The Benefits Of Naivety

The Benefits of naivety

Despite the seemingly solid plan of sheltering a young wizard in blissful ignorance, with the intention of ultimately sacrificing him, Dumbledore overlooked the vulnerability of a naïve hero to the predatory scavengers. As whispers of his sacrificial lamb’s weakness reach the other side, what strategies will Dumbledore employ to safeguard his pawn’s potency? Or has the pawn, like a poised chess piece, already traversed the board, patiently awaiting its metamorphosis?

Tags: M/F, M/FF. 

Pairings: Harry/Rita Skeeter, Harry/Madam Rosemerta, Harry/Nymphadora Tonks, Harry/Narcissa Malfoy, Harry/Fleur, Harry/Daphne Greengrass, Harry/Mrs. Zabini, Harry/Molly Weasley, Harry/Pansy, Harry/Carrow Twins, Harry/Aurora Sinistra, Harry/Prof Babbling, Harry/Prof Vector.

1. Bugbite

Harry rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn as he exited the Gryffindor common room. The late morning sun’s glare licked him through ornate windows as he descended the main staircases. Thank Merlin, it was Sunday, or he would have been late for a couple of classes already. At least, in previous years, his friends would have waited for him before coming to breakfast, sometime even waking him after he had overslept. But this year...

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. Those ungrateful lot. 

His stomach rumbled, and he let out a curse, dashing across the corridor to reach the great halls. The overlarge gate was a treat for his hungry eyes, and hoping against hope that there was some breakfast remaining there, Harry sprinted. 

Skidding to a halt, and taking a deep breath, he prepared for the late stragglers present in the hall and their daily glares. 

He had barely taken a step inside when a clawed hand stalled him. 

Harry whirled around, staring at Professor McGonagall’s face.

“Professor?” Harry asked quizzically. “What is it?”

“Headmaster is requesting your presence.” His head of the house’s crisp tone had a distinct steel, far cry from her previous sympathetic assurances. Harry gulped at her stiff posture, a knot forming inside.

“Um… can I have my breakfast first?” Harry cautiously asked. “I promise I will visit him later.”

The professor pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, narrowing her eyes. “The Headmaster has emphasized the urgency of his sermon,” she said, raising her hand to silence his protest. “Mr. Potter, you can eat something from the kitchen later.”

His vehemence dying in his throat, Harry followed his head of the house, mind whirling through the possibilities of his unexpected summoning. Had Professor Dumbledore found the culprit who had put his name in the Goblet? His gait quickened. Maybe that was the reason behind Professor McGonagall’s stiffness.

“Mars bars!” 

The heavy stone gargoyle sprang open with a creak, causing Harry’s heart to race. He stumbled forward, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. As he reached the entrance to the office, he noticed that his head of the house had not taken a single step forward, leaving him in a state of bewilderment.

“Professor?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, frowning when she shooed him up, shaking her head.

“Headmaster will see you now,” saying this, she turned around and marched back the way they had come, leaving Harry alone. “Don’t make him wait.”

His earlier conjecture now in ashes, Harry was pretty sure that he wouldn’t like whatever he would find inside Headmaster’s office.

Shaking his head, and squaring his shoulders, Harry stalked up and rapped his knuckles, entering inside the cluttered office after getting permission.

Not being there for the first time, some luster of all those knick-knacks had vanished from his mind but even then he couldn’t stop himself from drawing into himself, as the oppressive atmosphere inside the usually airy room raised the hairs of the back of his hand. 

His eyes fell on the old bearded wizard sitting on his throne-like chair, his hands folded. Harry gulped, seeing the bushy brows of his drawn together. Those blue-eyes staring at him with intensity were unnerving in itself, but the Daily Prophet sprawled on the desk and his own moving image on the front page made him wish to be in some other place.

“Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked, fidgeting as he stood there like a fool, with the headmaster staring at him with an unnerving intensity. His nervousness spurred the venerable wizard into action and he turned the newspaper toward him, still maintaining his silence.

Harry glanced at the paper once and did a double take, gulping when the headline registered in his mind.

                                                         The-Boy-who-lived or the boy-who-was-left-aside.

                                                                  An excerpt on the life of Harry Potter,

                                                                                    By Rita Skeeter.

                                                               Special correspondent, Daily Prophet.

Harry jerked back, not needing to read any further. Especially as he was pretty sure what could be inside the excerpt. He relaxed, or as much as he could, trying to appear fed up with the attention from the press.

