Harry Potter and the Veela Nation
Summary: With darkness threatening to rise in the east, the Ministry of Magic is in search of allies. The Minister sends one of his diplomats to seek out what could be a key ally in an ensuing conflict but not all of his countrymen fear the darkness.
Disclaimer: JK owns the Harry Potter world and all the characters in it; I've just borrowed them for this story.
This is an Alternative Universe story, there was no Voldemort, no prophecy. As such, certain things are rather different but as ever, no world is perfect.
Flat 27, Fountain House,
120a Mount Street, London
Wednesday 1st October 2003.
"Harry Potter, get your arse out of bed and into the office." The large, silver stag patronus had galloped majestically through the wall of the building and into the lone bedroom of the dwelling; it illuminated the room, waking the two occupants of the bed and delivered its terse message before fading and disappearing. Harry groaned as he woke; his weight shifted, pressing him against the feminine body in whose bed he currently lay. What was her name again? his fogged and recently awoken mind wondered. Daphne? Tracey maybe? In truth he had no idea, just that she was an old acquaintance from school and they'd met, or more accurately reacquainted, at the soiree last night.
"Who was that?" The woman's voice mumbled sleepily, wondering at the rarely seen apparition that had just intruded her home and bedroom.
"Our esteemed Minister," Harry's voice was equally groggy. He yawned. "Dear old dad," he added fondly. He draped an arm over her and began to lightly caress the bare flesh of her back. "Why don't we forget about him for a while?"
The unidentified lady smiled and snuggled closer to him, all thoughts of further sleep forgotten. Their lips fused and her hand found its way between his legs and stroked his rapidly hardening member.
"NOW!" The patronus was back; the woman gave a slight start, unfortunately yanking Harry's manhood a little and causing him to yelp. This in turn caused the girl to fuse her apology with a loud laugh; it wasn't the suave, cool effect that the young diplomat was hoping for really.
"Looks like I need to get up then," he lamented, rolling out of the bed and rummaging through his clothes until he found his wand. He used it to cast some quick cleansing charms on himself and pulled on his underwear, followed by his crumpled dress robes.
"Do you have time for a shower?" He heard her voice from behind him; turning his head he saw her standing on the other side of the bed, naked, beautiful, enticing, inviting and with a towel draped over one shoulder. "I'm about to take one," she purred suggestively.
"If I took a shower with you we'd have a lot of interruptions from the Minister," he shook his head reluctantly. She pouted. "I know," he continued, "maybe tomorrow morning?" he asked in a brighter voice before walking around the bed and gathering her into his arms, kissing her tenderly.
"Sounds good. Where will I see you tonight?"
"We could have drinks in the Leaky Cauldron and then dinner and dancing in muggle London," he offered; his hostess wrinkled her nose distastefully. Ah, so she was one of the Slytherins. His suspicions had been confirmed. "Anyway, can I use your floo?"
"Anything for the Ministry," her tone was officious and deferential, as befitting a Pureblood princess but her smirk belied her manner. "Especially one of our leading diplomats." Harry responded in kind, giving a slight bow before grinning back and heading to the living room, where he took a pinch of powder and lobbed it into the fireplace. The girl watched from the doorway as he stepped into the fireplace and blew her a kiss, pushing a touch of magic into it; she swore she could actually feel his lips on hers as it reached her. "The Ministry of Magic!" he cried, disappearing in a flash of green. The young woman smiled at the sensation (and memories of the previous night) and went to take a shower. It was only much later that she realised they hadn't fixed a time for meeting up.
Ministry of Magic
"Nice arrival, Potter," a cold voice drawled mirthfully as Harry slid gracelessly out of the floo point in the Ministry atrium. "How have you never managed to work out how to use floo travel after all this time in our world?" He spat the word out to leave no doubt about his opinions of the half-blood. When Harry reflected on this he would decide it was yet another reason why Draco Malfoy had never been able to enter the Ministry as an employee.
