Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Volunteer	By : mrsmilfoy Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 11615 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all affiliated characters are property of J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from my drabbles.

Chapter List
- 2
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Chapter Three: Five Minutes

Harry finished Madame Bovary that evening. He found the end incredibly depressing, and had thusly started reading The Sword and the Sea to find some comfort for the night. The book itself was as entertaining as Narcissa had promised, but the content wasn't what kept him distracted. The binding, the pages, the front and back covers all smelled like her. That remarkable spicy scent, sharpened away from her warm skin. He flipped the pages occasionally just to get a breath of it.

In his dreams that night, he was the captain of a magical flying pirate ship, and Narcissa was his buxom, breathless captive. His wand alarm sounded just as he was ripping her bodice.

A little groggy and frustrated, Harry stopped at her office on his way to the morning meeting. He knocked, and when no answer came, he pushed open the door. She was out, probably already at the conservatory, so he dropped Flaubert on her desk.

The book settled beside an ornate little bottle. Curious, Harry lifted it. It was glass; heart-shaped, with a vine wrapped round it. Knowing what was to come, he lifted the stopper and inhaled. His eyes closed. Yes. That was her. Enchanted for the day, he put the bottle back.

There was excitement in the conservatory. Cho and the other volunteers were clustered around the table there, chattering and laughing. From the sounds of pleasure emanating from the group, Harry deduced they were also eating. "What's all this then?"

Parvati waved him over. "Chocolate, Harry! The best, too! You have to have some!"

Harry peered over her shoulder at the gilt octagonal box. It looked expensive. "Where did this come from?"

"Mrs. Malfoy's husband sent it!" One of the younger volunteers supplied.

Harry's lip curled instinctively. He looked about. Mrs. Malfoy herself leaned on the wall near the doorway, frowning. She caught his eye and held it. He saw his list in her hand and approached. "Mine?" She handed over the parchment. "If you don't jump in soon, there will be no more of your chocolate left for you."

"I'm watching my girlish figure." There was a hint of bitterness in her tone, and Harry got the impression she would not be having this chocolate by choice. "Have a good day, Mr. Potter. I know I will." She left the room briskly, leaving Harry staring after her.

A chocolate appeared in his face. Cho held it aloft. "Here, Harry."

He took it. "What's wrong with her?"

Cho shook her head. "She's stuck with Healer Grayson's budget, apparently. He heard she was good with figures, and she can't say no."

"Oh." Harry's forehead creased as their coordinator disappeared down the corridor. He suspected a combination of chocolate and Lucius Malfoy might also be to blame somehow, but could only speculate.

Afternoon tea found him back in the conservatory. Rachel and Padma were there, lounging on a sofa when he entered. "Hello," they chimed.

"Hey." He poured himself a cuppa from the teapot on the dining table. "How are your days so far?"

"Slow." Rachel stretched, raven locks pouring over the arm of the sofa. She was a pretty girl, and she knew it. "Yours?"

Harry sipped. "Slow, as well." In fact, his list for the day was done. It had been surprisingly short. "Anything else come up?"

Rachel laughed, turned onto her stomach and grinned coyly at him. "Course not. But it's not like we're chasing down work. Do you ever relax, Harry? I could give you a backrub." Parvati withheld a smile at this.

But Harry just shook his head. "No, thanks." He poured another cup of tea and prepared it quickly. "I prefer the work." He was out the door before her offended gasp was finished.

He took a deep breath before knocking gently on Narcissa's office door. "Come in," she said. She sounded tired.

"Tea time." He entered with a smile and set the cup upon her desk.

"Oh, Ha – Mr. Potter." She was definitely tired. "You're too kind." She dropped her quill and took up the cup. Her little moan of enjoyment gave him a painful swelling in his trousers. "How did you know how I take it?"

"I'm observant."

Again her eyes grew wistful. "I truly appreciate this. And the book. I look forward to reading it."

"When you're not slaving over someone else's work." He hoped he sounded teasing and not as angry over the injustice as he felt.

She settled back in her chair, relaxed a little. "I want to help, but they've made such an impossible mess of the budget. Grayson wants realistic projections." She flicked a hand at it. "I'm decent with basics, but my arithmancy is…out of practice."

