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January 2025 Exclusive Poll Winner - Old Rivalries - Harry/Apolline Delacour/Portia Zabini
🕑 Added 2025-01-15 16:59:00 +0000 UTCDeep within the bowels of the British Ministry of Magic, two figures stood alone in the otherwise empty Wizengamot chambers. The tiered seating around the pit in the centre of the room was devoid of their normal occupants, and even the Aurors who guarded the exits had gone home for the night. There was only a sole witch standing over a sole wizard, who was busily putting some scrolls of parchment in order.
“Are you sure that you’ll be fine away from here?” Hermione asked Harry tentatively, knowing how delicate a subject it was with him.
“Yes,” Harry sighed. “For the hundredth time, the Ministry can survive a few months without me. I’ve spent years dealing with too much political shite and fixing all of the horrible mistakes that have been made by pure-blood supremacists. I need a break.”
“I know you do,” Hermione replied sincerely.
Harry wished that he didn’t have to push her away like this, but she just didn’t seem to see the world the same way he did. She thrived within the chaos of the Ministry. Ever since he knew her, she loved to challenge the status quo and push for positive changes in the world, but that wasn’t Harry. He didn’t have the same genuine passion for it. Growing up, he’d been forced into the warrior role to combat Voldemort, and it was only due to his victory that he had the influence within the world that he had. It would’ve been a waste to not utilise his political capital while he had it.
He’d been trying to fix the Wizarding World for years now, and he’d done remarkable work. Whatever pushback he faced was eventually defeated, but only after a long, protracted battle of words and political manoeuvring. This wasn’t his place. This wasn’t his duty. He’d done his duty years ago now, and yet the world asked more of him.
His work wasn’t done. He knew this, but he couldn’t keep on going the way he was. It wasn’t just that his body and mind were tired; his soul was tired. He’d never had a chance to relax and discover who he was and what he wanted.
“The Wizengamot will be glad of your reprieve,” Hermione laughed. “There were quite a few grumbling after the session today.”
“They deserved it and more,” Harry replied, almost bitterly. It boggled his mind as to how a simple revision to an age-old law that denied non-human beings basic legal protections was such a controversial topic.
“You’re not wrong,” Hermione smiled lightly. “I hope that your break helps you come back with just as much fire in your belly.”
He wished that he didn’t have to.
“You know I will,” Harry smiled back at her.
It was a cold, lonely walk back to the apparation point within the Ministry. By this time, there were few people lingering about. Aurors on duty and brown-nosers who were hoping to progress up the corporate ladder with a bit of extra work after hours. Harry wondered as to how many of them were working towards dismantling the progressive, fair, and kind regulations that he’d helped put into place.
He let out a long sigh upon reaching his destination. He didn’t wish to go home quite yet. His mind was still buzzing with activity from today’s session. If anything, he could use a stiff drink.
How many months had it been since he’d last been out drinking? It must have been at the celebration for Ron and Hermione’s engagement nearly a year ago that he ended up at the Hog’s Head Inn with everyone. Every night since, he’d retired home early to practise his duelling skills in the cellar beneath Grimmauld Place.
A part of him wished to return to his familiar routine, but the rest of him refused to even entertain the idea. He needed a break, and a break was what he was going to have.
With a twist of his heels, he apparated away.
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The eye candy here was amusing to say the least. It was a rare thing that Portia Zabini found herself at the Noxious Wyvern pub in Horizont Alley, an offshoot of Diagon Alley that was markedly nicer than Knockturn Alley. The shops and flats here catered to the growing middle-class of witches and wizards, and that led to a number of trends being established here. Yet, out of the few pubs that littered this alley, the Noxious Wyvern was the most understated. Its clientele came from all segments of the magical population—even goblins and a few centaurs chose to spend their evenings here—and remained below the notice of those elite snobs who controlled much of Britain.
There were more than a few men, and even a couple of women, who flashed Portia a smile and a sly look when she entered the establishment. The fact that they were trying so hard spoke to her beauty and notoriety around here, which made it all the more entertaining when she ignored all of them for a seat at the bar. The few brave enough to come up to talk to her were turned away with little more than a glance or a stern word that told them to leave her alone.
