The moment the portkey's magic released its grip, Harry briskly began walking forward alongside Narcissa and Amelia as the ground closed in. They landed in an elegant, marble-floored atrium, its domed ceiling painted with moving constellations that shimmered with silver and gold light. The air was warm and carried the faint scent of lavender, mingling with a distant hum of magic.
A group of officials awaited them, dressed in tailored robes of deep blue embroidered with the golden crest of the French Ministry of Magic—a phoenix rising from flames encircling a wand. At the forefront stood a tall, regal wizard with salt-and-pepper hair swept back neatly. His piercing grey eyes assessed the newcomers with a polite but discerning gaze.
"Lord Peverell," he began smoothly, his French accent lending his English a melodic quality. He gave a respectful bow before straightening. "Bienvenue. Welcome to Wizarding France. I am Charles Dufresne, Head of the Department of Magical Protocol. On behalf of the French Ministry of Magic, I extend our gratitude and hospitality. It is an honor to host you."
"Thank you, Monsieur Dufresne," Harry replied, nodding courteously. "The honor is mine. I'm looking forward to my time here."
Dufresne's eyes flicked briefly to the two women flanking Harry, his gaze sharp but courteous. "Madame Black, Madame Bones," he greeted with a slight incline of his head. "Your reputations precede you. We are pleased to welcome such esteemed guests."
"Always a pleasure to be recognized," Narcissa said, her tone silky as her lips curved into a polite smile. Amelia gave a brisk nod in return, her demeanor formal yet approachable.
Dufresne gestured to a younger wizard standing just behind him, a nervous-looking man with auburn hair and spectacles perched precariously on his nose. "This is Etienne Lemoine, my aide. He will oversee the finer details of your accommodations and ensure your every need is met during your stay."
Lemoine stepped forward and gave an awkward bow, fumbling slightly with a parchment he was holding. "It's an honor, truly," he said earnestly. "Everything has been arranged to the highest standard."
"Shall we?" Dufresne motioned toward a set of gleaming double doors at the far end of the atrium, earning a nod from Harry.
As they followed the officials, with the two male aurors flanking them on either side, Harry couldn't help but glance at Narcissa and Amelia. Both women were composed, but he noticed the subtle way Amelia's eyes roved over the surroundings, taking in every detail with the practiced eyes of an auror. Narcissa, on the other hand, walked with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen her fair share of diplomatic receptions. Their eyes met and she gave him a small smile, receiving one in return as Harry turned to gaze straight ahead.
The doors opened to reveal a sleek, obsidian carriage waiting just outside, drawn by four Abraxan horses whose silver wings shimmered in the late afternoon sun. A coachman in polished livery held the door open, bowing deeply as they approached.
"The Ministry has arranged for you to stay at Château Lumière," Dufresne explained as they boarded the spacious carriage, its interior upholstered in deep burgundy velvet. "It is one of the finest estates in the region, located near Montmartre in Wizarding Paris. The estate has been outfitted with enhanced wards and all amenities for your comfort and security."
"I'm sure it will live up to expectations," Harry smiled politely as he stepped to the side, allowing Amelia and Narcissa to get in first. Charles and George took their positions at the front and back respectively, while Lemoine joined the former. The coachman gently pushed the door shut as Harry got inside and took a seat beside Narcissa.
"Well, looks like what they said about the tournament representatives being closely associated in foreign affairs is true, after all."
"Impressed by the pomp?" Amelia asked teasingly as she relaxed and made herself comfortable in the seat, eyeing him with a grin.
"More like surprised, I guess," Harry replied. "I didn't expect all this, to be honest."
"It is as you were told, Harry. You are a foreign dignitary and as a guest, you are given appropriate treatment by your hosts. It is protocol," Narcissa informed.
"Yeah. And us two are from esteemed pureblood houses, which warrants respect and acknowledgment in these circles," Amelia remarked casually. "Even though we are here as aides, the treatment has to be appropriate. It'd look really bad if the French Ministry overlooked these matters."
"Truly hectic," Harry commented.
"Hey, I'll take comfortable accommodations and privileged treatment over whatever those two are going to get," Amelia replied, motioning to Charles and George.
"Who won't?" Narcissa said with a rhetorical chuckle, gazing outside the window as they flew high above.
