There is R-18 in this chapter.
Chapter 44:
– Harry –
I woke to the familiar sensation of two warm, wet mouths working in tandem.
My eyes fluttered open to find Lyra and Lyna kneeling on either side of my hips, their identical faces flushed with concentration and obvious enjoyment as they shared my morning erection between them. Lyra had her lips wrapped around the head, her tongue doing something absolutely sinful to the sensitive underside, while Lyna traced long, slow licks up and down my shaft, occasionally dipping lower to mouth at my balls.
"Good morning, Young Master," Lyna purred against my skin, her breath hot and teasing. "We didn't want to wake you too abruptly."
"Mmm," Lyra agreed, pulling off with a wet pop that made my hips jerk involuntarily. "You looked so peaceful sleeping. But then you started getting hard, and well..." She exchanged a mischievous look with her twin. "We couldn't just ignore it."
"That would have been terribly irresponsible of us," Lyna added with mock seriousness, before swirling her tongue around my tip in a way that made my toes curl.
I groaned, one hand finding its way into Lyra's silky hair while the other gripped the sheets. "You two are—fuck—going to be the death of me."
"What a way to go though," Lyra giggled, then took me deep again, her throat constricting around my length in a way that told me she'd been practicing.
They worked together with the kind of seamless coordination that came from years of doing everything in sync. When Lyra pulled back, Lyna was there to take her place. When one focused on my cock, the other lavished attention on my balls or traced teasing fingers along my inner thighs.
It didn't take long.
"I'm gonna—" I managed to warn them, and instead of pulling away, both twins pressed their faces together against my cock, mouths open and tongues extended, staring up at me with those matching eyes and heart shaped faces full of hungry anticipation.
That image alone pushed me over the edge.
I came with a groan that was probably too loud for this early in the morning, painting both their faces and tongues with thick ropes of cum. They caught as much as they could in their mouths, swallowing eagerly, then turned to each other and started licking the excess off each other's faces with obscene little moans of appreciation.
"Delicious as always, Young Master," Lyra sighed happily once they'd cleaned each other up.
"The perfect way to start the day," Lyna agreed, pressing a final kiss to my softening cock before crawling up to cuddle against my side. Lyra mirrored her on the other side, and for a few minutes I just lay there, catching my breath with two beautiful devil maids draped over me.
This was my life now. Sometimes it still didn't feel real.
"What's on the agenda today?" I asked eventually, running my fingers through Lyna's hair.
"You should probably check on everyone," Lyra suggested, tracing idle patterns on my chest. "Make sure the new arrivals are settling in properly. And there's that stray devil Tsubaki texted us about—someone will want to deal with that before it causes problems."
"Alright," I said, reluctantly extracting myself from their embrace. "Shower first, then I'll make the rounds."
"Would you like company in the shower, Young Master?" Both twins asked simultaneously, their eyes lighting up with identical hope.
I laughed and shook my head. "If you two join me, I won't leave that bathroom for another hour. And I actually do need to check on everyone."
They pouted in perfect unison—an expression they'd definitely practiced—but didn't push further. "As you wish, Young Master. We'll be in the kitchen preparing breakfast if you need us."
I watched them slink out of the bedroom, their hips swaying in those ridiculously short maid uniforms they insisted on wearing even when there was no one to impress. Then I dragged myself into the bathroom for a shower that was, regrettably, solo.
The mansion was even more impressive in the daylight.
Morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows as I made my way through the halls, illuminating polished hardwood floors and tasteful artwork that Mum had somehow acquired in the twenty-four hours she'd had to furnish this place. I recognized a few pieces—actual originals from famous Underworld artists whose work usually only appeared in Maou residences or major museums.
Mum really didn't do things by halves.
My first stop was the back porch, where I found Narcissa and Tonks seated at an elegant wrought-iron table, a silver tea service between them. The view behind them was spectacular. The mansion's grounds sloped gently down toward a small ornamental lake, surrounded by carefully manicured gardens that somehow looked like they'd been growing there for decades rather than being magically transplanted yesterday.
Narcissa looked every inch the aristocrat she'd been raised to be. She wore a deep blue sundress that complemented her pale skin and blonde hair, which fell in elegant waves past her shoulders. Even in casual clothes, she carried herself with a poise that came from generations of Black family breeding.
Tonks, by contrast, was sprawled in her chair like she'd melted into it. Her hair was bubblegum pink this morning—her preferred relaxed color—and she'd abandoned any pretense of formality for ripped jeans and a band t-shirt featuring some group I didn't recognize. The contrast between the two women should have been jarring, but somehow it worked.
"—and I'm thinking we should introduce actual fighting and not just dueling practice," Narcissa was saying as I approached, her tone brisk and professional. "Not the sanitized version Flitwick runs for the dueling club, but proper combat training. After what happened with those Fallen Angels, the students need to understand that real fights don't follow rules."
"The Headmaster might push back on that," Tonks pointed out, taking a sip of her tea. "Dumbledore's always been squeamish about teaching kids to actually hurt people."
"Dumbledore watched six of his students die." Narcissa's voice went cold. "If he still thinks coddling them is the appropriate response, I'll have words with him. Several words. Possibly accompanied by a demonstration of exactly what those children should have known how to do."
"Good morning to you too," I said, announcing my presence as I stepped onto the porch.
Both women looked up, their expressions softening immediately. Narcissa's icy demeanor melted into something warm and genuinely pleased, while Tonks's face split into a grin that made her look about five years younger.
"Harry!" Tonks scrambled out of her chair with characteristic gracelessness, nearly knocking over the tea service in the process. She caught herself on the table edge, blushed, then abandoned dignity entirely and threw herself at me for a hug. "Morning! Sleep well?"
"Very well," I said, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close. "Though Lyra and Lyna made sure I didn't sleep too late."
Tonks pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow. "Oh? And how exactly did they manage that?"
"Use your imagination."
Her hair flickered through several shades of red before settling back to pink, and she smacked my chest playfully. "Some of us had to wake up to boring old alarm clock spells."
