Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
Chapter 8 – The Touch of an Old Friend
~ Harry Potter/Sebastian Gray ~
The stone corridors of Hogwarts were filled with a cool draft, smelling of centuries-old dust and the damp rot of the Great Lake, a stark contrast to the enchanted, lilac-scented halls of the Beauxbatons hallways. Since the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingents, the chill seemed to have deepened, flavoured with the scent of foreign perfumes and the sharp tang of high-level magic. For Sebastian Gray however, formerly Harry Potter, the castle was a graveyard of memories he had spent years trying to bury under layers of scars and cold, mercenary efficiency.
Moving through the halls with the Beauxbatons contingent was like watching a parade of exotic birds through a coop of pigeons. The periwinkle blue of their uniforms shimmered under the torchlight, and the grace with which they moved made the Hogwarts students seem clumsy and unrefined. At the centre of this grace was Fleur Delacour, her silver-blonde hair catching every flicker of light, her presence was a constant, low-thrumming pulse of Veela allure that most men in the room were struggling to ignore, drawing every eye in the corridor like a beam of light cutting through a dreary storm.
Sebastian walked a half-step behind her, his eyes constantly scanning. He wasn't dressed in the standard Beauxbatons student robes; he wore a more tactical version of the Beauxbatons blue, tailored to allow for quick movement, his wand strapped to his forearm in a custom leather holster. He was the shadow to Fleur's light. A silent guardian who looked more like a man who had seen the end of the world than a student, something that quite a few students were picking up on and staying clear. Others needed a more visible proof to steer clear from the Veela.
The contingent came to a sudden halt near the entrance to the Great Hall. A crowd had gathered, the familiar colours of Gryffindor red and Slytherin green clashing in a loud, obnoxious display of schoolboy rivalry.
His gaze was fixed on the centre of the fray. Draco Malfoy, looking every bit the entitled aristocratic heir in his expensive silk-lined robes, stood with his arms crossed, flanked by the hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle. Facing him was the 'Golden Trio' of Gryffindor: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Adam Potter.
Adam Potter—Sebastian's, or rather Harry's, brother in another life. The "Boy-Who-Lived" looked flushed with the red hue of anger, his hand hovering near his wand.
"Give it back, Malfoy!" Adam Potter's voice rang out, cracked with a sound that Sebastian remembered all too well.
Sebastian's gaze drifted to the centre of the fray. There was his brother, Adam, his usual group of friends flanking him. Opposite them stood Draco Malfoy, his pale face twisted into a sneer, dangling a... pack of chocolates just out of reach.
"Or what, Potter? You'll tell your mummy?" Malfoy drawled, his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, chuckling like the thick-headed brutes they were.
Sebastian felt a flicker of boredom. It was the same script he had gotten used to whenever he was assigned to watch over a witch or wizard his age. Childish antics, insults that carried no real weight, and spats that would never lead to anything more than a slap on the wrist. Beside him, Fleur let out a soft, elegant sigh of exasperation.
"Zey are like toddlers," she whispered, her French accent thick and melodic.
Sebastian didn't respond, his face an unreadable mask. He didn't care about Adam's plight, nor Malfoy's arrogance. He was simply waiting for the path to clear.
However, Malfoy's eyes suddenly shifted. He noticed the Beauxbatons group. More specifically, he noticed Fleur. The sneer on his face transformed into something he clearly thought was a charming smirk, though it looked more like a facial tic. He dropped the packet on the floor and stepped toward the French contingent.
"Ah, the guests have arrived," Malfoy said, smoothing his robes. He ignored the furious sputtering of the Gryffindors. He walked right up to Fleur, his eyes raking over her form with a proprietary air that made Sebastian's hand itch for his wand. "You must be the famous Fleur Delacour. I've heard of your... pedigree."
Fleur didn't even blink. She looked through him as if he were made of glass.
Malfoy's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he doubled down. "I am Draco Malfoy, the heir to the Noble House of Malfoy. My father is Lord Lucius Malfoy, an important confidant of the minister and an upstanding citizen of this country. I'm sure a creature like you is used to the finer things. It would be my pleasure to have you as my... concubine for the duration of the tournament. I can ensure you shall find the life of a Malfoy consort much more rewarding than whatever future you have in France."
