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Under the Starry Skies, the Greengrass Lies

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“You need to tell someone. You can’t let her keep doing this to you.” Daphne frowned as she studied the angry red words etched into the skin of his right hand.

I must not tell lies.

One day, she was going to stick her wand up that bloviating woman’s nose and pull out the peanut she called her brain. What possible reason could he have to lie? For attention, like the Daily Prophet was claiming? If Harry Potter was the sort of man who thrived on attention, he already had enough of it to last a lifetime. He, however, was not, as anyone who had a five-minute conversation with him would have told the asshat who put his name on the byline of the word vomit they had published. 

There were rumors of a darker variety, and if it had been anyone else in the castle, she might even have entertained the notion that they were lying to cover up their role in Cedric’s death. Not Harry. He never lied to protect himself. If he lied, he lied to protect others. Like her. He had kept up their fake dating charade for more than a year, all to protect her from a life she did not want.

Harry? If he had been responsible for Cedric’s death, he’d probably have been the first one to demand they arrest him.  

No. There was absolutely no reason for Harry Potter to lie, and anyone with half a brain could see it. Unfortunately, it seemed like the only prerequisites for the people in power these days seemed to be a complete lack of brains or morals, or in the case of their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, a healthy mixture of both. 

She pulled out the bottle of dittany she had brewed for him from her satchel, pushing his hand flat on her thigh to gain easier access to the entirety of his wound. 

“Who do I tell? Dumbledore? He doesn’t care. Nobody other than him can do something about it. I doubt even he can do anything to stop her. You heard Educational Degree Number whatever the fuck we’re on now, she has complete power over all academic punishments.”

“I’ve been warning you about our dear Headmaster for nearly a year and a half now, but did you listen? No. I’m glad you’re finally realizing that the old codger is an uncaring bastard.” She dabbed the dittany on the angry red letters etched into his skin, her free hand holding his wrist in a vice-like grip to make sure he didn’t pull his hand away. She knew the dittany would burn like hell, but it was also the only thing that would work on wounds inflicted by a blood quill, so he’d just have to be a good boy and take the pain. It never failed to amaze her how the man could last for hours in that horrid woman’s office without breaking, but was the polar opposite around her. 

It’s because he likes you, dumbass, the unhelpful voice in her head piped up, only to be ruthlessly squashed. 

“No he doesn’t,” she mumbled, continuing to dab the dittany on his wounds. They were business partners, their fates bound together by events not of their making. Nothing more. Besides, they had been faking a relationship for more than a year now. If he wanted something real, why had he not acted on it? 

“Alright-” Harry hissed as she dropped a particularly large drop of dittany onto his hand. “I got your point. You don’t think he has our best interests at heart.” 

“I- Yes. That is what I meant,” Daphne replied, ducking her head to obscure the blush on her cheeks. 

Thank Merlin for my hair, she thought, tilting her head to make sure the golden tresses completely obscured her face from view.  

“Thanks.” Harry pulled his hand away from her lap once she had finished coating the entirety of the phrase with a thick coat of dittany, and she suppressed the twinge of disappointment at his action. 

So close, and yet, so far. 

Shut up, she admonished the voice in her head. Merlin, she was going batshit crazy around him these days. She blamed her new hormone-addled friends from Gryffindor for her current predicament. Brown had filled her head with decidedly unladylike thoughts.

I thought we got in this mess in the first place because we didn’t want to lead the life of a prim, proper Pureblood lady married to a man we don’t love or even like.   

Shut up, she admonished the voice in her head again. He had cupped her cheeks while she was arguing with the voice in her head. How had she not realized he had cupped her cheeks?!

He was pulling her closer, his chapped lips brushing against her soft ones. It was the chastest of kisses, a simple offering laid out for her. She could sense that he was waiting for her approval. 

“You start by kissing a lady’s hand, Mr. Potter. You then move to her cheek, and finally, only if she is truly interested in you will she allow you to taste her lips,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. 

“I’m sorry-” he started, only to be cut off by her lips on his. He tasted of honey and ash, the most curious of combinations. 

