Unknown Prophecy

Chapter 70

Harry had spent the bulk of the morning in the Delacour house’s living room, curled in a sunny spot on the velvet chaise with a cup of thick, dark coffee in hand and a stack of newspapers at his elbow. The Delacours had every magical periodical imaginable, in half a dozen languages, and the French ones rarely failed to amuse. Their tabloids put even the Prophet to shame. He skimmed an article about a scandalous affair between the head of the French Auror force and a Goblin diplomat. He then paused on the next page when a splash of color caught his eye. It was a full spread, complete with moving images of a broom race through the French Pyrenees. The article’s title translated loosely to “The Death Course Returns.” Harry raised an eyebrow and took a longer look.

According to the piece, the Death Course was an annual tradition stretching back nearly two centuries. It was part sporting event, part suicide pact, and pure magical mayhem. Contestants raced over impossible terrain, through freezing mountain passes, and into the heart of a region fabled for its deadly magical creatures. The route changed every year, and the anonymous organizers prided themselves on their creativity and cruelty. This year, a stretch of the race would be going through the most active dragon preserve in Europe.

It wasn’t just a matter of finishing first. The Death Course was so dangerous that simply surviving to the finish line at all was considered a feat to rival the Triwizard Tournament. The article gleefully listed all the ways previous competitors had met their end. Some were charred by dragonfire, others were crushed by falling rocks or ripped apart by enchanted storms, and a few “lucky” ones simply got lost in the mountains and were never heard from again. According to the article, no one had finished for twenty-four years … not since a madman from Marseilles crossed the finish line missing his left arm and most of his nose. Harry read every word twice, then ripped out the article and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, unable to ignore the itch of adventure.

He wondered how the British press had never picked up on this. Maybe it was too ridiculous, or maybe they worried about copycats. Harry could admit he found it compelling. It was equal parts lunacy and bravado. He tried to picture himself on a broom, tearing through those knife-edged passes. He’d flown through worse, but never with so many people actively trying to kill each other in the process.

The morning light grew stronger, and Apolline and Gabrielle’s laughter drifted in from the kitchen. Upstairs, he heard the thumping footsteps of Fleur. The house could be loud and chaotic, but Harry liked it. He thoroughly enjoyed the noise of the Delacour home.

The sound of bare feet on the marble floor pulled him out of his reverie. He glanced up as Fleur swept in. She wore a tiny scrap of blue lace that didn’t even try to cover her smooth, puffy mound, and nothing else. Despite her state of undress, she looked more perfectly put together than any other woman he knew. She paused and struck a pose with her hands on her hips. She thrust her chest forward, proudly displaying her perfect tits and stiff nipples.

“‘Arry,” Fleur said in her signature purr that made his name sound oh, so sexy. “ ‘ave you seen the new ‘igh ‘eels you bought me yesterday? I cannot find them anywhere.”

He let his eyes linger, as she clearly wanted. “Ask Apolline. I saw her eyeing them up this morning.”

Fleur huffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I knew she would steal them! She is like a teenager with shoes.” She bent forward to search the floor for her shoes, which accomplished nothing but to make her breasts hang and sway. Harry just smirked and sipped his coffee. Fleur straightened, caught him staring, and smiled pleasantly.

“You like what you see, non?” she teased, planting one foot on the coffee table and stretching in a way that nearly snapped her blue lace panties. “I wore this just for you.”

“I’ll make sure to thank you properly tonight,” Harry replied, not bothering to hide his admiration.

She blew him a kiss and flounced out. Her ass bounced outrageously in the tiny thong as she left. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way her hips swayed, and how she almost tiptoed to make her legs look even sexier. The Delacour women really knew how to capture and keep his attention.

Unknown Prophecy

Gabrielle was the first to disappear. She had plans for a shopping trip to Paris with a group of Veela cousins. Harry caught a blur of her platinum hair as she dashed past the living room archway.