The corridor went silent. Even the Gryffindors stopped their shouting. The term "concubine" was a deliberate, vile insult, aimed at Fleur's Veela heritage—reducing a magical lineage to nothing more than a plaything.
Fleur didn't respond. She simply stared at him, her expression one of utter, freezing indifference. To her, Malfoy wasn't even worth an insult.
This silence, this lack of the expected swooning or even a slap, caused Malfoy to blow a fuse. His face turned a blotchy red. "What's the matter? Don't understand English? Or is your head as empty as the rumours say, half-breed?"
Adam Potter stepped forward, his face flushed. "Hey! Malfoy, shut your mouth! You can't talk to her like—"
But Sebastian was already moving. He didn't run; he glided, appearing between Malfoy and Fleur with a speed that defied the eye. He was a head taller than the Slytherin, and the sheer weight of his presence seemed to suck the air out of the immediate area.
A dangerous, thin-lipped smile played on Sebastian's face.
"A concubine?" Sebastian's voice was a low, velvet purr that carried to every corner of the hall. "That is an interesting choice of words, Mr. Malfoy."
Malfoy recoiled slightly, his bravado wavering as he looked into Sebastian's emerald eyes—eyes that held none of the warmth of a friend, only the cold vacuum of the void. "Who are you?"
Sebastian ignored the question, his hand coming to rest lightly on Malfoy's shoulder. His grip was like iron. "See, there's something you seem to have forgotten in your rush to be a pathetic little prick. You aren't just talking to a student."
"I wonder," Sebastian mused, his dangerous smile widening. "What would the Ministry of Magic think if they knew that a scion of a 'Noble' House had just publicly insulted the daughter of the French Minister of Magic?"
The blood drained from Malfoy's face so fast it was almost comical. The surrounding students gasped, the whispers reaching a fever pitch.
"Fleur Isabelle Delacour isn't just a Triwizard candidate," Sebastian continued, his voice carrying to every corner of the dungeon. "Her father is Jean Delacour. The man who currently holds the purse strings for half of the international trade agreements your parents rely on. And you just called her a 'concubine' and a 'half-breed creature' in front of fifty witnesses."
"And," Sebastian continued, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper as he leaned closer to Malfoy, even though it was audible throughout the corridor, "It would be a grave diplomatic incident should the French Minister find out that a student of this school, the son of a mere Lord at that, decided to insult his daughter with such... primitive vocabulary. I believe a formal report to the British Ministry of Magic and the French Embassy is in order. My headmaster is quite particular about international relations. I'm sure the British Ministry will be fascinated to explain to their French counterparts why the heir to the Noble House of Malfoy is attempting to create a diplomatic incident involving the Minister's eldest daughter. I will, of course, be sending a full memory-vial of this encounter to the French embassy by midnight."
The colour evaporated from Draco's face like a pool of water in a desert. The students around them started chittering. The threat of a diplomatic scandal with a foreign Minister was far beyond the scope of schoolboy bullying.
Malfoy looked like he was about to faint. He knew exactly what his father, Lucius, would do if he brought the wrath of a foreign Minister down on their heads. It wouldn't be a lecture; it would be a disaster.
"You... you wouldn't," Draco stammered, his bravado crumbling.
Sebastian's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I would. And I'll enjoy watching your father try to bribe his way out of an international tribunal."
Sebastian turned his back on Malfoy, dismissively, and looked at Fleur. "Shall we, Fleur?"
But Malfoy, driven by a cocktail of fear and humiliated rage, didn't want to be outdone in front of his peers. He saw Sebastian's back turned. He saw the opportunity to reclaim some shred of his pride. With a trembling hand, he reached for his wand, his face twisted in a mask of cowardice.
Draco's hand flew to his holster. "You think you're so smart, you mudblood filth!" Malfoy shrieked.
"Sebastian, watch out!" Fleur screamed.
But Sebastian had anticipated the move before Malfoy had even thought of it. He knew how cowards, paper men, like Draco and his ilk operated. Without turning, Sebastian's fingers twitched in a subtle, wandless gesture.
Just as the spell, a blasting curse, would have left Malfoy's wand, a sixth-year student walking nearby—a clumsy-looking Hufflepuff carrying a tray of supplies for a double-potions session—suddenly tripped. It looked like a sheer accident, his foot catching on an uneven stone. The student went flying, and his tray containing a concentrated vial of Boil Cure Potion and a jar of what looked like porcupine quills, flipped through the air.
