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Chapter Text

Harry blinks drowsily awake to the feeling of a hand stroking down her flank, whining and curling on herself with a shiver as the cover is dragged back, a voice murmuring soothingly, lips and teeth catching and dragging on her ear with a breathy warmth that makes her fingers twitch – as it to rise and flick them away if not for the hand that catches and presses it down.

Everything is to thick, heavy, the world registering through a field of cotton as the bed creaks, her hips pressing down flat against the mattress as a heavy weight settles across her, fingers trailing down her back, dipping beneath the hem of her t-shirt and stroking with a flat palm up, dragging the fabric along to just beneath her breasts.

She twitches as a wet warm tongue strokes from the tail of her back all the way up, trying to twist away from the strange feeling with a grunt of protest as she’s pushed deeper into the bed, the movement repeated with a familiar giggle as she arches with a shiver as the cold air catches at the cooling line of saliva.

She knows that laugh. She knows-

She shivers as long sharp nails drags up her sides, dipping beneath her to grab both her breasts in a warm firm grip to a jerk and muffled sound of protest as they shift over her, leaning down, rough fabric dragging against her back as teeth nip at her neck while hands strokes roughly over her breasts, working them in a grip that edges on painful.

She hisses as sharp nails drags over her pebbling nipples, arching up to escape the feeling only for teeth to snap down sharply on her neck in warning, hands disappearing from beneath her as she tries to blink cotton from her sight, her hearing, everything distant and distorted, even the pain. She strains, recognising the sound of fabric being rucked up, twitching as a strange sticky wetness soon pressing down against her back with a heaviness that makes her fingers flex and press against the covers with a noise of confusion.

The world feels thick and disorted, distant, her body not quite her own as the voice hushes her, soft kisses trailing down the arch of her jaw as she whines in protest as the weight grows, pushing down and over her shoulder blades, following their arch with a lazy sort of warmth.

She stares blankly at the blurry wall, fingers flexing and unflexing as she tries to make sense of the feeling – to put reason to the situation, an explanation because-

“Bellatrix?”

The Dark Witch hums her approval, grounding down hard against her, dress rucked up to her hips, legs on either side of her, spread filthily as she rocks Harry down into the mattress with her weight generously splayed upon the younger and much smaller witch.

Harry presses down with legs and fingers, trying to dislodge her only for her to laugh and presses down harder.

“Took you long enough, little Birdie,” Bellatrix whispers into her ear and Harry whines out in protests as she slides forward, her knees settling on either side of the back of her head, manicured hands digging into her hair, arching her neck, her wet pussy gliding into the slope, grinding up against the messy dark hair, leaving it wet with sticky want as she moans.

Harry digs her feet into the mattress but she’s weak, disorientated, her hands coming up to grasp at the strong thighs as Bellatrix fucks herself against the back of her head with increasing roughness, tugging hard on her head, pushing down with a wet drag as she groans, whispering filthy praise that makes her own walls contract in surprise, nails digging into Bellatrix’s skin as her muscles bunches.

A knock on the door makes her freeze, eyes growing wide, because Bellatrix wasn’t stopping and her voice was rising, calling out–

 She cries out just as the door opens, her hips raised, t-shirt pooled down over her breasts, toes curling into the sheets as Bellatrix yanks roughly at her hair, forcing her head down on the side, wet pussy lips dragging over her ears, eyes pooling from humiliation, at someone witnessing her-

“So this is where you are.”

The low familiar murmur of the Dark Lord’s voice makes her squeeze her eyes tight, tears pooling over and slipping out with a sob that bubbles up over her lips to a soft coo and hips that tighten around her.

There’s no embarrassment in the Dark Witch’s actions, her head craned, teeth bared in a grin, eyes lidded with lust as she looks at the Master – the door closing gently behind him as he tilts his head, considering the situation.

“One of the new recruits?” he asks with mild curiosity and Harry wants to die – the feeling completely overwhelming her as his steps slowly comes to a halt beside her, half-hidden beneath the skirts of his Right Hand.

“Even better,” Bellatrix says breathlessly, her walls clenching down a gush of slickness that slides down the neck of the young witch beneath her as she slowly drags the fabric up to reveal the face of Harry Lily Potter, pupils blown wide from drugs, the disorientation and weakness written in terror on her face as their gazes meet.

Seventeen years since he'd faced death at her hands - just a baby, protected by her mother's love and sacrifice.

His eyes goes dark with hunger at the sight of her, squashed up, hair sticking up roughly from the slick of his favourite follower, hips still angled up in feeble protest to push back with knees and feet.

“What did you give her?” he whispers reverently as he reaches down, brushing long fingers against the lightning bolt shaped scar as she tries to jerk back, whining out in protest as Bellatrix tightens her grip, nails digging into her scalp.

“A new creation of Severus’.” She drags her fingers through the short messy hair of the young witch, watching her eyes helplessly lid as she tilts into the feeling with a little shudder. “Do you like your present, my Lord?” Bellatrix asks, tilting her head, smile knowing as she rocks absently down, keeping up the gently scratching to a confused noise that makes her mouth stretch.

“You always bring me such pretty gifts,” the Dark Lord murmurs and she breathes in, a shiver of pleasure running through her at the approval of her running dark and thick through his voice.

Bellatrix pushes up and away from the girl, nudging her along onto her back, and she blinks in drugged confusion up at the Dark Lord as he leans forward, angling her head with a palm against her cheek, a thumb stroking against an escaping tear before he pushes his lips against hers.

She tries to jerk away but Bellatrix drapes herself over her, trapping one bare leg between her thighs, palms against her belly and grounding her pussy over the bend of her knee and up her thigh as the Dark Lord’s tongue pushes into her mouth, dragging against her tongue, coaxing her into a weak response before slowly drawing back, peering down at her with keen interest.

“Where did you find her?” he asks, as he studies the blown pupils that nearly swallow up the livid green of her avada kedavra coloured eyes as more tears trail down her cheeks, hazy confusion eating her up as the potion’s effect swallows her panic.

Bellatrix’s head tilts to the side. “I told Cissi I would only borrow her,” she admits, brow scrunching as she thinks of her sister, scowling as she grounds down against the teen. “I traded her for little Draky-poo, just for a couple of hours.”

The Dark Lord hums, leaning back from the Girl-Who-Lived, the slip of a thing meant to bring his end, shrugging his cloak off and undoing the first two buttons on the shirt beneath it. “I suppose we have to make her brief stay here a pleasant one then.”

