The morning sun slipped through the heavy curtains of the suite, casting a warm, golden haze over the sprawling bed where Harry lay sprawled out, tangled in sheets. He was deep in sleep, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths, but his mind? Oh, his mind was somewhere else entirely.
A dream—vivid, wild, and dripping with heat—had him in its grip. His groin throbbed with a pleasure so intense it felt real, like soft hands and eager mouths were working him over. A low, sleepy mutter slipped past his lips. "Keep going… don't stop… yeah, just like that…"
Two soft giggles broke through the haze, sharp and bright, like little bells tinkling in unison. Harry's eyes fluttered open, groggy and confused, the dream still clinging to him like a second skin. He blinked at the ceiling, trying to piece together where he was—until he felt it. A pulse of pleasure shot through him, real this time, and his gaze dropped to the bed. There was a lump under the duvet, right over his lap, moving ever so slightly. He groaned, the sound loud and unfiltered, as a warm, wet sensation wrapped around his cock, sending a jolt straight up his spine.
"What the—" he started, his voice rough with sleep, but the words melted into another groan when that suctionhit just right. Curiosity—and a growing heat—won out. He grabbed the edge of the duvet and yanked it off in one quick motion. The sight that greeted him nearly shorted out his brain. It took him by surprise for a moment, but he was quickly brought back to the present. Or the past, which he was a permanent part of now.
The glimmer disappeared from his eyes as he refocused, taking in the sight that greeted him first thing in the morning.
Narcissa and Amelia, both stark naked and on their hands and knees, were right there between his legs. Narcissa's blonde hair spilled over her shoulders as her lips worked him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her eyes half-lidded with focus. Amelia, perched beside her, had a wicked grin plastered across her face, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. She caught Harry's stunned stare and winked, slow and saucy, like she knew exactly how this was messing with him.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Amelia purred, her voice low and teasing. "Looks like you were having one hell of a dream."
Harry tried to respond—really, he did—but all that came out was a choked, "Uh—oh, fuck—" as Narcissa did something with her tongue that made his hips buck involuntarily. His hands clenched the sheets, his knuckles white, and his head tipped back against the pillow.
Amelia laughed, a sultry little sound that sent a thrum of pleasure through his skin.
"Aw, poor thing. Can't even talk, can you? Just relax, Harry. Let us take care of you."
She leaned closer, her breath warm against his thigh, and shot Narcissa a sidelong glance. "You're hogging him, Narcissa. Share a little, yeah?"
Narcissa pulled back just enough to smirk, her lips glistening as she flicked her eyes up to Harry. "He's enjoying it too much for me to stop now," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "Aren't you, darling?"
Before he could even try to answer, she dove back in, sucking him down with a slow, torturous pull that had him seeing stars.
"Jesus—Cissa—" Harry managed, but it was more a plea than anything coherent. His hands twitched, itching to grab something—her hair, the bed, anything to anchor himself—but he was too far gone to decide.
Amelia chuckled again, sliding closer until her bare skin brushed his leg. "Oh, he's a mess already. Love that sound he makes, don't you?" She didn't wait for a reply—just leaned in, joining Narcissa with a playful nip at his inner thigh before her lips found their way to him too. The two of them together—Narcissa's steady, deep rhythm and Amelia's teasing, lighter touches—sent a shudder ripping through him. A groan tore from his throat, raw and desperate, and he couldn't stop his hips from shifting, chasing the heat.
"Fuck, you two—" he rasped, his voice cracking as he tried to keep up with the onslaught. His head was spinning, every nerve lit up like a live wire. The room filled with sounds—his ragged breathing, their soft hums of satisfaction, the occasional wet pop when one of them pulled back to catch a breath. It was filthy and perfect, and he was losing his damn mind.
Amelia glanced up at him, her grin downright devilish. "What's that, Harry? You trying to say something? Go on, spit it out." She dragged her tongue along the underside of his prick in a slow, sensual swipe, and his attempt at words dissolved into a string of curses.
Narcissa laughed softly, the vibration humming through him and making his toes curl. "He's too busy enjoying himself," she murmured, her voice muffled as she kept going. "Look at him—completely at our mercy."