"You could have joined them," I pointed out. "You know they'd welcome you." The blush that spread across her cheeks was deeply satisfying. Tonks had grown more comfortable with our physical relationship over the past few weeks, but she still got flustered at the explicit acknowledgment of it sometimes. Her Metamorphmagus nature meant her embarrassment was visible in the way her hair kept threatening to shift colors. "Maybe next time," she mumbled, not quite meeting my eyes.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead before releasing her and turning my attention to Narcissa, who had risen from her seat with considerably more grace than her niece had managed.
"Harry." She stepped forward, and unlike Tonks's enthusiastic tackle, her approach was measured and deliberate, which somehow made it even more impactful when she cupped my face in her hands and drew me down for a proper kiss. Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the tea she'd been drinking. The kiss was unhurried, almost tender, and when she finally pulled away, her pale eyes were warm with an affection that still surprised me sometimes. "I trust you slept well?" she asked, her thumb tracing along my jaw.
"I did. Though I couldn't help but overhear some very interesting curriculum planning." I glanced between the two of them. "Practical combat training?"
Narcissa's expression hardened slightly. "The children who died during the attack—most of them knew defensive spells. Shield charms, stunning hexes, the standard repertoire." She pulled away from me, but not far, her hand coming to rest on my chest. "Do you know what none of them knew? How to fight when their shields failed. How to keep moving when they were injured. How to prioritize targets when facing multiple opponents."
"They knew classroom magic," Tonks added, her earlier playfulness fading into something more serious. "But a classroom won't teach you what it feels like when someone's actually trying to kill you. The panic. The tunnel vision. The way your hands shake so bad you can barely grip your wand."
"Voice of experience?" I asked gently.
She nodded, her hair dimming to a muted purple. "Auror training included some of that. Simulated combat scenarios, surprise attacks, that kind of thing. It was brutal, but it worked. When I faced my first real fight, I was scared out of my mind, but my body knew what to do because we'd drilled it a thousand times."
"That's what I want to bring to Hogwarts," Narcissa said firmly. "Not just theory and textbook spells, but actual muscle memory. Reflexes that kick in before conscious thought." Her fingers curled into my shirt. "I won't let what happened during that attack happen again. Not while I'm teaching there…"
This was why I was still so glad that I'd made her my Bishop—even if the circumstances at the time might have seemed random and crazy to some—not just because she was a powerful and incredibly beautiful magical Milf, but because she genuinely cared about making a difference. She was really finding herself as a defense teacher.
"Dumbledore will support you," I said confidently. "After what happened, he's done with half-measures. And if he doesn't..." I shrugged. "My family has donated enough money to Hogwarts at this point that he can't afford to ignore our opinions."
Tonks snorted. "That's one way to influence educational policy."
"It's the Sitri way." I kissed Narcissa's forehead, then stepped back. "I need to check on the others, but I wanted to make sure you two were settling in alright."
"We're fine," Narcissa assured me, her aristocratic composure sliding back into place like a mask. "This house is very comfortable. Your mother has excellent taste." And Narcissa was a noble lady, she knew all about fine tastes.
"She has expensive taste," I corrected, echoing what I'd told Jasmine yesterday. "Whether it's excellent is still up for debate."
That earned me a rare laugh from Narcissa, a genuine one, not the polished social laugh she'd learned in pureblood circles. "Go check on your other women, Harry. We'll be here when you need us."
"Planning the complete reformation of magical education," Tonks added with a grin. "You know, casual morning tea stuff."
I left them to their scheming and headed deeper into the mansion.
The library was exactly where I expected to find Hermione.
It was a beautiful space—two stories of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a spiral staircase connecting the levels, comfortable reading nooks scattered throughout, and a massive fireplace that dominated one wall. The kind of room that belonged in a fairy tale castle, not a vacation home that had been constructed in less than a day.
There was just one problem.
"This is an outrage," Hermione announced the moment I walked through the door, not even looking up from where she stood glaring at a bookshelf like it had personally insulted her. "Harry, did you know about this? Did your mother do this deliberately?"
I took in the scene before me. My girlfriend—my brilliant, book-obsessed, academically-minded girlfriend—was surrounded by shelves upon shelves of... manga. Japanese comics, thousands of them, organized by genre and series and author, filling what should have been a respectable library with colorful spines featuring big-eyed characters and dramatic action poses.
"Mum built this place in twenty-four hours," I said carefully, trying not to laugh at the sheer indignation radiating off Hermione. "I don't think she had time to curate a proper academic collection."
"Then why build a library at all?!" Hermione spun to face me, her bushy hair even more wild than usual—probably from running her hands through it in frustration. "Why create this beautiful, perfect space and then fill it with—with—" She gestured helplessly at the nearest shelf, which appeared to be dedicated entirely to something called One Piece. "I mean, look at this! There are over a hundred volumes of this one series alone! Who needs a thousand volumes of anything?!"
"Dedicated fans?"
The look she gave me could have curdled milk. I crossed the room to her, gently taking her hands before she could start pulling at her hair again. "Hermione. Breathe. It's just books."
"It's not just books," she said, but some of the tension was leaving her shoulders. "It's the principle of the thing. A library should be a place of learning, Harry. Of expanding one's mind and exploring new ideas through rigorous academic—"
"Have you actually read any of them?"
She stopped mid-rant, her mouth still open. "What?"
"The manga. Have you tried reading any of them?"
Her cheeks flushed pink. "I... may have flipped through a few. Just to understand what I was criticizing, you understand. Proper research methodology."
"And?"
The flush deepened. "Some of them have very interesting magic systems," she admitted in a small voice. "There's one about a school for heroes where people are born with individual powers called 'quirks,' and the applications are surprisingly sophisticated. And another about ninjas that explores the concept of elemental chakra manipulation in ways that made me wonder if similar principles could be applied to wandless casting."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "So what you're saying is, despite your objections to the medium, you're actually getting ideas for new spells from Japanese comic books?"