"I was pretty good at it, surprisingly." He told the truth, but he imagined he would have said almost anything to remain in her presence for a moment longer.

"Really?" Intrigued, she unrolled the parchment before her. "Here. Take a look at this, then." She shifted her chair to the right, making space for Harry at her left.

Heart beating so loudly she could probably hear it, Harry moved behind the desk and leaned in beside her. The warm spicy scent was magnetic, and her tapered finger tapped a line. "This. I can't get it to balance."

"May I?"

She handed over her quill and Harry jotted some figures in the margins, fondly remembering Arithmancy class at Hogwarts and Hermione's tutelage. But Narcissa was right. This equation wouldn't balance. "Something's not right in the information. A date must be wrong or some other figure. What we're doing should work. I'd check with Grayson. See if he recognizes any errors."

He looked down to see a brunette coil brushing his arm. She was leaning very closely to the parchment. He smelled her shampoo. "I see. Suppose that is the simplest solution, isn't it?" She looked up, propped her head on one elbow. "Thank you again, Mr. Potter. You're invaluable."

He looked at her lips. They were wet with tea. A moment opened up and challenged him. "I have my uses," he whispered.

She wasn't stupid, he knew. She was married over twenty years with a teenaged son. Harry had every idea she was sharp and insightful. So she had to know he was going to kiss her. But when his lips touched hers, she gave a tiny whimper of shock.

Her lips were soft as he'd imagined, and yes he tasted tea. She didn't resist him, didn't pull away or push him. And when he angled his chin to deepen the kiss ever so slightly, she angled to compliment. I'm kissing her. His hands curled on the desk and over the back of her chair. He risked a tiny peak and found her beautiful eyes quite closed, the lashes shadowing her cheeks and her eyeballs moving slowly behind their lids.

Growing bolder, he opened his mouth a hint, thrilled when she did the same. His own tiny moan escaped. He felt the hand supporting her head slip up to touch his face. Her fingers were light and wondrous. She barely stroked his shaved chin, and Harry returned the gesture uncertainly, raising his hand from the table to her face.

She took a breath at the sweet touch. The inhalation was cold and the exhalation hot. Harry decided a stronger taste was in order. He met her tongue with his own, pushed at it.

And she shoved away on a groan. "Stop," she hissed.

"I'm sorry." He could barely speak, and couldn't seem to straighten his back. "I'm…I didn't mean to…"

"Course you didn't." Her chest was rising and falling quickly. "Stress…"

"Yeah. Stress." He stood.

Her eyes filled with tears and she rubbed both hands across her face. "You should go."

"Please, don't cry." He reached for her hand.

She smacked his fingers away. "I'm not crying. Don't be foolish."

"I didn't mean to –"

"Then don't!" There was strain in her raised voice, a slipping of tightly maintained control. "Go! And…" She waved a hand as he backed away. "Forget this happened."

"I can't."

She scoffed. "You're young. I assure you, you can forget."

He was backed nearly all the way to the door. "Mrs. Malfoy…"

"Out!" She wouldn't turn toward him, and he heard true tears in her tone. "Before I see fit to assign you elsewhere."

He hurried into the hall, leaned against her closed door. He breathed deeply, still smelled her scent, tasted her on his lips. Inside her office, he thought he heard porcelain shatter.

"Harry?" He looked up to see Cho just down the corridor. She was paused in her doorway. "You alright?"

He swallowed. "Yeah! Yeah, Cho. I'm fine. Just…tired."

Cho blinked, but let him have the benefit of her doubt. "What about Mrs. Malfoy?"

"She's fine, too. I took her some tea."

"You're really kind, Harry." Cho said. "I'm going to have a lie-down, I think. My list is done for the day."

"Sounds good." Harry managed to push away from her door. His hand shook when he reached for the latch on his own. "See you at dinner, then?"

"Dinner."

He sat at the end of his bed for quite some time, turning his wand in his fingers. It was something he did when he needed to think. And he was currently thinking very hard about why he'd kissed his coordinator, why she'd kissed him back, and more importantly, why she'd pushed him away.

