Leaning back in her chair, the older witch rubbed at her eyes for a moment to give them a bit of rest. Seemingly endless paperwork and planning were certainly not what she had envisioned when becoming a professor, but like all careers it was one of the necessary evils that was required. A groan escaped her lips before Grace allowed her mind to wander the current obsession dominating her life.
Harry Potter
What a life he had already lived, and that was only including what she knew of the years he had spent in their world. First year had been a mess, no one denied that, and while the summer had been significantly easier the previous school year had been even worse.
The boy had gone from outdueling a thief to slaying a Basilisk. It was beyond unheard, it was unthinkable, nigh impossible. Even their own cover story, used to try and keep the poor child from being harassed by interested parties, the media, the Ministry, and Merilyn knew who else, was pushing what she would have considered 'believable'.
Two of the most powerful witches alive going up against a thousand-year-old monster? It was the stuff of fairy tales. Which made the actual truth that much more ridiculous. Even with his 'redo' of school and heightened knowledge and possibly power because of it the entire idea was absurd.
He would have been a seventh year, maybe. What seventh year student went about discovering The Chamber of Secrets and then fought not only a trained adult witch but also a creature as deadly as an ancient Basilisk?
She wasn't sure if Harry knew, much less understood, what he had done, that he was already the stuff of legend. Such a thought had her fearful, however. He was already leagues beyond his classmates, even those near full graduation. If he were of age, she had no doubt he would be accepted into the Aurors.
What if he became bored and stagnated? It certainly happened before. An overly talented individual emerged but was never challenged, never pushed to achieve higher levels, fizzling out over time, their true potential never realized.
Hadn't she suffered a similar fate? A genius duelist, star of the circuit, and she had chosen to become a teacher after rising to the top.
But why had it? Why had she opted to change her career path into something more academic focused? Had it been the long, lonely, trips with no one to talk to? Or was it making more rivals than friends? Perhaps it was just the constant travel, never settling down, never having a place to go and just relax, a place to call 'home'.
Was it any different now?
She shook her head, at least this coming year promised to be a calmer one. It would give her a chance to accurately judge Harry's skills and progress since the tutoring began, a chance to figure out how much he had grown, and how much he could grow if properly taught.
Perhaps she would even get to the more 'fun' spells during the summer, pique his interest and show him exactly what he would be learning beyond breathing and control exercises.
With the goals in mind, she returned to her previous activity with renewed vigor, knowing that the sooner she completed the lesson plans the sooner she would be able to move onto more interesting ones.
Grace Riddle paused, because the thought of interesting lessons had her mind wandering. He was on vacation, that much she knew, and gathered that it would likely be somewhere warm, sunny, and with an ocean view.
Was he in a bathing suit?
Did he walk along the beach, ignorant of how others stared at him? Would he be approached by others, strangers perhaps, with idle flirtations and charming smiles? Their gazes would wander over the displayed skin, of that she was sure, and just as before, so many times before, a jealousy emerged in her chest.
This time though she remembered herself and her private theories. Rather than becoming angry she focused on something else.
Her hands were placed upon her legs and her body leaned back into the chair.
Youthful girls around his age, laughing and smiling, eyes moving up and down his torso, resting upon what little his clothing hid.
Those same hands began sliding back and forth, up and down, teasing with light pressure.
Would there be casual gestures, ones pushing into his space, allowing for 'innocent' touches? Oh, most certainly. Girls that age cannot help themselves, full of hormones and desires. They want to see, touch, taste.
While her mind imagined the sly movements putting youthful fingertips onto her innocent protégé her hands were anything but idle. With a mind of their own they crept upwards, sliding between clothing to reach the warm skin beneath.
They invite him back to their beach towels, to their umbrella, far away from his family. They laugh playfully, touching and teasing even as he lays down on the offered spot, so trusting.
One hand went up, the other down.
How many girls would there be? At least two, maybe even three? Harry wasn't raised in a world where he should be wary of such things, of the perverted thoughts girls like that had, at how they would take advantage of him. What ploy would be used?
Perhaps the old 'you should put on sunscreen, you don't want to burn' or the 'we can help you dry off with the towel if you want'.
Fingers glide across one of her breasts, others down her bare thigh.
Maybe it would be more direct, they have a beach umbrella after all, a large one. It's enough to shelter them from view. One on each side of him, maybe even one behind. They keep laughing, keep making excuses to touch, even as the laughter slows and the burning stares begin.
Her legs are spread even before her hands is underneath the last layer covering her womanhood. There's a more insistent squeezing of her breast, the way she enjoys it.
The teasing is gone, replaced with insistence. Hands are on his legs now, on his thighs, on his arms and torso. They roam and explore with an eagerness unmatched.
Hardened nipples are pinches between her fingers while others waste no time in pushing into her body. Even with her imagination elsewhere her hands know what she wants, what she needs.
Harry will lean back into the one behind him, mind overwhelmed and letting those dirty girls do as they will. Maybe he thinks it will remain playful and innocent, but it won't and soon after hands push under his bathing suit. They quickly find what they want, the semi-hard boyhood and then they truly begin to take advantage of him.
Another finger is added into her dripping sex, and there was little doubt bruises might form on one of her tits from the mauling she gives herself. It's not enough though and one hand begins to move and pull, desperate to rid herself of the confining fabrics.
How soon until those ravenous girls pulled his shorts down, exposing him to any onlookers? How soon until they began to grope, stroke, and play with every inch of his masculinity? Would others on the beach look away or stare? Would they sneak glances while licking their lips? Would they stealthily touch themselves, wishing they had this beautiful body under them just like those teens were about to?
Her upper layer was off and cool air brushed against exposed skin even as she worked on removing the bottom, even as her fingers desperately sought her own release through frantic thrusts.
One of them would break first, the only question would be whether she would pull her bottom bikini to the side in her haste or manage to get it off entirely before sinking down onto his erection. From there the frenzy would begin, a young body desperately riding him while another moved over his face, pressing her dripping cunt onto his lips, forcing him to eat her out.
And Harry would, he was so talented in that department. They would moan and cum so fast, so hard.
She was naked at her desk, legs spread wide with one foot lifted up onto the wooden surface, the hand not desperately fucking herself groped and played with woefully unattended tits, chair leaned backwards enough she was nearly horizontal, the very picture of debauchery and desperate lust.
They would take turns on him after that, one riding his cock while the others frantically humped his face, cumming again and again. Others would watch, would stare or try desperately to ignore the sights and sounds of their fucking.
Finally, one would lean in, feeling his approaching release and whisper 'you belong to us now' taking him completely into her body even as he came with a groan.
Grace came at the thought, toes curling, body shaking until she finally went slack, panting like a dog.
They would seek to claim him, but she knew better, because in the end he was already hers, and while the jealousy did not subside it did fill her with a desire to mark him as her property once more.
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