Portia wasn’t here for any of them. Who she was here for had yet to arrive, and she was eagerly awaiting the moment that he’d step through that glorious door at the front of the pub. The seat she’d chosen was perfect to watch for any movement coming from the front without directly being in the line of sight of the entrance.
With each new entrant into the pub, Portia felt excitement brewing in her stomach and in her loins. Her target was bound to appear here sooner or later; she’d been waiting weeks for him to do so.
And once he did, she would ensure that he was hers.
PAGE BREAK
Another exhausting night looking after her grandchildren and daughter left Apolline Delacour tired and famished. Though Fleur was a wonderful homemaker, she was far from a wonderful cook. All of those French dishes she’d attempted to teach to her daughter ended up becoming bastardised copies of the original under Fleur’s care. Honestly, the fact that she hadn’t invested in a house-elf yet was beyond Apolline’s comprehension, but she supposed that they did do things differently here in Britain. The recent changes in laws and regulations throughout the country were to be applauded, but they made following such rules tricky for those who’d become accustomed to a different way of living.
Nevertheless, Apolline chose to brush aside those thoughts in favour of a stiff drink after a busy past few days. It was nearly time for her to return back to France, to her lonely home after the passing of her dear husband a few years ago. The place never quite felt the same since his absence, and no man whom she’d brought home had ever managed to live up to her husband’s prowess in the bedroom. She’d nearly given up on the thought of finding another lover entirely, but the Veela within her was always in search of another proper mate.
Diagon Alley and its attached alleys were quite different from Place Cachée. The broad streets of the Parisian wizarding district were done away with in favour of narrower, quainter roads that made everything seem so much more intense. It was a good and bad thing, as much of Britain was. Tonight though, Apolline found herself searching for something more relaxing.
Horizont Alley was much less rambunctious than Diagon Alley was, and it held quite a few restaurants that caught Apolline’s eye. However, tonight, all she wanted was a couple of drinks to help her mind and body relax.
The Noxious Wyvern was an inauspicious name for a pub, but it seemed much calmer than the others within this alley.
As she stepped inside, Apolline’s nose was assaulted by the heavy, greasy dishes that the British so dearly loved. It was a shame that her nostrils had to be harmed as such, but it would be worth it if she could find herself a nice drink or two.
As she strode into the pub, heads turned her way. It was an inevitable aspect of being a Veela. Even when she focused all of her might upon suppressing her allure, it was never enough to subdue it completely. The weak-willed men and women would always be attracted to her in a way that couldn’t be contained, and she’d long since grown to accept that fact. But even if she lacked her allure, Apolline knew that her incredible figure would’ve attracted countless gazes nonetheless.
An empty stool waited for her as she approached the bar, and there was an eager barman behind it waiting for her order.
Apolline smiled at him. “Could I have—”
The slightest motion out of the corner of her eye made her hesitate. She’d seen hair like that dance around before, and the sheer recognition of it filled Apolline’s belly with anger and vitriol.
“Portia?” Apolline asked aloud as she turned to her companion next to her.
The olive-skinned witch turned with a similar degree of surprise on her face, but that look swiftly turned into one of annoyance.
“What are you doing here?” Portia asked her with an annoyed tone.
Apolline bristled at the woman’s voice. “I could ask you the very same question. Last I’d heard, you were back in Italy luring another poor man in with your siren voice.”
Portia laughed at her like one would at a small child who’d done something foolish. “Pietro wasn’t worthy of my attention,” she told Apolline. “But I should wonder what you are doing here. I’d been led to believe that you were still living in France with your dear husband.”
“He died three years ago,” Apolline stated bluntly.
That seemed to catch that devilish siren off guard. For a moment, a look of genuine sorrow almost seemed to cross her face, but Apolline could never believe it to be such.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Portia told her.
“Save it,” Apolline snapped. “I won’t believe a word you say after how you tormented me back at Beauxbatons.”
Memories of their awful times together flooded Apolline’s mind. Honestly, she couldn’t say which one of them started it all. She supposed that the fact that she was part Veela and Portia was part Siren put the two of them in competition from the very start. There wasn’t anyone else descended with the mixed blood of a magical creature, so they were either bound to be friends or enemies. Naturally, the latter of the two options was what panned out.