When had this obsession started? When he'd seen her girlish pictures? No, if he had to be honest he would admit it was long before that. He'd dreamed about the moment in the Forbidden Forest many times since it had occurred. The dreams were alternately realistic, surreal or downright erotic. He'd no idea why his subconscious concocted these thoughts of Narcissa Malfoy – only that it did, and no notions of sensibility or appropriateness could squelch the intrinsic desire to act.

But now what? Now how was he to face her, to work with her? How would she be? They'd started to talk, to become friendly. And now this… He sighed and fell onto his bed. Remembering the soft give of her lips and the question in her fingertips, he drifted off to sleep.

That evening, Narcissa appeared at dinner in the conservatory. "I'm glad you're all here." She had no pleasantries – just an arm full of papers she began distributing. "I hope you enjoyed your light day today because the next few will be minor hells. It seems that the hospital inspectors found many ways to improve efficiency. This means more work for the workers, of course. I've prepared your duty lists early as I shan't see you at breakfast tomorrow. I'll be in budget meetings for the next day or so. Mr. Potter."

"Yes?"

She looked at the list in her hand, not at him. "I'm afraid I've volunteered you for a rather more intensive task. Laundry in its entirety will be moving to another part of the hospital. The elves need strong arms and magic. So you'll report to laundry tomorrow morning. I suspect you'll be off the ward for a few days, so I've also attached your schedule for the next week." She handed him the parchments, still not catching his eye.

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy." Of course you want me off your ward, now. He was surprised she wasn't transferring him altogether.

She made no reply aside from tightly pursed lips. "Any questions about your tasks?" She picked up a cuppa and sipped it. Harry wondered if it reminded her of their kiss. When no questions were forthcoming, she bobbed her hat to the group. "Well, then. You all know where to find me. If I'm not in my office, leave a note. I wish you all well."

His nostrils flared when she left without a glance in his direction. His jaw tightened. How dare she? Awfully cowardly for the witch who lied to the Dark Lord's face. But as his anger flared, his sadness tempered it. She's married and a mother of a boy my age. She probably enjoyed that kiss, and it probably scared the hell out of her. I shouldn't have done it.

But she did kiss me back. His mind made up, he too rose from the table. He hadn't much appetite, and felt his cohorts' eyes on his back as he left for his room. Just give it a few days. Work. See what happens.

"Off to bed?"

He looked behind him. Rachel stood in the doorway of her room, one tan leg crossed over the other. "Yeah," he said. "Tired."

"Too bad." She cocked her head coyly. "I'm lonely."

"Books make good company."

"You don't like me, do you, Harry?"

He paused at his door and regarded the girl. "It's not that. I just…"

"You like someone else, I think."

His top lip broke a sweat. "Not at all." He replied a bit too quickly.

The infernal girl gripped her doorframe and leaned teasingly into the hall. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you do. She told me so."

"What?"

"Cho! She told me you two had a thing for a while." She bit at her index finger suggestively and Harry looked away. "Did you come here to rekindle an old flame, maybe?"

"Hardly." His door clicked open. "Good night, Rachel." He shut out her sultry laughter, eager to climb into his bed and smell Narcissa's book.

The witch hadn't been lying. The four days he'd spent moving the laundry service were exhausting both physically and magically. The laundry rooms – with their network of exposed pipes, steam vents and bronzed machinery – reminded him pleasantly of the steampunk novels he'd enjoyed as a boy. However, they were impossibly hot and filled with grouchy, over-worked elves. And while he admired elves' magic, he had a hard time keeping their pace. He'd sweat so much in the last four days, he imagined he'd lost at least three of the extra pounds he'd gained at the Burrow. Not to mention, he rarely had much appetite.

He hadn't seen Narcissa in days. He knew she was around. Occasionally he would catch a whiff of her fragrance in the corridor near their rooms or the conservatory. But he hadn't had a word from her since she'd given him his delightful assignment.

Well, his assignment was nearly complete now. So soon enough, the witch would have to acknowledge his presence again. He looked around the new linen storage closet with satisfaction. It was a well-charmed room on the second floor, expanding to host far more towels, sheets and robes than the last storage closet. And it was surprisingly gratifying to know he'd been trusted to arrange it in his own fashion. He was sending an over-large stack of neatly pressed bed sheets to a high shelf when he heard the door bang open.