"I'm saying," Hermione huffed, "that even inferior sources of knowledge can occasionally provide inspiration for superior minds." She paused, then added reluctantly, "There's also one about a girl who falls through a well into feudal Japan and has to collect shards of a magical jewel. It's... surprisingly engaging from a narrative perspective."
This time I did laugh, pulling her into a hug that she returned after only a moment's resistance. "My brilliant girlfriend, getting hooked on shonen manga. Who would have thought?"
"I am not hooked," she protested into my chest. "I'm merely... conducting extended research into the cultural phenomenon."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
She pulled back enough to glare at me, but there was no real heat in it. "You're insufferable."
"You love me anyway."
Her expression softened, and she rose up on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to my lips. "Unfortunately, yes. I do."
We stood there for a moment, just holding each other in the quiet of the manga-filled library, morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows and catching the dust motes floating in the air. It was peaceful. Normal. The kind of moment I'd never expected to have when I first discovered I was a half-devil.
"How are you doing?" I asked eventually, my voice quieter now. "Really?"
Hermione was silent for a long moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my back. "I'm... adjusting," she said finally. "Being a devil, having magic work differently, all of it. It's a lot to process." She looked up at me, her brown eyes serious. "But I don't regret it. Any of it. You know that, right? And my parents are still so proud of me for joining such a noble devil house…"
"I wonder if they try praying to you now? Their dark and evil perfect bookworm daughter…"
She rolled her eyes. "Prat." She kissed me again, longer this time, before pulling away with obvious reluctance. "Now go check on everyone else. I have very important research to conduct." She paused, then added with exaggerated dignity, "Academic research. Into cultural phenomena. Not because I want to know what happens next in the ninja story."
"Of course not."
"I mean it, Harry."
"I believe you completely."
She threw a manga volume at my head as I retreated toward the door. I caught it easily—devil reflexes were useful for more than just combat—and glanced at the cover. Some kind of romance story, judging by the blushing characters.
"Good research material?" I asked innocently.
"Out!"
I left laughing, the sound of Hermione's indignant spluttering following me into the hallway.
I found Lilja in one of the mansion's many sitting rooms, curled up on a plush sofa with Marlene on one side and Jasmine on the other.
The three of them made an interesting picture. Lilja was in comfortable casual clothes—soft jeans and a green sweater that brought out her eyes—and had her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned into Marlene's side. Marlene, still looking unfairly gorgeous in a simple white blouse and fitted slacks, had one arm draped around Lilja's shoulders in an easy, familiar way that spoke to their years-old friendship being rediscovered.
Jasmine sat on Lilja's other side, her expression a mixture of fascination and lingering confusion. Probably after I explained how the supernatural world really worked to her last night. She was still in her pajamas—cute shorts and an oversized t-shirt—with her curly brown hair piled in a messy bun. Her glasses were slightly crooked, giving her an adorably disheveled look.
They were looking at something on Marlene's phone—photographs, from what I could see—and Lilja was pointing at the screen with animated enthusiasm.
"—and this was the summer before seventh year, when we convinced Professor McGonagall to let us use the Quidditch pitch for a midnight picnic," Lilja was saying as I approached. "Look at James's face! He was so sure he was going to get us all in detention, and then Minnie just... rolled her eyes and walked away!"
"I remember that night," Marlene said softly, something wistful in her voice. "You hexed Peter for trying to peek up your skirt and he walked funny for a week."
"He deserved worse." Lilja's tone went briefly dark before lightening again. "Oh! And this one—this is from the Yule Ball in sixth year. Look how young we all were!"
Jasmine leaned closer to see the screen, her brow furrowed. "Mum, is that... you with Mrs. Pot—I mean, with Lily Evans? You look so happy together."
"We were." Marlene's voice was thick with old grief and older love. "We were best friends. More than friends, sometimes," she finished and winked at Lilja.
Lilja just winked right back. Jasmine's cheeks were pink as she got the implications.
I cleared my throat softly, not wanting to intrude too abruptly on what was clearly an emotional moment. All three women looked up, and Lilja's face immediately brightened.
"Harry!" She uncurled from the sofa with fluid grace and crossed to me, rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek. "I was hoping you'd find us. Look what Marlene brought!" She tugged me toward the sofa, clearly eager to share. "Photographs from Hogwarts. From before. I thought everything had been lost when the Potter house was destroyed, but Marlene kept copies of some of them and she even got them all in digital format. I'm surprised she even knows how to work a smart phone as a pureblood princess…"
"My muggleborn best friend corrupted me to the benefits of muggle technology. And of course, I kept all of the pictures," Marlene corrected gently. "Everything I had of Lily. I couldn't bear to throw any of it away, even after..." She trailed off, but I understood.
Jasmine scooted over to make room, and I settled onto the sofa with Lilja immediately claiming the spot next to me, her hand finding mine like it belonged there. Marlene showed me the phone screen, scrolling through image after image of young witches and wizards in Hogwarts robes, laughing and studying and living lives that had been cut tragically short.
"That's Lily and me in the library," Marlene narrated as a photo showed two teenage girls bent over a massive textbook, their heads nearly touching. "We were studying for our Charms OWL. She was so brilliant—understood theory that made my head spin—but she was terrible at explaining things. Kept getting frustrated when I didn't get it immediately."
"I was not terrible," Lilja protested, though she was smiling. "You just had a thick skull."
"See, this is what I mean." Marlene turned to me with an exaggerated eye-roll. "She hasn't changed at all. Same stubbornness, same refusal to admit when she's wrong."
"I was right about the theory! You just—"
"You explained it like I already knew what you were talking about! That's bad teaching, Lily!"
They bickered back and forth, and I watched with something warm settling in my chest. This was what Lilja had lost—what Lily Evans had lost—when she died. Not just her life, but all these relationships, all these shared memories, all these stupid arguments with people who loved her anyway.
Now she was getting a second chance. We all were.
