Chapter 151 - My SI Stash #51 - Hella Potter and the Reincarnated OC by Cambrian Beckett (Harry Potter)

-I haven't been reading any Harry Potter SI fics lately but I found this NSFW SI HP fic, hopefully that interests you Khaled_Sellami~

*It's by Cambrian so expect lots of lemons, also a genderbent Harry. The SI doesn't start in the same year as "Hella Potter".

Sypnosis: In which an OC reincarnated into the Wizarding World finds a few significant changes from canon. Least of all is Hella Potter replacing Harry Potter as the Girl-Who-Lived and the Savior of the Wizarding World. (Rated M for a reason! S.e.xual themes abound!)

Rated: M

Words: 101K

Posted on: m.fanfiction.net/s/13175310/1/Hella-Potter-and-the-Reincarnated-OC (Cambrian Beckett)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1+2 (exceptional)

"I believe you."

The moment the words leave his lips, he wonders if they're the wrong ones. The look on Hella Potter's face as she wh.i.p.s her head around to stare at him is… heartbreaking, to say the least. His name is Treowe Morton, and he was a Sixth Year Slytherin. That alone should have precluded him from being allowed to speak with Gryffindor's Golden Girl, but at the end of the day, not a single one of her House still with her any longer, leaving them all alone in the corridor Treowe had chosen to confront Hella in.

Heh, Hella. It was still a little strange, that. After all, he was from a world where this entire fantastical existence was nothing but fiction. As far as he could tell, he'd been reincarnated into the Harry Potter Universe upon death, leaving him to grow up all over again, except this time he grew up in a family of purebloods, as the Scion and Heir of House Morton. They were nothing too special, known mostly for their Bicorn herds and their modest estate.

Potion Ingredients derived from parts of the Bicorn were needed enough that they were able to make a pretty good living off of raising and selling the creatures. Or more accurately, off of having others raise and butcher the creatures for them. As a Noble Family, the only time a Morton ever stooped to dirty their hands with Bicorn blood was on their fourteenth birthday, and that was only for the males. It was a coming of age ceremony, where their father or closest male relative walked them through harvesting one of the creatures.

Treowe assumed it was meant to teach them something about where House Morton had come from, their humble beginnings as farmers with barely anything to their name not so distant that they were completely disconnected from the work that had made them what they are. Heh, only mostly disconnected.

Regardless, he was allowing himself to get sidetracked, and in the midst of a breakdown, right before his eyes. Hella's gaze had fallen upon him as she processed his words, and then her own eyes had widened as she recognized him. Treowe wasn't too surprised by that. They hadn't known each other that well before this year, what with him being Slytherin and her being… well, the Girl-Who Lived.

But this was the Fourth Year, and regardless of the fact that there was no 'Harry Potter', the 'Harry Potter Universe' continued to hit the stations of canon like clockwork. Treowe had observed them from the outside looking in so far. He'd arrived at Hogwarts two years before Potter did, and then watched her and the others as they in turn arrived. So young, so… naïve and innocent.

The end of First Year put an end to Hella Potter's innocence when she was forced to kill Professor Quirrel in Self-Defense. Second year saw her murdering the Basilisk, just as her male counterpart did in the fiction Treowe remembered. Third year saw her faith in the system die as she found out about her godfather and the injustice done to him.

But now it was Fourth Year. Now it was time for the Triwizard Tournament, time for Hella to be entered against her will, and for all of her friends to abandon her. Hermione hadn't of course, not totally, but faced with the Gryffindor House turning its back on her, Hermione just wasn't enough. Treowe, meanwhile, had finally decided to step in the shitshow that Hella's misadventures. He'd spent his entire life working on being the most capable, most knowledgeable wizard he could be.

As far as he could tell, the Reincarnated American wasn't some massive magical talent like say, Dumbledore or Voldemort, or perhaps Hella herself. Magical cores were bullocks made up by fanfiction writers anyways, but there was definitely something about those two wizards that made it seem like magic favored them.

It didn't favor Treowe, but it also didn't seem to hate him. So, he'd made the most of what he had and spent every single moment of every single day these past sixteen years working towards being as capable of protecting himself and those he cared about as he could be. In the end, he liked to think he did a pretty good job of it. Of course, having the Goblet of Fire spit out HIS name for Hogwarts Champion rather than Cedric Diggory's had been an excellent way of confirming just how far he'd come.