He turned, startled, and the sheets fell to the floor with a flutter and a thud. "What the –"

"Is this how you see me, Potter?!" Narcissa Malfoy was pink with anger and brandishing his book at him like a weapon.

"What –"

"Some…some empty-headed frippet bored by wealth and longing for romance? A…a common mudblood strumpet is all she is! Spreading her legs for any masculine pity. And a coward atop that – a suicidal…" Here, she spluttered a bit, struggling for the proper term. "…slag with a constant need for attention! Is this how you see me?!"

She was no more than a foot from him, Madame Bovary held to her chest and hairs loosed from her chignon suggesting she'd been rushing about to find him. "No!" Harry held up his hands as if in surrender, completely blindsided by her fury and strangely aroused at the same time. "I didn't –"

"Well, I don't need it." She interrupted and thrust the book toward him. Her tone was a low hissing growl. "Any of it. I don't need your…sympathetic stares eating me up all the time. Poor old Narcissa Malfoy who saved my life in the woods that day. Let's make her feel pretty!" She mocked. "The old witch in her loveless marriage needs a little ego boost. I'll give her a kiss and see what happens.Well, I hope I amused you, Mr. Potter but I'll save you any further consolation seductions," she spat. "I'm. Not. This. Woman."

His lip curled. He jerked forward and she stepped backward. "Is that really how you think I see you?" Heat swallowed his chest and he knew she could see his matching rage. He reached toward the book, but grabbed her delicate wrist instead. Her gasp was delicious as he wrenched her to him, the book pressing between them. "You beautiful bloody fool."

This time there was nothing gentle about his kiss. It wasn't asking permission. It was proving – proving that he saw her not as the Emma Bovary she'd interpreted, but as the pirate's willing captive: feigning distress to seek the adventure.

And she was proving him right.

After a second of token struggle, she more than melted. She boiled in his arms; thrusting fingers into his hair and touching him as though he might disappear any second. She gave his mouth her teeth and her tongue, tasted like something vaguely citrus. She thrust her curves against him and his hands raped her body, eagerly squeezing everything in his reach. When he groped her arse, she groaned. They staggered weak-kneed til Harry felt a linen trolley at his back. It rocked and clanged, finally toppling when their feet tangled in the sheets he'd dropped.

Harry broke the kiss to steady them awkwardly on a set of shelves. "Sorry," he gasped. He felt every inch the awkward virgin he was.

But Narcissa volleyed well enough. She stroked his fevered face firmly. "Shhhh." A gentle kiss. "Stop. Stop for now." Her breath rattled and he realized she was unsteady on her feet because of him. She stepped away gingerly. He followed, held at arm's length by her insistent hand. "Not here."

"Not here," he repeated dumbly. But somewhere, and possibly now…

"Five minutes," she rasped. "Come to my room in five minutes."

"Five minutes." His cock ached in his trousers.

She was affixing her hair with trembling fingers, tugging her uniform back into some semblance of neatness. "Five minutes." She wiped at her mouth, knowing her lipstick was probably beyond repair, before walking to the door with amazing sangfroid.

Harry watched her leave in a haze of shimmering vaporous want. "Five minutes," he murmured to himself. Shaking, he lifted his wand and directed the fallen sheets to a shelf. His book tumbled from the self-folding mass and he picked it up. "Five minutes." He righted the toppled linen cart. "Five minutes."

He straightened his own attire as best he could. If he walked slowly to the lifts, then slowly to his ward, then slowly to her room…that would be, "Five minutes."

But the walk seemed to last forever. And the familiar faces that greeted him on his way just seemed like hurdles to be overcome. In the lift, he grew a bit dizzy and held to the railing. He took some deep breaths. He was going to have sex. I'm going to have sex with Narcissa Malfoy. He covered a grin with his hand.

The other volunteers were gathering in the conservatory, breaking into their dinner cliques. Everyone looked tired. Cho waved at him. Rachel winked.

"Harry, wanna come to dinner with us?" Parvati called out.

"No, thanks!" He barely glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm going to…uh…shower."

His feet seemed heavy once they hit the carpet of his corridor. And why was her room so damned far away? By the time he reached her door, it felt as though ten minutes had passed. He knocked twice and the door swished open immediately.