“I presumed you would be more interested in reading about your personal life,” Professor Dumbledore finally broke his silence. “Particularly, the skillfully woven fabrications crafted by Ms. Skeeter.”

A vein throbbed in his temple. The audacity of the wizard to wave off the truth just because he disliked it.

“No headmaster.” Harry shoved his hands inside his trousers so that the old wizard wouldn’t be able to see them bunched into fists. “I have stopped caring about what they publish about me. Not after the fiasco of wand weighing.”

“Indeed.” He took the offered sit, however begrudgingly, realizing an unspoken order. “A wise action; an action that will certainly stave off a lot of your future headaches.”

Harry kept his mouth shut, not denying the morsel of truth. Professor Dumbledore leaned forward, pushing his half-moon glasses up his nose and giving him that look—the look where he seemed to dig into your soul and find your greatest secrets. Harry stared back challengingly. 

“You have come to my office straight from your dormitory, I assume.” Harry nodded, not having reached the Great Hall, thus technically coming straight from the Gryffindor tower. “And you haven’t got the chance to read the morning paper, am I correct?”

“Yes, headmaster, I haven’t even brushed my teeth before coming for breakfast.” Harry really hadn’t, too famished to wait for a couple of minutes and miss filling his belly. Though that didn’t turn out accordingly, did it?

“And have you given any kind of interview about your past? In the last few days?”

“Why would I do that?” Harry challenged with a straight face. “I don’t like my personal life plastered all over, if you have forgotten.”

“Forgive me, my boy. But I needed to verify.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, sighing and steepling his fingers. “Even though the article is filled with twisted truths and utter lies, there is enough substance in them for me to believe that someone must have informed something to miss Skeeter for her to paint these falsehoods.”

Harry breathed gently, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe she had somehow gotten my address. Ron said she had the uncanny habit to dig up hidden truths.”

“Not only that,” Professor Dumbledore riffled through the pages and pointed to the last of the paragraph. “Here, she even foreshadowed about future articles about your time here, at Hogwarts. Which I don’t need to remind you is scarcely known outside of a small circle.”

Harry’s heartbeat picked up. His palms got sweaty and the small condensation forming on his brows made him blanch.

“Harry, my boy, do you perhaps have any idea about how Ms. Skeeter could chance across such knowledge? It is of utmost importance to not spread some of the sensible topics to the general masses.”

Harry stared at Headmaster’s electric blue eyes and shook his head decisively. After all, he had heard somewhere that you should always lie by looking someone straight in the eyes.

The triumph that was trying to burst through his expression was hard to corral, but Harry succeeded. With a mighty effort. The adrenaline that flowed through him from lying to the most powerful wizard opposite him was no less addictive than diving from hundreds of meters in his firebolt.

And why shouldn’t it? Considering he was not only aware of how Rita Skeeter got her hands on those juicy details, but was the informant himself. 

If only every other reporter worked like Rita to gather dirty secrets, Harry would be more than happy to divulge every single detail of his life to any of them. 

The memory of the encounter was so vivid that Harry could almost relive it.

The previous night, Gryffindor dorm room.

Harry was more than a little envious of his dormmates as he lay awake in his dormitory. The dim moonlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, amplifying the snores that buzzed around the room. His mind fought with worry, a thousand thoughts swirling in his head like a whirlwind. The scratchy fabric of his quilt clung to his restless body as he twisted and turned for what felt like the umpteenth time that night.

In this moment, the weight of his situation hit him like a ton of bricks. For the first time in his Hogwarts years, he found himself utterly alone. Gone were the days of Ron's incessant badgering about chess matches, or Hermione's persistent nagging about completing his homework. It was as if he had been transported back to his younger years, when solitude was his constant companion.

He supposed it wasn’t too surprising. The Prophet’s column after the wand-weighing was less about the Tri-wizard ceremony and more about the glory of the boy-who-lived. 

Ron, being the jealous git, was already sour about him stealing all the limelight. Now Hermione had also followed his path, evading him and keeping her distance from him. Harry couldn’t even make her understand he hadn’t bragged about all those things printed on the face of the Prophet. How would he know about Hermione’s admiration of journalists and their self-made mission to unearth uncomfortable truths? First, her steadfast stubbornness to defend authority figures (Cough! ‘Snape’ Cough!) then this thing with the reporters — Harry smothered a snort in his pillow, the soft fabric muffling the sound. As if a reputed journalist couldn’t ever embellish truths to their liking. 