“Tormented you?” Portia scoffed. “You tormented me.”
“Only because you started it,” Apolline argued back.
Portia rolled her eyes dramatically. “You were just jealous that my singing voice attracted that boy you liked. What was his name again?”
Charles. Apolline remembered him perfectly, but she wasn’t going to give Portia the satisfaction of letting her know that the sting still remained.
“What are you even doing here?” Apolline asked her, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Don’t you have another husband to murder?”
“You’re well aware that I am that I’ve never killed a single one of my husbands,” Portia retorted.
“Do I?” Apolline retorted with a raised eyebrow.
“I’d have been caught long before now if I had,” Portia said. “There have been enough investigations into me that someone would have surely found something by now.”
“Then let me guess: you’re here to find your next husband,” Apolline said.
“That is none of your business,” Portia replied, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Now, unless you feel like bothering me all night, I’d rather be alone with my drink.”
Portia wanted her to leave, which was what Apolline wanted to do too.
That was exactly why Apolline wasn’t going to do it.
“I came for a drink as well,” Apolline replied, settling into the stool next to Portia. “And I won’t leave just because you want me to.”
Portia bristled at Apolline’s reply, but she made no intention of leaving either. One would be forgiven for mistaking this as Portia standing her ground against Apolline, but she knew better than that. Portia was the type to play things slow. She’d make herself appear weaker than she was and strike when the moment was right. No, she was here for a reason.
“One glass of Dragon Barrel Brandy, please,” Apolline said to the barman.
He nearly knocked over one of the servers behind the bar in his rush to comply with her request.
A frosty silence developed between Portia and Apolline as the two of them sipped their drinks. Portia was acting like Apolline wasn’t even there, meanwhile Apolline was more keen on surveying the pub, looking for any sign of what Portia was truly after here. If it really was in search of another husband, then it wouldn’t be hard to identify a man that Portia would be interested in. She always did have something for wealthy or powerful men that could fuel her every desire. The question was who in Britain filled those requisites. Apolline wasn’t as up to date on the upper echelons of British society as she had once been. Nevertheless, she could surely identify them merely by sight.
In the next twenty minutes that passed, half-a-dozen men each came up to Portia and Apolline. Their flirtatious smiles and devilish propositions were all amusing to say the least, but they both turned every potential suitor down. Apolline was too keen on ruining Portia’s plans to bother with any male attention, regardless of how much she’d enjoy a night with a capable lover.
Eventually, the rest of the pub got the hint that neither of them were interested in companionship for the evening, and so everything returned to normalcy. At least, it did until Harry Potter, the man whom both his daughters absolutely adored, entered the bar.
If it wasn’t for the gasps and half-whispered comments between the bar's patrons, Apolline wouldn’t have noticed Harry right away. He didn’t stride in all cocky and confident like so many others did. Instead, he seemed like he was just trying to keep his head down, get a drink, and get out.
Instantly, Apolline’s head snapped round to see where Portia’s gaze was. As she expected, her eyes were following Harry’s every step. There was that smug, self-satisfied look in Portia’s eyes that told Apolline everything she needed to know. That woman only got that look whenever she was about to achieve something simply marvellous.
She wouldn’t get her hands on him, Apolline decided.
Before Portia could make a move, Apolline pushed herself up onto her feet and rushed over to greet Harry. Putting on her most charming smile, she cut off his path towards an empty table.
“Mister Potter, how good it is to see you again.”
His eyes danced across her face in search of recognition. It came after a moment. “You’re Fleur and Gabrielle’s mum, right? Apolline Delacour?”
“The very one,” Apolline beamed. “Come, you must sit with me.”
Before he could respond, she grabbed his arm and pulled it between her breasts, ensuring that Portia could see it as she guided Harry over to a nearby table. She felt a bit bad for teasing the man like this, but she knew from Fleur that he had an incredible talent at resisting a Veela’s charms.
Hopefully it wasn’t so strong that he ended up getting caught up by a Siren’s song.