Bellatrix draws back and Harry finds herself pulled up on her knees, t-shirt disappearing up and over her as she shivers, tipped back against the chest of the Dark Witch who murmurs softly into her ear, urging her to spread her knees with soft promises and cooing as she presses herself up against the younger’s back, arms slipping around her waist, nails brushing over the patch of hair between her legs to a confused jerk and muffled noise of protest when she’s prevented from closing her thighs.

Bellatrix dips her fingers down further, slipping two inside to a shocked bow of her back, hands curling into the sheets, back arching to get her hips out and away from the invading fingers.

But Bellatrix follows her, heavy and stronger as she curls her fingers deeper, forcing dry walls to spread around her as the girl’s rump presses up against her crotch in a desperate attempt to escape her.

“Bellatr-“ A gasp, a stuttered breath and hips jerking down.

The Dark Witch smirks, holding the girl still as she drags her fingers against that spot inside of her, hips twitching helplessly as she clenches down around the two fingers while the Dark Lord settles himself on the bed, eyes on the spread of the girl’s thighs as Bellatrix works into her to a choked noise of shock, one hand coming to grasp the woman’s, pushing uselessly as she groans helplessly to a rush of slick that makes Bellatrix murmur a filthy praise into her ear.

Harry comes hard, clenching down on the invading fingers to a stuttered noise as she pushes down, taking the woman deeper inside of her, walls contracting to keep her inside as she shivers.

Her feet slips from beneath her, spreading out in a lazy v as she’s manoeuvred back, head lolling against Bellatrix's collar bone as she shudders, her mouth opening as chapped lips presses against her, allowing her tongue to be coaxed into a clumsy response as a hand settles possessively against the flat of her belly, holding her tight.

A strange desperate part of Harry responds perfectly even as confusion and wrongness struggles against her senses, a distant sort of horror lingering at the edges of her consciousness as a wet mouth envelopes her breast because Bellatrix was still kissing her and-

Harry whines out into her mouth as the Dark Lord drags his teeth roughly over her nipple to a groan of appreciation as her hips rises at the strange sort of pleasure-pain, twisting to escape it but unable to get anywhere between the two, helpless and completely trapped as the mouth pulls away and hands drags heavy over the flesh, down her sides and then her thighs as she squirms, toes curling.

Bellatrix finally lets her draw back only for Harry to find herself hauled up, the body behind her shifting to sprawl out against the pillows, her underwear pulled down one leg and then the other, before she’s slid down to straddle the older woman over her hips, her palms pressing down against the other’s belly to keep from tilting right over when she’s released.

She looks down at Bellatrix in her dark black dress and wild curls, aware of dark the dark eyes that roved over her own nude body, knowing that she should be trying to get away but strangely fascinated – drawn to the straining breasts in the corset, hand sliding up to touch before twitching to a stop, mind screaming as a hand finds her wrist, dragging her up the rest of the way and pressing her palm down flat over with a squeeze.

Harry has always been small and scrawny from years of living of living on the brink of starvation, gaining only to lose it all at the end of the year again when she was forced back into her relatives tender care, but Bellatrix breasts are large and heavy – the flesh pushing up beneath her touch.

“What’s this, little one?” Harry jerks as fingers trail over a particularly thick scar on her back, a flash of panic as she tries to twist away only to find hands clasping down on her upper arms, keeping her still and unable to move as the Dark Lord studies the heavy cross-cross scars, the splatter of pink skin from hot oil, twisting her skin ugly and unnaturally.

“Her relatives,” Bellatrix informs him, hushing the girl absently as she drags her down, fingers tugging appreciatively against the sticky hair on her neck as she angles her head to breathe in her own musky scent.

Harry’s eyes blow wide and her muscles bunches tight as the Dark Lord presses his lips against the skin of her back, crotch grinding up against rump as he embraces her, warm and heavy and the world tilting strangely around her as she realises he’s painfully hard and straining against her as his looping arms draws her back against him, a thoughtful hum near her ear as her hips twitches back.

Bellatrix tugs at the hem of her corset, dragging the fabric down to reveal straining nipples, a hand curling into the Girl-Who-Lived’s hair to tilt her mouth down, pressing lips that slowly, hesitantly, opens to reveal a curious tongue that drags over the flesh.

Harry feels her hips being angled, distantly, her focus on the Dark Witch’s breasts as she sucks a nipple into her mouth to a cooed praise as she’s urged to suck, her free hand clenching down on the other, palming it absently as a strange soothing sensation from the sucking makes her press closer even as something nudges up against her spread legs.

By the time she processes the different sensations a hand is digging hard into her hair, clenched tight, keeping her from moving as the head of the Dark Lord’s cock presses into her with a choked gasp and panicked keen as she’s spread impossibly wide to a pop as the head slips into her, several inches following.

The cock drags back, and then pushes into her again, working her open, pressing deeper and deeper as she clenches her fingers into Bellatrix’s flesh, biting down to a groan of appreciation as she goes white with shock, muscles bunching as her cheeks are spread, gripped, used to drag her hips back to meet him as he forces her to take the last few inches to a panicked jerk as he bottoms out into her.

She strains, tense and locked in place as the feeling of the Dark Lord flush against her, slowly rubbing into her, a hand resting on her hip, keeping her in place as her walls flutters uselessly around his thick member.

He’s inside of me, her mind recognises through the thickness of the drug. Voldemort is inside of me-

He drags himself slowly out of her and then pushes experimentally into her depth, walls spreading forcefully around the head until he bumps up against her cervix, grinding hard against the entrance to her womb.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, repeating the motion as she quivers, mouth working restlessly around the nipple in her mouth as the clawed grip shifts to a soothing petting motion, soon fully distracting her to return to her task even as the Dark Lord’s hips slaps against her with growing force and strength as he hilts him up inside of her over and over again.

She twitches, head angling to the motion of nails scratching against her scalp, hips raising as she shifts to chase it and gasping as the next push of his cock makes her wall clamp down hard, dragging him deeper, struggling to keep him inside of her even as he drags himself out of her to a restless whine as she chases the feeling with a hitch of her hips.

“She’s positively touch-starved,” Bellatrix murmurs with fascination as the girl struggles to stay pressed up against her while angling her hips up to take the Dark Lord deeper. “Aren’t you, little Birdie?” she croons, stroking down a bare side, tickling against ribs to a twitch, blown pupils meeting hers with need.

