The Hogwarts Graduate
a HP fanfic adaptation by canoncansodoff
A/N: Muse-driven diversionary crack. Sorry, but it can't be helped. Again, this is a very close adaptation of the movie version of "The Graduate." Which, I neglected to mention in the previous chapter, was itself an adaptation of the 1963 novel by Charles Webb. I have chosen to follow the screenplay more than the novel…mainly because the former is posted on-line. Whether the origins are movie or book, each bit of borrowing has been performed with the greatest amount of love and admiration for the source material.
Quick Britspeak review….Stockings = hold ups. Garter belt = suspenders.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc. etc. Story continuation subject to audience response and/or the whims of my muse.
Harry turned off his broom's "notice-me-not" field as his smooth descent brought them through the Davis's wards and into their high-walled back yard. He made a wide, careful turn and glided to a full stop hover in front of the back door.
Mrs. Davis squeezed the hips that had served as her hand holds.
"Erm…Right," Harry nodded.
The black-haired witch didn't move.
When Harry realized why, he lifted his leg over the handle and dropped both feet onto the paving stones. Keeping one hand on the handle so that the broom remained at a waist-high hover, he turned back towards his passenger and offered his other hand.
She took that hand, but still made no effort to dismount.
"Will you come in, please?" she asked.
"I want you to come inside until I get the lights on."
"Because I won't feel safe until I get the lights on."
Harry sucked in a small breath of air, then expelled it as he nodded his head. She smiled, then dropped her gaze down towards her lap. His eyes followed, allowing him to watch as she grabbed the overlapped hemlines of her robes, her dress, and her slip where they had bunched in front of her crotch.
If the goal of this action was to protect her modesty as she lifted her leg across the handle and slipped off of the broom, she failed.
If the goal of this action was to provide Harry with just enough of a moonlit flash for him to determine the color of her knickers, then she succeeded.
She acted as if she had no goals, though…and projected an attitude of extreme nonchalance as she smoothed the front of her robes with the hand that wasn't still gripping Harry's.
When it became clear that she had no intention of releasing that hand, Harry gulped, then turned and did a slightly-awkward one-handed shutdown of his broom…lifting his boot to catch the handle with the top of his foot as he pocketed the runestone.
Mrs. Davis waited until Harry regained his hold on the broom handle, then led him to the back door…the wizard's entrance that was away from the street and protected from Muggle eyes in the mixed Muggle/Magical neighborhood. She pulled her wand from a robe sleeve and touched the tip against the door frame in several different places, but in one distinct sequence.
The door opened, triggering the magical house lights.
Tracy's mum stepped to the side and turned towards Harry.
"Would you mind walking ahead to the front sitting room? I feel funny about coming into a dark house."
Harry leaned his head forward and turned so that he could look through the entrance.
"But it's light in there now," he noted.
Harry held off his frowning until he had turned away from the witch, drew his wand, and entered her home.
It was a large, freestanding structure…not as big as 12 Grimmauld Place, but located in a far posher postal code. The interior design and furnishings were mostly on par with the Black mansion's (once Hestia had moved in, of course, and improved upon her new husband's "bad boy lad pad" sense of style). There were two noticeable differences. A few of the rooms in the Davis residence were wired for electricity, and all of the rooms were dated, in terms of furniture and décor. While Hestia's extreme makeover was only a few years old, the Davis's home was still stuck the late 1960's…but in a comfortable, mod sort of way that Austin Powers would consider groovy.
As Harry walked down the length of the main hallway towards the front entrance, he thought about the knickers that had just been flashed, and compared the experience with similar circumstances. It didn't take very long to complete the comparison…Ginny had lifted her robes a few times to catch his eye, and he had once gotten a brief glimpse of Hermione in her bra and knickers when they'd shared a hotel room during their search for her parents. Not that there hadn't been a few offers…he'd just been so focused on his combat training, and so insistent on keeping any potential romantic interests at arm's length for fear they'd become prime targets. And once the War was over? The witches seemed either all the more enamored with the near-mythic Boy-Who-Won (instead of Just Harry)…or worse, setting their sights on the title of Lady Potter (and the vault keys that came with it).
Once he reached the front entrance he turned and walked into the sitting room. There was an interior doorway at the far end of the wall, and in an effort to be thorough he walked deep enough into the room to look through that opening. Not seeing any potential threats, he shrugged, slipped his wand into his wrist-mounted holster, and turned back towards the entrance.