Careful. We just might get addicted, the voice in her head crowed, giddy with excitement. For once, she did not have an argument for it. 

“I’m not a lady, Potter, and I never will be. Don’t treat me like one,” she whispered, running a hand through his unruly hair. Merlin, she loved his hair. 

She gasped as he lifted her up, easily depositing her in his lap. His baggy clothes hid surprising strength, and she blushed again at the rush of perverted thoughts and ideas in her brain. 

Fuck you, Brown, she groused, glaring ineffectively at him for smiling. Whether the smile was the result of her gasp or the dark red color of her formerly pale cheeks, she did not know. You’ve turned me into an unrepentant horndog.  

She could almost hear her voice in her head, asking her what was so wrong about her desires. If he was willing to indulge her, and she was willing to be indulged, she did not think anyone else had a say in what they did. She could see the dark glint in his eyes even through the faint light of the full moon. A coiled serpent, ready to strike. There was a predator hidden in the well-intentioned man she had grown to love, and she had a feeling she was to be its prey. 

All she had to do was break through the last of his reservations, and break the beast free. Nineteen years of struggling with the darkness he had been left with courtesy of the Dark Lord had done him no favors, and he was losing the battle to banish it, especially now that his nemesis was back. Despite what Dumbledore said or thought, it wasn’t meant to be banished or suppressed. The effort of trying to do that was eating him alive, and would ultimately cost him his mind. She could see it happen before her very eyes and refused to stand by and watch. He had to make it a part of him, the darkness to his usual light. 

Eyes are the mirrors to our soul my love, and you’ve spent far too long being ashamed of a part of yours. Let me show you the ligh- darkness.

There could be no light without the dark. The moon and the stars she loved only shone because of the night sky. He would be the world’s light, and her darkness. And she would be his green, green grass, under the starry skies. She could see it even now, how he struggled against the part of him that had broken through for a moment, keeping her at a respectful distance even after pulling her onto his lap. 

She took matters into her own hands, gently pushing his hands off her shoulders and gripping his with hers instead. She used them to pull herself closer, pushing down against his crotch as she eliminated as much distance between the two of them as possible. The last time they’d been this close had been at the Yule dance, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.

She had no real experience with what she was doing, nor did she even know if it would be successful. The only knowledge she had came from conversations with Lavender Brown, or from the trashy romance novels hidden under her bed that she’d never admit she enjoyed reading. 

A good, proper Pureblood lady wasn’t supposed to know these things. Daphne Greengrass had no desire whatsoever to be one. She had spent her entire life trying to find a path away from her supposed destiny, and this was it. If it helped the only person she cared for in the entire world become the man he was supposed to be, well, that was just an added bonus. 

I plan to spend the rest of my life learning all the things I’m not supposed to know, she vowed to herself, shivering as the look in her partner’s eyes grew hungrier at her actions. The look promised to ravage and ravish her, with no consideration for moderation or respect. 

She supposed the idea of being fucked mercilessly against a tree by a man giving in to his inner darkness should have terrified her. All it did was make her cunt wetter than the fucking lake. She gasped as she pushed down against his crotch, surprised at the bulge that greeted her. 

His muscles aren’t the only thing his cousin’s nasty clothes hide, she thought, her cheeks turning a shade of red she didn’t think was possible. She’d read all about the walk of shame, the soreness between the legs, and the difficulty walking. Now, she suspected, she was about to experience it firsthand. 

He hadn’t said a word since she had pulled herself closer, his entire body seemingly frozen in shock. She would have pulled herself off of him before she made a fool of herself, if not growing bulge pressing against her leg that let her know he very much wanted this. Wanted her. If she had to hazard a guess, he was still trying to repress every one of his desires, trying to be the ‘good little soldier’ Dumbledore wanted him to be. 

But he was so much more. He could be so much more. They could have a life of their own, free from the influence of the two power-hungry men who sought to use everyone around them for their own agendas. If he could not perceive the path to his liberation, she would help him see it. She shifted, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling herself even closer to him, his bulge now pushing against her crotch. She wiggled until it brushed against the rapidly growing damp spot on her panties, grinning as his eyes widened in shock. 