The journey to the château was scenic, with cobblestone streets lined by elegant, wrought-iron lampposts enchanted to flicker like gaslights even during the day. Wizarding Paris unfolded under them—a blend of old-world charm and magical opulence. Street vendors sold enchanted trinkets, children played with animated toys, and wizards in fine robes strolled alongside nonchalant goblins and bowing house elves.
Upon arrival, the carriage landed rather violently, although they felt nothing inside, and it rolled to a stop before an imposing manor house of white stone, its tall windows gleaming in the sunlight. The wrought-iron gates bore an intricate sigil that shimmered as the wards recognized their presence and allowed entry. A line of house elves dressed in crisp uniforms stood at attention along the front steps, bowing deeply as they disembarked.
"This way please," Lemoine bowed respectfully as he gestured forward, and Harry nodded for him to lead the way.
Inside, the château was a masterpiece of understated luxury. The grand foyer boasted a sweeping staircase of polished marble, and the air was perfumed with the faint aroma of roses. A witch in immaculate robes greeted them with a warm smile.
The woman was the definition of attractiveness. Her light blonde hair was swept into an intricate twist, revealing a graceful neck and high cheekbones that framed her face like a portrait come to life. Her emerald-green robes clung to her figure in all the right ways, the golden embroidery shimmering faintly as she moved. Her warm smile lit up her blue eyes, which sparkled like sunlight on the surface of a tranquil lake.
Harry's gaze lingered for just a moment too long, his appreciation tinged with intrigue. There was something magnetic about her—a quiet confidence that radiated through every deliberate movement and soft word. Her voice, smooth and refined, wrapped around him like a gentle charm.
Immediately, he was assaulted by a familiar sensation as he gazed at the woman, and as the realization dawned on him, he had to begrudgingly give credit to the French for their little cunning.
"Impressive, you little shits," he thought in amusement, feeling an unbidden tug of attraction stirring within him. He had been with several women in his life, but he could never mistake the unique allure that he could identify here. It was like a flame that beckoned even those who were comfortable in their warmth, enchanting them. He was not an idiot. He knew only a few old French families employed or entertained veela women, and for him to be accommodated in the estate that belonged to one of them, it was not hard to ascertain the ploy here.
Had he been a weaker man, he would've succumbed long ago, but the French had underestimated him.
Meanwhile, Narcissa, ever perceptive, did not miss the flare of allure emanating from the woman or the expression on Harry's face and she suppressed the smirk that threatened to overtake her features. Knowing he had everything under control, she began to appraise the veela with no less intent, although it was entirely different in nature. It was a playfully calculating gaze as she regarded her.
'Oh, she's perfect in every sense,' she mused. Her mind danced with possibilities, already weaving threads of what the coming days might hold. 'This could be… entertaining.'
Meanwhile, Clarisse, unaware of the schemes unfolding behind the scenes or the thoughts running through the guests' heads, stepped forward gracefully, her hands clasped before her. A part of her was surprised at the lack of expected response from Harry though, as even though it was restrained considerably, she could see the effect her allure was having on the three other men standing before her. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind though and turned to Harry with a courteous smile.
"Lord Peverell, Madame Black, Madame Bones," she said, her voice carrying the faint lilt of southern France. "On behalf of Château Lumière and the French Ministry of Magic, it is my privilege to welcome you. The château is yours to enjoy during your stay. Allow me to escort you to your suites and introduce you to the amenities available here."
Harry gave the woman a winning smile, pushing the thoughts of their scheming French organizers out of his mind. "Thank you, Miss Belliveau. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated."
"Please," Clarisse said, dipping her head demurely, "call me Clarisse."
Narcissa's smirk deepened, her mind already conjuring playful scenarios involving this strikingly poised steward. She subtly slid closer to Harry, leaning closer to murmur loudly enough so that only he could hear, "The French think they're smart, don't they? They don't realize how badly they've miscalculated this."
Her tone was low, mischievous, and laced with the kind of teasing that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He glanced at her discreetly, his lips curling upwards a little, and he reiterated it to himself. He had truly corrupted the prim and proper Narcissa Black, or perhaps brought out a side of her that had always been inside her.
Meanwhile, Clarisse, unaware of the private exchange between the two, gestured for them to follow her, her posture effortlessly elegant as she led them up the grand staircase. The soft click of her heels against the marble floor echoed through the vast hall as Harry followed behind, Narcissa and Amelia flanking him on either side.