He returned to his stack of newspapers, settling deeper into the velvet chaise. The Prophet was dull today, with the most interesting thing being some Ministerial scandal about misuse of office funds. The French papers were better. He preferred their outright shamelessness. He snorted at a photo of a wizarding fashion designer caught with his pants literally around his ankles. He was halfway through an editorial when he had a feeling that someone was watching him, and it didn’t take a genius to guess who.

Apolline emerged from the grand staircase like a goddess descending to earth. She moved with a slow, sexy grace that made even the act of walking seem erotic. Her robe was made of some sheer material that looked as fragile as spun sugar. It was a pale lavender and completely see-through. It hung open and accentuated her body without hiding it. Apolline’s skin was incredibly smooth and pale, and it almost seemed to glow in the morning light. Her breasts were full, uplifted, and perfect, and her nipples were a delicate pink that matched her lips. Her stomach was flat and toned, and her legs were shapely and bare. Between her thighs was a perfectly hairless, tight slit, and Harry could see the faint shimmer of moisture when she shifted her weight.

She paused at the bottom step with her hand on the banister and let him look. Apolline was beautiful in the way that only a Veela could be, but there was something even more intoxicating about her confidence. She didn’t preen or pose. She simply existed, and everyone was forced to take notice. She caught his eye and smiled.

“ ‘Arry?” she said in a heavily accented voice. “Do you like my new ‘eels?”

She wiggled her foot, and only then did Harry realize she was indeed wearing the ones Fleur had been searching the house for all morning. They were silver strappy stilettos with five-inch heels. They made her legs look longer, her ass rounder, and her posture even more perfect. He suspected Apolline knew exactly what effect this had, and that she had timed this little show for maximum impact.

Harry closed his newspaper and set it aside. He propped his elbow on the armrest and rested his chin against his hand, watching her with open appreciation. “I think they’re very sexy,” he said, not bothering to hide the hunger in his gaze.

Apolline’s smile widened. She walked slowly toward him, and each step made her body jiggle. She made sure to move in just the right way to let her robe slip from one shoulder, causing her breasts to bounce. When she reached him, she leaned in close enough that he could smell her perfume. She lowered her voice in a way that sent shivers down his spine.

“They are not as sexy as you, mon amour,” she said, and her lips brushed his ear. “But they do make me feel wicked,” she giggled.

She reached down, took his hand in hers, and lifted it to her thigh. She let him feel the softness of her skin, and when his fingertips brushed her sodden slit, Apolline gasped. Then, with a giggle, she stood upright, twirled on her heel, and strode away, deliberately swaying her hips. Her robe fluttered behind her, showing off her wide, heart-shaped ass. She paused at the staircase, looked over her shoulder, and blew him a kiss.

Harry smiled and watched as she ascended the stairs. He could see the outline of her body through the robe with every step, and he wondered how the hell she managed to look so good at ten in the morning.

He sat back with his heart thudding a little faster, and he shook his head with a wry smile. The Delacour women had turned flirting into an art form. He went back to reading his papers.

Unknown Prophecy

After not-so-careful consideration, Harry decided that he was going to enter the Death Course. Harry knew he needed the fastest and most maneuverable broom he could get his hands on. He also knew exactly where to find it. With a sense of purpose, Harry got dressed, grabbed his book of Gringotts bank vouchers, and apparated away.

Diagon Alley was already in full swing. It was buzzing with crowds, and the shops were jammed with customers. Harry had not made any attempt to disguise himself, so he was spotted almost immediately. Two youngsters caught sight of him and nearly tripped over their own feet in excitement. Harry smiled and gave them a wave, which turned into a chain reaction along the block. By the time Harry had reached the corner near Flourish & Blotts, a small crowd had trailed behind him. He was stopped three times for autographs, once for a photo, and once so a busty blonde woman could fawn all over him. He didn’t mind that too much.

He kept walking, working his way toward Quality Quidditch Supplies. He didn’t try to hide from the attention. In fact, he found himself kind of enjoying it, especially when one of the older witches at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor called him over, insisting he taste her latest invention. She had him pose for a photo, “for her granddaughter,” which Harry doubted, but he went along with it.