At the same moment, Fleur Delacour, sensing the danger, lunged forward. "Sebastian!"
She wasn't alone. Two girls from the Slytherin side of the hall, who had been watching the exchange with rapt attention, also moved with instinctive speed.
Before Malfoy's spell could connect, the three of them—Fleur and the two unknown Slytherins—tackled Sebastian. The force of three healthy, athletic women hitting him at once sent him sprawling to the cold stone floor.
As they went down in a tangle of limbs and silk robes, the Potion vial and the porcupine quills collided directly over Draco Malfoy's head.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent. A hiss of purple smoke erupted as the two substances combined. The porcupine quills, a key ingredient for a myriad of potions, reacted with the concentrated cure, creating a hyper-accelerated, mutated effect.
Malfoy let out a blood-curdling scream. Large, pus-filled, pulsating red boils began to erupt all over his face, neck, and hands. They grew with sickening speed, swelling to the size of grapes, then plums, leaking a thick, yellowish fluid that smelled of sulphur.
"MY FACE! MY HEAD! IT BURNS!" Malfoy howled, clutching his head and collapsing to his knees.
His goons, Crabbe and Goyle, stood frozen in horror.
"What is going on here?"
The voice was like a whip-crack. Severus Snape swept into the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him like the wings of a giant bat. He had been informed of the altercation and had arrived just in time to see his godson and a student from his house, turning into a human bubble-wrap.
Snape took in the scene: the screaming Malfoy, the scattered potion ingredients, and the pile of students on the floor.
"Crabbe! Goyle! Get him to the hospital wing immediately!" Snape barked.
The two hulking boys grabbed the sobbing Malfoy and hauled him away. Snape turned his gaze toward the group on the floor. His dark eyes narrowed, lingering on Sebastian, who was currently pinned under three gorgeous women.
Snape's eyes flickered with a deep, piercing suspicion. To everyone else, it looked like a chaotic accident. But Snape was a master of the subtle; he knew how potions reacted, and he knew that students didn't just 'trip' with such perfect timing. Snape's eyes lingered on Sebastian's hands—hands that were currently nowhere near a wand. Sebastian could see it in the older man's eyes.
Snape knew it was no accident, but there was no proof.
The corridor began to clear as students whispered and scurried away, afraid of Snape's lingering wrath.
Sebastian lay on his back, the cold stone biting into his spine, but he barely felt it. His entire world was currently occupied by the weight and scent of the women on top of him.
Fleur was draped across his chest, her hands clutching his shoulders, her silver hair a curtain around them. Her scent, a mix of lavenders and something primal, filled his lungs.
"Sebastian! Are you alright? Are you 'urt?" Fleur was hovering over him, her hands fluttering over his chest, her eyes wide with panic. The Veela allure was radiating off her in waves of protective concern. "Zat idiot… 'e could 'ave 'urt you!"
"I'm fine, Fleur," Sebastian grunted, though he wasn't exactly in a hurry to move.
The reason for his lack of haste was currently sitting directly on his lap. He looked up, his breath hitching in his throat. The two Slytherin girls who had helped Fleur tackle him were still there, and the physical proximity was starting to have a very predictable effect on his body.
The first girl, who was currently leaning over his left side was svelte, but even under the heavy, dark robes of Hogwarts, her figure was impossible to miss. She had blonde hair, though a darker, more golden shade than Fleur's, and an aristocratic face that looked like it had been carved from marble. High cheekbones, green eyes that held a sharp, predatory intelligence, and lips that were naturally plump and currently parted in a gasp of shock.
Daphne Greengrass. The 'Ice Queen' of Slytherin. Sebastian remembered the name from his study about on the political landscape of Britain. Grindelwald made sure he always knew what was happening across the channel.
She was the daughter of an Ancient and Noble house, a girl who usually looked down on everyone with cold disdain. Now, she was flushed, her robes hiked up slightly to reveal a glimpse of a black silk stocking.
And then there was the third girl.
She was sitting directly on top of his lap, her weight distributed in a way that made Sebastian's blood instantly change course, rushing down to his loins with a vengeance. She had long, dark hair that fell down to her waist in midnight waves, and grey eyes that looked like twin pearls.
Her figure was... breathtaking. She was voluptuous in a way that seemed almost illegal, her ass—bountiful and firm—firmly anchored against his groin. As she breathed, her heavy breasts, strained against the fabric of her uniform, bounced slightly.