"Goddamn right he is," Amelia shot back, her tone dripping with smug delight. She shifted, pressing herself closer, her hands roaming over his thighs as she took her turn again. The two of them moved like they'd planned this, trading off with a rhythm that kept him teetering on the edge—Narcissa's slow, deep pulls followed by Amelia's quick, teasing flicks. It was relentless, and Harry was a goner.
His hands finally found their way into Narcissa's hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands as he let out a shaky, "Don't—don't you fuckingstop—"
His voice was wrecked, barely audible over the pounding in his ears, but they heard him loud and clear.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Amelia cooed, her lips brushing the tip as she spoke. She nudged Narcissa with her shoulder, her eyes playful and conspiratorial. "Hear that, Cissa? He's begging now."
Narcissa's only response was a low, satisfied hum, her pace picking up just enough to make Harry's breath hitch. She kept plunging her mouth onto his manhood, taking him deep inside her throat while Amelia stroked him and sucked his balls.
His whole body tensed, muscles locking up as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his gut. The sounds spilling from him were downright unbelievable—grunts, moans, half-formed pleas—but he couldn't care less. Not with them like this, all soft curves and wicked smiles, working him over like it was their sole mission in life.
Amelia's hand slid up his chest, her nails grazing lightly as she rose, pressing her voluptuous body against his. Her large breasts pressed up hotly against his body as she leaned in close to his ear.
"You're so cute when you fall apart," she whispered, her voice a sultry taunt. Her tongue darted out, flicking his earlobe. "Just let go, Harry. We've got you."
And that was it—the tipping point. With Narcissa's mouth driving him wild and Amelia's words buzzing in his head, he couldn't hold on anymore. A loud, broken groan ripped out of him as his whole body shuddered, the release hitting him like a freight train.
Narcissa shivered in delight as the first shot of his seed hit her right at the back of her throat. As she swallowed, she was assaulted with more. Rope after rope of his hot, thick cum splattered her throat and it took all she had to keep gulping him down and not waste any bit of it.
Harry's vision blurred, his grip on Narcissa's hair tightening for a split second before he collapsed back against the bed, panting like he'd just run a marathon.
The two women eased off, sitting back on their heels alongside each other with matching smirks. Narcissa wiped her lips with the back of her hand, looking entirely too pleased with herself, while Amelia stretched lazily, like a cat that'd just caught its prey.
"See?" Amelia said, voice light and teasing. "Told you to relax and enjoy."
Harry could only manage a weak, "Holy shit," as he stared up at the ceiling, still reeling. Narcissa laughed softly, crawling up to flop beside him, while Amelia stayed where she was, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"Morning well spent," Narcissa murmured, pressing her naked frame against him as she cuddled up, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Yeah," Harry croaked, still catching his breath. "No kidding."
-Break-
Roughly half an hour had passed and Harry was still sprawled on the bed, his chest heaving, when Narcissa stretched beside him like a satisfied cat.
"Shower?" she suggested, her voice lazy but edged with a tease. She didn't wait for an answer—just rolled off the mattress and sauntered toward the ensuite, her hips swaying in a way that made it impossible not to watch. She glanced at him over her shoulder, an impish smile playing on her lips as she shook her rear on her way.
On the bed, Amelia smirked, nudging Harry with her elbow. "Come on, big guy. You're not tapping out already, are you?"
She hopped up as Harry turned to her, giving him a nice view of her naked beauty before tossing him a wink over her shoulder as she followed Narcissa, leaving him no choice but to drag himself after them. His legs felt like jelly, but the promise of what was coming next? Yeah, that got him moving.
The bathroom in the Chateau suite was ridiculous—marble everywhere, a shower big enough for a party, with glass walls and multiple heads spraying hot water in a steamy haze. Narcissa was already under the spray, her head tilted back as water cascaded over her pale skin, running in rivulets down her curves. Amelia stepped in next, letting out a little groan as the heat hit her, and Harry followed right after, the steam wrapping around him like a warm blanket.
"Morgana, this feels good," Amelia said, running her hands through her dark red hair as it plastered to her shoulders. She shot Narcissa a grin. "Almost as good as what we just did to him."
Narcissa laughed, the sound low and throaty as she shot Harry a grin and grabbed a bar of enchanted soap.
"Almost." She lathered her hands before she turned to Harry, who was no longer half-dazed, but still stood leaning against the wall, watching their alluring wet bodies.