Outside the Quidditch shop, a mob had gathered around the window display. It was a new prototype racing broom, mounted on a glass stand and surrounded by miniature enchanted models of rival teams in hot pursuit. Harry sidestepped the window and skirted through the mob of babbling onlookers before ducking inside.

The interior of Quality Quidditch Supplies smelled like varnish and leather. Rows of brooms hung on the walls, and each was more expensive-looking and aerodynamic than the last. Cases of gloves, goggles, and handle wax dominated the middle aisles, and a glass case up front glittered with the latest in Seeker’s gear.

The shopkeeper was a slim wizard with a bristly mustache, and he looked up from what seemed to be a running argument with a customer about the relative merits of Holyhead Harpies versus Puddlemere United. He saw Harry immediately, did a cartoonish double-take, and abandoned the argument without another word to stride over to the counter.

“Mr. Potter! What an honor,” the man said in a voice that was both professional and awed. “How may we be of service today?”

Harry grinned, set his satchel on the counter, and pulled out a thick booklet of Gringotts bank vouchers. “I need a new racing broom. I’m entering a competition, so I need the absolute best.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes gleamed. “Of course, of course. I assume you’re interested in the Firebolt line?” He spread his hands in a theatrical gesture.

“You assume correctly,” said Harry, checking out the wares behind the counter.

The shopkeeper drew himself up, beaming. “A wise choice, Mr. Potter. It’s the fastest on the market. We only have two in stock. One has been custom-tuned for Beater play, and the enchantments on the other have been tuned specifically for Seekers. It’s a little more pricey, but the sheer speed and maneuverability will more than make up for the extra cost.”

Harry didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take the Seeker one, please.”

The man’s smile widened. “Excellent. I’ll fetch it at once. Would you care for any accessories? We have the Goblin steel twig clippers and the new patented Firebolt-branded anti-tamper traveling case. It’s coated in hardened dragonhide. If you’ll allow me, Mr. Potter, I would also recommend our new line of professional-grade handle wax. It’s particularly good for long-distance flying or … extreme environments.” He eyed Harry as if guessing that whatever ‘competition’ he was about to enter, it was probably not Ministry-sanctioned.

Harry shrugged. “All of that sounds good. Add the case and the clippers and whatever handle wax is best for high-altitude cold.”

Within minutes, the shopkeeper had returned from the stockroom, clutching the Firebolt with reverence. He laid it out on the counter and began talking about the materials, the balance, and the improved core charm. Harry let himself get talked into a set of professional-grade goggles with matching gloves to boot. While the man rang up the total, Harry filled out the bank voucher and signed his name with a flourish.

He was halfway through examining the case when he realized a crowd had gathered just outside the shop window. He could see faces pressed to the glass. All of them were trying to catch a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter shopping for a new broom. The pressure was oddly pleasant. It reminded him of prepping for a Quidditch match at Hogwarts. He found himself smiling wider than usual.

Once the Firebolt was carefully packed and all the accessories bagged, the shopkeeper insisted on a commemorative photograph. Harry agreed, resting one hand on the gleaming broom while the man grinned beside him. Afterward, he took a moment to shake the man’s hand, which was immediately followed by autographing a receipt for the shop’s “Hall of Fame” wall.

“There’s something else,” Harry said as he slung the bag over his shoulder. He lowered his voice, so only the shopkeeper could hear. “I’m going to be needing a few replacement parts. I’ll need high-grade bristles, twig clamps, and anything else you’d recommend if the race, let’s say, goes off the rails.”

The man’s eyes widened again, and he nodded, catching the drift. “I’ll contact Spudmore and put in an order immediately. If you will, send me an owl and tell me where to have it delivered.”

“Perfect,” said Harry.

He left the shop with the Firebolt tucked securely under his arm. The crowd outside parted, and he signed two more autographs before ducking into the Leaky Cauldron for a quick drink.

Unknown Prophecy

Harry’s bedroom in the Delacour house had been commandeered as a makeshift broom workshop. The floor was littered with polish-stained rags, scraps of wrapping paper, and the packaging from his new canister of wax. It was not the largest room in the mansion, nor the tidiest, but Harry found it strangely comforting to have a little slice of chaos among all the polished wood and expensive lace drapes. The window overlooked the back terrace, where he sometimes watched the girls in the pool, but today he barely glanced outside. He was too focused on getting his broom to tip-top condition.