"I should let you three catch up," I said, squeezing Lilja's hand before standing. "I still need to check on Fleur and Gabrielle, and apparently there's a situation with a stray devil we need to deal with."
Lilja's expression shifted immediately, the nostalgic softness giving way to focused concern. "Do you need me?"
"Not yet. It's just one low-class stray. But I'll let you know if that changes. No one has even found where it's hiding yet."
She nodded, but I could see the warrior and mother in her fighting against the friend who wanted to stay and reminisce. My Queen, always ready to be at my side.
"I'll find you later," I promised, bending to kiss her forehead.
I nodded to Marlene and Jasmine before leaving, my thoughts already turning to my next stop.
The TV room was one of the mansion's more modest spaces—which, given the overall scale of the house, still meant it was larger than most people's entire living rooms.
A massive screen dominated one wall, surrounded by what looked like every gaming console ever made. Plush sectional sofas formed a U-shape facing the screen, piled high with cushions and blankets. The lighting was soft and indirect, designed to make the space feel cozy rather than cavernous.
I heard voices before I reached the doorway—feminine, melodic, speaking rapid French that my devil nature automatically translated.
"—and your hair is so beautiful," Gabrielle was saying. "Like spun gold. You must have taken good care of it all these years. Did you use a special conditioner?"
"I... I don't know. I've never really thought about it?" Asia's voice was hesitant, uncertain, with the particular quality of someone who wasn't used to receiving compliments. "The church provided basic supplies, but nothing fancy."
"Well, we'll have to fix that," Fleur declared. "There are wonderful products here in Japan—Korean beauty brands, specifically—that would make your hair even more gorgeous. We'll take you shopping once you're feeling better."
"Oh, I couldn't—I don't have any money—"
"Our treat." I could hear the smile in Gabrielle's voice. "Harry's family is obscenely wealthy, and he insists on spoiling us. The least we can do is share the spoiling with our new friend."
I paused at the doorway, taking in the scene before me.
Fleur and Gabrielle sat on either side of Asia on the main sofa, their body language deliberately open and non-threatening. They'd abandoned their usual revealing outfits for more modest clothing—probably intentionally, given that Asia was a former nun who might be uncomfortable with too much exposed skin. Fleur wore a flowing sundress in pale blue, while Gabrielle had opted for a cute blouse and skirt combination that made her look younger and more approachable.
Asia herself looked... better. Not good, exactly—she was still too thin, still had dark circles under her eyes, still held herself with the tense wariness of someone who expected the other shoe to drop at any moment. But she'd clearly slept, and someone had lent her fresh clothes—a simple white t-shirt and soft grey sweatpants that were probably Gabrielle's based on the size.
Her long blonde hair, which had been matted and filthy when we found her, was now clean and shining, falling in gentle waves past her shoulders. Her green eyes, while still guarded, had lost some of the desperate, hunted look they'd held in the alley.
The three of them were speaking French, I realized—probably because Asia had mentioned knowing the language during our brief conversation last night, and it was closer to her native Italian than Japanese. My Delacour sisters were going out of their way to make her comfortable.
"Harry!" Gabrielle spotted me first, her face lighting up with that brilliant smile that never failed to make my heart skip. She bounced to her feet and crossed the room to throw her arms around my neck. "Good morning! I missed you!"
"You saw me twelve hours ago," I pointed out, though I returned the hug readily enough.
"Twelve hours is too long," she declared, rising on her tiptoes to kiss me. Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of strawberries—probably whatever lip gloss she was wearing. When she pulled back, her blue eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Fleur and I were just getting to know Asia better. She's lovely, Harry. Very shy, but lovely."
Fleur had risen as well. Where Gabrielle was all bubbly energy and enthusiasm, Fleur moved like water—smooth, unhurried, impossibly beautiful. She kissed me as well, longer and deeper than her sister had, her hand coming up to cup the back of my neck. "Good morning, mon coeur," she murmured against my lips. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very well. Though I understand you two have been busy playing welcome committee."
"Someone had to." Fleur glanced back at Asia, who was watching our exchange with wide eyes and pink cheeks. "The poor thing was practically catatonic with exhaustion last night. She barely ate three bites before she passed out."
"She ate more this morning," Gabrielle added helpfully.
I released them and turned my attention to Asia, who had watched this entire exchange with an expression that was equal parts bewildered, embarrassed, and... wistful? Like she was seeing something she'd never expected to witness up close.
"Asia," I said, switching to Italian for her benefit. "How are you feeling this morning?"
She startled slightly at being directly addressed, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. "Better," she said softly. "Much better, thanks to you and... and everyone." Her green eyes flicked to Fleur and Gabrielle. "They've been so kind. I don't understand why—I mean, you don't even know me, and—"
"We don't need a reason to be kind," I said gently, moving to sit on the low table across from her so we could be at eye level. It was a deliberate choice—standing over her would feel threatening, but sitting below her might make her uncomfortable in different ways. "But if you want a practical answer—I could see that you needed help. So I helped."
Her face crumpled, and for a moment I thought she was going to start crying again. But she took a deep, shaky breath and seemed to steady herself.
"Do you want to tell us why you were on the streets in a foreign country? You don't have to tell us now, though, if you're not ready," I asked Asia.
She shook her head back and forth. She was strong enough to tell us. "...I'm a nun," she said quietly. "Or... I was a nun. I was excommunicated from the Church about three months ago." Her hands twisted tighter in her lap. "I don't know if you know what that means—"
"Being officially cast out," I said. "Stripped of your position and membership in the religious community."
She nodded, her eyes fixed on her lap. "I... I did something wrong. Something unforgivable, according to the doctrine. And after that, no one would help me. No one would even speak to me. I was completely alone…"
She was about to start tearing up again. It was obvious she wasn't ready to tell us so we stopped her. Fleur had moved to sit beside Asia again, one hand coming to rest on the girl's back in quiet support. Gabrielle settled on her other side.