PAGE BREAK
It felt strange having left his job for a brief break. The knowledge that he no longer had daily paperwork to handle, incessant questions from the press that needed prompt replies lest they choose to interpret his actions for themselves, and no more mundane meetings left him feeling somewhat empty inside. Maybe that was why he decided to fill that emptiness with some alcohol, allowing his body to finally relax.
But any relaxation had been swiftly cut short when Fleur and Gabrielle’s mum pulled him over to a booth, walking with his arm practically nestled between her more than ample breasts. As much as Harry was able to keep himself from falling prey to any Veela charm, the warm body of a gorgeous woman was still more than enough to get his blood pumping.
Apolline looked exactly how Harry imagined Fleur would look like in a few decades. Thanks to magic, she looked no older than a woman in late thirties. Besides her impressive chest, Harry would have to be blind to miss her wide hips, plump arse, and stunning face.
“I’ve heard from my daughter that you’re planning on taking a sabbatical soon, no?” Apolline asked him as they sat down in a small booth. Rather than sit across from him though, Apolline chose to sit right beside him.
“Just started about twenty minutes ago, actually,” Harry replied.
A server quickly came over for their drink orders. Apolline ordered another brandy while Harry went for a firewhiskey, and then they were left in peace again. However, he couldn’t help but notice the dark-haired woman sitting at the bar. Her gaze wasn’t directly on him, but Harry had enough combat experience to know when he was being watched.
“Then we must celebrate such an occasion,” Apolline announced as their drinks were promptly brought over.
As the chilled glass met Harry’s hand, he raised it up in a toast alongside Apolline.
“To your sabbatical, and having some fun on it,” Apolline winked playfully at him.
Was she actually flirting with him? The thought seemed silly as it crossed his mind, but Harry wasn’t dense enough to miss things like this… anymore.
“Cheers,” Harry replied as he took a sip of his drink. The burn down his throat helped to distract from the fact that an incredibly attractive Veela was flirting with him. He could faintly detect her allure attempting to influence his mind, but it was easy to block away without any real effort at all.
Apolline sighed contently as she placed her glass back down on the table. “I’ve only heard bits and pieces from Fleur, but it sounds like the Ministry here is an absolute mess—not that France’s isn’t also, mind you. I can only imagine how much work you must’ve had on your plate.”
“Too much,” Harry said, feeling the weariness down to his bones. He really needed to get himself to loosen up and relax. Maybe a trip somewhere warm and tropical, preferably with a fit woman by his side.
He shook the thought out of his head. He didn’t know if it was just because Apolline was with him or if it’d just been that long since he’d had a proper shag, but the though of finding someone to fuck seemed all too temping at the moment. Given her positive outlook on sex, Harry could only imagine that Fleur wouldn’t be upset if he made a pass at her mum.
Just as he opened his mouth to say something that would really confirm if Apolline was flirting with him, a silence fell upon the pub.
The dark-haired woman he’d seen earlier had made her way up to a microphone on a small stage nearby. Her tight-fitting robes highlighted her curvy hips and the hint of cleavage showing between her squeezed-together breasts, but what truly drew Harry’s attention was her firm arse as it jiggled. Even when she came to a stop on stage, her arse seemed to bounce with the perfect motion that could only be expected out of one’s imagination.-
“Is she crazy?” He faintly heard Apolline mutter under her breath.
Before he could ask her what she meant, the witch on stage suddenly burst into song. There was no music to accompany her, but none was needed. The words were that of a love song, but it was the melody of it all that really drew Harry in. Her voice flowed out like an orchestra perfectly in sync; Harry could scarcely imagine what sort of magic was at play here to make her voice sound so magnificent, but it struck him a moment later when he felt another tug on his mind. It was like that of a Veela’s allure but markedly different in the same way that an apple and pear were both fruit and relatively similar in nature while still being distinct.
Just as Harry’s mind was processing how to block out the entrancing nature of the song, he felt Apolline’s allure spike up. She wasn’t trying to suppress it as most Veela did in public; she was allowing it free reign to push out her every wanton desire.
Under the assault of both forms of magic, Harry had to truly focus to keep his mind from being influenced. Had both forces been of the same nature, then he would’ve had a much easier time blocking them out. But given the fact that they were distinct, they required two different approaches to be dealt with.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked Apolline through gritted teeth.
