Capítulo 3: Chapter 3
The morning sun filtered weakly through the kitchen windows as Harry moved through his usual routine, his mind racing with the rush of power he'd felt at the zoo. The faint taste of magic was intoxicating, a reminder that he was capable of so much more than this mundane, suppressed life. But as Harry cooked breakfast, his eyes kept drifting to Petunia. She was bustling around, her movements brisk and hurried, trying to keep up with Dudley and Vernon's demands, but Harry noticed the subtle signs—her flushed cheeks, the way her hands fumbled with the plates whenever he was close. She was still reeling from yesterday, and the tension between them hung thick in the air.
Vernon was seated at the table, engrossed in the newspaper, while Dudley noisily stuffed his face with sausages, oblivious to the simmering undercurrent between Harry and Petunia. Harry could feel his magic stirring inside him, that faint, warm flicker that was slowly becoming more familiar. He wanted to push his boundaries, test how far he could take things without anyone noticing.
As Petunia bent over to pick up a napkin that Dudley had carelessly thrown to the floor, Harry focused on her. He let his magic flow, not fully formed but strong enough to influence his surroundings in small, mischievous ways. Her skirt fluttered up slightly, a light, almost imperceptible tug from Harry's will, revealing the curve of her thighs and the thin line of her underwear. Petunia shot up instantly, smoothing her skirt down and glancing around in a mix of panic and arousal. Her eyes locked with Harry's, and there it was—the silent acknowledgment of what had just happened, the unsaid question hanging between them.
Harry didn't look away. Instead, he moved closer, pretending to reach for a dish but brushing up against her deliberately. His hand grazed her hip, just a fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt through her. Petunia's breath hitched, her cheeks reddening, and Harry could feel the tension building, the unspoken game they were playing right under Vernon's oblivious nose. She didn't pull away this time; she was caught in the moment, torn between propriety and the undeniable pull Harry now had over her.
Harry leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You should be more careful, Aunt Petunia," he said, his tone laced with mock innocence. "Wouldn't want anyone to see what's under there." His words hung in the air, charged, and Petunia's eyes widened, her breath quickening. There was a moment of silent defiance in her gaze, a flicker of resistance that Harry found thrilling.
But Petunia didn't push him away; instead, she turned slightly, just enough to keep her face hidden from Vernon and Dudley but open to Harry. She moved a plate closer, but her hand brushed over his, lingering in a way that wasn't accidental. Her fingers were warm, trembling slightly as they met his, and Harry could feel her pulse racing through that brief connection.
Harry's touch grew bolder. He slid his hand down her side, feeling the curve of her waist, the soft fabric of her dress. Petunia bit her lip, her eyes darting nervously toward Vernon, who was still buried in his paper. She was trapped in that moment, teetering on the edge of something she shouldn't want but couldn't resist. Harry's hand moved lower, brushing against the swell of her hip, then slipping under her skirt, fingertips grazing the edge of her panties. Petunia's breath hitched audibly, her body tensing but not moving away.
"You like this, don't you?" Harry murmured, his voice barely audible over the noise of Dudley's loud chewing and Vernon's grunts of approval at whatever nonsense he was reading. Petunia glanced at Harry, her expression a mix of shock and reluctant desire, the battle playing out on her face. Harry's fingers traced the thin fabric of her underwear, feeling the heat beneath, the way her body was responding despite the silent protest in her eyes.
Petunia swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back to Vernon, who remained blissfully unaware. Harry's touch was light but deliberate, teasing the edge of her panties, and Petunia's grip tightened on the countertop. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but the way Harry was touching her—so casually, so confidently—was driving her wild.
Harry's fingers slid under the waistband, just a little, enough to feel the warmth of her skin. Petunia bit her lip harder, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as Harry's touch brushed lower, teasing the sensitive spot just above her folds. She shivered, a soft, almost inaudible gasp escaping her lips as she clung to the counter for support. It was reckless, dangerous, but Petunia couldn't bring herself to stop him.
Harry could feel her resolve crumbling, the way her body leaned into his touch, desperate and hungry. He pressed closer, letting his fingers explore, tracing the line of her panties, feeling the dampness that told him everything he needed to know. Petunia's eyes darted to Vernon again, but he was still engrossed in the paper, oblivious. Harry's other hand slid up, cupping her breast through the fabric of her dress, giving it a firm squeeze. Petunia stifled a moan, her eyes squeezing shut, and Harry grinned at the power he held in that moment.
Before Petunia could fully react, Harry pulled away, stepping back as if nothing had happened. Petunia straightened, her face flushed, her breath unsteady. She shot Harry a look that was equal parts fury and longing, but she said nothing, quickly turning back to the dishes as if they could hide her trembling hands.
Harry returned to his task, a smug grin playing at his lips. He'd pushed the boundaries today, felt his magic work in ways that thrilled him, and tasted the forbidden tension that now hung between him and Petunia. As he continued to cook, Harry's mind buzzed with possibilities. There was power to be had in this new world, and Harry Potter intended to take every advantage it offered.
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