…I decided to leave Asia in Fleur and Gabrielle's capable hands for now. The three of them seemed to be getting along beautifully, and my Veela lovers had a gentleness about them when they wanted to—a maternal warmth beneath all that otherworldly allure that I sometimes forgot existed until I saw it directed at someone else. Asia needed that right now. She needed softness and patience and the simple reassurance that not everyone in the world wanted to hurt her.
My peerage was scattered throughout the mansion, everyone settling into their own rhythms, and I found myself with a rare moment of unstructured time. Which meant my thoughts inevitably drifted to the one person who hadn't been at the mansion at all.
Sona.
My beautiful, brilliant aunt had been... avoiding me since Serafall's bedroom. The biggest tell, of course, was that instead of staying with me in the mansion Mum had built for us, Sona had retreated to the smaller house she'd lived in months ago when she was still a student at Kuoh Academy. The one she'd shared with her old peerage before she'd dissolved it and followed me to Hogwarts.
She was hiding. From me. From what had happened between us and my mum. Probably because she was embarrassed and bad at feelings sometimes… A lot of the time her acting like a tsundere was adorable, but this time it was not.
The walk from the mansion to Sona's old residence took about fifteen minutes through Kuoh Town's quiet residential streets. Her house was modest by devil standards—a two-story building with a small yard, traditional Japanese architecture with some Western influences. It looked almost ordinary from the outside, though I knew the interior was warded six ways to Sunday with protective magic that Sona had spent months perfecting.
I knocked on the front door and waited.
Footsteps approached—light and unhurried—and then the door swung open to reveal Luna Lovegood.
"Hello, Harry Sitri," she said, her dreamy smile spreading across her face like sunshine through clouds. Her silver-blonde hair was loose today, falling past her shoulders in waves that seemed to float slightly despite the lack of wind. Before I could respond, she rose up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. Her lips were cool and dry, and she smelled faintly of something floral that I couldn't identify.
"Luna." I couldn't help but smile back at her. There was something about Luna that made smiling inevitable—her unshakeable serenity, her complete lack of pretense, the way she looked at the world like it was constantly surprising her in delightful ways. "I was hoping to—"
"Sona is in her office," Luna interrupted, already knowing what I was going to ask. Of course she did. Luna always seemed to know things she shouldn't, in ways that defied explanation. "She's been in there since very early this morning." Luna tilted her head, studying me with those pale eyes that saw far too much. "She's being very silly, I think. Hiding from feelings doesn't make them go away. It just gives the Wrackspurts more places to nest."
I blinked. "Wrackspurts?"
"They're invisible creatures that float into your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," Luna explained with complete seriousness. "Sona has quite a lot of them right now. They're clustering around her head like a little storm cloud." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "You should try fucking her again. That seemed to clear them out nicely last time."
I nearly tripped over the threshold.
Luna giggled and drifted past me into the house. "Her office is upstairs, second door on the left. I'm going to go look for Dabberblimps in the garden. They like the morning dew." And then she was gone, wandering toward the back of the house with the unhurried grace of someone who had nowhere particular to be and all the time in the world to get there.
I stood in the entryway for a long moment, processing what had just happened. Then I shook my head—Luna was Luna, and trying to understand her was a fool's errand—and headed for the stairs.
I found Sona's office easily enough—the door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the gap along with the scratch of pen on paper. I pushed it open without knocking.
Sona sat behind a massive oak desk. She was surrounded by towering stacks of paperwork—contracts, from the look of them, covered in the precise legalese that devil agreements required. He black hair was in its usual neat bob style, and she wore a crisp white blouse with the top button undone, which was practically scandalous by her standards.
She didn't look up when I entered.
"What do you want, Harry?" Her voice was clipped, professional, utterly devoid of the warmth I'd grown accustomed to hearing when she said my name. "I'm very busy with all these contracts. The territory transfer alone requires—"
"Bullshit."
That made her look up. Her pink eyes widened behind her glasses, a flush already creeping up her neck at my blunt interruption. "Excuse me?"
I closed the door behind me firmly, with a click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. I crossed the room in three long strides. "I said bullshit, Sona. You've been spending most of your time with Rias and avoiding me."
"I am not—"
"You've been avoiding me since we got to Japan." I rounded her desk, and she rolled her chair back instinctively, putting distance between us. The movement was telling. The proud Sitri heiress was retreating from me. "You're staying in this house instead of the mansion. You didn't come to dinner last night when we invited you to the party. And now you're pretending to drown in paperwork that I'm willing to bet you finished days ago."
Her jaw tightened. "These contracts are important—"
"Then why is this one upside down?" I plucked a sheet from the nearest stack and turned it right-side up, showing her the header she'd clearly been staring at without reading.
The flush spread from her neck to her cheeks. She looked away, her hands curling into fists in her lap. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly. "I've simply been occupied with—"
"Sona." Something in my voice made her go still. I moved closer, close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat, close enough to smell the subtle floral scent of whatever shampoo she used. "Look at me."
For a long moment, she didn't.
Then, slowly, she turned her head. Her eyes, when they met mine, were... scared. Not of me—never of me—but of something else. Of what had happened between us and Serafall. "I don't know how to do this," she whispered. "I don't know how to be... what we were. What we are now. I've never—" Her voice cracked. "I've always known exactly who I was. What I wanted. How to achieve it. But this... you..." She pressed her lips together, fighting for control. "You make me feel things I don't have categories for. And I don't know how to process that. And now I'm also in a relationship with my Nee-sama who has been chasing me for years. It was all a lot all at once!"
I reached down and grabbed her, one arm behind her back, one under her knees, and lifted her straight out of her chair.
"Harry!" She grabbed at my shoulders instinctively, her eyes going wide with shock. "What do you think you're—put me down this instant!"
I turned and deposited her on the edge of her own desk, scattering papers everywhere. A stack of contracts went flying, fluttering to the floor like oversized snowflakes, and I couldn't bring myself to care.
"Harry Sitri, this is completely inappropriate! I am trying to work, and you cannot simply—"
I kissed her.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. Wasn't soft or tentative or questioning. I claimed her mouth with all the pent-up frustration of three days of being avoided, my hand fisting in her hair to hold her in place while my tongue demanded entry.