"Come here, Harry. I'm sure you'd love me cleaning you up."
He didn't argue—couldn't, really—as he pushed off the wall and she stepped close, her soapy hands sliding over his chest, her touch slow and sensual. It was light at first, just enough to make him shiver, but then her fingers dipped lower, tracing the lines of his stomach, teasing along his hips. He let out a shaky breath, and she smirked, clearly enjoying how easy it was to wind him up again.
Amelia wasn't about to be left out. She grabbed a sponge, soaping it up before pressing herself against Narcissa's back.
"You're not the only one who gets to play," she murmured, running the sponge down Narcissa's spine, then reaching around to her front, brushing over her tits in lazy circles. Narcissa arched into it, a soft hum slipping past her lips, and Harry's brain almost short-circuited watching them.
"Fuck, you two are gonna kill me," he muttered, his voice rough as Narcissa's hands kept roaming, slipping lower until his breath hitched. She didn't stop—just kept up that slow, torturous glide, her fingers slick with soap and water as she rubbed them all over his groin.
Amelia laughed, tossing the sponge aside to use her hands instead, sliding them over Narcissa's hips, then up to cup her breasts, giving them a playful squeeze. "Look at you, Cissy. So wanton. Who'd have thought the prim and proper daughter of the Blacks had this in her?"
Narcissa tilted her head back, resting it on Amelia's shoulder as she let out a breathy chuckle. "Oh, please. You're just as bad, Bones. Grinding up on him like that earlier? Shameless."
"Guilty," Amelia shot back, grinning as she pinched Narcissa's nipples lightly, earning a little gasp. "Still shocks me, though—seeing you like this. All wild and free. So, how're you planning to ditch that betrothal with Malfoy? Gotta admit, I'm dying to know."
Her hands kept moving, one slipping down Narcissa's stomach, her fingers dancing just above where the water cascaded down between her thighs. Narcissa squirmed, caught between Amelia's teasing and her own focus on Harry, who was gripping the handle like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"Lucius?" Narcissa said, her voice a little unsteady as Amelia's fingers brushed lower, teasing her swollen clit. "Can't fault me for wanting out. He's a pompous ass—always has been. It's in the works, alright? But right now—" She paused, her hand tightening around Harry's manhood just enough to make him groan. "—I'm not exactly thinking about him."
Amelia snorted, her free hand sliding back up to tweak Narcissa's nipple, making her jolt. "Fair enough. Guy's a prick anyway—cold as a fish and twice as slimy. Good riddance." She leaned in, nipping at Narcissa's earlobe. "Me, though? No marriage for this Bones. I'm staying free and single 'til the end. No offense, Harry."
"None taken," he managed, though it came out more like a grunt as Narcissa's fingers worked him over, slow and relentless. "Fuck—do that again."
Narcissa obliged, smirking as she did, while Amelia laughed against her neck. "See? He gets it. We're all just here for the fun... and each other."
The steam thickened around them, the water pounding against the tiles as their hands kept exploring. Amelia turned Narcissa around, pulling her into a playful wrestle under the spray. Soap-slicked skin slid against skin, and Narcissa retaliated by grabbing Amelia's hips, tugging her close until their large tits pressed together. They giggled like schoolgirls, but the heat in their eyes was anything but innocent.
Harry watched, half-hypnotized, as Amelia's hands roamed over Narcissa's back, then lower, squeezing her ass with a grin.
"You're too good at this," she teased, giving a little smack that echoed in the shower. Narcissa yelped, then shoved back, pinning Amelia against the glass wall and running her hands up her sides, her fingers grazing the undersides of her breasts.
"And you're insatiable," Narcissa fired back, her voice dripping with mock reproach. She leaned in, her lips brushing Amelia's collarbone before trailing lower, water streaming over them both. Amelia tipped her head back, a soft moan slipping out as Narcissa's mouth found its mark.
Harry couldn't take it anymore. He stepped forward, sliding behind Narcissa and pressing himself against her, his hands settling on her hips.
"You're both ridiculous," he muttered, voice thick with want as he rocked against her. His cock pushed inside her in one firm push, the friction sending sparks up his spine.
"Ridiculously hot, you mean," Amelia quipped, reaching around Narcissa to tug Harry closer, her fingers brushing his chest. The three of them tangled together, a mess of hands and mouths and slick, wet skin, the shower turning into a playground of gasps and groans as they moved hotly, kissing, sucking, fucking.
