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Harry/Daphne One-shot #2: Balai D'or
🕑 Added 2023-09-12 18:19:13 +0000 UTCThe Puddlemere United training grounds were covered in a deep fog as the late October chill settled in. The players, banned from using warming charms by their manager, for some unholy reason, were hovering in a circle just a few feet above the ground, shooting the shit while the gaffer had gone off into the locker room.
"I reckon you got a chance, Potter. Not a big one mind you." Said Provus Smith, third beater in the depth chart.
"Not a big one?" Harry snorted. "We won the damn treble last season! I broke the league record for snitches caught!"
"They're in love with Guizot, mate. He won the European golden quaffle." Angelina Johnson, longtime teammate and star chaser of the team reminded him.
"We won the damn treble! And I'm a better seeker than he's a chaser." Harry grumbled.
"That's debatable." Markus Allen, starting chaser, put his hands up defensively. "I agree you're better, mate! Just saying, it's a debate that they'll be having. Besides, remember they always grade seekers more harshly for these things."
Oliver Wood, starting keeper, jumped in. "At least you blokes actually win the award. When's the last time a Keeper's won the Balai D’or? Or a beater for that matter." He appended after a look from the beaters.
"Whatever the result, I can't wait for all this shit to be over and done." Angelina whined. Tired of the award show talk that always dominated this time of year. To her, awards given by journalists didn't matter. What did she care about what some beat writer thought of her? Last season, Puddlemere had earned every trophy that could be won on the pitch (except for the Daily Prophet invitational, which was a joke that everyone used to give their reserves playing time). They'd proven their superiority, and they were well on track to repeat that feat.
"Alright, you miserable fucks! Get your asses off those damn training brooms!"
Roy Ferguson, their very temperamental manager, had just stepped back onto the pitch, a bright orb of white light illuminating his path between the fog.
The players touched down on the ground and grabbed onto their training brooms. They all shared worried looks, not liking the expression on their manager's face. It screamed of an upcoming rant.
"What the shit was that today? Johnson, how many passes did you miss?"
Angelina bristled. "Can't see shit in the fog." She answered through gritted teeth.
"What did you say?" The man yelled.
Angelina knew not to answer any further, letting her manager's rage roll over to the next person.
"Beaters, couldn't hit the broadside of a barn! All of you, you think the fog is an excuse? Last year's team would have played like it was a beach day down in Ibiza! You fuckers have lost your edge. It's why we're three points off last year's pace, you got complacent on me."
No one dared mention the fact that while they were three points off last year's pace, they were also top of the league and nine points clear of number two, with a better point differential than last year.
"Now, I know you lot have the weekend off to go to that cocktail party in Zurich, but next week, we're off to face the Cannons on their home turf. And-" Ferguson glared. "Robbins, if you let out so much as a chortle I'll have you doing laps until the fog clears! Now, the Cannons have lost twenty straight, which means they'll be desperate to not make it twenty-one! I want you all on your a-game, treat this next match like it's the damn world cup final, understood?!"
The team parroted their assent, even if none of them were actually going to take the Cannons match seriously. Hell, depending on how crazy the afterparty got in Zurich, their manager might be forced to start some backups.
"Alright then, run dome damn laps! And Potter!"
Harry looked up, already knowing what his manager wanted. "Brooms to the broomshed, sir?" His teammates laughed.
Ferguson grumbled. "Well if you already knew what I wanted, you shoulda gotten on with it already! Now, go!"
Harry collected everyone's practice broom as his teammates began to jog their laps. Putting the brooms in the shed was his manager's way of keeping his star seeker humble. Harry would put the brooms away, come back and start his laps late. When everyone else was done and sitting on the grass resting, Harry would still be running.
The broom shed was all the way on the other side of the facility. As part of Ferguson's 'tough' approach, while the rest of the facility was state of the art and brand new, the broom shed was a rickety wooden shed much like the one Harry remembered from the Weasley's yard.