He punched the soft pillow, fluffing it up and making it even more comfortable than the comfort charm placed on them, a grunt escaping from the back of his throat. The first task loomed over him and the more he read about the past tournaments, the more he realized someone had planned thoroughly for his demise this time. In a few weeks, he would stand beside the best students from other schools and fight for eternal glory. A fight which he was wholly unprepared for. Without Hermione’s brilliance at his side, the challenge had become nothing but pure torture of anticipation. A torture that could unfurl in a blink.

A rustle around his feet made him jerk up, hands flinging underneath the pillow for his wand. The curtains around his bed slowly parted, and a pale, dainty hand pushed inside, with the long fingers adorned by sharp nails painted burnt red.

Harry cursed. One hand beneath his pillow while the other searched for his spectacles. Pulling the sheet along with him, Harry scooted up. A tremendous relief spread along his veins the moment his fingers touched the polished wood. Now if only he could remember where he had put his spectacles…

The wire-rim glasses thudded against his palms and Harry jammed it around over ears. Clarity came back, but dread came right along. His fumbling had lasted long enough for the intruder to climb onto his bed, and Harry let out a shout of alarm, eyes widening at the identity of her.

“Ms. Skeeter! What… what are you doing here?” Harry asked, gasping and dragging the quilt to his chin. “How the bloody hell did you find me?”

The blond witch smirked infuriatingly, pulling the curtains closed. “We don’t need to raise our voices, do we, dear? Just imagine what your friends will think, seeing us like this.”

A few seconds passed, and the moonlight flittering from the windows bathed his bed, allowing him to see the witch properly. He gulped, hardly believing the woman sitting there was the same woman who had dragged him to that crammed cupboard. “What are you wearing?” His voice broke, impressed rather than accusing.

“This? Why, it’s my old Hogwarts uniform. Don’t you like it?” She asked, a ridiculous pout on her mature face. Harry squinted. The magical lantern beside his bed emitted a faint orange glow, the dying embers inadequate to bright up the entire bed. “I can’t just barge into a boy’s dorm in my everyday clothes, can I? Not after so many decades.”

The shade of her tie, along with her skirt, was enough to curdle Harry’s mood. “You were in Slytherin?” Harry asked, barely keeping the disgust from his voice. Her affiliation with the House of Snakes jolted him enough that he remembered he should kick her out of his bed. “Never mind that. Get out of here.”

“Really,” the blond prowled toward him on her hands and knees, making him scuttle back, his back pressed against the headrest. Seeing her on her hands and knees, Harry was aptly reminded of a tigress preparing to lunge. “You will let all my effort of finding this dress go to waste, Harry dear?”

Harry finally got a good look at the blond and bit back his first response. The mandatory white button-up shirt strained against her bosoms, with the buttons straining to hold a mature woman’s endowments for the prison made for teenagers. The green and silver tie hung below, as she crept up his bed and Harry had the distinct feeling the green skirt would be a lot smaller than the requirement. 

“Do you like me better in this, Harry? You weren’t so fond of my green dress at the ceremony.” She whispered, stopping inches from his wide eyes. “Though you peeked at my breasts, didn’t you? I saw you, don’t deny.” 

Harry shook his head, denying her accusation. Damn it. He was discreet! Then how did she…

“You are wondering how I know?” Harry gulped at her words. Her square glasses flashed, enhancing her forest green eye. “Tut…tut…Harry, a woman always knows when a man’s eyes are straying.”

Without her excessive makeup, the blond looked ten times more appealing. The absence of her gold framed glassed also was a lot less annoying, making her look less fake and more sensual. Though Harry’s eyes repeatedly went to her, breasts swinging beneath her, looking heavy and full inside the white shirt.

She situated herself beside him, resting her back on the headrest of the four-poster bed. Harry should have protested, especially as she seemed to make herself comfortable. Her hands trailed over the quilt, stopping when she reached his chest. 

A pressure built inside him, as if his heart was about to burst. It took barely a few seconds for him to realize that he was hyperventilating, sweat beading on his forehead. Her perfume was overwhelming, assaulting his senses. The fruity, citrusy zest wafted, and Harry gulped it down.

Is this a woman’s presence? His virgin mind was getting overwhelmed, his thoughts haywire as the reporter rubbed his chest over the quilt.

“My, my, Harry, I can feel your heart beating so fast,” Rita Skeeter purred, her fingers digging into the fabric. “You haven’t touched a woman. I can feel it.”