The girl's eyes widened, a deep, crimson blush spreading across her cheeks as she realized exactly what she was sitting on.
Sebastian's breath hitched. He knew that face. He had spent six years growing up with her.
Vera Black. The daughter of Sirius Black and Marlene McKinnon.
The girl he had played with as a child before the world had fallen apart. The girl who had shared his secret hiding spots in Grimmauld Place before the Potters had decided he was a liability and cast him out. Seeing her now, fully grown, a woman of such staggering beauty, sent a shockwave through his system.
"Oh, gods," Vera breathed, her face turning a deep crimson as she felt the hard, thick ridge of Sebastian's erection press directly into the cleft of her ass. She didn't move immediately; her eyes locked onto his, a spark of recognition and something much more primal flickering in her grey depths.
Sebastian hardened further, the physical reaction impossible to hide. He was a man in his prime, a soldier who had been deprived of touch for far too long, and having three of the most beautiful women in the castle sprawled over him was more than his self-control could handle.
"Sebastian?" Fleur asked, her voice dropping as she, too, felt the change in his body. She looked down, then back at the two Slytherin girls, her blue eyes narrowing with a flash of Veela possessiveness.
Vera scrambled off him, her movements hurried and awkward as she tried to regain her dignity. Daphne followed suit, standing up and smoothing her robes with shaking hands, though her green eyes never left Sebastian's face.
Sebastian stood up slowly, his magic humming under his skin. He felt like a coiled spring. He stood, towering over the three of them, the front of his trousers showing a very prominent, very demanding bulge. He didn't bother trying to hide it; he let them see the effect they had on him.
The blonde girl stood up more gracefully, offering a hand to Sebastian, a gesture he reciprocated. "A bit of a dramatic way to be introduced, don't you think?" her voice was a smooth, cultivated purr. She looked down at him as she bit her lip, her gaze dropping to his crotch before snapping back up to his eyes. "I'm Daphne Greengrass. And this flustered creature is Vera Black."
"I... I'm so sorry," Vera stammered, her grey eyes darting everywhere but his face. "We just... we saw him drawing his wand, and we didn't think..."
Sebastian looked at Vera, his gaze softening for a micro-second before the wall of his persona slammed back into place. "And I thank you both for your... intervention."
Fleur immediately moved to his side, hooking her arm through his with a possessive jerk, her blue eyes narrowing as she looked at the two Slytherins. She looked at the two Slytherins like a lioness guarding her kill.
"Zank you for your assistance," Fleur said, her tone polite but icy. "But Sebastien is quite capable of taking care of 'imself."
"Clearly," Daphne smiled, her eyes flicking to the spot where Malfoy's boils had first erupted. "That was quite a... lucky coincidence with the ingredients shelf. I've never seen potions react quite so... precisely."
Sebastian dusted off his robes, his pulse finally beginning to settle, though the heat in his loins remained. "Luck favours the prepared, Miss Greengrass."
He turned to Vera, who was still looking at the floor, her face still flushed. Up close, the resemblance to Sirius was haunting, but she had her mother's softness, her mother's lips. She was a woman now—a gorgeous, voluptuous woman who had just been grinding her rump against him.
"Miss Black," he said, his voice softening.
She looked up then, her grey eyes searching his. For a second, he saw a flash of recognition, a phantom of the boy she used to know, but he quickly occluded, pulling his masks back into place.
"You should be careful," Vera said, her voice steadier now, but her lips still trembled in a way that made Harry's blood race. "Malfoy... he's petty. He'll go to his father, and Lucius doesn't care about diplomatic protocols if he thinks his family has been shamed."
"Let him come," Sebastian said, his voice taking on a hard, resonant edge. "I've dealt with far worse than a lord who overestimates his importance and his spoiled brat."
He looked between the three of them—Fleur, the enchanting Veela; Daphne, the cool, aristocratic siren; and Vera, the dark-haired, voluptuous beauty. The air between them was thick, charged with more than just the aftermath of a fight. It was sexual tension, raw and unfiltered, fuelled by adrenaline and the sheer proximity of four young, powerful adults in their prime.
"We should go," Fleur whispered, tugging at his arm. "Ze next class will be starting soon."