Harry reached the shed, levitating twelve brooms behind him. He turned the knob and entered the shed, gently guiding the brooms to their spots.
Harry made to quickly turn and leave, needing to get a jumpstart on those laps, when a familiar voice called out to him.
"Leaving so soon, honey?"
Harry spun around in shock. She couldn't have.
But she had. Harry gaped as his wife took off his invisibility cloak, shooting him a very sultry smile as she rested on an impromptu bed of quaffle sacks.
"Daphne?" Harry blanched.
"I've been waiting in this musty broom-shed for far too long Harry." Daphne pouted.
Harry's breath hitched as he got a good look at his wife. His eyes trailed up the creamy skin of her long legs, which were completely bare right up until where her smooth thighs disappeared into the oversized quidditch jersey. The royal-blue and gold jersey reached until halfway up Daphne's thigh, and Harry knew the exact jersey it was. It was the one he wore when they beat Hechiceros Madrid in the European Cup final last year.
"Daph, I need to get back." Harry warned, even as he stepped in closer and closer to his wife, who's large breasts were distorting the material of his otherwise oversized jersey in very intriguing ways.
Daphne bit her lip. She tilted her head to the side, a curtain of her silky blonde hair falling over her left eye in a way that Harry would later say was the final nail in the coffin for him. "But Harry, It's sooo cold in here."
She ran her hands up her thighs, lifting the jersey up in the process and confirming that she had in fact worn nothing else underneath.
Her pussy was dripping wet, and just the sight of it made Harry's mouth water.
Daphne didn't stop there, she lifted the jersey above her head, letting her breasts bounce freely as she shot Harry a look that would make a dead man hard.
"Please, baby, warm me up."
Harry was already fumbling with his belt, deciding it was best to just fish his cock out rather than removing his whole uniform. He made sure the invisibility cloak wasn't too far from Daphne's reach before he threw all caution to the wind and dived on top of his wife.
Their bodies clashed, and in a moment of serendipity his cock sank into her pussy with no need to aim. They both gasped in pleasure as Harry found himself buried in his gorgeous wife, the most beautiful woman on earth. Daphne claimed his lips in a desperate kiss, and Harry could only lament that the fact that his training shirt was preventing him from feeling her soft breasts against his chest.
Daphne must have read his mind, because she grabbed his shirt and tugged it upwards roughly, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it up and over his neck.
Their bodies touched and Harry now felt her full, soft breasts against his chest, her hard nipples poking him. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around her slim waist, wanting to feel her as closely as possible, wanting to meld her body with his own if he could.
Daphne arched her back, pressing herself against him as Harry began to slide into her wet folds.
Daphne bit his bottom lip as Harry gripped her as tightly as he could. She pulled back, bringing her lips to his ear as she wrapped her arms around his head, her ruby-red lips kissing at his earlobe as they both gasped in pleasure with each thrust.
They needed more. They'd been married for a year, had dated since fourth year, and yet they still couldn't get enough of each other.
There would be time when Harry got home after practice, time for a steaming hot bath followed by slow, sensuous lovemaking and rough fucking that would leave them both exhausted.
But this needed to be quick. And with the ever present risk of getting caught, and just how sexy his wife looked and felt as she mewled under him, it didn't take much for things to start escalating.
Harry quickened his pace, flesh slapping on flesh as the sacks Daphne had been laying on made them shift awkwardly with every thrust. But they didn't care, Harry fucked into his wife's sweet pussy until he felt them both reach a crescendo. That's when he buried himself as deeply as he could inside of her, his cock exploding inside of her sweet walls at the same time as they fluttered around him. Harry covered Daphne's mouth with his own to stifle her loud moans, shoving his tongue down her throat as their bodies tensed under their release.
"What the fuck happened, Potter?"
Harry ignored the reprimand. His teammates were already done with their laps, and Harry got to jogging without a care in the world, his mind already thinking of the fun he'd be having when he got home.