Bellatrix watches with amusement as it turns to a confused hitch of her breath as the Dark Lord pushes himself flat against her rump and stills, jerking her tight against him as he comes deep inside of her with a groan and soft praise as he twitches, sticky semen pooling thick inside unprotected walls.

“Do you think she’s taking the potion?” she asks curiously as she brushes her fingers down to spread her open as the Dark Lord slowly pulls him out of the girl.

“At her muggle relatives?” He brushes long pale fingers down over the pucker between her cheeks, catching a glob of semen on it as it leaks out from fluttering walls and pushing it back inside of her. “Doubtful.”

Harry strains up, tries to angle around as her mind tilts and struggles, making her body heavy and her mind like thick sludge as she tries to place an appropriate feeling to the sensation of warm stickiness inside of her but is kept still by strong arms.

She finds herself being hoisted up, shifted around until she’s being spread open once more, hands pushing down on her shoulders until she’s flush crotch-to-crotch with the Dark Lord – eyes wide and keening at the sensation as she trembles on top of him.

She stares down at him, at the hunger and deep appreciation in his gaze as her walls clenches and unclenches around him.

Hands behind her guides her up and then pushes her back down, forcing her to move even as she cries out – the new angle strange, painful, overwhelming without a distraction as Bellatrix pushes her down, forcing herself to fuck herself open on the broad and long cock that should have been far too much for her body take and yet-

Harry can do nothing but hold on as she’s hitched up nearly all the way off the head, straining on her knees before being forced flush down.

“Look at you,” Bellatrix murmurs into her ear with appreciation as she watches her Lord’s cock disappear into the tiny slip of a girl. “Makes me want to keep you.” She sneaks a hand around the girl’s hip, grinding down hard with her palm to a choke and a strained stutter of her hips.

“She’s quite something,” the Dark Lord murmurs as he snaps his hips up as Bellatrix pushes down and Harry chokes, back bending as she arches.

“Noooo- no no no,” Harry twists, trying to get out as they repeat it to a wide-eyed gasp as she comes hard, brutally fucked through with hips that snap up as she’s pushed down, neither letting up even as she claws lines down Bellatrix’s arms.

He comes inside of her and Harry stutters to a stop, staring blankly down where they’re connected as her chest expands and deflates roughly, feeling the heat of the come, the head of his cock hilted up against her womb as Bellatrix brushes an appreciative hand over her flat belly, stroking it gently as Harry is eased slowly onto her back, hips hitched up, her head pillowed on Bellatrix’s lap, head twisting to press against her thigh with a shiver as covers are pulled up over her.

“How long before the potion runs through her?”

Harry doesn’t hear the answer, exhausted and already falling back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Harry wakes to the soft scratch of nails against her scalp and a low murmur of voices, shifting to bury closer, straining into the touch with a hand that curls into a rough fabric to keep the person close as she breathes out a sigh of content.

Another pair of hands brushes over her leg, thumb rubbing idly, and she stretches it out, the hand shifting up with the movement, over her knee, a heavy weight on her bare thigh, continuing up as her legs shift, opening up as fingers curled into her with a hitch of her breath and a sleepy murmur of appreciation as she cants her hips into it.

Hands finds her breasts, tugging at a nipple and she pries her eyes open – groggy and so, so very comfortable until green meets red and her hips curls up with a shocked stutter as the Dark Lord presses deeper into her, harder, eyes never leaving hers as he spreads her open on his fingers with a cry of pleasure and confusion as her back arches and she twists – finds herself pressed down against the lap she’d woken up against, unable to do anything but watch as she clenches the fingers of the Dark Lord, unable to deny her reaction to the heady pleasure.

He presses a third finger up against her, forcing her wider as she bites down hard on the inside of her cheek, squirming at the strange feeling, at being opened up, fucked by the man who’d murdered her parents, cradled in the lap of the woman who’d taken Sirius from her and-

It’s obscene, her legs spreading to take him deeper, toes curling into the sheets as she pushes helplessly up against him.

Tears of shame pushes down her cheeks as she comes with a keen, pulsing around him, pulling him deeper before he slowly slips his fingers out of her.

She watches as he lifts them up, spreading them, her stickiness clinging between the three fingers as she slowly sinks back to the mattress.

“What am I doing here?” she asks, averting her eyes with a shiver as he presses his tongue flat against his fingers, dragging it up as Bellatrix idly palms one of her breasts, Harry's cheeks heating up from the strange feeling and the focus of their eyes upon her. “Why-“ Her breath hitches as Bellatrix strokes a thumb around her nipple. “Why are you-“

“You’re here because someone decided to betray you,” the Dark Lord says, his hand settling warm and heavy on her thigh with a twitch of her knee as she tenses up. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, amusement in his gaze. “We’ll return you. If you want.” His head tilts, mouth quirking up. “Bella did promise.”

Harry swallows, angling her head up to look at the Dark Witch who is watching her with dark eyes and lazy interest. “I did,” she agrees lightly.

The entire situation is off.

She’s nude, slick from her own orgasm, resting between the two of them after waking up spread on the fingers of her parent’s murderer.

She shouldn’t be trusting anything, she should be doing everything to escape, but there’s a twisted sort of want building up inside of her alongside her own curiosity – the knowledge that either of them could kill her at any second and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it twisting strangely inside of her.

The ooze of their magic, clinging thick and heady and cloying up her senses with every inhalation, makes her lower belly clench, the almost absent sort of way Bellatrix works her breast only adding to it as she shifts, trying to distract herself from it as she pushes up, intent on leveraging herself on a more equal level, only to find herself dragged up and against the Dark Witch.

She swallows down a soft noise at the feeling of warmth – the touch of skin against her own, the arm around her ribs relaxing her into a half-hug.

Harry finds herself conflicted, struggling not to push closer as a palm rubs up and down her belly in a way that is bizarrely soothing.

She shifts nervously, nipples growing stiff, the ache in her lower belly settling with an heady sort of intensity as the palm keeps stroking over her, warm and heavy, never relenting, never pushing, simply there and non-conflicting as her eyes lid and toes curl to a stutter of her breath and an arch of her back before she remembers herself – curving closer to the Dark Witch who lowers her head, mouth dragging down over her throat, hot and wet as she licks up, pressing her tongue into the shell of her ear to a twitchy half-whine.