The Firebolt glimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the lace curtains. It was a thing of beauty. The handle was a perfect rod of polished ebony wood, and the hazel tail twigs were clipped to perfection.

He was just finishing the second application of wax while taking extra care to buff the handle to a mirror sheen when he heard soft footsteps padding down the hallway. He paid them no mind at first, assuming it was just Apolline or Gabby going to their room, but then the door opened without a knock, and Fleur slipped inside.

She wore only what passed for pajamas in the Delacour household. A thin white camisole covered her chest, and a thong no bigger than an eyepatch covered everything else. Beyond that, everything else was fully exposed. Her hair was in a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. Harry didn’t even have time to set down the broom before she sat on the edge of his bed, giving the broom a casual glance.

“I see you bought a new broom. It looks expensive,” Fleur said as she swept a hand down the broom’s handle, stopping just short of his knuckles.

He grinned, acting casual. “It certainly wasn’t cheap.”

Fleur rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, but there was an unmistakable naughtiness in her gaze. “Boys are so insufferable. There is a sexy Veela in your room, and you would rather polish your broomstick than play with me,” she stated with a teasing “Hmmmph!” added on for dramatic flair. She crossed her bare legs, making her look even sexier.

Harry smiled wickedly and tossed the broom aside. “Oh, but you’re quite mistaken, my dear,” he teased and stalked forward. Fleur giggled loudly and scooted back on the bed, pretending to keep her distance.

He lunged forward with one hand on Fleur’s bare thigh while the other grabbed her by the waist, and he pulled her toward him. She let out a delighted squeal, and her legs wrapped around his hips with surprising strength. Harry could feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her panties. Heat radiated from her skin as she wriggled closer, locking her ankles behind his back and grinding against his erection.

Her camisole rose high on her belly, and its straps slid off her shoulders as Harry’s hands moved up her sides. She trembled as his fingertips tickled her delicate skin. He pressed his lips to her neck, and she giggled, squirming in his hold. Her hands roamed immediately. One tangled in his hair, and the other trailed down his chest. She arched her back and thrust her chest forward beneath his mouth. Harry obeyed without a word, trailing kisses down her collarbone and tugging at the delicate fabric with his teeth.

Fleur moaned, and she reached down between them, wedging her palm between their bodies as she stroked him through his boxers. Her fingers expertly found the outline of his cock, and she squeezed it, making him exhale sharply against her neck. She raked her fingernails over the thin cotton, then slipped beneath the waistband to grip his bare cock.

“Do you like zis?” she whispered in his ear, and her French accent was even thicker than usual. “You cannot ‘ide it from me, ‘Arry.” She bit his earlobe and giggled before running her tongue down the side of his neck. Harry grinned, shifted his grip, and spread her thighs wider. She ground against him, and her panties were already showing the telltale dark patch of her arousal.

He could see everything through her thin camisole. Her perky tits pressed hard against the fabric, and her stiff nipples proudly made themselves known. She yanked the top over her head and tossed it aside, completely unembarrassed by her own nakedness. Fleur propped herself up on one elbow, tossed her braid over her shoulder with casual grace, and then looked up at him with an expression of pure mischief.

“You know,” she said, pouting playfully, “I never understood why boys are so obsessed with flying or brooms. This is much more fun, no?”

Harry snorted. “That’s because you’ve never had a proper broom ride.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I ‘ave bounced on your broom many times,” she giggled.

Harry chuckled and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He dragged them down her wide hips and felt her shudder as cool air hit her skin. She leaned back and lifted her butt off the bed so he could peel them away completely. They were damp, warm, and smelled of her arousal. Harry tossed them over his shoulder. Fleur’s pussy was completely bare, with no hint of stubble or hair. Her labia were delicate and slick with arousal, and as he watched, a drop of moisture beaded at her entrance and ran down, creating a wet trail down to her asshole. She met his eyes and squirmed in place, clearly ready for more.

