Bed springs squeaked underneath them. Harry had his arm hooked under one of Rosmerta's legs while both of them lay on their sides, his manhood pumping through her. Rosmerta's voice was louder than the bed. Her glorious blond hair was pooled behind her head, revealing the side of her tender neck. Harry planted soft bites on her flesh, all the while pounding her between the legs.
His jacket was draped off of the footboard. Rosmerta's dress hadn't made it more than a step past the door. Harry's shirt lasted even less time. It was laying somewhere in the hallway outside.
Harry pulled Rosmerta's leg up higher. She was remarkably fit and flexible for a woman who wasn't particularly young anymore. But then, that just made it one more thing about Rosmerta that didn't match her age.
Harry's soft nips trailed from her neck down to her shoulder. Rosmerta whimpered.
The sheets underneath them were already heavily stained. Splatters of sweat and other fluids littered it, particularly underneath their crotches. Rosmerta's makeup was smeared. In the case of her lipstick, you could find what was missing spread around Harry's crotch and along the dick that was currently ravaging her.
Harry's mouth darted quickly up, picking out a spot on Rosmerta's earlobe and biting down. He'd discovered earlier through thorough testing that this was one of her weak points. As he did it, he dug two fingers underneath her and wrapped them around her side, pressing them against the top of her pussy. While his cock thrust through her, his fingers pressed and rubbed her clit.
His mouth was soft— as delicate a touch as he could manage. His hips, meanwhile, were violent. They battered Rosmerta's body as if trying to break down an obstacle. His fingers struck a balance. Sometimes they were as gentle as his mouth and then, in a flash, they would turn aggressive.
Rosmerta screamed. It wasn't even a moan so much as a full-throated roar. Harry grimaced, but in a good way. Her mushy walls clamped down on him. Less than a moment later, he felt fluids brush against him, signaling yet another orgasm on Rosmerta's part.
Harry stopped for a single moment, collecting his breath, before rolling over. He shifted from his side up onto his knees, temporarily sliding out of Rosmerta's pussy. She stared at his cock as she tried to catch her breath. Her lipstick smears were in the process of being washed away by her own bodily fluids, leaving the red marks patchy and slightly faded.
Harry grabbed Rosmerta's hips, dragging her closer. She slid along the bed with another low moan. In seconds, he had her positioned exactly as he wanted. Harry leaned forward, planting his elbows on the bed on either side of Rosmerta. And as he did, he slid his cock back inside her, drawing a gasp from her lovely lips.
Harry changed things up. The squeaking from the bed quieted and grew less frequent. His hips rose and fell at a methodical pace, pushing gently through Rosmerta. His cock caressed her sore, well-used insides.
Which wasn't to say that Harry was entirely gentle.
With his hips mellowing, Harry's mouth picked up the slack. He bit Rosmerta's neck like a vampire, causing her to gasp. When he moved on, a splotchy bruise was already forming.
Harry lathered kisses all over her upper body, gradually moving lower, until he reached the prize he was after.
Rosmerta's tits were huge and exceptionally soft. As his face hovered over them, he gave her a look, as if communicating, "These are what you wanted to tease me with, right?"
Harry dropped down. He targeted her nipples immediately, pulling on the engorged skin and tugging it with his teeth. He bit hard, pulling Rosmerta's breasts around on her chest. He twisted his head. Rosmerta's breasts twisted in turn, while Harry's tongue scraped her areolas.
Rosmerta's hands wrapped around his back, clinging to him like a piece of wreckage from a sinking ship. He felt her nails on his back, leaving thin red scrapes.
But no matter how harsh Harry's kisses and bites became, his hips rolled slowly. His penis moved in rhythmic patterns. After multiple rounds of brutal lovemaking, Rosmerta's body reacted to this methodical approach. She was going to cum again, but Harry could feel it building. This time, it was arriving gradually, approaching the climax at a natural pace.
Something mussed up the top of Harry's hair. It took him a moment to realize Rosmerta had tucked her face against his head, kissing him on the scalp. Her legs tightened around his lower back. Her whole body tensed. Moaning into his hair, Rosmerta released her orgasm.
The moment Harry felt her tighten around him, he knew he wouldn't last. He rode out the rush, allowing Rosmerta her pleasure. Her limbs tightened against him, before going limp. Her head fell back on the bed. Harry pulled out of her.