“Tell me you want it,” Bellatrix urges as Harry squirms, breathless and overwhelmed – fear ever present, trapped between her greatest adversaries, shuddering as the palm brushes down her lower ribs and unable to understand her own reaction to the simple touch.

Embarrassment floods her when she pries her eyes open and finds the Dark Lord watching her in amusement and hunger, a hand lazily curving up over the head of his cock, but she can’t help herself as she strains her toes into the sheets with a noise of want at the hand strokes lower but not low enough and her walls flutter down on nothing.

“Tell me,” Bellatrix coaxes. “We’ll make it a memorable experience. And then you can go home. All you have to do is say yes.”

Harry has never been touched before and aside from a disastrous kiss in her fifth year with Cho Chang there had been nothing.

She’s terrified but the want is there – undeniable and overwhelming as her hips rise to chase the feeling, so painfully aroused that she doubts her legs would support her were she to stand up.

She shouldn’t want it.

Her eyes shouldn’t dip down to the broad head of the thick cock, trying to imagine her much smaller body taking it inside of her and-

The noise that leaves her is positively filthy as she clenches down with a whine, sweat beading at her brow as she comes up to grasp at Bellatrix’s wrist, hips stuttering up, trying to bring her lower as her body strains with want.

“Ye-s,” Harry gets out. “Please-“

The hand, to her shock, disappears with one last brush over her ribs and Harry finds herself manoeuvred up, her legs falling on either side of the Dark Lord’s hips, spreading her obscenely wide as she presses up bare and nude against his chest – her breasts flattening against his skin, nipples hard and straining as he tilts her head up and slants his mouth over hers.

He coaxes her to respond and she does to clumsily, finding the rhythm with patience as she angles up towards him, pressing closer, one arm grasping at his shoulder for leverage as she moulds herself against him with a shiver when he pulls back.

Her cheeks darken under the intensity, a strange shyness creeping a flush down her chest at the intimacy, chest heaving for air and opening willingly when he repeats it, a hand grasping her hip and pressing her up closer with a terrifying sort of ease.

Something brushes up against her folds, her hips twitching with surprise before she slowly, with a tremble, pushes down towards it – trapping the Dark Lord’s cock between his belly and her folds as the head glides over the tight entrance, embarrassingly wet at the new sensations, shuddering as she imagines it inside of her, spreading her open-

She grips his shoulder with one hand, dragging her mouth from his, her forehead bowing low to press against his chest as she reaches down, wrapping her hand around him with a jerk of her hips when she realises he’s too broad for her fingers to touch around, trembling as she strokes him down to his root, whimpering at how high up her arm he settled in length.

He hoists her up, twisting her around, but he doesn’t push into her, allowing her to settle spread wide, her pussy pressing down his cock in a straddling sort of way, the head of his cock visible between the spread of her legs which means that when he draws his hips back she can see his cock disappearing before he pushes forward, her hips jerking as the head presses up, curving against her clit, a heavy arm keeping her locked up against him as he repeats the motion with a achy sort of slow intensity that makes her clench down with embarrassing wetness.

This – wasn’t anything Harry had imagined sex to be. She had only heard the girls in the dorm whispering about it - how they would lay down beneath clumsy hands and boys that barely lasted, eager and not-good to exasperated eye rolls and sighs.

Bellatrix leans forward and Harry whines as her tongue drags flat and rough over her clit before continuing up, leaving a wet trail all the way to the beginning of her ribs as she shudders and strains, Voldemort’s cock snagging at her entrance as she tips her hips and her eyes closes as she strains to open up around him, the press almost teasing as she freezes still in place, nudging up, urging her to spread, to relax and let him into her as her walls clenches down.

You wanted this, she reminds herself as she spreads around him, torn between want and fright as the head slowly pushes into her – too wide, too big between her legs, the picture obscene as the head disappears into her with a jerk of surprise.

She can barely clench around him – that’s how big he is, her muscles straining strangely around his cock as she’s worked down around him until she’s grimacing.

“Almost there,” he whispers into her ear, startling her to a little jerk, taking him inch by inch deeper.

“You’re too big,” she protests with a whine, squirming in his arms, breathless and overwhelmed and far too new to the sensation of being filled.

“You’ve already taken me once,” he tells her, almost reverently, and her eyes snap open – question disappearing with a sharp cry as he pushes her roughly forward, bending her down, hitching her hips up and snapping the last inches into her with a terrifying force as her back arches.

The feeling of his cock slamming up against her cervix invokes a terrifying memory of a drugged haze and she claws down into the bed, crying out in protest as she’s hauled back, small and helpless and unable to do anything as he hilts into her depths, balls slapping hard against her, the sound of his hips pushing against her filthy and overwhelming as tears pricks her eyes, unable to do anything but hold-on.

Bellatrix cooes, stroking gentle hands over her cheeks and Voldemort pauses behind her, hauling her up without pulling out, her legs spreading as she’s settled over the woman’s hips, her head tugged down to push against dark straining nipples.

“It’ll make you feel better,” Bellatrix promises as she pushes against resisting lips, Harry's face twisting up and gasping at a particularly hard thrust and she reluctantly opens her mouth – sucking the nipple into her mouth and-

She whines, pressing closer, angling her head for a more comfortable angle as her mind locks and fixates, nearly forgetting about the Dark Lord until he chuckles and hilts himself deep into her, grinding hard as she suckles, nursing as her shoulders slowly relaxes and she spreads her legs wider, taking him deeper as he fucks her with a heady sort of need she doesn’t understand as Bellatrix cards her hands through her hair.

He pulls out of her and she finds herself tugged away from the nipple, head pressed down, her lips spreading around something else entirely as the Dark Lord forces the head of his cock into her mouth, jerking in surprise as warm sticky semen splatters upon her tongue – the taste strange, salty, his eyes keen on her as he drags himself out with one last jerk.

“Open up,” he murmurs and she does – showing off the globs of his sticky come to an admiring eye.

Unsure what to do with it she closes her mouth and swallows, throat working strangely around it as he groans and drags her up to a filthy kiss.

“My turn,” Bellatrix says gleefully and Harry doesn’t protest as she’s guided between her spread legs, mouth pushed insistently against the woman’s pussy until she opens her mouth and drags her tongue flat between her folds, up and over her clit, cheeks warming at the loud appreciation as she’s urged to stroke inside, wiggling to press into her as Bellatrix curls a hand into her head and yanks her closer, hips canting up, one heel settling against her back to push her face down hard.