“I…I haven’t.” Harry said, eyes going sideways to the woman. 

“Then don’t you want to feel a woman’s touch, Harry? Feel the inside of a woman’s heat?” She turned sideways, resting her bosom over his torso, and licked his jaw. “Such a handsome young wizard, but still chaste. Why, I so want to steal this innocence of yours…”

The feeble protest brewing inside of him whimpered and then died as her breasts mashed against his arms, her tongue leaving a trail of burning passion. The slimy dextrous appendage licked his ears, and Harry couldn’t believe how good that felt.

“So, do you want this, love? Want me to show you how good an experienced witch can make you feel?” Harry would have agreed to sign his vault in her name at the moment. He nodded his head, feeling her smile beside him. “Good boy.”

The quilt fell away from his torso and her surprised gasp rang through. “Mmm…strong, young muscles, so beautiful.” Rita’s fingers ghosted across his chest, stroking his pecks and tugging at his nipple. “Such a handsome young man.”

Harry’s eyes rolled, the alien sensation of her soft touch lighting his every pleasurable nerve. Her nails against his nipples felt especially electric. He groaned, flushing at emitting such a needy whine. 

Her hands toying with his bellybutton stalled, the tongue disappearing.

“As much as I would like to continue, I do need something from you, Harry.” Rita said, her idle hand twisted the topmost button of her shirt, on the verge of tugging it open.

“What… what do you need?” Harry asked, holding his breath as the button fell away. Her fingers immediately went for the next button, just on top of her breasts’ swell.

“You see, dear,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration, “you are a very illusive person to get hold of.” As he stared at her with a puzzled expression, she nodded. Only his troubled breathing joined her whispers. “Why,” she continued, her voice growing more exasperated, “I have requested the Headmaster at least a dozen times for an interview, but he had rebuffed me every time.” Rita huffed in annoyance, and Harry could feel his own anger rising on her behalf. 

Who was the Headmaster to answer on his behalf? First, he did nothing about his participation in the Triwizard Tournament, and now this interference…

“I Just need a few answers from you, and we can go on… for the entire night.” Rita’s fingers drew circles around his bellybutton while her other hand toyed another button open.

He stood on the verge of saying yes, his thoughts consumed by the desire to feel her touch once more, oblivious to everything else. Suddenly, a thunderous snore erupted from Ron’s bed, shattering the tranquility of the dorm. 

Ron! Hermione! The memory of his friends flooded his mind, accompanied by the vivid recollection of the recent article that had been published. His face contorted in a grimace as he recalled the lies that had been penned by the very woman standing before him - a bitter reminder of her role as the deceitful reporter.

The faint rustle of fabric caught his attention, drawing his gaze back to the blond woman before him, and Harry’s eyes widened in astonishment. As he observed, Rita discarded her shirt, the sound of the cloth sliding off her shoulders echoing in the air. His vision was immediately drawn to the tie that now hung delicately between her bosoms, accentuating their curves. A tiny green lace bra encased her bosoms, revealing half of their round, pale flesh, creating a tantalizing sight.

She was the one who created the current mess for him. Harry’s conscience screamed, but it was tough to keep his eyes from her form, her full breast and curvy hips too enticing for his virgin mind to cope with. 

“You wrote lies about me…” Harry used every ounce of his will power, stowing his desire in the back of his mind. “Because of that, my friend Hermione stopped helping me.”

“Harry, dear, I am just a reporter. I have no say in whatever the Daily Prophet publishes in their final print.” The blond looked properly contrite, sowing a flicker of doubt in Harry’s mind. "The editor will print whatever will appeal to most readers." A slow, stuttering finger of hers dragged the cups of her bra down her boobs and Harry’s brain short-circuited. 

“Whoa…”

“Just think about it. If the people know something true about you, then they will stop believing in those lies. Won’t you prefer that?”

The words entered his ear, but somehow lost before reaching his brain. His mind focused only on those huge teardrop shaped breasts, with their gumdrop nipples swaying with her movements.

The hand near his abdomen reached inside the quilt and fished for his very aroused penis. His quilt fell away at her prodding, making Harry flush as she giggled at his snitch themed boxers. Though that giggle abruptly cut off as an obscenely large bulge thumped against her palm.

“Oh My!” her insistent fingers dragged the elastic band down and a huge, fat teenage cock swayed, breaking free from its cotton coverings. “My word!”