After a while—minutes, maybe hours, who could tell?—they eased off, leaning against each other under the spray, catching their breath. The water was still hot, steam curling around them as they traded lazy grins.
Harry broke the silence first, running his hands up and down their naked backs as they stood under the spray. "So… anyone else feel that massive veela allure last night? Or was that just me?"
Amelia snorted, wiping water from her face. "Oh, I felt it. Hit me like a damn truck. You?"
Narcissa nodded, leaning against the wall with a smirk. "Definitely. Our dear hostess was out in full force, wasn't she?"
"Fucking French," Amelia muttered, shaking her head. "Sneaky bastards, setting up that veela arrangement. They think they can just charm their way into anything."
Narcissa laughed, her eyes sharp and knowing. "Oh, I know exactly what they're planning. They want Harry wrapped around Clarisse's little finger, drooling over her like some lovesick puppy. But—" She glanced at Harry, her smirk softening. "—it's not gonna work on you, is it?"
Harry grinned, shrugging. "Not really my style to go all brain-dead over allure. She's hot, though. Can't deny that."
"Hot's an understatement," Narcissa said, stepping closer to flick water at him playfully. "She's a goddamn masterpiece—veela or not. You should go for it, Harry. Claim her, spoil her for anyone else. Be direct with her—tell her you know she was eavesdropping on us last night, listening to all our fun."
Amelia raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Wait, she was what? Oh, that's gold. Little perv."
"Caught her lurking outside the door," Narcissa said, her tone smug. "Thought she was slick, but I saw her shadow. She's desperate for a piece of this." She gestured vaguely at the three of them, dripping wet and grinning.
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "You're evil, you know that?"
"Practical," Narcissa corrected, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. "She's a hot piece of ass, and you'd be an idiot not to take advantage. Veela allure's just a bonus."
Amelia followed, snagging her own towel and tossing one to Harry. "She's right. Go get her. Just don't forget about us, yeah?"
"Never," Harry said, catching the towel with a grin. He used it to dry himself up and wrapped it around his waist, still buzzing from the shower—and the mental image of confronting Clarisse. "Guess I've got some hunting to do."
Narcissa smirked over her shoulder as she dried off. "Good man. Make us proud."
The three of them laughed, the sound bouncing off the marble walls. The day's agenda was set, and they knew there would be more chaos—and more fun.
-Break-
The trio stumbled out of the bathroom, still damp and wrapped in towels, laughing about nothing in particular as they threw on some clothes. Harry tugged on a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, while Narcissa slipped into a silky robe that clung to her in all the right places. Amelia went for something simpler—leggings and a tank top—grinning like she'd just won a prize.
As they opened the door, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries wafted up from the dining area, and their stomachs growled in unison.
"Breakfast?" Harry suggested, already heading for the door. "I'm starving after all that."
"Worked up an appetite, huh?" Amelia teased, nudging him as they made their way downstairs. Narcissa just smirked, trailing behind like she owned the place.
The long table in the dining room set with a spread that could feed a small army. Croissants, fruit, jams, and a steaming pot of coffee sat waiting, and there, fussing with the plates, was Clarisse. She was a vision—tall and lithe, with golden hair cascading down her back and a dress that hugged her curves like it was painted on. Her veela allure shimmered faintly in the air, a subtle pull that made the room feel warmer and heavier.
A faint smirk tugged at Harry's lips when he felt it. She seemed to have upped her game from yesterday if the intensity of her allure was anything to go by. Unfortunately, he was not the type to give in so easily.
"Morning," she said, her voice smooth and accented, flicking her eyes up to meet Harry's. There was a spark there, a knowing glint that said she'd heard more than she'd let on last night. It didn't surprise Harry as much as he'd thought it would, perhaps because she'd been making subtle advances towards him since the beginning. It stood to reason that she'd try to remain on the offensive, and acting shy was the exact opposite of that.
"Morning," Harry replied, letting his gaze linger on her a little too long as he slid into a chair. He grabbed a croissant, tearing off a piece, and flashed her a grin. "Sleep well?"
Her lips twitched, like she was fighting a smile. "Well enough. And you?"