"Au contraire, Malfoy," he ignored the jibe and claims of superiority from the blond half-wit, calmly brushed down his robes and stood, looking down on his long-time nemesis from Hogwarts (and Beauxbatons, where they had both been among a group of Hogwarts students to spend their 5th year, as part of the Diplomatic Exchange programme set up by the British and French magical governments). "Tell me," he smirked, moving closer to the Pureblood ponce and lowering his voice, "if you had spent last night with a lovely young lady and were wearing day-old dress robes due to your father the Minister summoning you," he ignored Malfoy's jealous scowl, "but wanted to disguise that fact that you hadn't been able to get home to change, wouldn't you take advantage of the fact that *everybody* knows you can't travel properly by floo?" He patted him dismissively on the shoulder and sauntered over to the bank of lifts. Malfoy frowned murderously at his retreating back; it had been an awful day for the Malfoy family and its allies when Potter's father had been elected Minister and immediately started forging his own alliances and coalitions, sidelining Malfoy senior and his influential, like-minded colleagues and leading the magical community in (in their opinion) the wrong direction (despite the fact that he, personally, had agreed with and benefited from the Diplomatic Exchange that Potter Senior had brought in). Draco had been reduced to skulking around the Ministry, trying to sow dissent against James Potter's stance on various issues in an attempt to uncover a like-minded and meaningful challenger to him and generate enough support in the Wizengamot to sack him once said challenger was in place.
Malfoy shook his head as he thought on the Minister's mudblood of an assistant; she, like James, had been a leading diplomat and had decided to give it up when Potter got the top job. Of course there was an 'understanding' with the new head of the Department of International Cooperation that jobs would be waiting for them when they were no longer involved in running the Ministry (and their assistance in getting ousting the previous incumbent and ensuring that the current Headmistress was ensconced at Hogwarts meant she would surely find them Professorships there if they preferred to go for a life outside of the Ministry and politics) but still, giving up a prime job to be little more than a receptionist? That just proved to him that he was right; mudbloods had no ambition, no sense of the importance of the key jobs in the magical world. In short, they had no business being there (and had they not been, he lamented, then Harry bloody Potter would never have been born in the first place and all would be much better in Draco's world).
Harry exited the lift and arrived outside his father's office. He straightened up, brushed down his robes again in an attempt to straighten them and walked in, trying to flatten his hair as he did; he was greeted by some familiar laughter.
"You're fighting a losing battle there dear," Lily Potter told him, "just like your dad," she added fondly. Then she looked him up and down. "Look at the state of you," she shook her head.
"Yes, I had a bad floo exit," he told her humbly; his mother gave him a searching look but he didn't quail. She shook her head again though.
"You'd better go in," she told him. He knocked cautiously on the door and, following his dad's invitation, entered.
"Ah, Harry, here at last," Minister James Potter looked up from his desk, waving his son into the seat opposite him without taking note of his appearance. Harry slipped into the chair.
"Hi dad," son greeted father jovially.
"I called you in," James linked his hands and rested his forearms on the desk in front of him, "because we have an important assignment for you – one that I have to warn you many in the department have… misgivings about giving to you given your youth and lack of diplomatic experience, but nonetheless I think you're the best person for the job."
"Sounds interesting," an intrigued Harry sat upright, waiting for more details.
"You are to go," the Minister continued, "to see if you can make contact with a European Veela enclave." Harry's eyes lit up; fortunately James was looking for some parchment at the time and missed it. "We think that there is one in eastern France or western Switzerland," as usual in an informal discussion among family, friends or non-hardliners James used non-magical national boundaries as they were rather more descriptive than magical borders would have been, "certainly that area of what is magical France; we're not sure exactly where, basically because our French counterparts don't like them too much so there is little desire on their part to find them."
"There's also quite a lot of ancient hostility between witches and Veela," Harry added, remembering some of the history he'd been taught at Beauxbatons and picked up from the friends he had made, "so they were pushed to the margins of the Wizarding World on the continent. Of course we also have to contend with the fact that they were expelled from the British Isles altogether centuries ago and we don't know how much ill-feeling and resentment has been handed down through the generations."
"I knew it was a good idea talking to Maxime and the French Minister when they were over for the Tri-Wizard tournament," James remarked with an air of self-congratulation, thinking back on his son's fourth year when said competition had been held at Hogwarts. Sadly for him and his plans of magical harmony, the Russian Ministry had elected not to send a representative; it was a decision that had helped alert James and Lily to the hint of rising political turmoil in Eastern Europe and led ultimately to his decision to campaign for the Minister's job and to the reforms he was pushing through with the aim of securing unity and equality between wizards and witches of different blood statuses and also forging closer links with the French magical populous. This unity, he felt, would be vital in the event of a coming conflict and, with the historic conflict and disagreement between the two countries he felt it would be better for the links to come via the new generation, hence Harry and his contacts.