One might think that having the actual Hogwarts Champion be a Slytherin would have seen the Gryffindor House rallying behind Hella, rather than turning on her as they had in canon. That was not the case, as far as Treowe could tell. While none of the Gryffindors were about to cheer him on, it seemed that they still weren't willing to believe Hella hadn't put her own name in the cup. They were all convinced that she'd managed to find a work-around, and angry that A) she'd kept it from them and B) she continued to keep it them.

It didn't matter that such a work-around didn't exist. No, Gryffindors were as small-minded as the grass was green or the sky blue. Regardless, Hella had recognized him because she'd seen him in that room that night, when she'd been pushed inside and announced as the Fourth Champion. He'd watched from afar, not speaking, not saying a word, even as Fleur and Viktor both spoke out against the idea of 'a little slip of a girl' competing with them.

Now though, now he could say something. Now that they were alone, away from prying ears, Treowe spoke up. And it seemed he might not have said the right thing at all.

Three little words. In three words, Treowe Morton had managed to accomplish what Malfoy and Snape had been trying and failing to do for the past few years. He'd broken Hella Potter. She all but collapses forward into his robes, her sobs and wails muffled by the high-quality fabric, but he could most definitely feel the trembling of her body as he wrapped his arms around her.

With the practiced ease that came from having six sisters (none of which would ever or had ever attended Hogwarts, on his recommendation) Treowe gets to work on calming down the 'Savior of the Wizarding World'. Rubbing circles into the small girl's back with one hand, Treowe strokes the other through her tangled mess of… blinking, the young wizard looks down to confirm what his hand was currently feeling.

In the midst of her utter despair, the untamable mess that was Hella Potter's hair had gone utterly limp and turned completely straight. Letting out a quiet, derisive snort, Treowe mentally checks off the box for Potter being a Metamorphmagus, wondering just how many more fanfic clichés he would end up encountering now that he'd placed himself in the 'main plot'.

Regardless, Treowe couldn't find it in himself to be surprised at the confirmation of what he'd long suspected. Her mental trauma when compared to the male version of Hella Potter was obviously far worse and far more acute at that. Being a girl had undoubtedly done her no favors, especially since she didn't even truly look like her mother. While she had the bright green eyes that Lily and Harry had both had, she was closer to a female version of Harry Potter and James Potter than what Treowe remembered of some of the 'Fem!Harry' fanfics he'd read back in the day.

That had undoubtedly earned her no favors with her aunt, and the likelihood of her uncle and her cousin doing things to her as she grew up that a man would be more likely to do to a woman than another man was… high. Higher than Treowe liked to truly think about. Even just the verbal abuse was probably more weighted and heavier on Hella's soul then anything Harry had had to handle.

F.u.c.k. He was going to have to actually step in, wasn't he? The longer he held the still-crying witch to his chest, the longer he contemplated all she had been through and all that had probably happened to her when he wasn't even around to witness it… Treowe realized he was going to have to save this girl. He'd never been a particularly mean person to begin with. He had ambitions and plans, sure, and that had put him in Slytherin… but growing up surrounded by sisters hadn't led to a complex, it'd simply led to him being more compassionate.

And to think, everything had been going so well with his new life. He'd done his damnedest to avoid being drawn into the plot of the books. But no, he just had to give it a try. He just had to see if he was the worthiest student at Hogwarts, didn't he? And now the Goblet of Fire had spit out his name and Treowe's original plan of sandbagging the tasks so that he didn't end up getting Cedric Diggory'd at the end of the year was becoming more and more moot.

Perhaps whatever had brought him to this universe had gotten tired of him sitting on the sidelines, quietly learning more and more about magic. It was dragging his ass directly into the currents of destiny now, and there was nothing Treowe could do but go along with it. With a grunt, the young man reaches down and scoops up Hella Potter, just like that.

The smaller witch lets out a quiet eep, but rather than wiggle free as he shifts her into a bridal carry, she simply wraps her arms around his neck and then buries her face in the crook of it. She was far too light… or perhaps he was just too strong. It was actually quite easy to find the time in the day to get a workout in here at Hogwarts. Likely the only reason anyone at this school remained fat was that every meal was a damn feast made up of the heaviest foods known to man. Because just getting around to all of their classes beat the shit out of a Stairmaster alone.

As he held Hella Potter's too-small body close and began to carry her along, he spoke up, knowing from his experiences with his sisters that she'd likely appreciate him breaking the silence.

"Heiress Potter… Samhain really isn't a good day of the year for you, now is it?"