She stood on the other side looking (if possible) as nervous as he felt. "Hi," he said. "Um…I don't know if it's been five –"

She jerked him inside, and his book dropped forgotten to her floor.

The cool light of early evening had muted the room to a gray, but she hadn't closed the curtains he noticed. He could only breathe, watching her fuss the buttons on her jacket and cuffs. She shot an impatient glance over her shoulder. "Well?"

"W-well?" The door was reassuring against his back.

Her jacket dropped away to reveal an expanse of meringue-colored skin and an ivory lace bustier. His fingers itched to touch the lace. "Undress," she said, starting on the buttons at the back of her skirt.

His brain caught up to his cock at that moment and he stepped forward. "Let me," he murmured. He had to touch her, knuckles brushing her soft back as he unbuttoned her skirt. She shimmied it over her hips, revealing wide lacy knickers attached by garters to her silky stockings. His mouth went dry, hands finally moving over the shimmering material.

Sensing he was distracted, she turned in his loose embrace. Their eyes met briefly, reflecting amazement at one another and she began working the buttons on his oxford. The skin above the waistband of her knickers was particularly soft and Harry stroked it. "You feel good," he mumbled. He was staring at her breasts and jolted violently when her fingers suddenly stroked his stomach, traced the tight planes and the trail of dark hair. "Oh!"

"Sweet goddess," she whispered. "You can't be real."

Those sinful fingers dipped just beneath his trousers and he kissed her, pressing against her to stop her exploration. He was dreadfully afraid that should she touch anything below his belt, he might not make it past introductions. He moved them to her bed and she sat, drawing one foot onto the mattress in a way that suggested she was deviously spry for her age. Harry put a hand on the raised knee, caressed it and watched as she worked open his trousers.

He stepped out of his shoes while she successfully disrobed him. Her little pink tongue peeked from her lips at the bulge in his briefs. She stroked it boldly, not nearly so shy as him, and he groaned in pain. "Don't."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" She looped fingers into the waist of his pants and started to tug.

He stopped her. "Mrs. Malfoy…"

"Harry." She looked up at him, eyes bright and smirking. "Are you going to call me Mrs. Malfoy whilst we fuck?"

The word on her lips was a surprising delicacy that curled his toes a bit. "I…"

"Please don't." She tugged against his resistance and his erection bobbed red and angry in the slight chill. Her eyes widened a hint. "My given name will suffice."

Then her lips were closing just over the head of his cock and he bucked, surging against her face. "Narcissa!"

She pulled away, fisting him with one hand while massaging his quivering hind with another. "Better."

"I won't last!" He gasped, held her jaw to keep her at bay. His face flushed hot with embarrassment, but she didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"No, I suspect you won't. Not this time, anyway." She calmly removed his fingers from her face.

"This time…" His head fell back while hers bobbed. He could tell she was experienced in this particular activity. His knees trembled and he took hold of her hair and shoulder – not to guide, but to steady himself. She was as brisk in pleasuring him as she was in coordinating, and he was woefully correct about his stamina.

Remembering Ginny's distaste for his cum, he slid a hand back to Narcissa's jaw, felt it working his length in her mouth. "Guh…I'm…" He looked down and found her looking up. The image of her wide eyes and her mouth swallowing his cock whole stopped speech. He simply surrendered to a fierce orgasm, hoping she could forgive.

Gentle fingers stroked his sac as it emptied, and she pulled away from him without so much as a grimace. In fact, her lipstick seemed still intact. Hazily, he wondered if she'd imbibed all of his offering and could only assume she had. "Oh…"

She stood, belly brushing his now flaccid cock. Gingerly, she removed his glasses, setting them on the bedside table. "Lie down, Harry. It's alright."

Like an automaton, he followed her instruction, propping on one elbow to watch her. Her fingers were knowledgeable at the back of her complicated lingerie, but she turned away from him as it fell away, approached the window. She slipped the curtains closed, dimming the light even further.

Harry's brows creased. He raised up on his knees and crawled to where she sat smoothly removing her knickers and stockings. He caressed her back before reaching up and opening the curtains again. "Harry!"

"No," he said, kissing her neck. "I want to see you."