She seemed stunned at his anger. “I was trying to help you block out the Siren’s song.”
“It’s making it harder,” Harry said bluntly.
Instantly, Apolline’s allure reduced down to its normal levels, and Harry was able to breathe again. But while he was fine, it was clear that the rest of the pub was entirely entranced by the woman singing up on stage.
Eventually, as the song ended, the patrons of the pub erupted into boisterous applause. The woman on stage gave a slight bow before briefly making eye contact with Harry. Her smoky eyeshadow and those beautiful brown eyes made for quite the effect. He returned her gaze, and then, suddenly, she started over towards him.
“Here we go,” Apolline growled quietly.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her.
“Oh, don’t mind her,” the singer purred as she sat down across from them. “She’s just jealous.”
“I’m jealous of nothing,” Apolline retorted sharply.
The singer smiled, showing off her pearly-white teeth. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to this fine gentleman?”
“So he can get caught up in your song? I don’t think so.”
Harry was looking between the two of them in confusion. “I take it you two aren’t fans of each other.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Apolline said.
“It’s a bit of an old rivalry that’s never quite faded,” the singer said before reaching out with her hand across the table to Harry. “My name’s Portia Zabini.”
So this is Portia Zabini. Her son, Blaise, had been in Slytherin in his year. Harry couldn’t say that he’d had many interactions with him, but he had heard more than one rumour about Blaise’s mother being a sort of black widow who murdered her husbands for their wealth. Of course, they were only rumours, and Harry was the last person who’d judge someone just because of what others said about them.
“Harry Potter,” he replied as he shook her hand.
“I think everyone knows who you are, dear,” Portia laughed, and it sounded like a song again. It tickled his mind.
“Stop that,” Apolline snapped at Portia.
“I can’t help my abilities anymore than you can,” Portia replied, a defensiveness tinging her tone.
“What abilities?” Harry couldn’t help from asking.
“She’s a siren,” Apolline explained to him. “Her voice acts similarly to a Veela’s allure, only she gets to choose when it works.”
“That’s not entirely true. I’m able to choose to inflect it in my voice or not, but when I sing, laugh, cry, moan—” she winked at Harry “—then my song is activated automatically.”
“And yet it always seems to come up at just the right moment,” Apolline snorted.
Portia smiled at her again before returning her focus to Harry. “I hope you liked my song before. I sang it especially for you. I knew out of everyone in here, you’d be the most likely to be able to ignore its effects and appreciate it for what it was.”
“I did,” Harry admitted. “And it was stunning.”
“What would you say about hearing it again sometime?” Portia propositioned him. “I’d love to see—”
“Harry’s mine,” Apolline said, latching onto his arm instantly. “I spoke to him first. Flutter off and find some other prey.”
“I believe it’s up to Harry to choose who he’d like to spend some more time with,” Portia retorted.
The two of them looked at him expectantly, and Harry just sighed. Why was it that on his first night off in who knows how long, he was caught between two witches. They were getting looks from all around the bar, some jealous, some angry, and some wistful, and they all added to his frustrations.
“Let’s talk about this somewhere with less eyes,” Harry said as he dropped a handful of galleons on the table.
“We could go back to mine—” Portia began to offer, only for Harry to cut her off.
“No,” he said sternly. “We’re going back to my place, and we’re going to sort this mess out.”
He took both of their hands and apparated them away into the foyer of Grimmauld Place. The two women were stunned at the sudden shift in venue, which was exactly what Harry wanted. He’d long since learned how to act as a Bludger when it came to negotiating or dealing with the Wizengamot. He wanted these two off of their game so that he could put an end to this mess that’d ruined his evening.
Gently pushing them into the nearby living room, Harry waved off Kreacher, who’d come to check up on him. This was something he had to handle alone.
“What is going on with you two?” Harry asked them as he closed the door to the living room. “Why the hell are you playing out your rivalry with me caught in the middle?”
Apolline beat Portia to the punch. “She wants to marry you so that she can kill you and steal your fortune,” she said, jabbing her thumb towards Portia.
“I’ve told you already that I’ve never killed any of my past husbands,” Portia growled in frustration.