Now it was the blond reporter’s turn to gape at his unveiled cock. The huge spurting head, red and raw and vigorous, pushed against her palm which was quivering, Harry absentmindedly noted.

“This is unexpected.” Her breath hitched, a shiver of uncertainty in her voice. “I hadn’t expected such bestial endowment… certainly not from a teenage boy.” Her breathing picked up, her chest swaying with the large intake of air. “Unexpected… but so, so welcome.”

Her stuttering palm straightened and took hold of his dick, the pale of her skin contrasting sharply against the red, swarthy skin of his cock. The fat glans of his flared into prominence as she dragged his foreskin down, the musky scent familiar through his regular jerk off seasons.

Her palm’s chill stung him, but the softness enveloping his cock was inescapable. Especially the way she expertly twisted her hand in her downward strokes. “Fuck!” He cursed, eyes closed and marveling at the difference of feeling just because of her dainty hand.

The wet ‘slops’ of skin dragging and the increase of the musky smell accompanied his hurried breathing, his chest rising and falling. He jerked back as her tongue swapped against his collarbone, groaning in the back of his throat to express his pleasure. 

Harry squinted his eyes, seeing her blond head gradually lowering along his torso. She trailed kisses along his ribs, sucking his nipples, then tonguing his navel, making him squirm. Merlin! Harry bit his cheeks. The hand on his dick was skillful enough, but this added stimulation pushed him toward his orgasm faster that he could have ever imagined. 

His entire body jolted, a grunt leaving him as her hot tongue touched his cock. “Yeah! That’s fucking IT!” 

The slippery appendage swirled around his cockhead and Harry had to bunch his fists to stop himself from forcing her head down. “Keep going! Don’t stop!”

Sucking his dick like a lollipop, Rita stared at his pleasure-filled eyes from behind her spectacles, giving him a truly seductive smile. “You don’t mind giving an interview, now, do you, Harry?” She disengaged from her blowing for a second and Harry grunted impatiently, nodding and begging her to continue. 

“Yes… yes! Whatever you want.”

“Good boy.”

Her lips descended the length of his cock and Harry held his breath, the tight suction of her cheeks creating a vacuum, an entirely new feeling for his virgin self. 

“Gods!” Harry grunted, especially when her hand latched onto his balls and tugged and juggled the loose scrotum. “I am… I am about to cum, Ms. Skeeter!”

The wet blowjob from a mature blond tested his resolve too much and Harry’s balls churned, dick on the verge of emptying inside the busty reporter. She swept his admission aside, playing with his balls and choking over his dick. Her saliva splattered against his legs, with some falling into her hand. The same hand that was tugging his balls. She immediately lathered the spit all over his hairy nuts, his crinkly skin getting wet with a witch’s saliva for the first time.

An odd sound stole his attention, and it took a few seconds for him to realize what he was seeing. A quick quotes quill along with a jet-green notebook had situated themselves at the foot of his bed, with the quill vibrating and emitting an odd hissing sound.

“Don’t worry about it.” Rita took a break for a moment, putting his cock between her cleavage. “It won’t bite. But me…”

OH fuck!

If getting sucked by a witch was pleasurable, then smothered by a pair of tities was heavenly. As she dragged her tits up and down around his dick, creating tight suction, Harry almost feared the thought of having sex. How could anything top this feeling?

The urge to burst his nuts flowed through his abdomen, and Harry lifted his hips, thrusting in rhythm with her tit-job.

“God damn it!” His body jolting, a painful pleasure spreading along his cock, before he let out an animal-like roar, eyes crossing in pleasure.

“Yes, Harry, unload everything onto me. Push all those tasty cum out of your balls and inside my mouth. I promise I will drink every drop.”

That was it. His cock erupted. The week-long stored jizz exploded out of his pisshole and splattered all over the moaning blond. 

She opened her mouth, tongue hung out, but the force of his ejaculation was such that most spurted against her glasses and forehead, bathing the frame and her pale skin in white, sticky, goo.

Harry flopped behind, his body giving in. Even masturbating three-four times in the past hadn’t drained him like that. 

Breathing like he had just a fought a Minotaur, Harry opened a lazy eye. And what he saw…the famous reporter was scrapping cum from her glass-frame with her fingers and directly shoving them inside her lips. Her tits, her forehead, her collarbone—every pale inch was glistening with his congealed cum. 

His dick rapidly lost the lethargy. 