A large hand finds her, pressing down on her fingers, leaving two that Voldemort guides up and push into Bellatrix who swallows her inside with a loud moan of appreciation.

The feeling is strange, alien, wet walls clenching down around her as she curls her fingers in an echo of Voldemort when she’d waken up, spreading them out, fucking into her as she sucks on her clit with lidded intensity, her own walls straining against nothing as she rubs her thighs together to soothe the ache.

The taste of Bellatrix is different but no less intense as she slips her tongue up alongside her fingers for a taste, dipping down to drag her tongue over the woman’s folds before circling up and around, absolutely fascinated as Bellatrix sucks her fingers deeper, clenching hard around her.

She isn’t prepared for the thighs that locks around her head, pressing her down, two hands pushing down against the back of her head to keep her in place as the woman jerks up once, twice, shuddering as she arches into her orgasm.

She’s slowly released and Harry wipes the back of her hand against her mouth, tongue darting out to lick off the sticky liquid.

“Think you can handle one more?” Bellatrix asks with a curl of liquid satisfaction in her gaze as Harry shifts, well aware of her aching arousal as she glances back towards Voldemort who raises an eyebrow. “Think you can take both of us at the same time?” the Dark Witch coos and her brows furrows, unsure of exactly what she means but-

“Yes,” Harry hears herself saying, locked into red as the man’s mouth spreads.

She finds herself hoisted up, her knees dipping down on either side of the Dark Lord’s head as he settles back against the covers, his hand heavy on her hip as he licks inside of, stroking her open to a twitch of her hips, her back arching above him, breasts rocking as she digs her hands into the sheets and pushed helplessly into his mouth.

She stills when he reaches further up, spreading her cheeks open, a flush of humiliation crawling darkly down her chest as fingers presses up against her, the meaning of her agreement settling in with the first digit disappearing into her, spreading her while Voldemort pushes his tongue into her, distracting her from the strange feeling as a second finger joins the first, not hesitating to work her open.

Anxiety curls deep in her gut when the fingers slip out, hands beneath her armpits lifting her up, down, lining her up with the straining erection and pushing down with a motion that brings hazy recollection, tensing up as her mind tries to make sense of it even as she finds herself flush against the Dark Lord, opened wide upon him.

She’s urged down into a strange sort of embrace as Voldemort pulls her tighter against him as a hand spreada her cheeks and something pushes up, straining hard to push the ring open to a choked gasp and nails curving hard and tense into the Dark Lord’s arms as it pops inside, spreading her far too wide as her eyes widen.

“Too much- too – Bellatrix-“ She cries out, struggling to get away as inch after wide inch pushes into her alongside the far too big cock already lodged deep in her.

Bellatrix watches in admiration as the oversized toy spreads the girl’s rosebud obscenely and she doesn’t pause to give her time to adjust as she pushes deeper, her magic allowing her to feel the way it presses up alongside her Lord’s cock through the thin membrane.

Harry can’t stop the ring of muscles from clenching down only for her to twist with a shocked gasp and a whine from the pain as she struggles against the urge as Bellatrix pushes the strange ridged toy deeper into her gut until her eyes are rolling into the back of her head and she’s so full she’s completely beyond pain and pleasure, feminine hips pressing up against her rump with a little bump.

Bellatrix pauses, running an admiring hand down the girl’s flank as she twitches – spread far beyond her capacities, pressed flat between them, unable to move and escape as Bellatrix presses down against her back, reaching beneath her to palm her breasts as she gives an experimental little thrust inside to a choked gasp of pain.

“Please-“ Harry digs her fingers into Voldemort’s sides, struggling to even draw breath. “Please- it’s too much, it’s too much, I can’t-“ Tears slip down her face, dripping onto his chest as she let’s out a choked sob of pain as Bellatrix starts pulling out, daring to hope for just a moment-

The Dark Witch snaps forward, burying deep and hard into her with a hum as Harry cries out.

Something pushes against her lips and she opens her mouth before she can think twice of it, two long pale fingers pressing inside, her mouth clamping down and she sucks down on them, her tongue dragging over the knuckles, worrying the bend with teeth and tongue as her body pushes forward, breasts dragging against the Dark Lord’s chests as Bellatrix pushes into her with increasing force.

She can feel the Dark Lord’s cock pressing up against her cervix with every snap of Bellatrix’s hips, the toy’s ridges edges dragging painfully, her walls fluttering, unsure what to do as she struggle not to squeeze down – to make it worse for herself.

To her mortification she can feel her arousal growing and she’s terrified – shaking her head, trying to speak only to have the fingers press more firmly into her mouth and she tries to focus on that, jerking as Bellatrix smacks a palm against her cheek, the sound loud and startling and-

Harry squeezes down hard with a gasp and Bellatrix does it again, hard and firm as she hilts the toy into her, really grinding it down. “You like that?” The Dark Witch asks and Harry shakes her head desperately, keening as she drags the toy all the way out of her ass with a wet noise from the lube.

Bellatrix rubs a considering hand, one hand twirling through the air, a wooden paddle twisting into existence and settling into the palm of her hand with a curl of elegant fingers.

Harry barely has time to brace herself before it smacks against her rump, her walls clamping down, sucking Voldemort deeper into herself to a tightening of the arm still holding her pressed down against him, the pads of his fingers stroking over her tongue as she cries out – shocked at the force, at the sheer heaviness of it, fingers hooking over her teeth and keeping her from twisting back as Bellatrix draws her arm back and repeats it with a noise that is too loud and violent in the silence.

Voldemort still isn’t moving, content to keep her pushed down, hilted as she flutters and twists, squeezing down in fear and pain and confused pleasure as Bellatrix strikes her hard enough to makes her hips jerk, skin bruising mottled red, keening as it happens again and again, the force never faltering, the pain harsh and overwhelming. 

Her skin feels too warm, humiliation and mortification struggling through her as she's struck, the sting of her bruised flesh making tears fall as the wood strikes hard and forceful against her.

The orgasm catches her completely off-guard between one hit and the next, locking down tight to a shocked gasp as she bows tight and Bellatrix laughs as she drops the paddle, gripping her head, fingers popping out of her mouth as the Dark Witch slants her mouth over hers in their stead.

“You’re quite something,” Bellatrix says, eyes glittering, and Harry flushes – chest heaving, pain forgotten as she’s enveloped in a hug, cheek rubbing up against hers, a heady pleasure stretching her mouth even as she trembles from pain and exhaustion and overwhelming aftershocks from the intense orgasm.