…
"Do you know what you're going to wear?"
Pansy scoffed. "What kind of question is that, Tracey? The awards show is this weekend, she's had that dress picked out for months." Pansy turned to Daphne. "You do, right?"
Daphne snorted. "Of course I do. Harry got some Italian designer to make it for me."
The other two gasped as Daphne took a bite out of her turkey club. It was nothing compared to Harry's cooking, but it was the best the Ministry cafeteria had to offer.
"Oh my god! Is it a Pausini? I bet it's a Pausini!" Pansy gawked.
Daphne shrugged. "Not sure, it's pretty though."
Daphne let Pansy lecture her on knowing your Italian designers while she and Tracey shared eye rolls.
There was a sudden hush in the luncheon. Daphne glanced at the entrance in curiosity.
Her husband had come to see her. Harry was wearing a tight pair of jeans and a button up shirt, with the top few buttons popped open to reveal an enticing peek at his chiseled chest, covered in a light mattering of chest hair that drove Daphne wild.
And it seemed to drive a lot of the other women wild too, if Daphne went by the way they were gawking at the three years running Witch's Weekly Sexiest Man.
Even Pansy and Tracey had to snap their jaws shut as Harry approached them.
"Pansy, Tracey." Harry greeted.
"Harry." The girls responded with shy smiles.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Daphne asked with a raised eyebrow, even as she pulled her chair back and grabbed onto Harry's hand as he helped her up.
"What? I can't escort my wife back to her office after lunch?" There was a glint in Harry's eyes that spelled trouble, but Daphne let him take her away.
"See you later, girls!" Harry said as he led Daphne out of the lunch hall.
Daphne wrapped her arms around Harry's own, beaming as she basked in the hateful glares she was receiving from all the other girls.
They strolled through the atrium, with many people gawking at the Boy-Who-Lived/Man-Who-Conquered/International Quidditch star. The Potters were used to the looks, and so they ignored them as they made their way to the lift.
They entered the lift and Harry pressed the button to level ten, courtroom ten, where Daphne worked as a court scribe.
It was a boring job, but Daphne had wanted to get some first-hand experience in on wizengamot sessions. Once they had children, she would quit, and then take up both Potter and Greengrass seats in the wizengamot.
The lift began moving, not needing much time for the two floor journey. Harry and Daphne stood in companionable silence for a few moments, until Harry smirked.
Daphne felt a knot of equal parts anxiety and excitement build up in her as she saw her husband step forward and rapidly press a few buttons.
The lift suddenly stopped.
"Harry?" Daphne questioned, though she could already feel a moistness growing between her legs.
Harry was looking at her with that lopsided smirk of his, that smirk that always left her knees weak. "Turnabout's fair play, Daph."
Daphne found herself shoved against the back of the lift, her head pressed against the wall as Harry ground his crotch against her bum.
Daphne mewled as she couldn't help but grind back against him. She was wearing a sundress, which made it very easy for Harry to lift up the material and lower her black knickers down to her knees.
She shivered in anticipation as she heard Harry work on his belt. She placed her hands on the wall and threw her ass back, biting her lip as she saw Harry's pants pooled down by his ankles.
She felt his head press against her entrance and she bit her lip, wiggling her ass so she could grind her pussy against his crown.
Harry gripped her by the hips, "you're a saucy little minx, aren't you?"
Daphne pushed against him, growing more and more desperate for him to plunge into her. "I am, daddy." She knew that would get Harry's motor running even higher.
Harry growled as he squeezed her hips, pushing his cock into her depths and pressing her body up against the steel wall of the lift.
Harry kissed the back of her neck as Daphne whimpered, forced to stand on the tips of her toes as Harry began to slowly saw in and out of her sopping cunt.