This is when he discovered the incompleteness of his threat assessment, as he hadn't accounted for Mrs. Davis's actions…or the potential for danger created when she unfastened her outer robes and tossed them over a wing-backed chair.
Those robes had been hemmed just above the knee, and cut to expose only a modest amount of cleavage. But the black and white-patterned Muggle dress she was wearing underneath? It was just as dated as the decor, but far more shagadelic. The thigh-baring hemline extended just low enough to cover the bottom of her slip and the tops of her silk hold ups, while the plunging scoop neckline was low enough to uncover the top of the slip's black lace bra cups.
Harry caught his breath at the site of so little fabric. Mrs. Davis ignored this reaction, and walked towards a wet bar installed in the near corner of the room.
"What do you drink, Harry? Firewhiskey?"
The teenager shook his head.
"Look," he replied, walking towards the bar. "I flew you home. I was glad to do it. But I have some things on my mind. Can you understand that?"
The middle-aged witch nodded.
"All right then," Harry concluded, placing his hands on the bar top.
"What do you drink?" she asked.
Harry furrowed his eyebrows and blew out a short breath as he stared at her.
Mrs. Davis shrugged.
"Harry…I'm sorry to be this way, but I don't want to be alone in this house."
"Why not?" Harry asked. "Wards seemed strong enough."
"Please wait until my husband gets home."
"When is he coming back?"
"I don't know," the witch replied, as she grabbed two tumblers from underneath the bar, and a bottle of firewhiskey from behind.
She poured him one anyway, and handed it to him.
There was a pause as Harry set the drink down onto the bar top.
"Are you always this much afraid of being alone?"
"Even with the War over and Death Eaters rounded up?"
"Well, why can't you just boost the wards and go to bed?"
"I'm very neurotic," Mrs. Davis admitted before taking a long draw on her drink. She turned away so that the small burp of flame that followed didn't hit Harry's face, then walked over to a Muggle stereo system and turned it on. She smiled when she turned back towards the bar, noting both the befuddled look on Harry's face as smooth jazz spilled out of the speakers, and the unchanged direction of his gaze…still focused on where the back of her dress had ridden up and exposed her slip as she had reached down to set the phonograph needle onto a spinning LP.
"May I ask you a question, Harry?"
The black-haired wizard looked up and silently returned her gaze.
"What do you think of me?"
"What do you mean?"
"You've known me for a few years now…ever since your godfather was exonerated and you moved in with him. You must have formed some opinion."
"Well," Harry replied in a voice that wavered slightly. "I've always thought that you were a very…erm….nice…person."
"Did you know that I was an alcoholic?"
Harry's eyes darted down to the half-full glass still in the witch's hand.
"Did you know that? That witches and wizards can become addicted to alcohol just as easily as Muggles?"
"Look…I think that I should be going…."
Mrs. Davis waved away Harry's concerns as she walked over to an overstuffed sofa and sank down onto one of its cushions. She smiled, slowly crossed her legs, and patted the other cushion.
"Sit down, Harry."
The teenager's eyes darted from her hand…to her legs…to the door…
"Mrs. Davis," he said with a firm shake of his head. "If you don't mind me saying so…this conversation is getting a little strange. Now I'm sure that Mr. Davis will be here any minute and…"
"My husband will be back quite late," she replied. Then she reached out for Harry's hand, and tugged him down onto the couch.
He yelped a bit, looked down between his leg and hers, and tried to maximize that distance as he struggled for a different response.
"Then I'm sure that Tracy will be here any minute…"
The witch smiled into her whiskey glass as she emptied it. Then she reached over, grabbed Harry's leg, and shook her head.
"No…she's on holiday with the Greengrass family."
Harry's cheeks flushed red as he reached down and pulled Mrs. Davis's hand off of his thigh. Then he jumped back to his feet and scooted around the end of the sofa so that its arm could do double duty as a barrier.
Tracy's mother arched an eyebrow as she examined her guest's new position. She smiled as her eyes drifted down Harry's trouser fly, which was located just above the top of the upholstered arm. Then she licked her lips, formed them into a pouty "O," and burped a small ball of fire towards his crotch.
"Ahhh!" Harry screamed, jumping back from flames.