She shrugged him off. "I'm not a girl anymore, Harry. My body -"

"I don't want a girl." He thought of Rachel, of Cho and Ginny. At the thought of Ginny, his eye twitched and he compartmentalized. "I want you." He pulled at Narcissa's elbows until she relaxed and turned to him. "Come here."

He tugged at her until she faced him, kneeling. They were equalized this way, embracing slowly, kissing slowly and exploring whatever their hands could reach. Harry felt himself hardening against the pooch of her belly – an extra tiny curve he found to be stunning evidence that this witch had carried life within herself. Once she was pliant enough to let him maneuver her, he took in as much of her body as he could.

Breasts he'd expected to be bigger were perfect brimming handfuls, the mauve nipples hardened to rounded peaks by his lips and palms; an arse full and tight, ticklish muscles rippling under his fluttering fingers. She gasped or even chuckled now and then, hiding those girlish reactions in his neck or shoulder, and he would coax her back to his lips each time. Her vengeful fingernails against his scalp and down his back made him jerk and snort.

When his fingers finally sought to explore the electric fur of her apex, she whimpered in his mouth. "I'd like to lie down if you're going to do that."

He lowered her to the bed, curling to her side so he could watch her like a scientist might. She was flushed and pretty in the last vestiges of shyness, parting her legs hesitantly. His eyes devoured the pink secret hidden beneath scratchy dark down, swollen with blood and wet. It occurred to him he'd never in his days seen a woman's cunt properly. His fumblings with Ginny thus far had been strictly beneath knickers and blankets.

But this was hardly fumbling. This grown witch was arching into each curious touch and encouraging him with her own exquisite red varnished fingers. "There," she whispered, slipping his index finger across her clit. "Gently. Like that. Oh!" She pulled his lips to hers, hissed against them. "You're good at this, Harry."

His head – and other body parts – swelled at her words. The fact that she had no idea this was his first time was inspiring, and he suddenly remembered all the things he'd wanted to try with Ginny. "Can I taste you?"

"Oh, Merlin…" She pressed down on his head. "By all means."

He kissed his way down her body, focusing far too long on her breasts, pushing the peachy spheres together to lave them with his tongue to her breathy appreciation. The undersides were obviously ticklish and she squealed a little when he nipped there. He chuckled and continued on his way, nipping gently at the skin over her ribs and the protrusions of her pelvic bone.

She was positively begging by the time he settled between her thighs, licking his lips in anticipation. He looked up to see her looking down on him this time, and he could only imagine the picture he made lowering his mouth to her hot weeping core. At the first touch of his tongue, her head lolled and his eyes closed. Addiction, he thought. This sweet sharpness… He could drink from her tap all day.

Her pure abandonment was an added attraction; the way her leg curled salaciously around his shoulders, the way her abdomen lunged into his mouth, the way her verbiage deserted deportment. "Oh, Harry. Sweet Circe, that's so good. Oh, hell. Put your fingers in me. Yesyesyes! Suck harder. Right there. Up! Up! Down. Faster!"

She keened and his fingers reached just that much farther, learning the textures and trembles of her innermost secrets. One texture in particular differed from the rest, and when he stroked it curiously, her entire body seized and she nearly ripped a shank of hair from his head. "Shite! Harry! That's it!" The rest of her utterance was comprised of guttural grunts and groans. Harry just held tightly to her thigh as she rode out that final encompassing pleasure.

Her hand and arm curved around his head like a snake coiling home. "Perfect," she whispered. She was hoarse, and her red lips were dry. "Oh, Harry…"

He crawled up her body, slicking over the sheen of sweat across her skin, thrilling to the feel of her thighs caressing his sides. "Okay?"

She chuckled, a low satisfied sound. "Very okay." Her arms draped over his neck, encouraging him to lay full against her. "You?"

He nodded. Pressed his forehead to hers. She made to kiss him, but he pulled back uncertainly, aware her scent – her essence – was on his face. "Um…"

Surprising him yet again, she licked his mouth lewdly. "Fuck me." Then her legs were around his hips pulling him inside her.

He gasped when fully seated against her pelvis, the most intrinsic sensation of sizzling wet velvet wrapping his cock in fiery wonderment. He pressed his face into her neck. "Oh. Sweet. Gods."

