Harry James Potter, fifteen, flipped through the pages of one of many books he should not be reading from distractedly, only raising his eyes from the moonlit parchment every few minutes or so when some quiet noise of the castle settling or cooling in the night made him worry someone was coming.
Not that they could catch him, he knew, aside from, perhaps, Professor Dumbledore himself.
Only, Dumbledore was no longer in the Castle and therefore not a worry… though Harry did worry about the aged Headmaster for entirely different reasons these days.
He was growing beyond frustrated.
With the Ministry, of course, and Dolores Umbridge in particular.
The DA, Dumbledore's Army, (or, as Harry called it in his head, the Defense Association) was coming along nicely, and the school year was proceeding apace, much as the Ministry might wish it.
In just over two months, he and his closest friends would be sitting their O.W.L.s. The completion of which, given at least three "Acceptable" grades or better, would mean that, even if he failed to graduate from Hogwarts, he could consider himself a Hedge Wizard. In other words, he could keep his wand, pass or fail.
Therefore, the DA was not truly a source of worry. In point of fact, Harry felt their more-than-weekly meetings to be a great relief, since he could both help his friends survive (he hoped) and stick it to the highly corrupt Ministry of Magic he was already coming to loath despite being just fifteen, two full years short of adulthood.
Though, Harry thought idly, the DA causes problems of its own.
Not the clandestine nature of their meetings. The Marauder's Map handled that well enough.
No… it was those attending the meetings.
A specific half, anyway.
Harry Potter was quite awake at three in the morning in the Hogwarts Library in hopes of distracting himself from, yes, girls. Witches, in particular.
A few notable names, mostly in the DA, along with their faces and figures flashed unbidden across his mind's eye.
Hermione. Ginny. A couple of the redhead's year-mates. Lavender. Parvati (and, of course, her sister Padma in Ravenclaw). There were others. Many members of each house, even the Slytherins that, by and large, despised Harry (and he felt the feeling was quite mutual) were something to look at and admire for their physical beauty alone if nothing else, in his opinion.
Yet, Harry could not just 'date' or 'romance' or 'woo' or… well, anything. Sure, he fancied more than a few. Cho Chang, for example, had been his first real crush, though any strong thoughts for her had been crushed by their first, disastrous date to Hogsmeade.
Another page turned, Harry barely registering that the topic and chapter had changed.
Yes, girls were, indeed, the primary source of his frustration.
Because how could he trust any of them, aside from a few specific examples (Hermione alone, really, and she was off-limits for other reasons, his other best friend, Ron, chief among them), wanting to be with him, not his fame, or his wealth, or… whatever?
On the Summoning of Demons, Harry read, then whispered aloud, beginning to turn the page again, "I wouldn't mind shagging a few of the Slytherins, yeah, but I'd worry about being knifed in the back!"
His normal speaking volume, in the hush of the late-night library, made Harry freeze for several seconds with the page mostly turned.
Then he glanced back down at the book.
Summoning of…
Unbidden, words spoken by the person he now knew was called Bartemius Crouch, Junior flitted through his mind. 'You're allowed a wand. A simple spell… to get what you need.'
"To get what I need," Harry whispered.
He glanced down again, snorted, then let the page fall.
Another turned, his mind almost blank.
Then a third.
The fourth and fifth made him pause.
For there, sideways, almost like a pin-up he'd once spotted on Dudley's floor, was a very, very detailed drawing.
A female form with dragon-like wings, flaming hair, voluptuous, curvy… nude.
Succubae and Incubae, the drawing was titled.
Harry blinked.
He turned back a few pages to the start of the chapter. Then back to the pin-up.
The chapter's headline.
The pin-up.
He snorted, snapping the book closed, then put it back on the shelf. "Yeah, right… Guess I'll just go have another useless wank."
An hour later, despite doing just that, he went to bed (thankfully, it was Saturday morning) just as horny as when he'd stolen to the library.
On Saturday evening, Harry had the book, which had simply refused to leave his thoughts, open on his lap while he finished the final step of a circle, the binding and summoning spell described just after the pinup for the summoning of such a creature.
A creature described, in the book, as a gender-morphic humanoid demon, capable of breeding with nearly any creature, powerful, cunning, wise… and always beautiful and willing.
If he wanted a female form, it would have one. If he had wanted a male form (Harry knew he did not, thank you very much), it would, even with the same creature.
In other words, nearly the perfect relief for his perpetually aroused state.
The circle surrounded him, his clothes discarded to the side.
Not for the ritual, though it had been recommended, but simply for, he hoped, ease of access.
The knife in his left hand slid across the palm of his right.
He hissed, though not loudly - Harry James Potter was no stranger to pain.
At once, deep crimson welled up even as he tossed the knife out of the small circle, just eight feet across, to land in the corner of the dark stone cellar room beneath Hogwarts with a loud clink.
This time, he did not worry for the noise, having silenced the room and given it every protection he could. Ron had even given him an alibi, with the promise that, when the rendezvous was finished, he would attempt to set one up with his friend, too.