As opposed to their previous encounter in the broom-shed, Harry's pace was much more sedate. The lift was stopped and he was confident it'd be some time before anyone began to wonder about what happened to it. And if Daphne was a few minutes late? A small price to pay.
Daphne was thinking along the same lines, and she wanted to tell Harry that it actually wasn't so small a price, she really didn't want to get reprimanded by her boss. Any words died in the throat as Harry pushed deeply into her, his hands snaking under her sundress to squeeze at her large breasts.
Daphne put her hands over his own as Harry manhandled her breasts, not caring that her forehead bumped against the wall. She was focused only on the large cock pounding her little pussy and the rough, manly hands kneading at her tits.
Harry pinched and tugged at her nipples and squeezed the soft globular flesh as he continued to sheath himself into his wife's quivering slit. His balls slapped against her lips with each thrust, and Daphne's knees were beginning to wobble as Harry began to take on most of the burden of holding her up.
Not that Harry minded, as his hands were filled with more of Daphne's bountiful breasts with each thrust. His wife's legs were trembling and bending and twisting every witch way as she tried her best not to collapse.
Then the lift rumbled, vibrating deeply. There was a small ding and the lift began to move again.
"Oh no!" Daphne yelled. It was a very short journey, and they'd already been halfway through when Harry had stopped the lift to start with."Harry, we need to stop!"
Harry let out a rumbling laugh that did not do anything to assuage her fears. "Or maybe we need to speed up."
Without warning, Harry began jackhammering into her, his pelvis crashing against her butt as his cock pumped into her pussy. The lift continued puttering on, and Daphne was sure they wouldn't make it in time.
And they didn't, the bell dinged, the lift shuddered to a stop, and the door opened.
Daphne panicked as she felt cool air enter the lift. Her toes were curling as Harry's cock was beating the back out of her pussy. She turned her head, filled with shame as she was sure people were gawking at them. She could already imagine the articles decrying them as a pair of degenerates. Rita Skeeter would have a field day with this.
But mercifully, the stretch of hallway directly in front of them was empty. Daphne could hear people moving, and she was sure that if anyone leaned over to peek at the suddenly opened lift, like Martha the snooty receptionist, for example, they would easily be found out.
And yet all of this did nothing but add fuel to her fire. It did nothing but make her loins burn faster as Harry pushed into her and grunted into her ear.
"Merlin!"
She felt him shoot off inside of her and she couldn't hold back her own floodgates any longer. Daphne shuddered as her orgasm wracked through her just as her husband's milk filled her up. A stray thought attacked her as well, it had been two weeks since she'd decided to get off the potion, maybe this was the one that would get her pregnant. Maybe she already was pregnant.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as all she could do was hold back her scream.
The door to the lift closed, and the lift began to move once more. Someone had summoned it.
All Daphne wanted to do was collapse onto the floor. But instead, the two lovers had to scramble to get their clothing back on, trying their best to make themselves presentable as the lift dinged once more.
They were all the way up in level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where a stern looking older lady walked in and raised an eyebrow at their disheveled appearance.
"Going down?" She asked them.
"Yes." Harry said breathlessly, trying his best to suppress the goofy grin on his face.
"What floor?"
"Errr." Harry shot Daphne a look, having completely forgotten his wife's floor after their escapade had addled his brain.
Daphne spluttered about a bit herself until she finally collected her thoughts. "Level ten, please."
The woman nodded, pressing her own button as well as their. They saw her sniff the air a few times, but the woman did not say a word the entire trip. They soon reached her floor and she got out.
Alone again in the lift, Harry and Daphne let out a breath they didn't know they'd been holding, with Harry smiling goofily at his wife. "I'll see you at home babe, I'll make sure to have dinner ready."
The door to her floor dinged open, and this time there was someone right there, waiting to get on the lift.
Daphne glared at her husband, though the spell was broken when she got on her tippy toes and gave him a kiss on the lips. "Can it be pasta tonight?"