Clarisse led them through the château, pointing out various features with a refined ease. "This is the drawing room," she said as they passed an opulent space adorned with intricate tapestries and enchanted chandeliers that glowed softly. "A perfect place for tea or quiet reflection. The library, just through these doors, contains a curated collection of rare tomes, many dating back to the 12th century."
Her enthusiasm for the estate was palpable, and Harry found himself admiring her beyond the surface. Narcissa, ever the observant one, noticed how Clarisse's steps grew lighter as she spoke about her responsibilities, and her smile turned more genuine. 'She truly loves this place,' Narcissa thought, appreciating the authenticity.
As they approached their suites, Clarisse turned to address them, her tone formal yet warm. "Your quarters have been prepared to the highest standard, with every comfort in mind. If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to summon me or the staff."
She opened the door to Harry's suite first, revealing a room bathed in soft golden light. The air carried the faint scent of cedarwood and lavender, and the décor struck a balance between stately and cozy. "Lord Peverell, this is your suite," she said, stepping aside to let him enter. Her gaze lingered on him for the briefest of moments, and Harry thought he saw a flicker of curiosity in her expression. No doubt, she was curious about his lack of reaction to her.
"Thank you, Clarisse," Harry said, his voice warm.
Clarisse nodded, and once she had shown Harry around the suite, she escorted Narcissa and Amelia to their respective suites, each tailored to their tastes. Both their suites shone with understated luxury, with soft hues of silver and cream. Amelia smirked at Narcissa as she shut the door to her suite, leaving her with their lovely stewardess.
"This is lovely," Narcissa remarked, her voice smooth as she turned around, regarding the beautiful woman. She allowed her hand to linger on Clarisse's arm as she turned to thank her, her touch light but insinuating. It was impossible for the woman to miss it.
Clarisse blinked, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, but she recovered quickly, offering a polite nod. As she turned around, Narcissa smirked and shut the door behind her, her mind awash with possibilities. Their stewardess could wait for a bit. First, it was time she had a conversation with the other woman who had joined them in France, and after everything she had seen so far, she was confident that she wouldn't have to work much on it.
A little while later, once she was done sorting her things out, she walked out of her suite to the next with an excited gleam in her eyes. It was time she and Bones had a chat of their own.
-Break-
The Venomous Viper reeked of stale ale and damp wood, pulsing with its usual atmosphere of malice, its patrons hunched in shadowy corners or seated at tables littered with spilled drinks and stained cards.
Lucius Malfoy, Rabastan, and Rudolphus Lestrange occupied a corner table, the nearby patrons keeping their distance, casting wary glances at them but taking care not to stare.
He swirled his drink with forced elegance, his fingers grazing the rim of the crystal glass as he spoke, his voice a low hiss. "It was bad enough being humiliated in front of those vultures. But that insolent prick… that arrogant, sanctimonious asshole. He thinks he can humiliate me, lecture me, and then just waltz away as if I'm nothing?"
Rabastan snickered, reclining in his chair. "He did a fine job of it, I'll give him that. And you were not half bad either. Standing there like a proper little boy, getting scolded by the big, bad Peverell. It was almost endearing."
"Endearing? I say pathetic," Rudolphus snarked.
"Let's give the man his plaudits, Rudolphus. Watching him keep his composure as he was being dressed down was the highlight of that visit," Rabastan snorted.
Rudolphus leaned forward, grinning wolfishly. "Oh, don't undersell it, Rabastan. The real masterpiece was Narcissa Black. Imagine, Lucius, your future wife tearing you down in public like that. Such a devoted little flower she is."
Lucius' grip on his glass tightened, but he kept his tone cold. "That bitch will learn her place soon enough."
The sneer that curled Rudolphus' lips deepened. "Will she? She didn't seem particularly inclined to 'learn her place' when she called you irrelevant. Ir-re-le-vant," he repeated slowly, savoring the word like a sweet treat.
Lucius slammed the glass down on the table, drawing startled looks from a few patrons. He glared at the brothers who gazed back with matching grins, unimpressed with the little temper.
"And I suppose the two of you would have done better? Shall we revisit your legendary exploits, Rudolphus? Or was it Rabastan's brilliant idea to duel a decrepit old fart and lose to a man with one leg?"
Rabastan's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing. "At least I didn't get my face slapped in front of an entire room by Narcissa Black. Tell me, Lucius, does it still sting?"