"So your first job," the Minister continued, "is going to be to talk to your contacts in the French Ministry, see what they know and then go and find the enclave to make first contact." He looked at his son; he really was the spitting image of himself at that age, though with his wife's green eyes, "I cannot stress enough the importance of this venture," he continued. "With mutterings of groups and countries coming together in Eastern Europe, possibly uniting under a single leader, it could shift the balance of power across the continent. We need to build up our allies right now, especially some who are a little closer to the area where they could provide us with information about what's going on and who we could support on their border if the need arises, to stop the conflict coming to our borders. If this leader ends up turning dark… well, we need to be in a position to stop them as quickly as we can."
"I understand," Harry nodded. "What about the Veela in Eastern Europe?" he asked suddenly; James looked at him. "Remember when Bulgaria were here for the Quidditch World Cup Final? They had Veela mascots."
"Which is why we need to make contact with some of them," James confirmed, smiling at his son seeming to put the pieces together.
"Because the western Veela might be friendlier or more sympathetic," Harry suggested, "and if they were allied to us then they could be more likely to talk to the other enclaves further east and either give us friends or even spies inside the Eastern bloc."
"Precisely," the Minister's smile broadened. "But first things first – Go to the Department of Magical Research," he instructed his son, "they've been working on some items to help you track them down. Then see what you can find out from the French. And when you find the Veela," he said firmly, "I'm authorising you to issue a personal apology from me on behalf of the British Ministry of Magic for past treatment of their race." When Harry nodded his assent and understanding, his father gave him his most piercing look. "I've given you my personal backing for this, Harry. Don't let me down."
"I won't, dad," he promised before taking his leave. James watched him go; he had to admit that he, himself had minor concerns about entrusting the mission to his relatively inexperienced son – well, he gave a rueful smile, Harry was experienced in some ways if the rumours were to be believed (and he was pretty sure they were all at least mostly true). Fortunately his son was a very charming young man (which would be useful when dealing with the Veela) and tended not to upset the young ladies he'd wooed, being rather more suave than his best friend was. It was one of the reasons why James had ended up as Minister; not only was his wife a first-generation witch and their son had spent time in France with French students of his own age (which would help him track down the enclave in the first place) and thus the Ministry's first couple could claim to be a symbol of what he was trying to achieve, as a result of their sons' antics James was far more popular with the other departmental heads than his Deputy, Frank Longbottom.
It wasn't that Neville was a bad kid, James mused, quite the opposite. He was a nice guy and was one of the lead Aurors on merit (although the Longbottom name had given him a leg-up when he'd first enlisted) but he lacked Harry's charisma and easy way, meaning that while his son could be quite the playboy, Neville was unable to do so without upsetting the girls. James grinned at the thought that this meant that his son must already be quite the diplomat to have avoided leaving a string of scorned lovers in his wake.
"Will he be ok, do you think?" Lily asked her husband as she let herself into the office.
"I'm sure he will. You know, Lily, if this comes off it could be a major coup for our plans for this country."
"You mean it could shatter the Pureblood dogma by introducing part-Humans to the British bloodlines?" his wife asked coyly.
"You know me so well," he smiled at his wife. "Absolutely. Not only are they non-British magicals but also Veela. It would demolish the arguments of Malfoy and his sect if we had prominent families mixing with foreign families – and provide some much-needed new blood to the British lines."
"It's high risk," she cautioned. "If our opponents get wind of the idea too early they could cause a lot of problems for you."
"Yes but we already have some marriages from the exchange programme with Beauxbatons which we can highlight as successes of the programme," he pointed out. "Admittedly most of the young couples have opted for France over Britain but it's certainly made their Ministry more sympathetic to us – even if they still dislike much of our Wizengamot and its prejudices."
"Which is why we need them to change, and these programmes are the best way to do it," she agreed.
"Plus I think it would be rather nice to have a Veela for a daughter-in-law," he grinned, causing Lily to roll her eyes. "Frank agrees with that sentiment."
"It would certainly sort the boys out," Lily chuckled. "Being on the receiving end of a couple of those fireballs would keep their eyes from wandering."
James winced at the thought for a moment before joining in his wife's laughter. "Have you heard from the girls recently?" he asked.
"Of course not," she sighed as she looked at him, "you know they're a pair of daddy's girls and always write to you."
"Oh yeah," he grinned. "I wonder how Rose is enjoying being Head Girl."