He crawled forward, planting on knee beside her ribs, and clutched his penis with his hand. As he came with a loud groan, he aimed it at Rosmerta's torso. Cum landed all along her breasts, in the divot by her collarbone, and all over her face. When his orgasm finished, Harry dropped onto his butt, sitting down hard on the bed. He was breathing heavily, but not half as hard as Rosmerta.
"Ready to face your customers?" Harry asked, wiping sweaty hair out of his eyes.
Rosmerta could only groan.
O-O-O
Harry smiled as if nothing had happened when they descended the stairs. If you only looked at him, you might really believe that. His clothes had been pulled back on, and other than a bit of dried sweat and shortness of breath, he could pass for a normal state.
The same could not be said for Rosmerta.
The barmaid was a wreck, for lack of a better word. Her legs were shaking like a newborn bird's, while her face was quite pink. She had her dress back on, but its low-cut cleavage — while great for tips — worked against her now, revealing a whole host of bruises and red splotches all over her upper body.
"I think we'll take our check now," Septima said quietly, causing Marlene to giggle.
"Don't worry about it," Rosmerta said. "This one is on the house."
She smiled at Harry, who eased his arm off of her shoulder as they stepped off the last stair.
"You're too kind," Harry said.
Rosmerta waved them out after that, closing for the night. As they stood on the Hogsmeade street, underneath the first emerging stars, Marlene chuckled.
"I might have to go drinking with you again!" she said. "Might even have to drag you along any time I'm going with friends, you free drinks machine."
"There were special circumstances," Harry said.
"Oh, I'll bet there were." Marlene dug into her pocket. Harry couldn't make sense of what she was doing, until she drew her wand and held it up.
"Hand," she said impatiently, holding out her fingers.
Bemused, Harry extended his arm. Marlene cast a spell that caused words to form on his skin like a temporary tattoo. It was an address somewhere in North London.
"In case you're ever interested in getting me those free drinks," she said. "Or if you just want to pay for them yourself."
"Marlene—!" Septima said.
But Marlene McKinnon had already Disapparated, laughing as she left.
"She's a character," Harry said.
"Marlene is… She's difficult to forget," Septima said.
"Glowing praise."
"Oh, I love her," Septima clarified. "I just hate her sometimes as well. We're still friends."
"No, you're not," Harry said. "You're best friends. That's how those work."
He and Ron had more than their share of fights and spats over the years. Yet they came out the other side every time, only getting closer.
The street turned quiet except for an old man taking out his garbage. After a bit of time without either of them speaking, Septima said, "How are you feeling about classes?"
"Much better, thanks to you," Harry said. "And the others of course. Everyone helped. Mostly everyone, at least."
Snape stood out. And Harry hadn't considered asking Umbridge for a single second. He wanted to learn how to teach, now how to beat children into submission through pure repugnance.
"That's good," Septima said. "Very good. I'm glad…"
They began the walk back to Hogwarts. As they passed the last of Hogsmeade's houses, Septima suddenly said, "You never stop learning how to teach!"
Her voice was slightly too loud. "Is that so?" Harry said. "I look forward to it."
Septima nodded.
"If you'd like, we could keep meeting," she said. "I'm always happy to give you advice. And who knows, maybe you can pay me back." She tripped slightly. "With tips of your own, I mean! Fresh perspectives are nice!"
"That sounds lovely," Harry told her. "I'm already looking forward to it."
O-O-O
Harry whistled as he walked down the hall, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He felt wonderful. Not only did he get to 'relax' with Rosmerta, he got a full night's rest. He felt ready to duel a dragon! Or, you know, run errands.
It was a testament to how good his mood was that he didn't frown when the other man walked around the corner.
Severus Snape was as stiff and slimy as ever. His robes billowed behind him as he walked the opposite direction Harry was going.
"Quit that racket," Snape said as they passed each other.
Harry continued to smile. He whistled louder.
They each kept walking, and just as Harry thought he would get out of this without a conversation, Snape's voice stopped him.
"You are a fool," he said.
Harry stopped. His back had gone stiff, but he forced himself to relax. Snape always was better than others at getting underneath his skin.
"Like a jester?" Harry asked, looking back at him. "I'm glad to hear I lifted your spirits!"