Mrs. Davis chuckled as she uncrossed her legs, stood, and walked back to the bar to pour herself another stiff drink. But rather that return to the sofa, she slipped onto one of the leather bar stools. Then she swiveled around, lifted her knees up towards her chest, and set her high-heels down upon the top of the adjacent stool.
Then she began to unfasten the shoe straps.
This gave Harry a profile view of the full length of the witch's legs, once the hemlines of her dress and slip responded to the forces of gravity and fell back towards her bum.
This also gave Harry an erection, once she kicked off her shoes, dragged her hands up the full length of her silk hold ups and began unfastening her suspenders. He quickly returned to his seat on the sofa, and crossed his legs.
"Oh, my God!" he hissed, as Mrs. Davis pushed the nearest hold up down over her knee and off of her toe.
The witch then turned both her attention and her newly naked knee back towards the wizard. She tilted her head a bit, and innocently asked, "Pardon?"
Harry stared at the view provided by that out-turned knee. By sitting back down on the sofa he had unknowingly positioned himself for a dead-on upskirt view.
Purple. Purple lace. Purple lace doing a piss-poor job of covering black pubes.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Davis. Oh, no!" Harry hissed. He shook his head violently, both to indicate disagreement and to clear his addled mind.
"I faced down Voldemort, but this is flustering me more?" he thought with amazement.
The witch frowned slightly as she looked back towards her suspenders and unfastened the other leg.
"What's wrong?" she asked, keeping her eyes moving along with the downward path of the second stocking. Once it too was pushed off of the end of her toes, she let it drop to the shag-carpeted floor, then grabbed her glass, and after taking yet another gulp held it with one hand against the top of her bent, naked knee.
The other hand went on a fishing expedition of sorts…snaking up and under both slip and dress in search of the waist band hooks on her suspenders.
Harry's eyes grew even wider as this search (and an associated shifting of her weight from one arse cheek to the other) resulted in her sitting on her two hemlines.
"Mrs. Davis, you didn't…I mean you didn't expect…"
"What?" she asked, half-way distracted by her search. She turned her head away to dispel a fiery belch, so Harry didn't see her eyes light up when she found what she was looking for. Then she swung her face and both knees towards Harry, giving him an even more obvious upskirt view. Her feet dropped down to the the carpet as she slipped off the stool.
The undone suspender belt touched the carpet not far behind the bare feet.
Tracy's mum pushed the edge of her dress down just far enough to cover her fanny. Then she leaned back against the stool and challenged Harry with a stare.
The way she casually crossed one arm under her chest and pushed up her breasts as she held the other bicep made it hard for Harry to meet that stare. But he managed.
"Mrs. Davis," he whispered, "I mean…you didn't really think that I would do something like that?"
"Like what?" she asked, reaching for her drink.
"What do you think?"
"Well, I don't know."
"Oh…for Merlin's sake, Mrs. Davis," Harry spat indignantly. "Here we are, you've got me into your house. You give me a drink. You put on music, you tell me about…about personal things. Then you start undressing in front of me and tell me that your husband won't be home for hours."
The question caught Harry by surprise. He jerked his head back, as if her challenge had smacked him in the face. Then he took a deep breath, expelled it, and slowly shook his head.
In a very serious and deliberate tone of voice, he matter-of-factly stated, "Mrs. Davis…you are trying to seduce me."
There was a long, uncomfortable pause as Tracy's mother looked at Harry. Her gaze was intimidating, and a bit withering.
Finally, in a much weaker voice, he asked, "Aren't you?"
The middle-aged witch shrugged her shoulders.
"Why, no," she replied. "I hadn't thought of it. I feel rather flattered that you…"
Harry's faced paled as Mrs. Davis got further into her response. He panicked, with images flashing through his head of Sirius and Hestia…and Hermione…expressing their disappointment in him. And then he imagined curses flying his way from Mr. Davis's wand…and then there was the imagined look on Tracy's face…
"Mrs. Davis, I'm so sorry. Really, truly, sorry. Will you forgive me for what I just said?"
The witch favored him with a small nod.
"It's all right."
"It's not all right," Harry gravely replied. "It's the worst thing I've ever said to anyone."
Tracy's mother rolled her eyes and sat back down on the bar stool. Then she patted the one next to her.
"Sit down," she ordered.