"I think she's only doing it half the time," Lily revealed; her husband looked surprised. "I overheard her saying Heather should do it half the time as well since nobody at school can tell them apart." James laughed out loud at this.
"Oh dear, that will keep old Minnie on her toes."
"I was hoping it wouldn't be too much to ask for one of my kids to be able to behave," Lily lamented. "I should have known it was though, what with Prongs as their father and those other three clowns acting as uncles." She suppressed a pang of sadness that the kids' actual aunt and uncle wanted nothing to do with them, though their cousin was quietly rather more sympathetic to magic users (as he'd said several years ago when the families met for the usual strained Christmas celebration, what eleven-year-old boy doesn't think that magic is cool?).
"Not forgetting the devious witch they have for a mother," James smirked, bringing her from her musings; the Minister leaned in and kissed his wife. "What say we go for an early, and long, lunch?" he asked, kissing the redhead again.
"The Minister's word is law," she replied in a forced meek voice; he took her hand and they headed out, James locked the office door behind them with a wave of his wand.
Department of Magical Research,
Harry quickly called back home for a shower and change into fresh robes before returning to the Ministry. He made a far more graceful exit from the floo (Malfoy was nowhere to be seen this time) and took the lift to the 3rd floor of the building, which was home to the new Department of Magical Research.
The department was one of James Potter's more radical ideas (yet one which had passed with barely a comment as it was fairly uncontroversial, most 'traditionalist' – i.e. Pureblood bigot – members seemed to see it as little more than a dumping ground for oddballs and the token mudbloods they were had been forced to employ under the blood status quota system, so they were not even too upset with the identity of its head, provided its budget remained suitably low).
The low budget had turned out not to be too much of a problem. The first-generation population, including Lily, were familiar with the non-magical government's concept of the 'Public-Private Partnership' and had quietly implemented it for this department (the bigots scoffed at the idea but saw it as people who didn't agree with their viewpoint wasting their money, so they weren't going to object).
Basically the department's funding was mostly private (the Potters and Longbottoms were the major investors; Sirius would have but his 'lack of Pureblood pride' in his parents' eyes had left him marginalised within the family; his brother Regulus controlled the family finances – and the Wizengamot seat – and he was rather more hostile to the minister than his older brother was. In fact Regulus was seen by the Malfoys as their standard bearer and future Minister, once they deposed the present incumbent) and profits from their developments were split between the Ministry and the benefactors. The bigot faction seemed not to know just how smart some of the people in this department were, or how much money there was out there to be made, otherwise James was sure that the funding arrangements would be rather different – or that the objections would be swallowed in the name of profit.
"Good morning Miss Granger," Harry smiled as he entered the main office (which was smaller than the wardrobe in his bedroom but it was a start at least for the fledgling department; as usual for the office its windows had been magically charmed so it seemed to be drab and raining outside). He strolled over to the other desk crammed in there and smiled at the witch behind it. "And the ever-lovely Miss Lovegood of course, how are you both?"
"Harry," Hermione Granger snorted, setting down the item she was fiddling with and turning to him with the look of exasperation she usually wore around the Minister's son when he was in this sort of mood, "we've known each other since we were eleven; there's no need for formalities."
"And since we know each other so well," Luna Lovegood piped up in her usual dreamy tones, "you can always call me Luna – or something more personal if you prefer," her expression was completely at odds with her words as she continued to look calm and serene. Hermione's cheeks acquired a definite tinge of pink while Harry was completely unruffled by what she had to say.
"Minister Potter instructed me to come here," he spoke as if neither of the girls had said anything, "as he said you had certain items that would aid me in the diplomatic mission that he has entrusted to me."
Hermione rolled her eyes before reaching into one of her desk drawers and pulling out a couple of items.
"This is a rudimentary tracking device," she explained. "While the Beauxbatons were here in our fourth year there was one student whose mother was apparently a Veela; you remember Marcel?"
Harry nodded; the blond final year student hadn't been selected for the tournament but had instead devoted his time to helping certain Hogwarts students (including Harry) improve their skills regarding dealings with the female of the species. He had thus been a hero to many of the younger boys and Harry could trace several of his conquests back to the Frenchman's lessons (he was also indebted to a number of the witches he'd met during his year in France who had been surprisingly willing to help the young Briton to hone his techniques).
"Well, he had a haircut or two over the year at Hogwarts and we kept some of his hair."
"We?" Harry smirked. "Do you make a habit of collecting people's hair?"