“Then how do you explain their deaths?” Apolline asked accusatorially.
“Vidal passed away from a heart attack, Oliver from a Dark Wizard attack in Catalonia, and Ferran was killed during the last war,” Portia responded angrily. “I had nothing to do with any of their deaths. I loved each of them for who they were. You of all people should understand that. Veela, like Sirens, are drawn to certain people, and we love them deeply. We do not betray them.”
At the very least, Apolline appeared to be a bit regretful over her accusation, not that it sated Portia’s anger in the slightest.
“Does that satisfy you?” Portia demanded.
“I’m… sorry,” Apolline finally said.
A moment of silence fell across the room, and Harry was the one to break it.
“Look, I get that you two have a troubled history, but can’t you leave it behind?” Harry suggested to them. “You’re both adults, and all of this fighting is silly.”
“But—” they both said in unison, but Harry shut them down quickly.
“Enough,” he snapped. “Your fighting has ruined my evening, and I’m sick of it.”
“Sorry,” they said in unison again, only for them to glare at each other the second they realised what they’d just done.
Harry groaned in frustration. He looked to Apolline. “Why were you all over me tonight?”
“To stop her from getting her talons in you,” Apolline insisted. “And… well, you’re fit.”
“Uh huh,” Harry rolled his eyes before turning to Portia. “And you? Why did you sing that song for me?”
“Because you’re a fascinating man,” Portia insisted. “And I want to get to know you better.”
“Shag me, you mean.”
Portia didn’t deny it. “Is that so wrong?”
“No,” Harry admitted. “But putting me in the middle of your little war with Apolline is.”
“Then why don’t we settle it?” Apolline suggested.
Portia and Harry both looked at her, intrigued.
“The terms?” Portia asked.
“We’re both interested in this man here,” Apolline said, gesturing towards Harry like he wasn’t even there. “How about whichever one of us satisfies him better is the victor of our feud, and then we move on from it.”
“And if he can’t decide tonight?” Portia asked.
“Then we keep fucking him until he declared one of us the victor,” Apolline answered.
The two women nodded together in agreement before turning to Harry with predatory looks.
“If you two are serious about this, then I decide who wins, right?” Harry asked them.
They nodded again.
“Good,” Harry replied. “Because your constant teasing has got me raring to go. Strip down, both of you, right now.”
In what was one of the most beautiful moments in Harry’s life, both Portia and Apolline stripped down almost instantly. Portia’s dark skin contrasted sharply with the white lingerie she had on underneath her robes, and Apolline’s unbelievable figure nearly left Harry breathless.
“You two are unbelievable,” Harry chuckled.
“We’ll be even more unbelievable once you see what we can offer you,” Portia purred.
Apolline groped her breasts, letting her nipples show between her fingers. “Just come and get a taste, and you’ll be more than satisfied with me.”
“First things first,” Harry insisted. “Portia, come over here and suck my cock.”
Apolline looked disappointed not to be chosen first, but her look faded the second that Harry vanished his clothes off of him and revealed his impressive cock. It was noticeably longer and thicker than what was average, at least according to the witches he’d slept with, and its stunning form seemed to have locked Apolline in a state of surprise.
Portia, however, simply dropped to her knees, grasped his shaft, and planted a long, wet kiss on the side of his cock.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” she said eagerly before taking the tip into her mouth and beginning to suck on him.
Portia’s mouth seemed perfectly accustomed to handling him as she bobbed her head down, letting her tongue lather his cock with her plentiful saliva. She steadily pushed forward, taking more and more of his cock into her mouth and, eventually, her throat. The incredible warmth made Harry groan in delight, and he relished the feeling of Portia’s slippery tongue dancing around his shaft.
“Get over here and kiss me,” Harry demanded of Apolline.
The French witch grinned as she hurried to Harry’s side. Her breasts bounced beautifully upon her chest as she rushed over, and then she mashed them against Harry’s chest as she kissed him soundly.
Not to be undone, Portia picked up her pace. Her mouth was unbelievably wet and warm around his cock. No matter how long he was inside of her, his body never seemed to adjust to her temperature. She moved her head back and forth, letting her lips stroke his cock while her tongue kept him nicely lubricated.
