16th
Crossing a line I shouldn’t
**Okay. Yes, I wrote this. Please don’t judge me.**
It had only been three months since the fall of Voldemort, but the wizarding world was thrown yet again into a panic. Three short months since the Dark Lord’s war on the magical community had been put to an end by The Boy Who Lived, and already a new threat loomed, a threat the likes of which had not been anticipated by even the most adept Seer.
No one knew why exactly, but at the same time Tom Riddle breathed his last, the enchantments concealing the wizarding world from the eyes of muggles began to fade all over the world. Ordinary men and women began to take notice of the bizarre occurrences surrounding them. And as with most things muggles did not understand, they met these “strange people” with violent outbursts. News of wizard lynchings were all too common, and debates raged in magical governments as to how to deal with this riotous epidemic. Civil unrest within the wizarding world erupted as more and more wizards and witches expressed their disgust at the lack of swift and deadly actions against the muggles.
As attempts to restore the veil between the magical and non-magical societies failed, many were swept up in conjecture that this was Voldemort’s victory in death, that he had one last contingency plan to plunge the world into chaos should he ever be completely vanquished; still more rumors persisted that he was perhaps yet alive somehow. Amidst the riots, the failures of the magical governments worldwide and the growing fear that the greatest dark wizard of all time had somehow played his final bid for immortality, everyone agreed on one thing: if Voldemort was responsible for this, they needed The Boy Who Lived to sort this out.
The only problem was, Harry Potter had disappeared three weeks ago.
—-
The street was empty.
Oddly pristine, even.
Streetlights filled the scene with a watchful glow, but indeed there was nothing for the luminescent eyes to spy upon. Even the skittering of stray cats and dogs was surprisingly absent. Not a thing to see.
And Harry aimed to keep it that way.
As he crept slowly through the peaceful street, Harry smiled. While the rest of the wizarding world feared the growing number of muggles that were all too aware of their presence, Harry traveled completely undetected. He did not know why, but Death’s Cloak of Invisibility retained its powers of concealment when all other magical shadow failed. He was certainly curious as to why, but had absolutely no one he could trust to aid his questions. He couldn’t risk turning to Hermione for help. Despite her astounding intellect and eye for detail being the Harry’s best shot at discovering the truth, he feared the Ministry confiscating his most beloved treasure were he to bring any attention to the fact that he possessed the last functional magical mask known to wizardkind.
It was this exact fear by which Harry found himself wandering alone at night, thousands of miles from home. He knew the Minister of Magic, his good friend Kingsley Shacklebolt, would eventually think to ask Harry about the cloak, and despite having friends in every branch of the government, even Harry was not immune to the rampant distrust of the Ministry for their failure to stop the muggle riots.
Harry felt a sense of duty to return a sense of order to the wizarding world, but he knew this was a problem he could not solve out in the open. He took the unfading enchantment of Death’s cloak as a sign that he was to use it somehow to achieve peace once more, but how he would do this, he did not know. He pondered all of this over and again as he wandered the world, as he slunk down the quiet street, hoping that the answer would reveal itself to him.
He stopped at a modest home at the end of the street - the only home from which light spilled out the windows and onto the street. Harry had made his way across the world sleeping inside abandoned homes, pillaging food from the kitchens of empty homes. He occasionally thought of how unnecessary this was, that it was wrong, but the fact that he did not know to what extent the magic he performed would be visible pressed on his mind. Under the cloak he was able to conjure himself the occasional biscuit or glass of water, but he could never be sure who may see anything beyond these small gestures.
And some things just can’t be satisfied with a biscuit, he thought.
He felt this more than ever when he saw her inside, sleeping blissfully on the couch, barely dressed. Her left arm dangled above the floor, her milky skin was seemed to glow against the contrast of the black leather couch. She appeared to tightly grasp a large green book in her other arm, which rested just under her chest, pushing her breasts into prominence. A hint of a smile rested in her lips.
Harry sighed as he took her in. He had not seen such striking beauty since he had first laid eyes on a Veela. He knew he couldn’t stop here to sleep for risk of being discovered, and it would be a shame to disturb such beautiful and peaceful rest.
But as Harry turned away from the window, his mind was filled with a recurring scene from his grizzled imagination. The body of Arthur Weasley, hanged, swaying in the wind as scores of onlookers cheered. Shouts of “Death to Magic” echoed in his ears. Harry clenched his fists, and a rage he had rarely felt since the hot tempered days of his tortured youth now bubbled inside him at the thought of poor Arthur. He turned back to the window. His face twisted into a wicked grin as he thought of what he was about to do. He knew it was wrong, but the brutal lynching of his best friend’s father, whom Harry always considered a father to himself, had hardened Harry to the laws of right and wrong when it came to muggles.
And as he stared into the window at the gorgeous young woman, he knew Arthur’s murder wasn’t the only thing that hardened him…
—-
“Alohomora,” he whispered, pointing his wand at the brass doorknob. A faint click told Harry the lock had been undone, and in one swift motion, Harry opened the front door and slipped inside. Although he had been sure a moment ago that the street was empty, ensuring no one just saw the door open and shut itself, Harry still worried he would be found.