Hermione blushed again before turning defiant. "Well if you'd paid attention in Potions you'd have known it was an important ingredient in polyjuice potion."
"That's the Hermione we know and love," Harry chuckled, "always keen to defend classes, though you do know old Sluggy was a big admirer of my skills in that class and I did get an 'O' at NEWT level," he reminded her smugly before grinning devilishly. "So, how much of my hair do you have?" He leaned on her desk and she turned a deeper shade of red. "Or if you don't have any I could give you something else," he offered suggestively, causing her to splutter incoherently; he looked over his shoulder at winked at Luna; the blonde had abandoned her dreamy nature and was grinning at the scene.
"Anyway," Hermione continued briskly, "we also have a couple of other things we've been working on. The shield hat," she handed him a black bowler hat, "will protect you from minor hexes cast at your head."
"Yeah I'm not wearing that when traipsing through France," he handed it back to her. When her face fell he clarified, "It's not that I don't appreciate it but I'd look a complete idiot scouring the French countryside in that. Could it be adapted to turn my glasses into a shield? And maybe my robes – since they'd be more likely to fire something at my body than my head?"
"That's actually a good idea," Hermione conceded.
"Always the tone of surprise, Miss Granger," he grinned.
"Well it is a rarity," she shot back with her own smirk.
"Ooh, point for Granger," Luna piped up happily; Harry turned and glared at his ex while she smiled back serenely.
"So if this has Marcel's hair in it," he gestured to the device he'd been given, "do we know it will track all Veela and not just lead me to him?"
"Well, he's not a Veela, obviously," Hermione retorted before she could stop herself; she looked at Harry.
"Right, he said his grandmother had had to choose between her husband and the nation and she chose her husband. So that makes him only a quarter-Veela?"
"Not quite," Luna spoke up. "Veela are mitochondrial – it's inherited from the mother. So his mum was Veela but he's human, albeit with some dominant traits."
"Like his hair," Harry nodded.
"Correct," Hermione looked from one to the other, "which is why we can use it in this tracker. It detects the Veela genetic material and points you in its direction."
"Right," he nodded his understanding. "Well, thank you for that, and thank the Weasley twins for the shields for me," he told them. "What?" He looked at their surprised faces. "You thought I didn't know who was responsible for researching what around here? Anyway," he nodded to the girls, "I'll drop some robes and a pair of glasses by this afternoon. How quickly can they be charmed?"
"We should have them ready by tomorrow morning if you can," Hermione replied grudgingly.
"Thank you very much ladies," he nodded to them before walking to the door; he turned back to the room and smiled at Hermione before blowing a kiss to Luna as he left. Like the one earlier in the day, he pushed some magic into it and left the feel of his lips on the blonde's.
Hermione shook her head as he left; ever since meeting Harry on their first day at Hogwarts she'd always loved their banter (especially on the occasions when he wasn't being an arrogant arse) and had often wondered whether there could ever be anything between them, if she was being honest she still did, particularly as she was 'between boyfriends' at the moment. She knew that his upbringing meant he had no prejudices about her being a first generation witch (as his mother was one) despite his Purebloodesque tendency to strut around like he owned the whole world. No, the only thing that concerned her was Harry's reputation as a ladies' man; as she had only just been reminded of the past he shared with Luna she turned to her deputy department leader.
"What was it like, dating Harry?" she asked curiously.
Luna sighed; she was looking off into space absently but, Hermione knew by now, that was a fairly normal thing for the blonde to do, especially when she was lost in thought. "It was great while it lasted," she said eventually, "I just wish we'd been together longer – but he was away too much, being a diplomat, doing diplomaty things, so we ended up drifting apart. Fortunately we've stayed really good friends as I wouldn't want to lose his friendship."
Away being a diplomat and bedding foreign women, Hermione strongly suspected, given the boy's reputation. Still, maybe the right woman will be able to change his ways. She smiled at the familiar fantasy before returning to her work, making notes on a sheet of official parchment ready to send to Fred and George Weasley once Harry returned with his equipment for modifying.
Having left the office, Harry thought of spending the afternoon catching up with the young lady from last night. Alas, he still couldn't remember her name or, for that matter, did he know where she lived (she'd apparated them to her flat, partially in order to keep its location secret from him). He also realised that he hadn't fixed a time for meeting the mystery girl, though he pondered on heading to The Leaky Cauldron at some point during the evening to see if she showed up. In the meantime he thought he'd call in on his best friend.