Harry felt his mind beginning to leave him the moment that Portia moaned around his cock. The siren’s song came out in full force, and Harry let himself fall prey to it, if only to heighten his own pleasure. Her sweet song made everything seem so much more intense and pleasurable, and with her sucking his cock like a professional, Harry quickly felt himself losing focus.
“Fuck,” he groaned into Apolline’s mouth as he grabbed her arse and gave it a firm squeeze.
Between these two beautiful witches, he didn’t know who was going to be the undoing of him, but it’d be a challenge nonetheless.
Unwilling to let things go too far beyond the point he wanted them at, Harry pulled his hips backwards. Portia’s mouth followed Harry’s cock, but eventually she was forced onto all fours. She looked up at him in confusion, as though she’d done something wrong.
“Now it’s Apolline’s turn to get a little reward,” Harry told both of them. At Portia’s pout, Harry patted the top of her head. “Don’t worry, your turn is coming. I hope you like anal.”
Portia’s eyes lit up in excitement. He could tell that she already knew all of the charms and practices that’d make this easy for her. But until then, she’d need to wait.
Apolline was already manoeuvring herself upon Harry’s proclamation. Her body grazed across his as she dropped down onto the nearby sofa and spread her legs wide open, revealing her pussy for him. There was a small patch of blond hair above her slit, but the rest of her was shaved perfectly smooth. The wetness of her pussy was nothing short of what Harry would’ve expected from a Veela.
“I need you,” Apolline moaned.
Harry agreed readily as he landed on top of her. His mouth latched back onto hers, and as he tried to angle his hips to match hers, he felt a hand grasp his shaft.
“I’ll help you, Harry,” Portia moaned as she placed the tip of Harry’s cock against Apolline’s opening.
The French witch’s pussy nearly gobbled him up entirely when he made the slightest push forward. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Portia sitting down on a nearby chair, spreading her legs wide open and playing with her own pussy as Harry continued to move forward.
Sinking into Apolline’s pussy was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced before. He knew that Veela were meant to be the epitome of sex, but he hadn’t realised just how incredible their pussies would feel compared to a normal witch’s. It was so much tighter, hotter, and wetter than he could have expected. His cock slid into her so easily, and her body molded to fit his impressive size.
Apolline moaned as he filled her up with his cock. “Merde, you feel amazing.”
That was what most witches had told him. “You haven’t felt anything yet,” Harry promised her.
The second he started to move inside of her, Apolline’s moans grew in pitch. She wasn’t putting on a show for Portia either—Harry knew what true pleasure felt like and what reactions came out of it. This was something different, something incredible.
Harry’s steady thrusts made him moan as well. As amazing as Apolline was clearly feeling, Harry couldn’t dream of another witch who could compare to her. Her body was perfect, and her pussy felt incredible wrapped around his cock. She tightened up around him at the perfect moments, and her body seemed to know instinctively how to tease him.
Above all else though, Apolline was thrilled to being fucked by him. The sheer enjoyment of seeing pleasure beyond words upon another’s face made Harry insanely excited. It made every thrust seem so much more significant, and every moan that much more rewarding.
Had it not been for Portia’s own moans as she fingered herself to the sight of Harry fucking Apolline, he would’ve forgotten that she was there. Be that as it may, he could barely pay Portia a fraction of his attention when he had a goddess beneath him.
Apolline wrapped her legs around Harry and dug her heels into his arse as she urged him on to fuck her harder.
“Please,” she begged in between kisses. “Give it all to me.”
He wished he could, but his body wasn’t quite there yet.
He kept fucking her as she wanted, and each thrust drew Apolline closer and closer to her orgasm. Harry could feel it in the way that her pussy throbbed around his cock and how her back arched off of the sofa.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Apolline moaned before her language transitioned into French. The words danced past Harry’s ears; he couldn’t decipher a word she said, but he did understand her body language for what it was.
The moment that Apolline came around his cock was something that Harry was sure he’d remember until his dying breath. Apolline’s pussy’s tightness reached its absolute peak. It wasn’t so tight that it was painful, and it maximised its pleasure entirely. Apolline screamed in ecstasy at the overwhelming pleasure that dominated her mind and body, and Harry let her ride through it with his cock still buried as deep as it could go inside of her pussy.