He pressed his fingers against her slit and gently rubbed it up and down. She trembled, biting her lip. “Do it ‘arder, ‘Arry,” she demanded through a whimper. He slipped two fingers inside her, and they were instantly drenched with her juices. Her muscles clenched around him in rhythmic flutters, and she let out a gasp while clutching at his wrist.

He bent his head and sucked at her nipple. He gently rolled it between his teeth until she trembled, then he moved to the other, giving each equal attention. Fleur moaned and tossed her head back, and her braid flailed across the pillow. Harry moved his thumb up and circled her swollen clit, and she jerked in response.

After a minute, she abruptly pushed his hand away and sat up. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily. “Non. I want it different tonight,” she said, panting.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Fleur looked him dead in the eye and, while still panting, she rolled onto her stomach. She pulled her knees up, so her ass stuck out invitingly. Fleur then reached back and spread her cheeks, showing off her tiny, puckered asshole.

“I want it right ‘ere,” she said in a husky voice. Harry looked down at her asshole, and the pale, crinkled hole was winking at him.

For a second, Harry just stared. The casual confidence of the request sent a burst of raw lust through his body. He nodded, licked his lips, and reached for her. He caressed her ass and ran a finger down the cleft of her wet pussy. Fleur shuddered and purred, pushing her hips higher.

Harry reached out and wandlessly summoned the bottle of lube from the dresser. He flicked the cap open, poured some on his fingers, and spread it generously over his cock. Fleur glanced back over her shoulder, and her eyes burned with desire. She wiggled her hips and whimpered, “Please. I want to feel it.”

He lubed his cock thoroughly, then poured more onto her asshole and worked it in with his finger. He circled and pressed slowly until the ring relaxed, and his fingers slipped in. Fleur mewled, arched her back further, and pressed her face into the pillow. She whimpered as Harry slowly fingered her ass, and he could feel her tight hole squeezing it. When she seemed ready, Harry lined himself up and pressed the tip against her hole.

“Ready?” he asked, fighting the urge to plunge straight in.

She nodded frantically. “Oui! Please, ‘Arry, do not tease me!” she begged.

He pressed forward slowly, feeling her tight resistance. Then the pressure suddenly gave out as the head popped inside. Fleur gasped, and her hands gripped the bedspread. Harry paused, giving her time to adjust.

“Relax for me,” he moaned while lovingly caressing the small of her back.

She relaxed her hole, and he slid in a little further. Her body tensed, and her hole puckered around him. Harry was careful not to move too fast. He let Fleur decide the pace she wanted. When he was halfway inside, Fleur started rocking her hips back, trying to take more of him in.

He groaned and held her hips steady before pushing the rest of the way in. Fleur moaned loudly as his cock scraped against her insides, and she cried out with pleasure as her entire body quivered. Harry pulled back, then thrust in again, making sure to take his time. The sensation was unreal. Her asshole was hot, tight, and impossibly smooth.

He built up a steady rhythm, and soon, Fleur began to meet his thrusts, pushing back against every buck of his hips. She let out a stream of French exclamations, and her voice became warbled. Harry reached around and massaged her clit slowly, and she bucked wildly, nearly screaming as she came.

He continued to fuck her, increasing the pace until the bed creaked and shuddered beneath them. Fleur’s moans became raw and loud, and her body convulsed with a second orgasm. Harry lasted as long as he could, but the heat and friction sent him over the edge. He finished with a low groan, holding her tight as he emptied inside.

They collapsed together, with his cock still in her clenching ass. Harry ran a hand along her hip, feeling the tremble in her thighs. He kissed her shoulder and the back of her neck, making her asshole squeeze even tighter. Fleur eventually rolled over and kissed him deeply. Her face flushed, and she was sporting a pleased smile.

“I think I like your broom better,” she giggled in a voice heavy with satisfaction. Harry chuckled, slipped into her drenched pussy, and began pounding her tight slit. Fleur squealed and wrapped her legs around his waist. They still had the entire night ahead of them.