Rudolphus chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Careful, Rabastan, or he might cry into his liquor. Malfoys have delicate sensibilities, after all."
Lucius leaned forward, his pale eyes glinting dangerously. "Say what you will, Lestrange, but at least I don't spend my days skulking in the shadows, begging scraps of respect from people who see you as little more than thugs. Your contributions to the Dark Lord's cause are nothing more than footnotes—forgettable and replaceable."
Rudolphus' laughter died, replaced by a wave of simmering anger as he slammed his glass down on the table, spilling firewhiskey everywhere. He glared at Lucius and snarled, "You tread a dangerous line, Malfoy. Don't think for a second that your name protects you from consequences."
A house elf, scrawny and quivering, skittered over with a rag to clean the spilled liquor. "Masters," it croaked, "is there anything else the elf can do to—"
"Get out of my sight, vermin," Lucius snapped, kicking the creature hard in the ribs. The elf yelped and scrambled backward, clutching its side. "If you're going to grovel, do it quietly."
Rudolphus raised an eyebrow, his snarl giving way to a disgusting smirk. "Temper, temper, Lucius. That's no way to treat your adoring servants in public. If I didn't know better, I would've thought you were imagining little Narcissa Black in place of that elf. You aren't an abuser, are you, Lucius?"
Spare me your commentary," Lucius snarled, glaring at the elf as it scuttled back toward the bar. "The state of this place… even the servants are insufferable. I don't understand why you always bring everyone here."
Rabastan smirked as he saw a waitress approach the table, a young woman with hollow eyes and a nervous demeanor whom he faintly remembered seeing around before. She placed another round of drinks on the table, her hands trembling slightly in nervousness as she felt all their gazes following her every movement.
Rabastan leaned back, his sharp eyes scanning her with predatory amusement.
"What's the matter, girl?" he drawled. "Scared of a few pureblood wizards? Or is it just Lucius here? He does have a talent for frightening women, doesn't he?"
"Ha! He wishes," Rudolphus laughed.
The waitress flinched, her frightened eyes darting toward Lucius, who met her gaze with icy disdain. "Get on with it and leave," he said curtly.
"Wait," Rabastan interjected, his grin wicked. "What's your name, girl?"
"E-Emily, sir," she stammered.
Rabastan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, sinister tone. "Tell me, Emily, do you think it was wise to bring our drinks with such a shaky hand? What if one had spilled on my brother's cloak? Do you know how expensive that is?"
"I-I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, shrinking under his gaze.
"Sorry?" Rabastan mused, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Sorry doesn't fix things, does it? Perhaps you'd like to compensate us for the insult. A bit of… private time, perhaps?"
"Enough," Lucius said sharply, though not out of mercy. His tone was filled with irritation rather than concern. "I've no interest in watching you torment a simpleton. Go," he snapped at the girl, waving her away. She fled without another word, leaving the three men alone once more.
Rabastan tutted, unimpressed. "Always the killjoy, aren't you, Lucius?"
Lucius ignored the remark, refocusing on the matter at hand. "That Peverell's becoming a problem. Too much power, too much influence. He's making fools of us all."
The sobering reminder pulled both the Lestrange brothers from their mocking thoughts.
"We told you a long time ago, Lucius," Rudolphus snarked. "Peverell's a blood traitor, and an insolent one at that. There is only one solution for someone like him. Good to see you've realized it as well."
Lucius nodded begrudgingly, his mind running with dark thoughts. "Peverell's influence is a temporary inconvenience. He has no idea what he's walking into with this dueling championship. People die there all the time—accidents happen."
Rabastan's interest was piqued, and his smirk sharpened. "Oh? Do go on, Malfoy. This sounds like a plot even you might not bungle."
Lucius ignored the jab, leaning in conspiratorially. "Antonin Dolohov is competing. He's ruthless and skilled—a man who knows how to kill without leaving a trace. If he were to… eliminate Peverell during a duel, no one would question it. After all, it's not uncommon for accidents to occur in the heat of competition."
Rudolphus raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Rabastan. "You think Dolohov would agree to it? He's not exactly the most reliable ally."
"Leave that to me," Lucius said, his tone icy. "Dolohov has his uses, and he knows better than to refuse an opportunity to weaken a potential rival to our cause. A well-placed hex, a carefully timed curse during a heated duel—no one would question it. Dolohov lives for this sort of thing. I'll ensure he understands the stakes."