She finds herself pressed closer to Bellatrix as Voldemort shifts, slipping out of her as she’s hoisted up with her bent knees settling on either side of the woman’s hips before he hilts himself back into her.

Harry dares to reach out, dragging the corset down and catching the first nipple into her mouth to a coo as nails drags soothingly against her scalp.

She feels Voldemort tracing scars on her back, twitching in discomfort but not protesting – they had seen more of her today than she had ever allowed anyone and after being spread wide by them both the touch of the pads of his fingers felt only like a mild breach of discomfort from being exposed and bared for what she was.

Albus had never thought twice about sending her back – even when she begged him, shirt dragged over her head, back turned towards him to bare the twisted scars from years of pain and humiliation at the hands of the only safety he could imagine for her.

Even now, at eighteen, she was stuck – returned to cruelty and frustration over her existence, the war dragging on without an end in sight.

Hermione and Ron had promised that they’d get her out – that they wouldn’t let her stay for more than a couple of weeks this time – but it was nearly the beginning of September and she was so very tired.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t run when she wakes up between them – why she allows herself to be taken bare and exposed as Voldemort’s hips slaps against her stinging cheeks, the flesh mottled and bruised from the force of the paddle, the pain only adding to her growing arousal as she presses closer to Bellatrix, relishing in her touch, the brush of a hand down her side, to her belly.

“You should stay here,” Bellatrix murmurs into her ear and Harry tenses into the next thrust. “You don’t have to return – not if you want. You could stay here with us. Away from the war.”

“I- I can’t-“ She shakes her head, struggling weakly as Bellatrix frames her face in her hand and tilts her face up, tongue stroking up her cheek to catch the trail of her tears.

“But you want to,” Bellatrix murmurs gently. “You’re tired – oh so tired. And what do they care? Returning you like used goods, only good for one thing. Oh little Birdie, you deserve far more than that.”

She sobs, shaking her head, hushed gently as Bellatrix presses her lips to one eye and then the next.

“You wouldn’t want for anything,” Voldemort promises against her skin. “You’ll always have a place here, away from everything.”

She has no answers, terrified at the promise as she sobs into Bellatrix’s arms, overwhelmed by her body’s response, the want that twists her belly up – making her press down, taking the Dark Lord deeper and he growls into her ear as he snaps into her, burying flush against her womb with a sharp jerk of her hips down in response, grinding him up into her.

He fucks her hard and slow against the Dark Witch who hums, curling a strand of Harry’s hair over her finger, tugging it as her dark eyes meet the red eyes of her Lord and the girl tumbles into her orgasm with a breathy little stutter and a jerk of her shoulders, toes curled into the sheets.

She collapses down exhausted, eyes already fluttering shut as he keeps fucking her long after she's fallen asleep, pressing deep as he comes inside of her, brushing a kiss against her scarred back as he rocks lazily into her, hand settling possessively over her belly.

Chapter Text

Harry wakes up late afternoon, painfully aware of the bare bed as she draws her feet up beneath the covers with a little shiver, prying her eyes open to stare at the same blue walls that had greeted her since that morning when a letter arrived with her name and cupboard upon it.

You should stay here.

She shivers, forcing herself up, rubbing at her neck and frowning in the direction of the open door as she slowly becomes aware of the eerie silence, the seven locks gaping mockingly back at her, the cat flap closed and no sign of her daily can of thin soup.

She slides her legs off, dragging her t-shirt over her head and leaving it on the bed before she pads over to the chair where she’d left her dress, pulling it on followed almost immediately by a thick knitted grey sweater despite the creeping summer warmth.

She looks to the door again, a strange feeling settling in her gut as she steps towards it gently pushing it open the rest of the way.

She walks quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen, finding it just as empty as the rest of the house.

She presses a piece of bread into the toast and pulling out butter and some cheese while she waits for it to finish – glancing absently out the window as one of the neighbours passes by, talking loudly on his mobile.

It pops up and she finishes it up, carefully slipping everything back in its right place, straightening the cheese container before closing the fridge shut and biting down, turning towards the front hall and pausing.

Her gaze fixates on the dark pool of blood running out from beneath the spring of the door to her cupboard.

-

“Oh, Harry- oh my dear, I knew – oh it’s just dreadful.”

Molly meets her when she slips out of the carriage, her eyes worried, searching hers as she grabs hold onto her hands with a gentle squeeze.

Harry doesn’t know what to tell her – doesn’t know how to explain the sheer relief at opening the cupboard and finding her relatives stuffed in grotesquely, eyes wide with horror even in death, a single note pinned to the forehead of her Aunt.

No matter your choices, this is not something you deserve.

It hadn’t been signed but she’d been inside Voldemort’s head enough to recognise the looping cursive and she’d recognise Bellatrix’s handiwork anywhere.

They had, in a single night, rid her of the nightmarish torment that had followed her from her childhood – had done what she hadn’t dared and Albus never would have condoned.

“I’m okay,” she says, mouth stretching strangely on her face as she looks up towards the castle that had always been more of a home than Privet Drive.

But a strange feeling had settled inside of her since learning that the Order, all her friends, people who were supposed to be on her side, had been spending the summer inside its walls – leaving her to starve at the hands of her relatives, leaving her too thin, skin tight against her fingers.

“Of course you’re not okay,” Molly says, not unkindly as she tugs her along with her. “But you will be, you’ll see! A bit of food and some good company comes a long way.”

Harry follows her quietly, working out autopilot as they step into the great hall, familiar faces and a hush falling upon them at the sight of her.

She sees Narcissa among them, clutching a pale faced Draco, her gaze lowering when Harry looks to her.

She’s still wearing the dress from the morning, the thick sweater doing a vain attempt at hidings the malnourishment, and by now most of them have learnt to look past it – ignoring the sign for what it is.

“Harry-“ Hermione steps forward and Harry looks at her – flushed cheeks, healthy, a searching look in her eyes because she had always seen through her when others could not.

It was a closeness born from years of sleeping in the same dorm, a camaraderie and a shared sense of adventure since that first year when she threw her arms desperately around her before she stepped through the fire to find the Philosopher’s Stone.

“Hello, ‘Mione,” she greets back.

-

“So, how are you really doing?” Hermione asks that night as Harry is changing behind her curtains, twitching as her hands brushes over her rump and the splotchy bruises from the paddle, swallowing as she pulls a new pair over her hips and a pair of sweats to hide it and her favourite t-shirt.