"Indeed. Move, Potter!"

He complied, confused at his hips' quick compliance. But it must have been instinct driving him into the witch. Instinct pushing his fingers into her hips. Instinct slamming his balls against her backside. Instinct burning a trail of molten indulgence up his tightening spinal column.

And if it was instinct, then the same evolutionary spark was blazing into flame inside his lover. She flipped him like a huntress, like some long extinct mutual ancestor resurrected by primal magic. Her hands were a blur on his body, pressing one of his to her breast and the other to the steaming junction of their bodies. She posted with the grace and confidence of a dressage rider marked for championship status. "Brilliant," she hissed. "You're brilliant."

Harry was captivated by the bouncing of her breasts, the point of her chin as her head rolled on her shoulders. He felt that wicked build beginning again, too soon, too soon… He groaned. "Please, Narcissa."

She looked down at him, blue eyes darkened by rampant lust recognizing his distress. "I'm close," she growled. "So close." Her post fell to a grind and she leaned over him, cradled his face, kissed his lips, bit at them. When the whinging supplication wormed its way up her throat and into his ear, he braced for the vice grip he'd felt earlier on his fingers, read the ripples in her thighs.

"Ugh…yes..." She froze, contorted like a circus performer, her beautiful face ugly in passion's parody. And there it was…the bliss…the thing he'd read about, the thing he'd dreamt about: her orgasm swirling around his cock, mingling with the effervescent prickle of surrender that was his own, muscles milking him mercilessly.

He nearly wept for it.

They breathed like thoroughbreds after a race. Her face stroked against his. She kissed the sweat from his cheeks. His hand fell away from her breast, moved up to stroke her back. When she didn't roll away from him immediately, he embraced her loosely. Kissed her temple. "Alright?" He rasped in her ear.

"Mm-hm."

Stickily, she pushed away. His flaccid cock flopped onto his thigh, smeared the evidence of their mingling. She fell onto her back, one knee raised. "Gods…." She murmured breathlessly.

And thus began his first bout of sexual self-doubt. He turned his head to take in her profile. Hair mussed. Eyes closed. She looked happy enough. There was even a small smile on her lips. "Did I…"

Her head turned toward him. "You did," she answered. Lovingly, she stroked his face. "And I hope I managed to keep up with those younger witches who came before me?"

Honesty was not a question. He was too depleted by lust to lie to her, and too far gone in fatuous bliss. "None came before you."

Her smile disappeared. The little lines beside her eyes smoothed as if a glamour dropped over them. She blinked quickly. "What?"

He rolled onto his side. "You were my first."

She shot up, wrapping the messed duvet around her nakedness as she scrambled from the bed. Pushing unruly blonde and black from her face, she regarded him with a hint of her dead sister's madness. "You're lying."

"I wouldn't lie about that."

"No!" She shouted, pointed a finger. "You were not a virgin!"

Harry sat up, concerned at this reaction. "I was," he insisted. "Why does this matter? What the hell is wrong with you?"

She sighed, gripped her hair and sat at the foot of the bed. "Harry…" She didn't – couldn't – look at him. "You should have told me… Gods, I practically raped you!"

He grinned and laughed at that. "Hardly!"

But her fretting continued. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You're just a boy! If it was Draco… Merlin help me, I'd kill the witch." Her face fell into her hands.

"Well, I'm not your son. So get that thought right out of your head." Should he comfort her? She didn't seem very touchable at the moment.

"But you're still another witch's son! A good witch, at that! And I'm…"

"You're what?" He touched her shoulder anyway. "Don't you dare say you're a bad witch. If you were truly awful, I'd be dead…and you'd have flying monkeys."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She glared at him over her shoulder. the sheet slipped away, revealing skin pinkened by their recent lust. "Your first time should be special, Harry. It should be with someone you –"

"Who was your first?" He asked, not caring how rude the intrusion was.

"My husband!" Her answer was defensive.

The image of her bridal photo flashed before his mind's eye. "Did you love him?"

Her mouth worked, eyes darted about. "I…"

"That's what I thought." Harry fell back into her pillows. "Now. Come back up here, please. I'd like a proper bloody cuddle."

AN: Thank you intoxicatedminds for the Britpick!
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The Volunteer