Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Harry's day was off to a rough start as he settled into History of Magic. The classroom was dim, Professor Binns droning on about Goblin rebellions, his voice a monotone hum that barely registered. But Harry wasn't paying attention to any of it; his focus was entirely on the two witches at his sides. Lavender on his right, Hermione on his left—both clinging to him like he was the last source of air in the room.
Hermione had her hand wrapped tightly around his, her fingers sneaking under the desk to guide his hand exactly where she wanted it. Lavender was no different, shifting closer, her breaths coming out in soft little gasps as she used his fingers to her own ends. They were relentless, lost in their own desires, and Harry was just along for the ride, his head spinning at the feeling of being pulled in both directions.
His jeans tightened painfully as he felt Hermione's body tense up, her thighs squeezing around his hand as a quiet moan slipped past her lips. She climaxed right there in the middle of class, her eyes glazed over, lost in the sensation. Harry couldn't help but feel like an object—used, touched, and passed between them. It was intoxicating in its own twisted way, but it left him needing more. His cock strained against his jeans, a tight, insistent pressure that demanded attention.
Harry glanced at Hermione, his voice low and urgent. "I can't get it down," he hissed, motioning to the bulge in his pants. "You're going to have to clean it up."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock, her face flushed as she glanced nervously around the classroom. "Are you insane? I can't just sit in your lap in the middle of class!" she whispered, her voice frantic yet breathless, a mix of nerves and desire.
Before Harry could respond, Lavender leaned over, her expression bold and shameless. "I don't care, I'll do it," she said, already half-ready to crawl over to him, her eyes burning with a reckless kind of need.
But Hermione snapped her head towards Lavender, her expression sharp. "No, you can't! If anyone finds out about Harry's… condition, it'll be a disaster," she argued, her tone fierce but tinged with genuine concern. She wasn't about to let anyone ruin what they had, least of all Lavender.
With a determined set to her jaw, Hermione quickly tied her bushy hair back into a neat bun, her fingers working deftly as she secured it behind her head. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away—it was such a simple gesture, but something about it sent a rush of heat straight through him. There was something incredibly hot about Hermione like this, focused, practical, and ready to take charge.
Hermione ducked under the desk without another word, her knees brushing against his as she settled between his legs. Harry shifted, trying to give her space, his heart racing as he watched her hesitate for only a moment before she reached for him. Her fingers tugged at his zipper, the sound of it loud in the quiet murmur of the classroom.
She pulled him free, her breath hitching as his cock sprang out, thick and desperate for relief. Hermione didn't waste time; she wrapped her lips around him, taking him into her mouth with a slow, deliberate movement that had Harry gripping the edge of his seat. The feeling was electric, her tongue warm and slick as she licked along his length, her head bobbing in a steady, determined rhythm.
Harry tried to keep his breathing even, tried to keep his composure as Hermione worked him over, but it was impossible. The soft, wet sounds of her mouth were muffled by the desk, but every movement sent another wave of pleasure through him. He glanced around the room, but no one seemed to notice what was happening under the desk, everyone too bored or half-asleep to pay attention.
Lavender, though, was not content to be left out. She leaned over, her hand tapping impatiently on Hermione's head. "Come on, let me have a turn," she whispered, her voice dripping with jealousy and need.
Hermione paused, her lips still wrapped around him, and glared up at Lavender. "You should have gone first, then," she mumbled around his cock, her words vibrating against him in a way that sent Harry over the edge. The sensation was too much, too intense, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He groaned softly, his hand gripping Hermione's hair as he came, the hot rush flooding her mouth.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, but she swallowed quickly, her throat working as she took every drop. She pulled back slightly, staring down at his now-softened cock with a look of something between awe and possessiveness. She leaned in, licking him clean with slow, savoring strokes, her tongue tracing every inch as if she were trying to memorize the taste, the feel, the musky scent that lingered.
When she was done, Hermione pressed her nose against him, inhaling deeply as if she couldn't get enough. Harry could feel the heat radiating off her, and he gently pushed her back, tucking himself away and letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. This was his life now—intense, chaotic, and utterly addictive.
Three periods later, Harry found himself on the Quidditch pitch during a free period, his body still buzzing from the morning's events. Oliver Wood had practically dragged him out here, determined to push Harry's skills as a Seeker to the next level. The sky was clear, and the wind was crisp, perfect conditions for training.
Harry mounted his broom, shooting into the sky as he chased the Snitch with single-minded focus. The tiny golden ball darted and weaved, and Harry followed it, his eyes trained on its every movement. He noticed subtle patterns in how it flew, learning the way it zigzagged just before a burst of speed. He was locked in, driven by the need to excel, to be the best.