Harry contritely looked down at the carpet, avoiding her eyes as he rose from the sofa and walked towards the indicated stool. He was just as careful to avoid stepping on her hold ups and suspenders once he reached the bar and took a seat.
"Please forgive me," Harry asked. "Because I like you. I don't think of you that way. But I'm mixed up."
Mrs. Davis patted his shoulder and handed him his glass.
"All right," she stated. "Now finish your drink."
Harry shook his head. "Mrs. Davis, it makes me sick that I said that to you."
"Well, forget it right now. Finish your drink."
Harry nodded this time, and put his glass up to his lips. The firewhiskey burned, but he deserved it.
He belched a large ball of flame into a fire-proof brass receptacle that had been charmed for just that purpose. Once the smoke cleared, he asked, "What is wrong with me?"
Mrs. Davis ignored the question. Instead, she reached for her purse and retrieved another cigarette. Harry was quick to draw his wand and light it for her.
She took a deep drag, then held her breath while she set the fag onto an available ashtray. When the smoke was finally expelled, it came out in a series of rings.
"Have you ever seen Tracy's portrait?" she finally asked.
"We had it done last Yule. Would you like to see it?"
Harry nodded. "Very much."
Mrs. Davis smiled as she grabbed both her drink and her fag. She used a head nod to indicate direction.
"C'mon then," she said, slipping off the bar stool and walking back towards the front entrance.
Harry followed her movement with his eyes…eyes that locked onto the back of the witch's dress, and the flipped up edge that exposed her slip where it covered her bum. She made no effort to adjust herself, acting as if she hadn't realized what had happened as she stopped at the entrance to the room.
Mrs. Davis looked back over her shoulder.
Harry looked up at her face, and realized that he'd been caught out staring. He sucked in a breath, looked down at his drink, and drained what was still left before setting the empty glass on the bar.
Once he got to his feet and started walking towards Mrs. Davis, she nodded and turned back towards the foyer. He followed her through the front entrance, and up the stairs.
She didn't look back again to see if he was still staring at her slip-covered bum. Didn't need to, given the way her arse was warmed by the exhaled after-effects of Harry's finished drink.
Once she reached the top of the thickly-carpeted stairs, Mrs. Davis turned into a room and turned on the lights. Harry followed into what was obviously Tracy's bedroom. Or perhaps not so obvious, as it was decorated with far more pink than green and silver?
There was a single, four-poster bed set against the middle of the wall opposite the doorway. The first wall hanging to catch his eye wasn't Tracy's portrait, but his…one of the "officially licensed" animated posters from the Triwizard Tournament. This particular image had been a best-seller; it showed Harry riding his Firebolt during the First Task with the Hungarian Horntail close behind.
"Tracy never told me that she had one of my posters hanging up on her bedroom wall," he said with a bit of chagrin.
"What makes you think that this is her room, Harry?"
The teen-aged wizard's head swiveled sharply towards Mrs. Davis.
"Do you think this is my daughter's room?"
Harry's eyes darted towards the single bed.
"This is Tracy's portrait," Mrs. Davis stated, nodding towards a large, single wall-hanging set in an ornate gold frame.
Harry turned towards the animated portrait, which was hanging directly opposite from his poster. The subject was sitting on a wooden bench in a formal English garden. Her legs were stretched out on the bench, and her focus was on an owl that was perched in a flowering tree, on a low-hanging branch within arm's reach of Tracy.
Or at least that's where Harry thought the portrait's focus had been, before Tracy's image turned towards the room and began glaring suspiciously at first Harry, then her mother.
"Erm…She's a very good-looking girl," Harry noted.
He turned and noticed that Mrs. Davis had seated herself on the edge of the bed, and leaned back, using her arms for support. Given where she was now positioned, and the way that her dress was riding up again…he quickly returned his attention to the portrait.
"Of course I've always known that, being at Hogwarts together, but without her hiding behind her school robes…she's really…she's really a beautiful girl."
She didn't answer, so Harry turned back towards her.
"Come here," she said quietly.
"Will you sit down for a minute?"
"Sit down over there? On the bed?"
"Erm…sure," he said nervously. He risked a quick glance back over his shoulder, and quickly wished that he hadn't.
The portrait was not amused.
He walked over to the bed. She reached up towards the sleeve of his robe, but instead of grabbing it she stood, and moved until she was facing him with her back turned towards the portrait.
She turned around, reached back, and lifted her hair away from her neck.