"Right," Sebastian nodded, though he didn't move. He looked at Vera one last time. "It was... a pleasure to meet you both. Properly."
As he and Fleur walked away, he could feel their eyes on his back. He knew Daphne was likely dissecting his every move, and Vera... Vera was probably wondering why her heart was racing so hard.
Fuck, he needed to pay Apolline a visit. Or it was only a matter of time before he gave in to his urges with another student. Maybe even the woman he was tasked with guarding.
~ Daphne Greengrass ~
Later that night, the Slytherin women's dormitory was quiet, save for the crackle of the green-flamed fireplace.
Daphne Greengrass sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her blonde hair, while Vera Black stood by the window, staring out at the dark expanse of the Black Lake. "You're still thinking about him," Daphne teased, her voice light and mischievous.
Vera jumped, spinning around. "I am not!"
"Oh, please. You've been staring at that lake for twenty minutes, and you haven't even changed out of your robes." Daphne smirked, setting her brush down. "Your face was like a sunset when you got off him. Tell me, Vera... what did you feel?"
Vera turned away, her face heating up again. "Nothing. It was just the adrenaline."
"Liar." Daphne stood up and walked over, dropping her voice an octave, her eyes glittering with a sudden, sharp hunger. "I saw the way you jumped. I felt the air around him. He's not some 'Beauxbatons lackey.' He's a man. A very... well-endowed man, from the looks of it."
Vera bit her lip, the memory of that rigid heat pressing against her pussy making her core ache with a sudden, pulsing throb. "He was... he was huge, Daphne. I could feel him right through the fabric. Like a hot iron bar."
Daphne's breath hitched. "Really? How big?"
Vera closed her eyes, her hand instinctively moving to her own hip. "Thick. So thick my thighs couldn't even close around it. And long... I felt the tip of it pressing right against my entrance. If we hadn't been in the middle of the hall, I think I would have just sat down on it right then and there."
A small, helpless moan escaped Vera's throat. Daphne's eyes widened, her own hand drifting toward the hem of her silk nightgown.
"You're a slut, Vera," Daphne whispered, though there was no malice in it, only a shared, desperate heat. "A beautiful, desperate little slut for a man we don't even know."
"I want him," Vera confessed, her voice trembling. "I want him to take those robes off and show me exactly what he was hiding."
The two women stared at each other, the tension in the room thick enough to taste. They were best friends, shared everything since their freshman year, but this was different. This was a primal, visceral hunger.
"To bed," Daphne said abruptly, her voice shaky. "Before we do something we'll regret."
They hurried to their respective beds, drawing the heavy green curtains. But sleep did not come easily.
In her dreams, Vera was no longer on the stone floor of Hogwarts. She was in a dark, warm room, stripped bare. Sebastian was there, his green eyes glowing with a feral, dominant light. He didn't speak. He simply grabbed her by the waist, his large, scarred hands bruising her skin, and bent her over the table.
She felt the cold air on her ass, and then, the sudden, devastating heat of him. He entered her in one smooth, violent thrust, his thick cock tearing through her resistance, filling her until she felt like she would burst.
"Yes," she whimpered in her sleep, her hips bucking against the mattress. "Please, Sebastian... fuck me… fill me up..."
Across the room, Daphne was lost in a similar vision. She saw herself on her knees, her blonde hair gripped in Sebastian's hand as he pulled her head back.
He was a god, a titan of muscle and magic, and he was forcing his massive, throbbing dick into her mouth, making her gag and choke as he claimed her.
In the silence of the Slytherin dorm, the only sounds were the soft, rhythmic gasps of two women, lost in a fantasy of a man who was far more dangerous than they could ever imagine.
Sebastian, lying in his own bed in the Beauxbatons carriage, stared at the ceiling. He could feel the threads of destiny tightening. The Potters, the Blacks, the Greengrasses... they were all circling. And he was the centre of the storm. He thought of Vera's ass on his cock. He thought of Daphne's hungry eyes. He thought of Fleur's possessive touch.
"Soon," he whispered to the shadows. "Soon, I'll need to let myself go or else I will lose control."
Author's Notes
Introducing the two lovely ladies that will join the harem. Let me know down below who do you guys want in the harem.
Till now I have decided on: Fleur, Apolline, Vera, Daphne. Originally the harem was supposed to be just 5-6 girls but if you guys vote for more, we will go for more. Comment now!
See you guys soon.