She resisted for about half a second.
Then she was kissing me back with a desperate hunger that belied every word of protest she'd uttered, her hands clutching at my shirt, her legs wrapping around my waist to pull me closer.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, her glasses were fogged and her hair was coming loose from its careful arrangement. She looked beautiful.
"You," she managed, her voice shaking, "are insufferable."
"And you're a bit too stubborn for your own good sometimes..."
Her eyes flashed a bit indignantly.
I spun her around before she could say anything else. One hand on the back of her neck, pressing her down until her chest met the wood of her desk. She gasped, her palms slapping against the surface for balance, and I felt a surge of dark satisfaction at the way she immediately arched her back, presenting herself even as she tried to maintain the pretense of resistance.
"What—Harry, we can't—this is my office—"
"Should have thought of that before you spent three days avoiding me."
My free hand found the waistband of her jeans. I popped the button with ease, then dragged down the zipper with deliberate slowness.
"Someone could—Luna is downstairs—"
"Luna told me to fuck you. Said it would clear out your Wrackspurts."
That actually made her pause. "She said what?"
I used the moment of distraction to yank her jeans down over the swell of her ass, taking her panties with them. Black today—simple cotton, practical rather than sexy, but somehow that made it hotter.
She was already wet. I could see it glistening on her inner thighs, could smell the sharp musk of her arousal cutting through the dusty paper scent of the office. Her body knew what it wanted even if her mind was still trying to catch up.
"Harry, please—"
"Please what?" I leaned over her, my chest pressing against her back, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Please stop? Please keep going? Please fuck you so hard you forget why you were ever hiding from me in the first place?"
A full-body shudder ran through her. "I wasn't hiding," she insisted, but her voice was breathy now, her hips pressing back against me instinctively. "I was processing. There's a difference."
"Uh-huh." I straightened up, my hands finding her hips as I admired the view. Her ass was perfect—pale and firm and just round enough to fill my palms—and beneath it, her pussy was pink and glistening and practically begging for attention. "And how's that processing going for you?"
"It was going fine until you—ah!"
I'd slipped two fingers inside her without warning, and her protest dissolved into a sharp moan. She was tight—she was always so tight—but she was also soaking wet, her inner walls clenching around my fingers like they were trying to pull me deeper. "Doesn't feel like you were processing," I observed, curling my fingers to find that spot that made her gasp. I fucked her slowly with my hand, watching the way her pussy gripped me on every stroke. I leaned down again, my voice dropping to a growl. "I think you've spent your whole life being in control, and what happened with me and Serafall terrified you because for the first time, you weren't. For the first time, you just... let go."
She was trembling now, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Harry..."
I withdrew my fingers, and she whimpered at the loss. I unbuckled my belt with one hand. My cock was already straining against my pants, had been since the moment I'd bent her over the desk, and when I freed it, I heard her breath catch.
I thrust forward in one smooth motion.
Sona moaned!
Her back arched violently as I filled her, her fingers clawing at the desk, her inner walls clamping down around me so tight it almost hurt. She was impossibly hot inside, impossibly wet, and the sensation of being buried to the hilt in my aunt's perfect pussy was enough to make my vision blur.
"Fuck," I groaned, my hands tightening on her hips. "You feel so good!"
"You—you can't just—" She was panting, her words fragmenting as her body adjusted to my size. "This is—we should talk—"
"We are talking." I pulled back slowly, savoring the drag of her walls against my cock, then slammed back in. She cried out again, her glasses sliding off her face to clatter somewhere under the desk. "This is the most honest conversation we've had in three days."
"This isn't—ah—this isn't a conversation—"
"Sure it is." Another thrust, harder this time, and I watched her fingers curl into fists. "My cock is asking if you missed me. Your pussy is answering yes. Very direct communication, I think."
She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "You're impossible."
"And you're clenching around me like you never want me to leave." I set a rhythm—deep, steady strokes that made the desk creak with each impact. "Tell me I'm wrong."
She didn't tell me I was wrong. She couldn't, because I wasn't.
– Sona –
Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through Sona's body, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the polished wood of her desk as Harry's cock drove into her again and again. The papers she'd spent the morning pretending to organize were scattered across the floor now, forgotten, irrelevant, just like every single reason she'd convinced herself that avoiding him had been the rational choice.
This is undignified, some distant part of her brain tried to protest. You are the Sitri heiress. You do not get bent over desks and—
Harry's next thrust hit something inside her that made her vision white out, and that prim internal voice dissolved into static.
"There it is," Harry growled behind her, and she could hear the satisfaction in his voice, could feel the way his grip on her hips tightened as he angled himself to hit that spot again. "That's the sound I wanted."
Had she made a sound? She must have. Something loud and desperate and completely unbefitting a woman of her standing. The realization should have mortified her. Instead, it just made heat coil tighter in her belly. "Harry—" His name came out broken, half-moan and half-plea. "We should—there aren't any soundproofing wards—"
"I know."
"Luna is downstairs—"
"I know that too." Another thrust, deeper this time, and Sona's protest dissolved into a whimper.
Oh Maou. Luna was absolutely hearing this. Luna, with her knowing smiles and her impossible observations and her complete lack of filter, was sitting somewhere in this house listening to Sona get fucked senseless over her own office furniture.
The thought should have been mortifying. Instead, some twisted part of her found it... thrilling?
When did I become this person? she wondered hazily, her cheek pressed against the cool wood of the desk as Harry set a rhythm that made coherent thought nearly impossible. When did I start getting off on the idea of being heard?
She knew the answer, of course. Three nights ago, in Serafall's bedroom, when her sister had watched her fall apart on Harry's cock with hungry, approving eyes.
"You're thinking too much," Harry observed, and she could hear the strain in his voice now, the effort it was taking him to maintain his measured pace when she knew he wanted to simply take. "I can feel you tensing up again."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his breath hot against her ear. The new angle drove him even deeper, and she gasped at the stretch. "Stop trying to analyze this, Sona. Stop trying to categorize it. Just feel."