"Will you unzip my dress?"
Harry caught his breath and took a step backward. The back of his knees hit the side of the bed, and he fell back down on it, catching himself with his hands.
"I think that I will go to bed," she explained.
Harry's eyes went wide, and they darted from the back of her dress towards the bed he was now sitting on. He yelped, brought his knees up, and did a backwards somersault over the duvet and away from the witch. His feet landed on the floor on the opposite side of the bed and he stood.
Mrs. Davis looked back over her shoulder and raised one eyebrow.
The black-haired teenager tried to regain his composure (and his dignity).
"Right. That's fine, then. Well, Good night."
He walked towards the door.
"Won't you unzip my dress?"
"I'd rather not, Mrs. Davis."
She turned to face him and frowned, as if she were trying to solve the answer to a riddle.
"Do you still think that I'm trying to seduce you?" she asked.
"No, I don't," Harry said quickly, glancing over the witch's shoulder and noting that the portrait was now standing with her hands on her hips, and nodding her head vigorously.
"I just feel a little funny.
"So you do still think that I'm trying to seduce you."
"I don't," Harry replied. "But I think I'd best be going downstairs now."
Mrs. Davis smiled. "Harry, you know me well enough, don't you?"
"C'mon," she said, turning back around again. "It's hard for me to reach."
Tracy's portrait was now shaking her head and staring daggers at Mrs. Davis. The witch glanced at the picture, then looked back over her shoulder. Noticing that Harry was focused on how the painting was reacting, she let out a little snort.
"It can't talk."
Harry looked towards her.
"Do you think it has a reason to be upset? Do you think we're doing something wrong?"
"Of…of course not, Mrs. Davis."
"Would you like me to flip it around so that it faces the wall?"
"No need to…"
"That might be something you'd want, if you really thought I'm trying to seduce you."
Harry sucked in a breath, and shook his head.
"All you want is help with your zipper, right?"
"That's what I asked for, Harry."
The-Boy-Who-Won hesitated, then made a decision. He covered the distance between them in two quick strides, reached for the zipper, and grabbed it with the tip of his thumb and forefinger. Taking care not to touch more than the bit of metal, he pulled the zipper firmly down along her back. The dress split open, revealing the back of the witch's black silk slip.
"Right," said Harry, backing up towards the doorway.
"What are you so scared of?" she asked, turning back to face him.
"I'm not scared, Mrs. Davis."
"Then why do you keep running away?"
"Because you are going to bed," Harry explained. "I shouldn't be up here."
"Haven't you ever seen a witch wearing a slip before?" she asked, letting the unzipped dress fall forward, dropping off of her shoulders and onto the floor.
"Yes, I have," Harry replied, trying hard to push back the memory of that one brain-bleaching incident that occurred while he was still living on Privet Drive.
"You still think that I'm trying to seduce you, don't you?"
Harry threw up a little bit in his mouth when his brain linked this question with the memory of his Aunt Petunia dressed in a slip. He forced the bile back down, and shook his head.
"No I do not!" he declared. "Now, I told you that I feel terrible about what I said downstairs, but you keep asking, and….and I just don't feel right up here."
"Why do you think, Mrs. Davis?"
"Well I just don't know," the witch shrugged. "We're pretty good friends, I think…I don't see why you should feel funny about seeing me dressed in a slip."
Harry sighed, and gestured towards the portrait.
"Well, Tracy seems to understand."
Mrs. Davis snorted, glanced over at the painting, and walked towards it. She grabbed both sides of the frame, lifted it up off the wall, then let it drop to the floor. She either didn't see or ignored the rude gesture aimed in her direction as she flipped the portrait over and leaned it against the wall, upside down and backwards.
"Why did you just…"
"It's okay, Harry," Mrs. Davis explained. "Do you think that is the first time that I've done that?"
The witch arched an eyebrow.
"There are certain things that children shouldn't witness, don't you think?"
"Well…for example…when their mother and father are in the same room having sex."
Harry started to say something, then caught himself, and tried a different approach.
"That's my point…why I feel funny." He gestured back towards the door. "What if Mr. Davis walked in right now?"
"What if he did?"
"Well, it would look pretty funny, wouldn't it? With you in just your slip and Tracy's portrait facing the wall."
"Don't you think he trusts us together?"