“I already told you.” Harry pulls the curtain aside, slipping out and trots off to the bathroom.

“Harry, you found your relatives murdered in your house – while you slept! There’s no way you’re okay. I mean – I know you weren’t always the closest but you were family.”

“Sirius was my family,” she denies instantly, grabbing for her toothbrush. “I lived in their house but that was the extent of our relationship.”

Hermione watches her silently her a long moment, hands clenched in her lap, a furrow in her brow as Harry spits and rinses, washing her hands and drying them off before slipping back into the dorm and sprawling out her back with a little twitch of her hips as her rump presses down, momentarily forgetting herself and disguising it as a shift and roll to the side, head coming to rest in the palm of her head.

“You want to say something,” she observes.

Hermione breathes in, out. “You are less angry than I thought you’d be. Less sad, too. But there’s something – Harry there’s something very different about you.” Her hands clenches. “I can’t explain it but – did something happen? Before – before you found them.” She bites down on the inside of her cheek, worrying it as she looks up to meet her gaze. “You know you can tell me anything,” she pushes gently.

I was drugged, she wants to say. Narcissa sold me out and I was kidnapped by her mad sister Bellatrix who got herself off on me before Voldemort stepped into the room and things are decidedly blurry after that. And then I woke up again. And this time I allowed them to fuck me – even encouraged it, wanted it, needed it, craved it.

I am-

“No,” she says. “Nothing unusual. Just the same old Dursleys.” 

-

Harry knows something is wrong when her second period doesn’t come around.

She isn’t worried, at first, because it wasn’t unusual for her to miss one or two when the Dursley’s had pushed her body too far and she was thin enough that people were starting to remark on it.

Aunt Petunia always made sure to give her extra after that, just enough to get her from bone weary to something more socially acceptable that wouldn’t encroach on her reputation.

She touches her hand against the barely visible bump on her belly in front of the mirror, trying to remember if Voldemort had – if he’d come inside of her.

But the memories are blurry, hazy, and she doesn’t know what they had done to her when she was still drugged to her ears of it, and he’d still been – he’d still been fucking her when she fell into an exhausted sleep against Bellatrix’s chest.

Was she-

Harry doesn’t know. Doesn’t know if there are spells of potions to check and knowing that asking would bring the wrong sort of attention to herself.

If she was –

If she was pregnant with the Dark Lord’s child there was no way they were going to allow her to keep it. She doubts that any child would be allowed to grow inside of her – not until Voldemort was dead and the business with the prophecy done and dealt with.

Until then her body wasn’t hers, Albus had already proved it over and over again and it had been carved into her back during years of violence.

Your safety doesn’t matter until Voldemort is dead.

He might as well have written it out in his will.

She should be feeling upset and, she is, but also not as she strokes a palm over her belly, just as Bellatrix had done, closing her eyes at the memory, at the feeling of hands stroking her, touching her with possession and want that she had never imagined.

The feeling of belonging, trapped and held between them as they took her… the heady feeling of having done something right as they pushed her to the edge and over it-

You should stay here.

I can’t.

That’s what she’d said.

I can’t.

Not I don’t want to.

Not a simple no.

I can’t.

-

It’s the sympathy that gets to her.

Apologies, as if they hadn’t forced her back there despite her clear reluctance year after year, making her feel guilty about her protests, her very existence. As if she’d made a choice all those years ago and they hadn’t shouldered the end of the war onto a child.

She is eighteen now and not even Molly makes apologies for her anymore – her face grim, guilty and tired from worry that she can’t be allowed to extend to Harry any more than necessary.

They all want to war to end and there’s a strange dissonance between them at the meetings – as if she’s watching a strange play that she’s not a part of, even as people keep arranging her around for participation.

Harry has to kill Voldemort even if it’s at the cost of her life – the horcrux marked as a livid sign for what they’re asking from her.

“You understand, don’t you Harry?” someone pushes gently.

Hermione’s hand clenching painfully tight around hers beneath the table as she stares blankly back at the expectant eyes.

“I understand.”

-

“Oh they can’t – Harry they can’t ask that of you.” Hermione paces back and forth in the empty dorm, the school having been shut down from accepting new students with barely enough teachers around to scramble for a handful of subjects.

They are both alone in the Gryffindor tower, Harry idly sprawled out on the floor, stacking card after card with careful consideration.

Hogwarts had been turned from school to fortress, parents withdrawing and escaping with their children and there barely remained a handful of teachers left to offer classes anyway. Snape had officially switched sides and far too many were dead, McGonagall’s face frozen forever in determination where she'd been etched in stone in the yard where she’d protected her students – forever a reminder.

“It’s not right!” Hermione comes to a halt, fists curled up, a helplessness in her eyes that makes Harry still on the tenth floor of her creation, slowly lowering the cards. “They can’t ask you to die Harry – they just can’t. That’s not what being good is about!” Her magic swirls with agitation and Harry pokes a little shield in place of her cards.

“They want the war to end,” she points out, dropping the card onto her tenth floor. “How isn’t much of a concern. Besides, they’re just following Albus’ plan.”

Hermione turns towards her, suspicion creeping into her gaze. “What do you mean with Professor Dumbledore’s plan?”

“I mean,” Harry says, dropping the last card in place and looking up at her friend, “that this was always the plan. From the moment he realized Tom would climb his way back to power.”

Hermione drops down on the chair beside her, something unfathomable in her gaze. “You’re telling me that he was raising you to die?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees mildly. “From the second he realised what I was.”

Hermione bites down on her lower lip, visibly struggling to swallow her words, and Harry focuses back on her cards – allowing her the time to gather and resolve things at her own pace as she tears the package of a new deck open, sorting them out before starting on the hearts.

-

Hermione slips into her bed that night, crawling beneath the covers after dragging the curtains shut behind her and Harry finds arms sneaking around her, a leg hooking over hers as she’s pulled tight against her friend.

The embrace is strange – Hermione has never been the sort to share more than quick hugs and Harry has spent most of her life shying the touch of others.

Her skin prickles beneath the warmth of the older girl as she tries to twist around to look at her, to ask for an explanation.

But Hermione tightens her hold, forcing her to lie still in the darkness – barely able to make out the dark curtains inches from her nose.

“Promise me something?”

Harry’s instinctive response is to question it, to ask, but Hermione’s voice is thick and her tone layered with a particular sort of pushy determination that Harry’s become well acquainted with during the years.