"Oh, I had a great night," he said, leaning back and stretching his arms in a way that flexed his shoulders just so. He let a tiny pulse of his magical aura slip out—nothing overt, just a warm ripple that brushed against her senses like a whisper. Clarisse stiffened slightly, her fingers pausing over a stack of napkins, and he caught the faintest flush creeping up her neck.
Narcissa and Amelia exchanged a look, smirking as they settled in across from him. "Food looks good," Narcissa said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, watching Clarisse like a hawk.
"Yeah, thanks for this," Amelia added, grabbing a grape and popping it into her mouth. She shot Harry a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised. "Better dig in, Harry. You'll need the energy."
He chuckled, leaning forward to pour some coffee, and accidentallybrushed his arm against Clarisse's as she set a plate in front of him. Her breath hitched—just a tiny sound, but he heard it.
"Oh, sorry for that," he said, not sounding sorry at all, and let his fingers graze her wrist as he pulled back. Her skin was warm, soft, and he felt her pulse jump under his touch.
Clarisse cleared her throat, stepping back to fuss with the coffee pot, but her movements were a little too quick, a little too jerky. He was getting to her, and rather quickly at that. She must've heard quite a lot if she was this affected.
"Clumsy this morning, are we?" she said, trying to keep her voice light. But there was a tremor in it, and Harry's grin widened.
"Guess so," he replied, taking a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes locked on hers over the rim. He pushed out another flicker of his aura, letting it curl around her like a tease, and watched her pupils dilate, her lips parting just a fraction. She was feeling it—he could tell—and it was driving her nuts. Especially after her experience last night.
Narcissa coughed delicately into her napkin, hiding a smile, while Amelia didn't even bother—she just snorted and reached for another pastry.
"Well," Amelia said, pushing her chair back, "this has been fun, but I've got stuff to do. You good here, Harry?"
"Oh, I'm great," he said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair, his legs spread wide like he owned the room. He caught Narcissa's eye, and she gave him a slow, approving nod.
"Behave yourself," Narcissa murmured, standing and smoothing her robe. "Or don't. Your call." She shot Clarisse a meaningful look—half warning, half encouragement—before sauntering out with Amelia in tow. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Harry and Clarisse alone with the breakfast spread and a tension thick enough to cut.
Clarisse busied herself gathering plates, stacking them with a little more force than necessary. "You're all so… lively this morning," she said, her tone clipped but curious, like she was fishing for something.
"Had a good start to the day," Harry replied, watching her move. He waited until she'd collected the last dish, then stood, stretching again—his movements slow and measured, letting his shirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin. Her eyes darted to it, but she quickly averted her gaze, and he grinned. "Need help with those?"
"You shouldn't. I've got it," she said quickly, turning toward the kitchen. However, he didn't miss the way her hands tightened on the stack, or the slight sway in her step as she walked off. He gave it a few seconds—long enough to seem casual—then followed her, his footsteps quiet on the hard floor.
The kitchen was all gleaming counters and soft light, the sink already running as Clarisse dumped the dishes in. She had her back to him, her sleeves rolled up, and hair tied back in a messy bun that left her neck exposed. Harry leaned against the doorway for a second, just taking her in—the curve of her spine, the way her dress clung to her hips—before stepping up behind her.
He didn't say anything at first—just slid in close, his chest brushing her back as he reached around to grab a sponge. She jumped, a little gasp slipping out, and the plate she'd been scrubbing clattered into the sink... or almost did. A quickly cast wandless levitation charm saved it, and it slowly floated to the side.
"Monsieur Peverell!" she yelped, half-turning, but he didn't back off.
"Thought I'd help," he said, his voice low and rough, pressing himself closer until she was pinned between him and the counter. He dipped the sponge into the soapy water, letting his arm graze hers, and started scrubbing a plate—slowly, lazily, like he had all the time in the world. His other hand settled on her hip, light but firm, and he felt her tense, then relax, then tense again.
"You don't have to—" she started, but her words faltered as he shifted, his thigh brushing the back of hers. He could feel her heat through the thin fabric of her dress, and it took everything not to push harder.
"Want to," he murmured, leaning in until his lips were just shy of her ear. His breath fanned over her skin, and she shivered, her hands gripping the edge of the sink. He set the sponge down, letting both hands slide to her hips now, his fingers splaying wide as he rocked her back against him—just a little, just enough to make her breath catch.