"I don't know how to—"
"Yes, you do." His hand slid up her spine, over the fabric of her blouse, until his fingers tangled in her hair. Harry's hand tightened in her hair and pulled!
Sona's back arched violently, a moan tearing from her throat as the sharp sting of her scalp sent electricity racing down her spine. Her pussy clamped down on him so hard she felt him groan, felt his hips stutter in their rhythm.
His free hand came down on her right ass cheek with a sharp crack.
Sona yelped.
The pain was immediate and bright, blooming across her skin in a way that should have been unwelcome. Should have been degrading. Should have made her remember exactly who she was and demand that he stop immediately. Instead, it made her pussy flutter around him, made her rock her hips back for more, made her moan a sound so wanton she barely recognized it as her own voice.
"Fuck," Harry breathed behind her. "You liked that."
It wasn't a question. He could feel the evidence gripping his cock, could probably see the way her thighs were trembling, the way she'd spread her legs wider without even thinking about it.
His hand came down on her left cheek, harder this time.
Sona cried out, her fingers clawing at the desk, her body jerking forward from the impact before Harry's grip on her hip pulled her back onto his cock. The sting radiated through her ass, merging with the building pleasure until she couldn't tell where pain ended and ecstasy began.
"More," she heard herself beg, and some distant part of her was horrified, mortified, at what she was asking for. "Harry, please—"
He gave her more.
His hand alternated between her cheeks, each strike sending fresh shockwaves through her body as he continued to fuck her with deep, relentless strokes. She could feel her ass growing hot and tender, knew she'd have marks later, knew she'd feel this every time she sat down for the next several days.
The thought made her pussy clench around his cock harder.
"Look at you," Harry groaned, and there was something almost reverent in his voice now, awestruck at what she was giving him. "The perfect Sitri heiress, bent over her desk, begging to be spanked while she takes my cock."
He yanked her hair again, pulling her head back until her spine was a perfect arch, until she was looking at the ceiling through tear-blurred eyes while he pounded into her from behind. The angle was almost too much—too deep, too intense, hitting every sensitive spot inside her with brutal efficiency.
The orgasm hit her hard and powerful. It had been building so fast!
Sona's entire body seized, her vision going white, her mouth opening in a scream that she distantly hoped didn't actually carry as far as she thought it would over the quiet town. Her pussy clamped down on his cock in rhythmic waves, milking him, demanding, and she felt herself gushing around him in a way she'd never experienced before, her release soaking his cock and dripping down her trembling thighs.
"Sona—" Harry's rhythm faltered, his grip on her hip turning bruising as he buried himself to the hilt one final time. She felt him pulse inside her, felt the first hot rush of his cum flooding her pussy, and the sensation triggered a secondary wave of pleasure that made her sob into the ruined papers beneath her.
He came hard—she could feel every throb of his cock, every spurt painting her insides white—and she found herself pushing back against him weakly, wanting more, wanting to milk every last drop from him even as aftershocks made her legs threaten to give out entirely.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Harry was draped over her back, his breathing harsh against her shoulder, his cock still buried inside her as their combined releases leaked around it. Sona's cheek was pressed against her desk, her pink eyes half-closed, her body feeling exhausted and so satisfied at the same time...
"So," Harry murmured eventually, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Are you going to move in with me and my peerage?"
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere in her chest—weak and watery, but genuine. "I think," she managed, her voice hoarse from moaning (and screaming, Maou, she'd actually screamed), "that I can do that…"
He chuckled against her skin, and she felt his cock twitch inside her. Still half-hard, even after that explosive finish.
"For what it's worth," he said softly, lifting himself enough to let her turn over, "I get it. This is complicated. Me, you, Serafall—it's not exactly traditional, even by devil standards." He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away tear tracks she hadn't even realized she'd left. "But complicated doesn't mean wrong when we all deeply love each other."
Her heart clenched. Sona felt her eyes prickle again, and this time it had nothing to do with pleasure. "I love you," she whispered. The words came out small and terrified, but she said them anyway. "I love you, Harry. I love you and I love Nee-sama and I have no idea how to make any of this make sense, but—I'm done running from it."
Harry's smile was so sincere. "There she is," he murmured. "That's my Sona."
His Sona. She should probably object to the possessive framing. She was a strong independent devil woman, afterall! Instead, she just pulled him down and kissed him herself this time. She could feel his cock growing harder inside her again…
Somewhere in the house, Luna was probably taking notes for her eventual memoir about the mating habits of emotionally and sexually repressed devil heiresses…
– Harry –
Sona and her two peerage members needed some time to pack since they were 'moving.'
I had a stupid grin on my face that I couldn't quite wipe away, and honestly? I didn't want to. The walk back through Kuoh Town felt different than it had a few hours ago. Lighter somehow. I could still feel the pleasant ache in my muscles from two rounds of absolutely incredible sex with one of the most beautiful women I'd ever known.
I was certainly making the rounds today.
Well—this was supposed to be a vacation.
I considered my options as I walked. Part of me wanted to head over to the old Occult Research Club building to see Rias. We were engaged, after all, and I genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. She had this way of making everything feel a little more fun, a little less serious, that balanced out Sona's intensity perfectly.
But showing up to see my fiancée immediately after fucking one of her closest friends felt... tactless. Even by devil standards. And Rias would absolutely be able to tell. Devils had enhanced senses across the board—smell, hearing, magical perception—and even if Rias was too polite to comment directly, Akeno definitely wasn't. Akeno would take one look at me, one sniff of the air, and immediately start making comments about how I smelled like "Sona's satisfaction" or something equally mortifying. She'd probably offer to "help clean me up" with that dangerous smile of hers, and then Rias would get that exasperated look she always got when her Queen was being deliberately provocative.
Better to head back to the mansion first. Shower. Change clothes. Maybe grab some of whatever Lyra and Lyna were making for lunch for everyone.