“Anything,” she hears herself saying, her tone a hush, swallowing as arms draws her even tighter.

“Promise me you’ll find a way to live.” 

“Hermione…”

“Promise me.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Harry says thickly. “You don’t know-“

“I don’t care,” Hermione says, her breath hot against her ear and Harry swallows against the vehemence in her tone, the absolute truth of the matter. “If there is a way for you to live – promise me you’ll take it,” she pushes, tightening her grip almost painfully. "No one has the right to ask for your death. No one."

Harry squeezes her eyes shut.

“I promise,” she whispers.

-

Hermione dies when she’s four months along and Harry presses her lifeless hand against her growing belly, squeezing it tight in the empty room.

Just one among many causalities among collapsing buildings, crouched over a young child in an attempt to protect them, pierced right through by a metal rod that had taken both their lives.

It’s all such a stupid waste.

-

“Are you sure?” Remus asks her, lowering his voice. “You know you don’t have to do this – you still have time to grieve.” Her heart squeezes for just a moment before she pushes it away - nodding sharply as she turns her focus to the last portkey being made.

She finds herself clutching an old shoe, the alarm from a Death Eater attack ringing above them as they count down from three, two, one…

“Portus!”

People vanish all around her and Harry cranes her head around the empty great hall, taking one last look at what had once been her home before reaching and tapping into the magic – vanishing without a sound.

-

She appears in the middle of a battlefield, dodging down below a sickly yellow streak and twirling her wand while pulling her hood up over her head.

She can hear Remus calling her name and then others but she ignores them– focusing on the extension of her bond to the Dark Lord as she ducks and shoots a bombarda back at Yaxley, protective wall flaring up next to bounce a silvery spell into the dark.

She can hear Bellatrix’s distant cackles and a terrified scream but Harry keeps her path straight, appearing over the hill, through the trees into the small clearing and stepping up in front of the Dark Lord who shifts red eyes towards her with wary interest that only grows as she continues forward until only a meter or two separates them.

Harry stares up at him – pale and red eyed, more monster than human, Nagini resting on his shoulders with golden eyes that peer towards her with a flicker of a dark tongue as she scents the air.

§The youngling is with child§ Nagini informs her human.

Harry raises her chin. §I am§ she agrees with daring she grasps and clings desperately to when Nagini rears up in surprise and Voldemort turns fully towards her, stepping forward before halting himself. §You were my first – there’s been no one else§ she continues, pressing a palm against her belly, allowing the fabric of her sweater to push flat against the growing bump there. §I am with your child§

He breathes in harshly and Harry shrinks back – terrified she’d made a mistake as he covers the distance between them, hands settling on either side of her face, piercing her eyes, her mind, searching for the truth of her words and finding it before he angles her head and he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her roughly as she grasps at his cloak, pushing up on her toes as tears prickles at the corner of her eyes.

§Who else knows?§ he asks as he pulls back.

She shakes her head. §Only us. If they knew-§ but she can’t finish it, hand scrunching in the fabric of his cloak. §I can’t return there§

He growls, kissing her again before pulling her back against him, giving a sharp whistle that momentarily startles her. “You’re safe now,” he says. “You’ll return home with us. No one is going to hurt either of you.” She angles her head, pushing into his shoulder as his hand settles warm against her neck to keep her there.

It doesn’t take long before Bellatrix appears amidst the trees, eyes dark and dangerous with mania that lightens into delight at the sight of the Girl-Who-Lived in the embrace of her Lord.

“Bella.” She snaps to attention at his tone, at the feel of his magic rolling off him, spreading thick and dangerous in a warning to anyone who encroaches. “Let’s go home.”

Harry finds herself guided out from the anti-apperation wards, shouts of her name ignored as she’s pulled into his arms and they disappear with a single last wiggle of Bellatrix’s fingers as she twists on her heel to follow.

-

Harry doesn’t know what to expect.

Staring at them both she feels vulnerable – young and foolish, her decision based on chance and reckless hope and a desperate sort of want that twisted her on that night and kept turning inside of her until right and wrong bleeds together into a decision of life or death.

Bellatrix’s head tilts to the side, regarding her with open curiosity as Nagini slowly droops onto the floor from the Dark Lord’s shoulders.

Harry grips at her sweater, arms wrapped protectively around her.

Voldemort steps towards her and she stiffens at his presence – the looming, domineering air that commands submission and reverence.

He circles around her and Harry forces herself to breathe as he pushes his palms flat against her back, dragging the fabric of her sweater up and over her head where it drops to cling to her arms.

Harry forces her to stiffly relinquish her hold and it drops to the floor, baring the way her dress curves around her belly, breasts straining, larger than they had ever been, and she flushes when she realises they’d been leaking again – patches of wetness clearly visible against the cotton.

Bellatrix makes a noise, stepping towards her, eyes widening at the sight of her and Harry hunches over herself, embarrassed and still so very afraid.

“Oh, little Bird…” Bellatrix hands hoover over the bump, something like reverence in her tone as she slowly sinks to her knees in front of her. “Look at you,” she breathes. “May I?”

Voldemort's palms strokes down her arms, grasping and drawing them gently aside and she swallows, resisting the urge to twist away as Bellatrix reaches for her – her hands warm and startlingly gentle as they settle upon her and Harry stills as she strokes over her belly, the feeling odd with her distended skin but just as relaxing as it had been that night.

Hands grasp at the tail of her dress and she doesn’t protest as the fabric is pulled up and over her head, carelessly thrown aside as her nipples pebbles, bare save for her panties as Voldemort draws her back against him.

Bellatrix straightens out, her eyes dark and intent upon her as Voldemort’s arms comes around her, drawing her tight, trapping her as his mouth presses against her neck, teeth dragging against the sensitive skin, sucking hard on her pulse as she tilts her head instinctively to bare it further.

She can feel him hard and straining against her lower back, finds herself hitched up onto her toes as he unbuttons his pants and pulls himself free.

“I want to stay here,” Harry says, quivering as her panties are pulled down her legs and discarded aside, the tip of Voldemort’s cock nudging up against her entrance as she spreads her legs as best as she can, intensity and want warring insider of her as she balances on her toes to keep herself arched up against him.

“Oh Birdie, you misunderstand” Bellatrix coos gently as she leans forward, brushing her cheek against Harry’s, lips pressing against her ears. “You’re never going to leave.”