Rabastan leaned back, his grin returning. "I have to admit, Lucius, that's almost clever. Almost. But if this little scheme of yours fails, you better be ready for Peverell. He's not an idiot. He'll know right away who was behind it."
"And as much as we care about you," Rudolphus smirked. "You'd be a fool to expect us to come and help you out."
Lucius' eyes burned with hatred, but he forced a calm exterior. "It won't fail. Unlike you two, I know how to execute a plan without letting my ego get in the way."
Rabastan clapped mockingly and he lifted his glass. "Brilliant. Truly. Let's drink to Malfoy's cunning plan, shall we?"
Rudolphus raised his glass, a glint of malice in his eyes. "To Lucius. May he finally succeed at something."
Lucius' expression darkened, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he raised his own glass. "To Peverell's demise."
-Break-
"Thank you, Clarisse," Harry smiled politely at the woman as he walked out of the dueling room and accepted the enchanted face towel. The cool fabric smelt heavenly and he gingerly rubbed it over his face as she stepped to the side, smiling.
"We shall be ready for dinner in an hour. Would you like anything in the meantime, Lord Peverell?"
"Not really," Harry replied, folding the towel and wrapping it around the back of his neck. A contented sigh escaped his lips as he stretched lightly. "I must say, this estate is quite something. I didn't expect to be housed in here."
"That is because the tournament is being held in France after twenty years. The Ministry wanted to make the guests as comfortable as possible," Clarisse replied.
"Comfortable indeed," Harry muttered under his breath, eyeing the woman out of the corner of his eyes. All she did was smile at him politely. She was either truly oblivious or a very good actress.
"I'll see you during dinner then," he gave her another polite smile and began walking toward his suite, feeling her eyes on his back as he ascended the stairs. Shaking his head with a rueful smile, he made his way across the corridor and gently pushed the door open. He had spent a while in the training room and he had intended on taking a long soak in the hot bath, but the soft towel Clarisse had given him had been powerfully enchanted in such a manner that he felt fully re-energized.
Pulling the towel off his neck, he stepped into the room and dropped it in the laundry basket. However, as he looked up, his footsteps stilled.
Narcissa and Amelia stood side by side, their backs to him, facing the grand four-poster bed that dominated the room. They were clad in matching black satin silk robes, the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the candles scattered around the room. The robes were tied loosely at their waists, hanging off their arms and leaving their upper backs bare. The smooth, pale skin was a stark contrast to the dark fabric.
"Well, this is a surprise," he remarked, brows raised slightly as he gazed at them.
Both women turned to face him, their expressions calm and composed, yet there was a spark in their eyes that betrayed their excitement. They had been waiting for him, and they knew exactly why.
Narcissa's light blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder, her lips curled into a knowing smile that bordered on predatory. Beside her, Amelia's fiery red hair framed her face, her sharp eyes gleaming with a challenge that made Harry's pulse quicken. Both women carried themselves with an assurance that attracted him, their presence utterly magnetic.
"Harry," Narcissa greeted, her voice a low purr. She pushed off from the bedpost she had been leaning against and sauntered towards him, her hips swaying seductively. She stopped in front of him, her eyes never leaving his. "I'd think you'd know me better by now, darling." She reached out to brush a hand lightly against his chest, her touch lingering just long enough to send a jolt through him.
Behind her, Amelia chuckled, and Narcissa glanced over her shoulder, smirking. The redhead tilted her head, her smirk deepening as she eyed them.
"You never struck me as someone to be caught off guard, or did I get it wrong, Harry?"
Harry's eyes traveled from Narcissa to Amelia, his hand softly brushing the blonde's bare arms. "Oh, I'm not caught off guard," he replied smoothly, his lips quirking into a smirk of his own. "Just trying to figure out what kind of game the two of you are playing."
"Game?" Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped brow, her voice laced with mock surprise. "We're not playing games, Harry. We're simply... aligning interests." She turned slightly, her gaze sliding to Amelia with a hint of challenge.
"Indeed," Amelia said, crossing her arms leisurely and letting the bottom of her robe part just enough to hint at what lay beneath. "Narcissa and I had a little chat earlier. It seems we share more common ground than I expected."
"Oh? Narcissa, is it now?" Harry's gaze sharpened as he looked between them, his curiosity piqued. "And what ground might that be?"