I cut through the local park rather than taking the main roads. It was a nice enough space—well-maintained paths winding between clusters of trees, a small pond where some kids were feeding ducks, benches occupied by elderly couples and young mothers with strollers. The kind of mundane human scene that I'd grown up around but now felt slightly removed from, like watching a movie of someone else's life.
Being a 'wizard' and a half-devil did that to you, I was learning. Made the regular human world feel like something you were visiting rather than living in.
I was about halfway across the park, just passing a particularly large oak tree that provided a nice patch of shade over the path, when something wrapped around my waist!
My combat instincts—honed by months of training with Sona, Lilja, and various attempts on my life—kicked in immediately. I tensed, magic surging to my fingertips, ready to blast whatever had grabbed me into—
Then I felt it. That distinctive, unpleasant sensation of my demonic energy being slowly siphoned away. Like someone had stuck a straw into my magical reserves and started drinking.
I knew this feeling.
"...Really, Saji?" I didn't bother turning around immediately, just stared down at the glowing rope-like tendril wrapped around my midsection with a mixture of exasperation and genuine annoyance. "You're just going to attack me out of nowhere in a public park?"
The Absorption Line. Saji Genshirou's Sacred Gear—one of the fragments of the Prison Dragon Vritra that let him create these energy-draining tendrils. I'd experienced it firsthand during our 'sparring match' back in the Underworld, when he'd been part of Sona's peerage and convinced that I was some kind of threat to his "precious Sona-sama."
That fight had ended with me beating him bloody using nothing but my fists, because the idiot had apparently forgotten that Sacred Gears weren't the only way to win a battle.
"Weren't your memories supposed to be erased?" I continued, finally turning to face the source of the tendril. "And your Sacred Gear sealed away? I'm pretty sure Sona handled all of that personally before she kicked you out of her peerage."
Saji Genshirou stepped out from behind the massive oak tree, and I had to suppress a wince at the sight of him.
He looked... bad. Not injured-bad, but obsessive-bad.
The kind of bad that came from not sleeping, not eating properly, and spending way too much time fixating on something unhealthy. His blond hair was greasy and unkempt, sticking up at odd angles like he'd been running his hands through it compulsively. Dark circles ringed his eyes, which were bloodshot and slightly wild. His clothes—a wrinkled school uniform that he probably hadn't changed out of in days—hung loosely on a frame that had lost weight it couldn't afford to lose.
But it was the expression on his face that really sold the picture. Pure, unhinged hatred, burning with an intensity that went way beyond simple jealousy or wounded pride. This wasn't the angry, possessive boy I'd fought months ago. This was something else. Something broken.
"My love for Sona is too strong for those memories to stay locked away, you homewrecking bastard!" Saji's voice cracked on the words, pitching high with emotion before dropping into a venomous snarl. "I had everything! I was so close to getting Sona—the woman of my dreams—but then because of YOU, I lost it all!"
He stepped closer, and I noticed his hands were shaking. The Absorption Line pulsed where it connected to his arm, the Sacred Gear responding to his emotional state by draining my magic faster. Not fast enough to be dangerous—I had reserves that dwarfed what I'd had during our first fight—but annoying nonetheless.
"And then yesterday," Saji continued, his voice dropping to something that was almost a whisper, "I realized MY precious Sona was back in Kuoh Town!"
A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the magic drain. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.
"I spent the entire night and today outside her house. Watching. Listening." His lips twisted into something that was probably supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace of pain. "I heard everything, you know. Every single sound she made. Every moan. Every scream!"
He'd been there when I'd bent her over that desk and fucked her until she screamed my name loud enough that Luna and all Sona's neighbors definitely heard as well.
"How dare you make her scream like that," Saji hissed, and there were actual tears in his eyes now—tears of rage and grief and something that looked disturbingly close to madness. "How dare you touch her. How dare you be the one she—" He choked on the words, couldn't seem to finish the sentence. "It should have been ME, you bastard! ME! I loved her first! I devoted everything to her! And you just—you just waltz in with your fancy Maou mother and your stupid face and your—"
"Saji." I kept my voice calm, level, even though my mind was racing. "I need you to listen to me very carefully."
"NO!" The Absorption Line pulsed brighter, and I felt the drain intensify. Still not dangerous, but definitely uncomfortable now. "I'm done listening! I'm done watching from the sidelines while you steal everything that should have been MINE!"
I didn't think he was capable of rational conversation. His hatred of me was simply too strong.
Even now, he was huffing and puffing air like a madman and staring at me with pure loathing. He was still a one-trick pony, though, and that sacred gear of his was just not that useful in my opinion. The amount of demonic power it could drain just wasn't fast enough to be useful in combat.
I casually raised my right hand, and he flinched at the gesture.
He shouted, "Don't try anything! You won't win this time!"
I cut him off by snapping my fingers.
The entire magical line wrapping around my waist and leading all the way back toward him suddenly frosted over, completely frozen and covered in ice. The temperature in the park dropped ten degrees instantly, but the cold no longer bothered me as it used to.
The frozen absorption line then shattered into nothing, and the kickback of his sacred gear being forcefully interrupted made him recoil in shock. He stumbled backwards, almost collapsing on his butt.
"How did you do that?" Saji asked in shock. "Only Serafall-sama is supposed to be able to use ice magic with that kind of power and ease."
Oh right, I thought.
He was gone from the peerage before he found out Sona awakened her own ice magic bloodline as well, and then when I finally had sex with both her and Serafall, my own sacred gear drastically gave my own ice bloodline a massive boost. I might be even more proficient with it than Sona at this point. Not that I'd brag about it because I know she considers the fact that I can copy bloodlines by fucking beautiful women to be stupid and cheating.
"You don't need to know," I told Saji, stepping closer to him. My mind raced about what to do in this kind of situation, but the only thing I could come up with was to subdue him again. This time, whatever seal we put on his memories was going to need to be even more powerful. Regardless of how weak he was, I wasn't going to let this guy keep obsessively stalking Sona.
XXX
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