“My, my, I have almost forgotten about the virility of the teenage boys,” Rita’s hand pawed his recently hardened cock, “though I know you are special even among your age.”

“Yeah,” Harry had never divulged it, but he knew he had the biggest cock in the quidditch locker room. Oliver had forced him to always wear a towel in the bathroom, citing about downing the morale of the players as a reason. “My friends are smaller than me.” Pride shined through his eyes, and he felt accomplished. Maybe even more than what he had felt after winning the quidditch cup last year.

“And every single inch of this gigantic cock will be inside me.” Rita declared, making Harry’s wish come true. She crawled over his body, squatting above his frame. 

Harry’s guess was correct, as the skirt was barely to the middle of her thighs, which turned out beneficial when she pulled it up and shoved the green thong aside, presenting him with his first female pussy.

Harry stared at the glistening organ, swallowing the sudden influx of saliva in his mouth. The small strip of blond hair above her mound added a certain sensuality to her mature folds and Harry wished she would let him play with those wispy strands of hair, maybe ever lick those coarse follicles.

“Ready to be a man, love?” She descended slowly as Harry pushed his hips up, trying to align his stiff cock inside her already. His entire bottom lifted from the bed, his round, flushed cockhead almost touching her weeping folds, when suddenly she raised herself, depriving him of her heat.

“NO!” Harry didn’t even care about making a ruckus. His roommates could get a front row sit of this for all he cared.

“Uh…uhhh… you didn’t forget about your promise, did you?” Rita said, her fingers spreading her pussy lips and making him drool. “I will ask you something and if you answer it truthfully, only then…”

She descended again, and this time, his cockhead hooked against her folds and Harry pushed inside, shoving the first couple of inches. “OHH!” her squeal was music to his ears. Her hands fell on his chest and she pushed herself up, grinning at him.

“Just…please…” Harry sounded pathetic, even in his own ears. But he would do anything to return inside her. “Ask me already!”

“Oh! HNNG!” She dropped, taking half of his dick inside, and squealing loudly. “Tell me… about your childhood. ALL OF IT”

The exited chitter of the quick-quotes quill reached him, but he just panted, core tightened as he pushed up and simultaneously started talking about the Dursleys.

With his every thrust and her push, answering her became a chore, but Harry persevered.

His tongue loosened, words sprouting without a filter, but his eyes remain stuck to her pussy, especially the way her walls hugged his cock, her lips spread wide. He faltered once, seeing white liquid seeping from or hole. 

“No!” Never had he sounded so desperate when she stopped her descent and held him down with a push in his chest. 

“What was that? I didn’t get that.” Her breathing was so labored. “You are keeping things from me, aren’t you?”

Harry shook his head, gritting his teeth as the pleasure fled quickly, the heady rush disappearing with the stoppage of fucking. “Cupboard! The Dursleys kept me inside a shoe cupboard! Happy?”

Rita’s forest green eyes held an undecipherable expression before she fell down, her pussy swallowing most of his cock in a dirty squelch.

“Fuck! SO deep!”

“Damn it, SO wet!”

Harry took hold of her arse and started thrusting mindlessly, his orgasm coming with the force of nature.

Chanting “Fuck!” repeatedly and hearing her groaning and moaning above him, Harry finally lost control, dick jerking and swelling rapidly. He embraced her, feeling her curvy body molding, and let loose, feeling as if his life force was draining by the force with which his cum blasted inside the blonde’s pussy.

She gave a hoarse moan, a sound unlike any he heard previously and new, fire like liquid splashed against their joined parts, his balls tightening after finally releasing inside a woman his seed.

Minutes passed, and they kept their rubbing against each-other, finally both releasing tired pants.

“I can feel you getting hard again.” Rita Skeeter pulled herself up, staring at him with her mussed up look. “We are so going to have a really long interview.” 

-oOo- 

Harry grinned, remembering the hours she had kept interviewing him, especially when she had fallen down with a full belly of his cum, pussy red and abused and groaning pathetically in the early morning. Hmm… When did she leave the dorm? Harry would have to ask her when she came back for another interview.

“Ughh…” 

Harry shook himself, breaking in a nervous sweat after realizing he had completely lost himself while sitting in front of the headmaster. 

An excuse in his lips, Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore, eyes widening in alarm to see him looking green in the face.

The beard twitching, and the face reaching a puce like color, Headmaster Dumbledore, moaned before leaning to the right and emptying his breakfast all over the snoozing Sorting Hat.

“What the flying fuck, Albus!”