"Of course he does. But he might get the wrong idea. Anyone might, when you're dressed that way and I'm in the room, and the only time you flip the portrait is when you are having….when you are with your husband."
"Did I tell you that my husband and I like to have sex in this room?" Mrs. Davis asked.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "I don't see why you're getting your knickers in all in a twist. I'm twice as old as you are. How anyone could think…"
"But they would think that…don't you see?"
"Harry. I am not trying to seduce you."
"I know that. But please Mrs. Davis. This is hard for me."
Her eyes dropped towards his crotch. He followed her gaze, and gasped.
"Difficult. I mean that it is difficult for me."
"What's making you so hard, Harry?"
"I'm not…I said that this situation is hard."
"Of course you did."
"Why are things so difficult, then?"
"Because I'm so confused about things. It's like I'm dreaming about being inside a pensieved memory of someone's wet dream. I can't tell what's real, and what I'm imagining. I can't…"
"Would you like me to seduce you, Harry?"
"What?" he nearly shrieked.
"Is that what you want?" she asked.
Harry shut his eyes tightly and pressed against them with his thumb and forefinger. With eyes still shut, he shook his head.
"I'm going downstairs, grab my broom, and fly home now. I am so sorry for what I said earlier. I hope that you can forgive me, and forget that I ever said it."
Harry turned around, opened his eyes, and walked out the bedroom door without looking back. He made it half-way down the stairs.
"Yes, Mrs. Davis?" he asked warily.
"Will you bring me up my wand before you go? I left it on the bar."
Harry shook his head and took another step down.
"I'm sorry, but I really have to go home now."
"Please?" she called out.
Harry kept walking. He made it to the bottom of the stairs, then turned and doubled back down the hallway towards the back door.
Mrs. Davis walked out of the bedroom and leaned over the stairway banisters, holding her black and white patterned dress loose against her chest.
"Harry…I really don't want to put this on again. Won't you bring it up?"
The teen-aged wizard looked up with narrowed eyes.
"Does it matter? There isn't anyone else home at the moment."
The middle-aged witch shook her head.
"It wouldn't be appropriate for me to be walking on the main level in just my slip, would it?"
Harry couldn't help but snort at the witch's twisted sense of appropriateness. Then, feeling bad about that reaction, he sighed and nodded his head.
"Where did you say you left it?"
"On the bar."
Harry turned and at a very hurried pace made his way back into the sitting room. He spotted the wand, grabbed it, and dashed back to the foot of the stairs. He looked up and frowned.
"I'm in the toilet right now," she called back.
"Well, here's the wand."
"Could you bring it up to me?"
"Could you come back to the top of the stairs?" Harry countered. "Then I could just toss it up to you."
"Yes, Mrs. Davis?"
"All of this suspicion is off-putting. Now if it's too much for you to do me a simple favor…I just don't know what to think."
Harry thought for a moment, then quietly climbed the stairs and set the wand down on the landing. It wasn't until he had retreated back downstairs that he announced, "I've left it on the top stair, Mrs. Davis."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry…will you stop acting this way and bring me my wand?"
Harry sighed…and surrendered. Dreading each step, he climbed back upstairs and picked up Mrs. Davis's wand. He looked around and spotted a sliver of yellow light coming from under a door at the end of the hall.
He crept half-way towards that door, and cautiously called out, "Mrs. Davis?"
"Do you have the wand, Harry?"
"Yes, Ma'am...I'll just set down at the base of the door."
"Won't you bring it in to me?"
"I'd rather not."
There was a pause.
"All right, Harry…we'll do things your way. Put it on the nightstand."
"On the nightstand, Harry. Back in the room with the portrait and poster."
"Oh, right," Harry replied. With no small amount of relief, he retraced his steps back towards the open door at the head of the stairs and slipped inside. It was a simple matter to walk over to the bedside table and set the wand on top. Then he turned around and was about to leave the room when Mrs. Davis stepped in through the door.
She was starkers.
Mrs. Davis smiled.
"That's an interesting suggestion, Harry."
"Let me out," Harry said. He rushed towards the door but she closed it behind her and turned the lock under the handle.
"Don't be nervous, Harry," the middle-aged witch cooed, spread her stance and leaning back against the door.
The extremely nervous wizard stared at Mrs. Davis's finger as it traced a line from her left collarbone down towards the nipple on her right breast. His eyes then drifted farther down, where the tip of a thick triangular patch of hair was met by a second triangle, formed by the space created by her wide stance. Then he caught himself staring, and turned away.