"Alfredo?" Harry asked. At her nod, he chuckled. "Again?"
Daphne pouted as the lady that was waiting to hop on the lift got impatient. "Are you getting off or not?"
Daphne's eyes never left Harry's. "Oh, I already got off." She sent him a cheeky grin and a final peck on the lips as Harry was in for a short but awkward ride back up with a middle aged lady that clearly smelled the stench of sex in the room and did not appreciate it one bit.
When she got home later on that day, Daphne was treated to a lovingly made meal or chicken carbonara.
…
Daphne's dress was spectacular. Maybe a little bit too much so.
Harry had lost count of the amount of players he'd had to stare down for daring to glance at Daphne's flowing red dress with the slit down the middle that showed off her dynamite legs as well as the thin pieces of material that hugged her breasts, which by some miracle of magic didn't pop out as the red silk pressed them to her chest.
Harry had rapidly racked up a lot of new people to add to his beater's hit list. That was why, the moment they sat down at their table , Harry draped his jacket over Daphne's shoulders.
The Balai D’or ceremony was held in a grand ballroom in Zurich, Switzerland. People were seated at tables like in a wedding, with Harry and Daphne sharing their table with two other couples. He'd been lucky enough to be placed with Angelina and her husband George, as well as one of the top Italian keepers, Massimo Grossi, and his wife. The Grossi were nice enough, and so the six of them had had a rolicking good time at their table so far.
It helped that it was an open bar. Harry was a bit more reserved with his drinking, knowing he'd have to give at least one speech tonight, but Daphne had no such restrictions.
Angelina and Grossi didn't either. Both had been nominated for the Silver Quaffle and the Silver Goalpost respectively, but it took only a few drinks for them to confide that they knew they had absolutely no shot.
Harry thought Angelina definitely deserved a shot, as he considered her one of the best chasers in the world. But he would admit that with the season Guizot had had no one was beating him.
And the stuffy Frenchman did in fact win the Golden Quaffle, giving a pompous speech that made Harry thank the heavens that Malfoy had never been good enough for pro quidditch.
Harry won the Wooden Snidget, and he'd given a short speech where he basically just thanked everyone he could while trying not to be affected by the way Daphne was looking at him.
"After a brief intermission, we will announce the prize amongst prizes, the Balai D'or!"
Daphne finished gulping down her fifth martini before she patted Harry on the shoulder. "Gotta go to the loo, babe."
Harry smiled, pecking his wife on the lips. "Don't take too long, they're going to announce the big one soon."
Daphne simply gave him a demure smile before she slipped off to the bathroom.
"Merlin, do you two have an off button?" Angelina asked, earning a chortle from George and confused looks from the Italian couple.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, knowing exactly what Angelina meant but hoping she'd have the tact not to bring it up here of all places.
"I’ve seen you two together since you were fourteen, Harry. That’s what?” Angelina glanced at George, who made a show of doing some complicated finger math.
“Seven years.” Harry sighed, hating the way the two of them smiled back at him.
“Right, seven years and you two still act like a couple of randy teenagers that need to find the closest broom closet to sneak off to.”
“You say that like it's a bad thing.” was Harry’s response.
“Angie just finds your brand of lovey-doveyness a bit too much.” George said.
“I find it endearing.” Mrs. Grossi said. “It is rather cute, is it not, Massimo?”
Mr. Grossi seemed to be much more entranced by the cocktail sausages that he’d been scarfing down instead of listening to the conversation,
As Mrs. Grossi began to chastise her husband for his bad table matter and Angelina and George became engrossed in their own small conversation, Harry let his mind drift as he waited for Daphne.
He wondered about what they’d do once this whole thing was over and done with. There’d be an afterparty, though he might want to start regulating Daphne’s drinking. Daphne was drunk enough already, he didn’t want to tip her over the edge.