Mission accomplished.

“Daphne, you need to-” 

“Stop?” She cut him off. “No. No more fighting the darkness inside you Harry Potter. Tonight, you give in, and liberate yourself.” And me.

She grabbed the edges of her gray hoodie, pulling it over her head, making no effort to stop the shirt from riding up along with it. She dropped both the garments on the grass next to them, keeping her eyes locked with his the entire time.

‘Nothing drives a man crazier than eye contact while you’re blowing his brains out.’

Lavender had been talking about blowjobs, but surely it applied in other situations as well? It seemed to work, and she stifled a gasp as his cock twitched against her thigh. His eyes had shifted to her generous bust, and to the pebbled pink nipples poking through the thin white lace of her bra. 

She was close, she could feel it. Just a little more, and he would break. And their lives would never be the same again. 

She grabbed the hands lying on either side of him, lacing their fingers together. She started to rock gently against his crotch, forcing himself to keep her eyes on him even as the pleasure from the friction her actions clouded her brain with arousal and lust. She had a mission. After it was done, then she could lose herself.

“Daphne if you don’t stop I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” She asked, pulling his hands up to her chest, “Show me.” 

In retrospect, if she’d known her boobs were all it would take to let him break free from the chains that bound him, she’d have let the man breeze past second base long ago. She finally let her eyes flutter shut as she saw something snap in her lover, a strangled groan escaping her lips as his fingers sank into the softness of her breasts. She continued to rock against him, keeping the pressure on metaphorically and literally. 

“Show me,” she whispered, stray locks of golden hair framing her face as she rode him. She moaned softly as his hands massaged her breasts. 

He didn’t say a word, simply grunting as one of his hands traveled to her back, trying to undo the clasp of her bra. She giggled at his struggles, her own hands moving from her shoulders to assist him in taking her bra off. She sighed as her large round breasts were freed from their lacy confines. Her moment of reprieve was shortlived, however, as something even more divine than his hands made its way down to her breasts. She could feel his unruly black hair tickle her face as he bent, his lips closing around a stiff pink teat. She groaned, burying her hands in his hair. He was lazily sucking on her nipple, almost like he was toying with her before the main act itself. The only problem was that she wasn’t sure she’d last till the main act. She was positively gushing by this point, her arousal trickling down her thighs and staining her jeans. 

He continued to suck, his teeth gently clamping down around her nipple and tugging on it. She moaned and prayed to every god in existence to ensure that no unlucky soul would come to investigate the sounds and be witness to her descent into depravity and decadence. 

A proper lady would demand her flower be taken on a soft bed. 

A dirty little slut would let her lover fuck her against a tree under the starry skies, in view of anyone who wanted to watch, 

And, Daphne Greengrass decided, she very much wanted to be Harry Potter’s dirty little slut. 

All strength was draining out of her body as he covered the flawless skin of her breasts with love bites and bruises. She felt like she was made of rubber but still kept grinding against him desperately, trying to supplement his efforts to help her reach her instinctive goal of orgasm and release. The friction helped, but it was his lips and tongue returning to her sensitive nipple that finally caused her to come undone, the man humming a strange tune as his tongue assaulted her nipple. Not a tune, she realized dimly, he was speaking. Parseltongue. 

It was the last coherent thought she would have that night, her lover clamping and slightly twisting her swollen nipple even as he continued to suck, trying to draw a nectar she did not yet have to offer. Yet.

She cried out, collapsing against him as the force of the orgasm that ripped through her body drove out the last remaining strength she had left in her limbs. Her panties were soaked, her jeans stained and drenched. It did not matter anymore, for even as she struggled to breathe as she rode out her orgasm, she could feel him lift her up effortlessly, pushing her back against the trunk of the oak tree. 