"You like those jokes," Snape said. "You keep cracking them, and you pretend to be so upbeat. I know men like that. It's nothing but a way to hide their cruelty from others."
"Are you whining because I kicked you out of my head?"
"I'm giving you a warning," Snape said. "Yes, you are a fool. And in war, the fools are always the first to die."
He finally turned the corner, leaving Harry scratching his head in an empty hallway. It was unusual for Snape to start a conversation first. Unless Harry was misunderstanding, it seemed he'd noticed Harry's choice of seat beside Sirius and Remus at the Order meeting. Harry must have reminded the man of James. He could understand why… but it hardly made the man's misguided insults any more worth his time.
Shaking himself, Harry carried on, until he eventually reached a bathroom. A girls' bathroom, to be precise. He walked inside.
The Hogwarts elves had kept the interior clean, just like they did with every room in the castle. It was clear that no one had used this bathroom for a long time— since classes were in session last spring, or possibly even longer than that. Almost immediately, the reason for that lack of use revealed herself.
Sobs echoed from one of the stalls. As Harry's footsteps squeaked on the well-mopped floor, the wails briefly grew quieter. A blue face poked directly through the bathroom door.
"And who are you supposed to be?" Moaning Myrtle sniffed.
"Professor Potter. I'm new here."
Harry stopped long enough to smile at the ghost, mostly to show that he wasn't ignoring her, before walking up to the sink.
He prodded the faucet with his finger. It, of course, remained fixed in place, along with the rest of the sink. At one time it would have been easy enough to open. That would make things simple. But alas, all things come at a cost, even tearing off part of your mortal enemy's soul that's been stuck to yours almost since birth.
"You aren't about to open that, are you?" Myrtle said, squinting her spectacle-clad eyes.
"I'd love to, really," Harry said. "Unfortunately, I lack the ability at the moment. Has anyone else come by to open it?"
"I don't know," Myrtle said. "I don't keep track. I try not to notice when people visit my bathroom. It's lonely that way, but it's lonelier if I remember them, and notice when they inevitably start avoiding me."
"I'm sure," Harry said. "That's very wise of you."
Even if he wasn't as bilingual as he'd been in his youth, Harry was not helpless. After all, he didn't actually need to get inside of the Chamber of Secrets. He just wanted to check a few things.
Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and muttered a spell. Old fingerprints began to glow with soft, bluish light. Instead of focusing on the sink, where plenty had appeared, Harry looked above it. He spotted only a few sets, each of them positioned as if someone had braced themselves against the wall there.
Like, say, as a way of keeping their balance while they crawled into a large pipe.
Harry turned to Myrtle. "You say you don't bother remembering students. But you remember Neville Longbottom, don't you?"
"I wish I didn't!" Myrtle said, before being overcome by a set of sobs harsher than the rest. "I thought he was nice! I thought he was different! And then, he barely paid attention to me! He hasn't visited in two years… I had to go and visit him, in the prefect bathroom…"
That must have been when Neville figured out the clue inside the golden egg. It was almost frightening how identically his life had gone to Harry's.
"But he did visit two years ago," Harry clarified. "He was here, in your bathroom?"
"Oh. Oh, yes," Myrtle said. "He visited multiple times. He talked to me! And then he went down that pipe with the redhead and that very handsome teacher. Neville's not bad either. That scar is quite dashing in the right light."
Harry expected nothing less from the ghost pervy enough to have watching prefects bathe as her favorite hobby.
"The scar definitely stands out. But what about what he did while here? Did he possibly… hiss at this sink?"
Myrtle shivered. "I didn't like that one bit! I hate snakes!"
There was Harry's confirmation. He started back toward the door, stopping on the threshold to look back.
"Thanks Myrtle," he said. "You were a big help."
"You won't be back," Myrtle said. "Nobody comes back."
She slipped back into her stall, disappearing, and Harry could hear her choked-up sobs begin again behind him.
His own thoughts were heavy as he left, but not because of anything about Moaning Myrtle herself.
Neville came to the bathroom just like Harry had. He opened the chamber, just like Harry. And just like Harry, he did it using Parseltongue.
The fact that Neville had a scar was strong evidence, but now it was confirmed. Harry couldn't help but feel heavy in his heart.
Neville Longbottom was a Horcrux. In order to win…
He was going to have to die.
Just like Harry had.