"Hi Nev." Neville looked up from his desk where he was busy filling in a report for his boss, Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"Harry, how are you?"
"Not bad old boy, not bad at all. In fact, I've just been given a new assignment."
"Really? Where are you headed?"
Neville's jaw dropped as Harry disclosed his aims. He also gave his friend a heads-up about his father's offer of Aurors to help protect the Veela from attack if necessary; Neville promised his oldest friend that he would be at the front of any force called upon to help Harry in his mission.
"You're going to be out of the country, Mr Potter?" Amelia Bones, Neville's boss and head of the DMLE had caught the end of the conversation.
"Yes Madame Bones," he confirmed. "For an unspecified period," he shrugged, "I guess I'll be back when I'm done."
"Susan will be most disappointed to hear you're going," she commented, thinking of her niece who still spoke highly of Harry.
"I'm sure Neville could comfort her," he threw his friend a glance and a smirk, "she'd probably prefer that."
Madame Bones' eye twitched around her trademark monocle while Neville quailed at her reaction; he hadn't become aware of Susan's crush and hankering for him until the end of their time at Hogwarts, when it was too late for him to act on it. Clearly, though, something in his past actions had been discussed at family get-togethers and he had drawn her aunt's ire as a result.
"Later, Nev," he called cheerily, rushing from the room to go home for a shower before trying to meet his ladyfriend, and leaving his best friend chuckling nervously at his rather annoyed boss.
The Leaky Cauldron,
Charing Cross Road
Daphne Greengrass strutted into the pub; she was there more in hope than expectation that Harry would turn up but wanted to be there in case he did. She joined her old schoolmate Tracey Davis at a table and the two shared a couple of drinks while they chatted about what was going on in their lives.
Every time the door opened Daphne threw a glance at it; she didn't want to look too eager (or desperate) but really was hoping that Harry would show. When he finally did, her face lit up, something Tracey noticed immediately and followed her gaze to the door.
"Looks like your date has arrived, Daph," Tracey teased (slightly to Harry's relief as he caught the name, helping him to identify who his mystery lover was along with putting a name to her friend as he remembered them being best friends at school). "Hello Harry," she greeted him cordially as he sauntered over to their table. She then stood up. "I'll leave you two to it," she told Daphne with a knowing smirk.
"Miss Davis," he nodded chivalrously to her before taking the seat she'd just vacated. "Hello Daphne," he took her hand and kissed it.
"I wasn't sure you'd show," she commented.
"We agreed a date this morning didn't we?" he asked with a hint of surprise in his tone.
"Yes but you never said when."
"I know, I realised that when I got to the Ministry. Anyway, we're both here now so no harm done," he flashed his smile at her; the girl felt herself melting just a little bit more. "What say we have dinner then go somewhere for some fun," he then turned his most charming smile on her, "then back to your place for some more fun?"
Daphne's heart rate doubled; she was on the brink of telling him to skip the first two parts of the plan when her stomach gave a small and most unladylike growl, causing her to agree to dinner, though she barely paid any heed to what she was actually eating.
Harry paid the bill before taking her hand and leading her out into muggle London.
Flat 27, Fountain House,
120a Mount Street, London
Harry's plans to dance the evening away with his date hit an unforeseen snag; they had been at Mahiki barely an hour when she decided she couldn't wait any longer and dragged him out of the club. Ducking down a quiet side street she apparated them back to her flat and pounced on him, kissing him with urgent passion. Harry's hands were wrapped around her back and quickly began loosening her dress, sliding it down her body until gravity did the rest and it pooled around her feet, leaving her clad in only a small pair of black knickers. As his mouth was still busy kissing hers, his hands moved around to her chest and began fondling her bare breasts while hers began unbuttoning his shirt and then ran over his exposed chest. He took his left hand from her right breast, took her right with it and led her into the bedroom they'd slept in the previous night (his mind vaguely noting that this would be the first time in a while that he'd spent two consecutive nights in the same girl's bed – not since he split up with Luna). They reached the end of her bed and he slid her knickers down her legs before quickly shedding his own trousers and underpants; the two then fell onto the bed together.
Harry smiled as he entered the girl; despite her urgency he was determined to savour every moment – not knowing how long his mission would take he didn't know when he'd next get the chance to enjoy time with a willing young lady so he made sure that they made love slowly and passionately. Once they were both sated he fell asleep in her arms.
AN: Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed the opening chapter of this story. PD