"Get away from the door!"
"I want to say something to you first."
"Fuck!" Harry hissed.
"Yes, that's part of it."
"Harry, I want you to know that I'm available to you," she stated. "If you don't want to fuck me this time…"
"Oh, bugger me!" Harry muttered.
"I might hope it the other way around."
"If you don't want to fuck me tonight, Harry, I want you to know that you can floo me any time you want and we'll make some kind of arrangement...although, best that you use the Muggle telephone until the network is up and secure."
"Let me out!" Harry begged.
"Do you understand what I'm offering here?"
"Yes, yes I do! Now let me go!"
"Because I find you very attractive, and any time you'd like to fuck me…or have me suck your cock …"
Suddenly there was a sound of a door opening.
"Sweetheart? I'm home," someone announced.
Harry freaked, and leaped towards the door. He pushed the naked witch to the side, not realizing where his hand had made contact, and fumbled with the lock. He opened the door, and stopped, suddenly remembering something. His hand slammed into the charmed never-full front pocket of his trousers and, after a moment, pulled back with a firm grip on his invisibility cloak.
He threw the cloak over his shoulders, flipped up the hood and disappeared.
"Was that Harry's broom leaning against the back door?" Mr. Davis asked, as he walked down the hallway.
Harry, as quiet as he could, tip-toed down the stairs.
"Yes it is," Mrs. Davis called out. "He flew me home."
Her husband nodded to himself as he walked into the sitting room and poured himself a drink.
"Where is the lad, then?" he called out.
Harry bit his lower lip, trying to keep quiet and come up with a plan as he stepped off the bottom stair. Seeing no better option, he walked to the front door, carefully pulled back the deadbolt lock, and turned the handle.
Mr. Davis looked back towards the foyer as the door opened seemingly on its own. He pulled his wand and demanded, "Who is there!"
The-Boy-Who-Won took two quick steps out onto the front steps, then turned to face the door and grabbed the outside knob with a cloak-covered hand. The quick-release feature on his wrist holster placed his wand in the other.
"Oh, Sorry, Mr. Davis!" Harry shouted as he walked back inside and lifted the hood back from his face. "Mrs. Davis thought she heard something out front, and asked that I see if there was any danger. But there wasn't. Wasn't any danger."
The middle-aged wizard stared at Harry's disembodied head for a moment, then lowered his wand, and nodded.
"That was very thoughtful of you check on that for her, Harry," he stated. "I appreciate it."
"Mrs. Davis is upstairs," Harry said with a slightly rushed pace. "By herself. Thought it best that she was upstairs while I stayed downstairs and checked things out."
"I see. Guess that cloak of yours comes in handy in these types of situations."
Harry's eyes involuntarily shifted up the stairs. He caught himself, and tried to cover that glance by whipping off his invisibility cloak with a flourish.
"Yes, Sir," he replied. "It was very handy tonight. When I went outside to check things out, I mean."
"Keeping watch and protecting the old castle as if it was Hogwarts, eh Harry?"
Mr. Davis waved him into the sitting room.
"Can I offer you a drink, son?"
"Erm, thank you, Mr. Davis, but I really should be going."
"Just a nightcap, then? A stiff drink to calm your nerves after all of the excitement?"
Harry stared at the wizard for a moment. Then he snorted.
"That sounds brilliant, Sir," he smiled. "Calming down after all of the excitement…from needing to check things out."
Mr. Davis frowned. He turned towards the bar and noticed the empty glass that was sitting there and frowned a bit more. Then he shook his head, reached for a clean tumbler, and filled it with firewhiskey.
"Was there anything else, Harry?" he asked. "You look a little unnerved."
"No," the teenager quickly replied. "No reason at all…other than…I'm just a little concerned about my future, Sir."
"Your future?" the older wizard said incredulously. "Worried? Really? The Savior of the Wizarding World Twice Over, the Lord and Patriarch of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, Teen Witch Weekly's "Sexiest Sorcerer' four years running?"
Harry arched an eyebrow. Mr. Davis shrugged.
"So I've heard on that last one," he admitted. "My point is…how old are you now, Harry…eighteen?"
"Not for another week, Sir."
