in the air as she looks down it at him, but there’s no denying she’s ever so slightly red.
“I am of course talking about her showing the rest of us up in class. Your charge is attracting undue attention, Heir Potter. She is making fools out of those of us who are pure of blood. If you do not rein her in, if you do not find a way to hold her back, then she will invite reprisals. YOU will invite reprisals.”
Harry stares at Daphne for a moment, his confusion washing away to… something like disgust.
“I never took the Greengrasses for Blood Purists, Heiress.”
That gets her hackles raised, and another piece of the Ice Princess façade cracks as Daphne abruptly stands up, planting her hands on the table in front of her and leaning forward over it.
“How dare you!?”
But Harry isn’t one to be cowed, and he’s certainly not going to be bullied into submission. Rising from his own chair, he leans over the table as well, sneering at Daphne.
“I suppose I was wrong. A muggleborn starts to show you up academically, so you seek to ruin her. Unfortunately for you, Heiress Greengrass, that’s not going to happen. You won’t be getting to Hermione through me, that’s for sure.”
Daphne sputters.
“I… I am not… you are being ridiculous! I am trying to warn you!”
“You are trying to threaten me!”
Growling, the Greengrass Heiress shakes her head, whipping her locks back and forth as tensions grow higher and higher.
“You stupid, stubborn… MAN! Do you not hear what I am saying? Listen to my words! Your precious muggleborn is in danger, whether you like it or not!”
Harry snarls at that.
“If you or your fellow racists lay one finger on her I will-!”
Before he can finish his sentence, Daphne seems to snap, reaching across the table and slapping him. Harry’s eyes go wide as his head is turned to the side, but he doesn’t hesitate for long. Sure, perhaps it was uncouth and rude to hit a woman… but the world was a lot more equal these days. So, Harry slaps Daphne right back.
Gasping in affront, her won eyes going wide as her lips part, the two of them find themselves staring at one another for a long moment… and then suddenly, Daphne’s lips are on his, and Harry finds himself being kissed. Not only that, the blonde is doing her level best to stick her tongue down the back of his throat, only his own tongue interfering and intertwining with hers holding her at bay.
What the fuck was this? Where had this come from? Harry couldn’t really say, but he was still angry, and so it seemed was Daphne. And yet, there they were, making out. Should he let this continue? Or should he pull away now, and get the fuck out of here? This whole meeting had gone tits up, as far as Harry was concerned… and yet here he was, French kissing the gorgeous Ice Princess all the same.