He knew a surefire way of getting her to stop drinking, and the more he thought about it, the more appealing the thought was. He’d make his excuses for why he couldn’t attend the after-party, he’d grab his wife’s hand and whisk them away to the hotel room, where he would proceed to rail the shit out of her.
It was such an enticing thought, Harry could almost feel her hands on his thigh already. He could hear the sound of his fly being unzipped, almost as if it were actually happening in the moment. He could feel her hands fishing in his underwear for his cock, whipping out his hardening length. He could feel her tongue working along his shaft, her drunken state leading to a wonderfully sloppy blowjob-
Harry gave a start when he realized that he wasn’t daydreaming. There was, in fact a mouth wrapped around his shaft, there was in fact a head bobbing up and down his length.
Harry tried not to panic. He flipped the tablecloth over as discreetly as he could.
There was nothing under the table, but he could clearly see his open fly, and he could feel his cock being sucked and a pair of delicate hands working on the base of his length. And in the exact area where all this should be happening, there was nothing but empty space.
She’d brought his cloak along again. Harry really needed to shove that thing into a safe, Daphne was a menace with one on.
The sounds of clapping brought him back to the outside world. Looking around, he saw someone walk up to the stage with an envelope. They were about to announce the winner.
Fuck! What was he supposed to do if he won? Just sit there awkwardly while trying to push his wife off his cock under the table?
“Fuck, Daphne’s going to miss this.” Angelina said from across the table.
Harry could only send her a weak smile as Daphne took his length as far down her throat as it would go. Her hands were fondling his balls, and Harry was certain that no force on this planet earth would get him to stand up from this chair.
The words of the presenter were lost to his ears. When everyone laughed politely at a joke, Harry laughed along a half second late. Meanwhile, Daphne did not let up at all, increasing the pace of her ministrations as the presenter finally wound down his speech.
“Now, for the climax of the evening.”
Harry swore under his breath as Daphne swirled her tongue around his crown and then shoved him down her throat, sucking hard enough for her throat to constrict around his shaft, as if begging him to fill her stomach with his milk,
“The nominees for the Balai D’or are…”
“Harry, chill out mate.” George whispered.
Harry’s knuckles were white as he gripped the tablecloth as hard as he could. Daphne was bobbing like a madwoman now, his balls were churning up a storm as she twisted both hands around the base of his shaft.
“Hah! And you wanted to act like you didnt care.” Angelina quipped.
“It is his first ceremony, is it not? After a few, Mr. Potter, you will be calm as a demiguise.”
“And the winner is…”
Harry couldn’t hold it in any longer. He shut his eyes tightly as he finally exploded, flooding Daphne’s throat with his voluminous seed. His balls contracted mightily as he released large volumes of his life giving milk down his wife’s greedy throat.
“Olivier Guizot!”
Harry exhaled in relief as his orgasm finally receded. He clapped along with everyone as Guizot shot him a smug smirk, as if Harry could give two fucks about some stupid award right now.
The other occupants of the table were shooting him looks of sympathy, and Harry waved them off. “There’s always next year.” He said, trying to not seem out of breath.
“It might be for the best that Daphne wasn’t here. She had a few drinks on her, who knows how she’d react.” Angelina joked.
Harry’s eyes widened in panic. He brought his hands under the table in a desperate attempt to grab onto Daphne before she did something stupid, but he was far too late.
Mrs. Grossi shrieked as their table flipped over. In an instant, every head in the house snapped from the stage to the spot where Mrs. Potter stood, hair disheveled, mascara running, face coated in slobber and with a white substance running down her chin.
“That’s fucking bullshit!” Daphne yelled up to the stage.
Harry grabbed onto his wife’s arm. He wouldn’t bother to try and save face. He didn’t give two shits if he was never invited to another one of these, or the months of headlines that were sure to be coming after tonight, or even the endless teasing he’d be suffering from his teammates.
All Harry knew was that his wife had never looked hotter than in that moment, and he needed to drag her away now and fuck the shit out of her.