It wasn’t until Apolline finally managed to regain her breath that Harry dared move from his position. He pulled his cock out and gave her one final kiss before turning to Portia.
“I’ve seen your arse jiggling so much tonight that I need to have it,” Harry told her bluntly.
“Then you’ll have it,” Portia promised him eagerly.
As she pulled her fingers out of her pussy, she brought them up to her mouth and licked them clean. She moaned as she did it, and the simple sound made Harry’s cock throb. The siren truly did have a way with sounds that left him so turned on that it hurt.
Portia leapt onto the opposite end of the sofa from Apolline and presented herself to him.
Harry practically mounted Portia. Her face was down against the cushion of the sofa while her arse was up in the air waiting for him. He crouched down over top of her, and Apolline, surprisingly, helped to guide his cock to Portia’s glistening arsehole. The lubrication coalesced on the tip of his cock.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He asked Portia.
“Please,” Portia laughed, her melody tingling his mind pleasantly. “I can handle the pounding you gave Apolline and then some. Give it to me, and don’t hold back.”
Harry was never one to deny a lady’s request, especially when it was so pleasurable. He pushed down, crouching lower, and groaned in bliss as his cock sank into Portia’s tight, unbelievably-warm arsehole. She was relaxed enough as his thick girth filled her up, but once he was fully buried inside of her depths, she tightened up around him.
“Fuck,” Portia groaned. Even her most sultry sounds were like a song to Harry’s ears. “You’re too fucking thick.”
“If you can’t handle it, I can take over,” Apolline volunteered.
“Fuck no,” Portia replied instinctively. “This man’s mine.”
“No, you’re mine,” Harry corrected her.
The moan that escaped her lips when Harry started moving inside of her was all the response that he needed.
His cock throbbed inside of Portia’s arse with a need that superseded anything that he’d ever felt before. Even within Apolline’s pussy, it couldn’t match the sheer tightness that Portia’s arse offered.
Whatever pace that Harry had hoped to maintain failed once he realised just how incredible Portia felt around him. He kept bucking into her like a wild animal, and that was enough to sate his lust. Apolline’s amazing pussy had been enough to get him close to the finish line, but Portia’s arse was simply divine.
Portia’s cheeks bounced beautifully with each thrust that Harry made.
“Fuck yes!” Portia shouted as Harry pounded her arsehole.
Her slippery walls excited Harry beyond belief, but the furnace-like heat of her was what really exploded his mind. However, all of that pleasure seemed to pale in comparison to what Harry experienced when Portia’s moans came into play.
Harry allowed his mental barriers to relax when Portia’s song began to ring aloud. It left him with a fuzzy feeling, almost like he was drunk, but it led to the sensations of him fucking Portia to be so much more pleasurable than he could have imagined.
He kept pounding her arse with a reckless abandon that would’ve seen a lesser man cumming far sooner, but Harry managed to maintain his stamina beyond what anyone else could’ve. His hips sped up faster and faster, and Portia’s moans continued to grow in intensity. He almost began to feel lightheaded when Portia uttered a primordial scream that stunned him and Apolline both.
Portia’s arsehole clamped down around Harry’s cock hard, and he rode the wave of it all. He grasped Portia’s plump arse with both hands and kept bucking into her as she screamed his name and thrashed as her orgasm ripped through her body.
When she finally settled down, Harry pulled his cock out of her and instantly regretted the lack of heat and tightness around him.
“I’m so close,” Harry groaned.
Portia and Apolline stroked his cock as quickly as they could until his thick seed was unleashed upon them. Thick ropes of cum splattered across their faces, painting them in remembrance of what they’d just experienced.
Weeks later, after the settling of the rivalry continued to remain unfulfilled, there was a surprising announcement at supper.
On either side of him, both Apolline and Portia were holding up scrolls of parchment to him.
“Read mine first,” Apolline insisted.
“No, mine first,” Portia argued.
Harry took both of them simultaneously and then read their contents. His eyes darted back and forth between both of them in surprise.
“You two are pregnant?”
Apolline and Portia smiled at him.