"Monsieur…" Her voice was shaky, a mix of warning and want, and he grinned against her neck, not quite kissing it but close enough to make her squirm.
"You know," he said, keeping his tone casual even as his hands tightened, pulling her flush against him, "I heard something interesting last night. Someone lurking outside my room. Listening." He let one hand drift up, skimming her side, brushing the curve of her breast before settling on her shoulder. "Sound familiar?"
Clarisse froze, her breath hitching hard. "I—I don't know what you're—" she stammered, but he cut her off with a low chuckle, spinning her around to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and dark, and she looked like she'd been caught red-handed—which, yeah, she had.
"Don't play dumb," he said, stepping in until her back hit the counter again. He braced his hands on either side of her, caging her in, and let his aura flare—just a little, just enough to make the air hum with heat. "You were out there, weren't you? Ear pressed to the door, hearing every damn sound we made."
Her mouth opened, then closed, and she swallowed hard. "I didn't—" she tried, but he slid a hand up her arm, his fingers tracing the line of her collarbone, and her words died in her throat. She was trembling now, caught between embarrassment and something hotter, and he could see it in her eyes—she wanted him, bad.
"Thought so," he said, smirking as he leaned in closer, lips hovering over hers but not touching. His other hand slipped to her waist, then lower, cupping her hip and pulling her against him. She gasped, her hands flying to his chest as she felt the evidence of his arousal against her body, and she didn't push him away—just clutched at his shirt like she needed something to hold onto.
He didn't kiss her—didn't give her that satisfaction. Instead, he dragged his fingers up her thigh, bunching her dress as he went, until his hand rested high on her leg, his thumb brushing the edge of her knickers. Her hips jerked, a soft whimper slipping out, and he felt her press into him, desperate for more.
"You liked it, didn't you?" he murmured, his voice rough as he slid his thumb just under the fabric, teasing but not crossing the line. "Hearing us. Imagining it was you."
"Monsieur Peverell—please—" Her voice was a wreck, all breathy and needy, and it sent a jolt straight through him. She was unraveling, right there in his hands, and he hadn't even done half of what he could.
But he didn't. He pulled back—just an inch, just enough to leave her wanting—and then he stepped away entirely, letting his hands fall to his sides. Clarisse blinked at him, dazed, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her dress was still hiked up, her hair a mess, and she looked like she'd been hit by the Hogwarts Express—in the best way possible.
"Gotta go," he said, casual as anything, though his grin was pure mischief. "See you around, Clarisse."
Without waiting for a beat, he turned around and walked out, leaving her there against the counter, her legs shaky and her eyes wide. He didn't even look back—didn't need to. He could feel her staring after him, could practically hear the gears turning in her head. A self-satisfied smirk adorned his face as he walked away, humming a jolly tune and nodding at the two random aurors who'd accompanied him to France. The men nodded back before turning around and walking towards the exit.
"Well then," Harry muttered to himself. "I guess another practice session's in order."
The training dummies were high quality, albeit nothing compared to what he got in the Room of Requirement. Still, they'd do.
Still humming, Harry made his way over to the training room.
Back in the kitchen, Clarisse stood frozen for a good minute, her hands gripping the sink so hard her knuckles went white.
"That bastard," she muttered in French, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and heat. She shoved her dress back down, smoothing it with shaky fingers, but the ache he'd left behind wasn't going anywhere. Her pussy throbbed like hell and she clenched her inner muscles to stave off the itch, but it just won't go anywhere. "Fucking tease—leaving me like this, all hot and bothered."
She grabbed a dish towel, twisting it in her hands like she wanted to strangle something—preferably him. Nothing but the memories of the previous night and what had transpired this morning ran amok in her mind, riling her up even more.
Clarisse stood there, shaking, for another minute, but then a slow, begrudging smile crept onto her face. "He's good," she admitted, half to herself. "Damn good. Knows how to play the game, I'll give him that."
Her eyes narrowed, a resolute glint sparking in them as she tossed the towel aside. "Fine, Peverell," she said, her voice firming up with determination. "Two can play this game. Watch yourself."
She turned back to the sink, a plan already forming in her mind, and the kitchen went quiet—save for the faint drip of water and the promise of a chase that was just getting started.
Harry Peverell won't know what hit him by the time she was done with him.
TBC.
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