It was a dangerous time to be a wizard - openly confronting the muggles with magic ran the risk of provoking a full scale military invasion of magical society. Wizards and witches would be overrun and annihilated if they were unwilling to fight back with deadly force, and if they were willing to do so, the destruction of the muggles that Voldemort so desired would have been achieved. Harry knew he could not let that happen, but the pain of personal loss plagued his resolve like never before. In the war against the Dark Lord, Harry knew who he fought against, he knew who was responsible, but the mystery surrounding the exposure of his world was as faceless and blameless as the angelic face at which he now stared, transfixed.
Harry began to rethink what he had entered her home to do when he heard a faint jingling of bells coming from somewhere inside the room. He glanced around, trying to discern its point of origin when he his eyes came upon a computer screen blinking persistently.
Harry was only faintly familiar with computers, having seen but never allowed to use his cousin Dudley’s. What appeared to be a series of messages was displayed on the screen
You still there, abbynormal23?
Let’s talk.
Hellooo?
abby, come on. I know you’re there.
Oh, fine. bbl.
“mmm?” a voice mumbled from the couch.
Harry spun around, worried that the girl had awoken and seen him. He felt a twinge of embarrassment when he remembered he was still under Death’s cloak. He looked over the back of the couch to see the girl tossing and turning on the couch, though she remained asleep. As she moved, Harry felt his blood surging to his member once again, and he remembered why he was so eager to come inside the house to begin with. Harry quickly disrobed underneath his invisibility cloak, which he hesitated to remove. He had not been without it for weeks - it had practically become a part of him.
Resolved though he was to satisfy his most primal of urges, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of shame in disturbing this gorgeous scene. He poked his hand out from underneath the cloak and began to caress her perky breasts. A grin crept across her face, as though she dreamed of deep satisfaction. Harry had never quite felt anything quite as exquisite, and his loins undulated their approval. The hand that remained under the cloak began to stroke his swollen manhood.
”Abby,” he moaned loudly.
Perhaps it had been too long since Harry’s last pleasurable contact, as he could not stop the name from escaping his lips. He quickly covered his mouth, but it was too late.
“Huh?” she said, stirring, eyes opening.
Her confusion quickly became a shriek. Harry, expecting this, grabbed handfuls of her luxurious flowing blonde hair and pulled her open mouth onto his throbbing wand of love. She continued to scream, and the vibrations from her throat pulsed over Harry’s cock, causing his eyes to involuntarily roll into the back of his head.
Even as he thrusted himself inside her mouth, he could still hear her shrieks, and he had no idea whether or not they could be heard elsewhere. Thinking hastily, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at his fkuc snake.
“Engorgio,” he uttered, and his member inflated, filling every crevice of her mouth, muffling her screams. Harry’s mind raced with pleasure as he continued to thrust.
”Abby,” he moaned again, his magically enlarged nerves sending shockwaves of delight into his brain. It was incredible, but he worried what this must look like outside the cloak. He withdrew from her mouth, expected her to resume her screams, but she said nothing. He wanted to get back inside her, and fast.
Harry threw himself on top of her, covering her in the cloak It was perfect, he thought, no one would be able to tell what was going on. No one but her, of course, he mused, but he was not worried about that at the moment. Holding her arms down, he tore through her pink satin panties as though they were a candy wrapper and plunged his still bewitched kielbasa inside her. It was heaven, he thought. Harry had only felt the kind of bliss and peace once before, and this time he would not have to die to feel it. He continued pumping away, suckling her taut nipples through her silky brassiere; she groaned loudly, and Harry could swear her groans were those of pleasure. He raised head to look in her eyes - she appeared to be staring wildly, a look of what Harry took to be utter disbelief.
“This is not happening,” Harry whispered to her as he thrusted his hips into her ever harder, “I am not actually here, you know. This is all just a lovely, lovely dream.” She nodded, perhaps out of fear, and perhaps, Harry thought, so as to make sure he did not stop. Confident that he had the situation in hand, he released her arms from his grip, curious as to what she would do.
She reached out to him, grabbing at his back, and Harry felt her pushing him deeper inside. This sensation overloaded Harry’s mind, causing him to erupt - his cock juices spurting with such force they found their way back outside her and spilled noisily onto the couch. His head fell exhausted onto her heaving bosom, and he swore he felt her cradle him there for a moment.
“Sweetie, are you home?” a voice called from the direction of the front door, “sorry about barging in, your door was unlocked, and-“
“Oh, damn!” Harry yelled jumping up, again forgetting about his cloak. However, as he jumped in surprise, the cloak fell away, revealing his presence to the woman who had entered the living room. As she cried out in shock, Harry knew he had been discovered, and that he had little time to act - outside the window, lights began to appear inside houses across the street. Harry turned to Abby, smiled a quick smile, and began to feel as if he was being pulled into his belly button, and disapparated.