He set her down to her feet, but her legs would not cooperate, the girl wordlessly wrapping her arms around his neck. She used him as support, her body still shaking from her orgasm. Her mind had been wiped clean, and for the first time in her life, she was happily floating, free from any expectation or anxiety of responsibility. She was his, and he would take care of her. 

She slowly raised one leg after the other to help him pull off her jeans, leaving her naked with the exception of her now ruined panties. She opened her eyes as he roughly yanked them down her legs, eager to see the effect her body had on her lover. The twinge of fear she felt at the hungry look in his eyes only added to the arousal coiling in the pit of her stomach, and she spread her legs, inviting him to take what was his. 

He was finally free of the struggle that had nearly cost him his sanity. 

Good, she thought, resting her head against the tree trunk. She watched him undo his own jeans, pulling them down with his boxers. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth as his cock sprang free, finally coming to terms with exactly how big it was. 

She didn’t even know if she could take all of him, and even if she did, she definitely knew she’d have trouble walking come morning. 

He didn’t give her time to dwell on the consequences of being impaled on his massive shaft, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips against hers in a searing kiss. His hands grabbed her thighs, pulling her legs up around his waist. She locked her ankles around him, letting him trap her between his body and the tree. Her hands moved to his shoulders to help him keep her aloft, not that it looked like he needed the assistance. 

“We need to get you new clo-” she murmured, her words dying in her throat as she screamed. He had grabbed his cock with one of his hands, guiding its tip to her wet slit. Her flower, taken with one savage thrust. Her head collapsed against his shoulder, tears staining his white shirt as her tight cunt was stretched by the massive member pushing deep inside her. Her wetness made things easier, but she doubted any amount of lubrication would ever make it possible for her to take his massive girth with ease. She sighed as the stinging gave way to a dull ache. 

“Are you alright my pretty little princess?” His voice was deeper, more melodious, and yet, had a sinister quality to it that was equal parts arousing and terrifying. Fear made for a potent aphrodisiac, she realized. 

“Yes.” She nodded into his shoulder, before mumbling, “I’m not your princess.” 

“What are you then?” He sounded amused, the aura of sheer strength and brutality that now surrounded him causing another gush of wetness to seep out of her and coat the base of his cock. 

“I- I am your dirty little slut,” she whispered, the hold of her arms and legs around him tightening. She moaned quietly as it had the unintended effect of pushing his cock deeper inside her. 

“Why can’t you be both?” 

No light without the darkness. 

She nodded, pressing a timid kiss to his neck, almost like she was giving him permission to continue. To finish what he had started. Ravish her. Ravage her. 

All you have to do is lay your claim, and I’m yours. 

She removed a hand from around his neck as he started to thrust lazily, her whimpers interspersed with moans as she began to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. She was already close, and when he sped up, she did too, rubbing her clit desperately, trying to tease out another orgasm. His grunts mingled with her quiet moans and cries as he began to thrust harder and faster and she could feel the small measure of self-control he had regained begin to slip away as he let the sea of lust carry him away. She had long surrendered to it, her feverish rubbing combined with his savage thrusts teasing out another earth-shattering orgasm.

He did not stop, did not even slow down, continuing to savagely thrust into her tight pussy with a primal strength she had not known he possessed. 

She moaned loudly, crying out into his shoulder as she saw stars, her head swimming at the sheer brutality of the sensations now assaulting her body. She was going to cum again soon, she knew, but she wasn’t sure her body could handle another orgasm. Her lover seemed possessed by some otherworldly strength, grunting quietly as he kept fucking her through her orgasm. Her walls clamped down around his shaft, trying to milk it for his seed. A losing fight for now, but in end, she would win. She would have his seed.

Le Petit Mort. 

The little death. Lavender dreamed of it, her lover, possessed by a primal strength and raw desire, would give it to her their very first time. Their breathing was ragged by the time they came, Harry thrusting inside her one last time as her walls clamped down around him, greedily accepting every last drop of his cum even as her own orgasm caused her brain and body to shut down, the blonde girl collapsing against her lover as she passed out. 

She wasn’t worried. Where there was darkness, there was light. 

She was his, and he would take care of her.