"So seventeen and three-quarters," the older wizard joked. He shook his head, stared into his glass, and shook his head.
"That's a hell of a good age to be, son."
Mr. Davis sighed, and lifted his glass to his lips. He took a long swallow, then lowered his glass, and belched fire into the brass bucket.
"I wish that I was that age again," he said.
"Magic is a wonderful thing, but it has it limits. And one of those limits is that you can never be young again."
"And I think maybe that…you deserve to have some fun. The war is over…you've saved us again…so stop worrying and enjoy your youth while you're still young."
"Do you get what I'm saying, son?"
"I think so, Sir."
"I'm not so sure. Would you mind if I was more plain-spoken?"
"No, Sir…go right ahead."
Mr. Davis smiled. "Sow a few wild oats, Harry."
That phrase wasn't at all plain to the teen-aged wizard, so the older wizard tried again.
"Plow a few fertile fields, boy!" he exclaimed. "Wet your wand! Get out there and roger some willing witches!"
Harry glanced back towards the stairs.
"Because, Harry…even though you have done so much for the wizarding world…you know, and I know, that it's not going to be enough. There will come a day when some new Dark Idiot is going to pop up, and you'll be called on to beat his head back down. Not fair, but life seldom is."
"And in a few years, the family magic is going to kick in, and compel you to settle down with a pretty little Lady Potter and plant your seed for the family tree. Just the way it is, you being Patriarch and the last Potter, right?"
Harry closed his eyes, sighed, and grunted in agreement.
"But right now son…right now you're the king of the world. Don't tie yourself down right out of school. Get out there, and…and maybe you can make up for a few of the mistakes I've made in my life…"
Harry heard somebody snort behind his back. He turned and spotted Mrs. Davis walking towards the bar, once more wearing her black and white-pattered dress...and a hemline that seemed far closer to her knees than he remembered.
"Don't mind me," she asked, stepping up to the bar just long enough to pour a drink.
"I was just telling Harry that he ought to sow a few wild oats this summer," Mr. Davis stated. "Live it up while he still can. What do you think?"
Mrs. Davis looked over at Harry and considered the question.
Then she smiled.
"I think that is excellent advice."
"There…you see?" her husband asked.
Harry gulped down a breath. "I should go home now."
"Just hang on, son!" Mr. Davis said. "I'm going to finish my drink, then have you zip me around town in that shiny new racing broom of yours."
"Maybe he's tired," Mrs. Davis said.
"Oh, no. No, Sir."
"Want another drink, then?" Mrs. Davis asked.
"No. No thank you, Mrs. Davis."
Mr. Davis nodded to himself, and talked into his glass of firewhiskey.
"Yes, indeed, Milord," he muttered. "Get out there and have a few flings."
"Oh, no…no need, sir."
The older wizard turned towards Harry and sized him up.
"What? I bet that you're quite the witches' wizard, Harry."
"Well, I don't know…"
"Rubbish," Mr. Davis declared. He turned to his wife and asked, "Doesn't Harry look to you like the kind of bloke who has trouble beating the birds back from his broomstick?"
"Yes, he does."
"Oh, say," Mr. Davis said. "When does Tracy get back from that holiday with the Greengrasses?"
"Saturday," Mrs. Davis replied.
Her husband nodded resolutely. Then he turned to their teen-aged guest and said, "Harry? I want you to give her call once she returns."
"I will, Sir."
"Because I just know you two would hit it off real well, now that the War is over, and you don't have those silly house rivalries getting in the way."
"She really is a wonderful girl, Harry," her father continued. "Really is too bad that you haven't gotten to know each other better over the years."
"I think so too, Sir."
Harry watched Mr. Davis finish his drink.
"I'll take you up for a few laps inside the wards, if you want."
Harry walked in front of the married couple as he made his way to the back door and opened it. Mrs. Davis stepped out onto the rear porch after them.
"Yes, Mrs. Davis?" he asked, not looking up from his broom.
"Thank you for flying me home."
Harry nodded, without turning back.
"I hope to see you soon."
"Hey Harry?" Mr. Davis asked, once he'd mounted the broomstick behind Harry. "Why don't we forget flying rings around the house. Let it go all out and see how you can really handle your broom?"
Harry sighed, and nodded his agreement. Then he turned on his broom's "notice-me-not" field as his smooth ascent brought them out of the high-walled back yard and through the Davis's wards.