But just as he was about to reach out and grab the Snitch, something caught his eye on one of the stands—a couple going at it in broad daylight. Harry slowed, his broom hovering as he watched in a mix of shock and morbid curiosity. The girl, a Ravenclaw, was straddling a Slytherin boy who looked completely out of it, his head lolling around like he was drunk or worse.
Oliver's voice echoed from below. "Harry! What the hell are you doing? Keep your head in the game!" But Harry ignored him, landing on the stands and walking closer, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. The girl was grinding on the boy with reckless abandon, oblivious to anything but her own pleasure.
Harry approached, his presence startling the girl. She jumped up, eyes wide, reaching frantically for her wand. But Harry was faster, flicking his own wand to levitate hers away before she could even touch it.
"Whoa, whoa," Harry said, stepping closer, his voice calm but laced with authority. "What the hell is going on here?"
The girl's face paled, fear flashing in her eyes. "I… I wasn't doing anything wrong, I swear!" she stammered, backing away. "Just… please don't tell anyone! I'll never do it again!"
Harry frowned, not buying her panicked excuse. He pointed his wand between her eyes, his expression hardening. "Start talking. Now."
Trembling, the girl broke down, her voice quivering as she confessed. "I… I used a potion on him. It's the only way he would… you know. He's unconscious. He can't get it up, and I just… I needed this."
Harry's stomach turned. In another world, he might have found this situation hot, but here, in this reality where men were so rare, it disgusted him. He raised his wand, casting a quick Petrificus Totalus to freeze the girl before turning his attention to the Slytherin boy. Harry woke him up with a jolt of magic, and the boy blinked, looking down at his own exposed, limp cock before glancing at the girl.
Tears welled up in his eyes. "She… she used that potion on me just because I couldn't get hard," he choked out, his voice breaking. "All of that just for herself, Why? Why did she do this to me" Harry knew that being used like that can be traumatising but being this sad over being drug raped is weird. Harry asks him wondering what all that potion was about "What can the potion even do that you are so pitiful over it.
The boy turns to me with dead eyes as he tells me "It drains a wizard's magic. It's dangerous… could turn me into a squib."
The horror of it hit Harry hard. The desperation, the risk, all for a moment of pleasure. It was a reminder of just how twisted this world really was. Without wasting time, Harry stormed off, dragging the still-frozen girl with him, and made his way straight to McGonagall's office.
McGonagall listened in stunned silence as Harry recounted everything, her face paling with every word. "This is… unforgivable," she finally said, her voice tight with anger as she sent the girl off to face immediate expulsion. Turning back to Harry, she sighed, her stern facade cracking. "Are you alright, Mr. Potter?"
Harry shook his head, feeling the weight of everything he'd seen. "No. I hate this. I hate that women are so desperate they'd hurt someone just to feel something."
McGonagall nodded, sinking into her chair, her expression conflicted. "You have no idea how hard it is, Harry. Every day, every hour, resisting the urge… wondering if it's even possible to feel anything real." Her voice wavered as she reached for him, her hand slipping under the waistband of his pants, finding his member already half-hard. She stroked it slowly, her touch practiced, and Harry felt a shiver run through him.
"It takes every bit of patience I have not to cross that line," she continued, her grip tightening slightly, her breath hitching as Harry's cock grew in her hand. "To think I might never have children. To feel that constant need." She kept stroking, her hand moving steadily, eyes fixed on him with a mix of frustration and longing.
Harry, caught in the moment, let his instincts take over. He ripped open her top, exposing her bra, and focused on her chest, hands roughly grabbing and squeezing. McGonagall's breath hitched, but she didn't stop her ministrations, her hand moving faster, slick with pre-cum as she stroked him to completion. Harry groaned, his head tipping back, lost in the mix of anger, disgust, and the twisted comfort of her touch.
When he finally finished, McGonagall licked her hand clean, her eyes never leaving his. "What you have here, Harry, it's a gift. One that must be used wisely. Men like Voldemort… he used his to control, to dominate, claiming his libido as proof of his bloodline's strength. It's rubbish, but the danger is real. You have the same potential, and you must be careful."
Harry nodded, pulling back, but not before giving her breasts one last rough squeeze, savoring the feel of her. He adjusted himself, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened. As he left, McGonagall watched him go, a complicated mix of relief and regret etched on her face.
Harry stepped out into the hall, determined to use his power, but not to let it consume him. This world was wild, but he'd learn to navigate it on his own terms.
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