Narcissa's smile widened, and she took a step closer to Amelia, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin. "Let's just say, we both agree that certain... arrangements can be mutually beneficial." She turned to Amelia, her blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "Wouldn't you agree, Amelia?"
Amelia met her gaze without hesitation, her smirk gaining a teasing edge. "Completely, Narcissa. But I think we also agreed that some things are best shown rather than discussed."
Harry's breath hitched as the raw sexual tension between the two women became palpable. It was akin to an electric current that seemed to fill the room. He straightened, his voice low and edged with insinuation. "And I suppose I'm part of this... show?"
"Oh, you're the centerpiece, dear," Narcissa purred, her voice dripping with confidence. She turned back to Harry, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. Her fingers trailed up his arm, her touch featherlight yet searing. "But don't mistake this for charity. You'll have to keep up."
Amelia joined her, her stride equally measured as she approached. She stopped just short of Harry, her fiery gaze locking with his. "We're not here to stroke your ego, Harry," she said, her tone teasing but firm. "Think of this as... an evaluation. Let's see if you can handle the two of us."
The challenge in her voice ignited something within Harry. His smirk deepened, his confidence unshaken as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them entirely. "Oh, I can handle a lot more than you might think," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. His gaze flicked to Narcissa, then back to Amelia, his green eyes alight with mischief. "The real question is, can you?"
Amelia's laughter was soft and rich as she raised her hand, resting it lightly on his chest. "Careful, Harry. You might be biting off more than you can chew."
Narcissa's grin widened, and she tilted her head slightly, her eyes gleaming as they met Harry's confident ones. "Didn't I tell you already, Amelia? I wouldn't worry about that. He's the type who not only enjoys a challenge, but blows you away."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Amelia replied, smirking.
For a moment, the three of them stood in silence, their gazes locked as they exchanged silent challenges and promises. The air in the room slowly grew thick with anticipation, and finally, Harry shifted, his eyes coming to rest on Amelia.
"Well," he said, his voice smooth and laced with amusement. "If this is an evaluation, I'd hate to disappoint. Especially on our first time. I hope you're ready for what you've gotten yourself into, Amelia."
The words sent a jolt of pleasure through her and her lips curved into an excited grin. "Then you best not disappoint me, Harry," she leaned close and whispered in his ear, breathing in his scent deeply. "Mmm… that's a unique fragrance you've got there. Feels familiar."
She slowly pulled back and her face took on a thoughtful look. It did not take long for realization to dawn on her and with a grin, she asked, "It seems our dear veela hostess has already left an impression on you. You sure do work fast."
"Really?" Narcissa asked with a raised eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd let me get her into our bed like I did with Amelia here."
"I don't know where you got that from, but nothing happened between me and Clarisse," Harry clarified. "The fragrance is from the enchanted towel she gave me after training."
"Oh? An enchanted towel, hmm? From a veela, no less? I bet it made you feel all pumped up and ready to go again," Amelia remarked with a chuckle, shaking her head. "No surprise I could smell her on you."
Harry merely shrugged. "She's been very professional so far."
"Professional, yes," Narcissa said, her smile widening. "But I wonder if there's more beneath that polished exterior." She turned to Amelia, who had been watching the exchange with raised eyebrows. "What do you think?"
"I think we should focus on the here and now, and think about her later," Amelia replied, running her fingertips up Harry's arms, feeling his muscles underneath her touch. Her lips quirked up in a grin as she looked up into his eyes. "Am I right, Lord Peverell?"
Harry quickly caught her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as he leaned close.
"Damn right," he growled, watching how she shivered in excitement right where she stood. Her large breasts heaved, the ample cleavage on display looking tantalizing as he breathed in her scent. Very reluctantly, he leaned back and regarded both the women. "So, what's this evaluation you've thought of?"
They exchanged a smirk and turned back to Harry, both taking one of his hands each and slowly dragging him to the bed where they made him sit. They stood in front of him, and after exchanging a nod, they both dropped as one to their knees in front of him.
Harry's eyes followed their movements, his heart thumping in his chest as he eyed them.
"It's simple," Amelia smirked. "You can do whatever you want to us. All you've got to do is last ten minutes."
"Easy, right?" Narcissa grinned, her hand reaching up to stroke him over his trousers.
The challenge was clear, and so was the reward.
"I wish you the best," he taunted. As he met their gazes, he could see the excitement brimming therein and he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.