Her grip on him tightens, and she shakes her head into his shoulder, even as her sobs lighten up a bit, her focus turning towards hearing him speak rather than her own current, overwhelming issues.

"First you lost your parents to the Dark Lord…"

Bah, Grindelwald had been a true Dark Lord. Tom Riddle was a terrorist at best, a middling cult leader at worst. Still, he certainly had magic in spades, for all the good it did him when combined with the serious lack of brains. Treowe wonders briefly if the popular fan theory of Voldemort losing his ability to think rationally because of him splitting his soul so many times was right or not. Then he shakes his head, returning to the one-sided conversation at hand.

"Then, your first year here, you end up facing a Troll of all things. Safest place in all of Magical Britain my arse."

Hella shakes in his arms a little. Is she laughing, perhaps? Or more likely, she's laughing and crying at the same time. Treowe smiles slightly, even as he considers his own current big dilemma. Where was he going? He couldn't take her to the Slytherin dorms for incredibly obvious reasons. Nor was he going to take her to the Gryffindor dorms. Not only was he not intending on leaving her in her current state, he wouldn't likely get a word out before he was hexed for the mere crime of touching a crying Gryffindor, much less the Girl-Who-Lived, despite everyone in that House currently shunning her.

In the end, there was no choice but to use the Room of Requirement, so with that decided, Treowe started making his way up to the Seventh Floor, taking the long way around to avoid running into people.

"You took that Troll down, Heiress Potter. That was the first time I knew the stories weren't all completely shit. You might not have had all those crazy adventures they made up about you while you were growing up, but you do have the heart of a lion beating within your b.r.e.a.s.t, now don't you?"

He's speaking conversationally, but Treowe would have to be a fool not to feel her reactions, given he's currently holding her quite close to him. She's hanging off his every word, even as he pauses for a moment, watching the staircase before him shift about until its connected to the landing he wants to go to. Most puzzle video games weren't as complicated as Hogwarts had f.u.c.k.i.n.g turned out to be.

"… Then came second year, and the Heir of Slytherin. Obviously, it was never you. People can be so… small-minded. Especially in large groups. Still, being able to speak parseltongue is nothing to be ashamed of. It might have garnered a bad reputation here in the United Kingdom, but it is greatly valued in places such as Egypt, India, Africa, and elsewhere around the world. You could probably make a lucrative and exciting career out of nothing but translating what magical serpents across the globe are saying, given how rare the ability is."

By the time he's done speaking, Hella isn't hiding her face in his shoulder anymore. Instead, teary emerald eyes are staring up at him in honest curiosity and even a small amount of wonder. Treowe smiles down at her, even as he continues his journey to the Seventh Floor.

"It's no mark against you that you don't know about all of this. You would need to order books from outside of Britain to find any of this sort of stuff out. I can lend you a few later, so long as you promise not to let Granger set her eyes on any of them. She'd likely get them confiscated, like I heard she did with your broom last year."

Treowe lets out a sigh, even as Hella's eyes spark and harden at the reminder.

"Last year… last year was the Dementors. Let's not even get into that mess. No, let's talk about this stupid tournament instead."

"… Stupid?"

For the first time, Hella speaks up, her voice quiet but very notably surprised. Treowe grins down at her at that.

"Very stupid. Don't think I don't know that, and don't let anyone else try to convince you otherwise. The Triwizard Tournament was discontinued for a reason, Heiress Potter, and the fact that its been brought back without even a single attempt at revamping the rules and working more safeguards into the entire thing is a travesty of the highest order. Oh, but wizards do seem to love to look back on the past with rose-colored goggles several inches thick, don't they?"

He'd finally reached the painting of Barnabas the Barmy. As Hella considers and processes his words, Treowe paces back and forth before it, all while focusing his hardest on what he would need for the night to take care of the small slip of a girl in his arms. A bed, certainly. A bath as well. Clothes and various hygiene products were also a must. Anything else, Treowe knew he could call upon the House Elves for. He had an entire stable of elf names that he used whenever he needed their assistance, never making sure to call on the same one too many times in a row.

He had a great relationship with the House Elves of Hogwarts, a relationship he'd used his prior knowledge of this universe to forge and strengthen starting all the way back in his first year. That didn't mean he wanted the Professors or god forbid the Headmaster to catch onto how often he used Hogwarts' house elves for his personal issues though. He might just get banned from doing so. Or more likely, the House Elves would be ordered not to respond to his calls anymore.

The door to the Room of Requirement has appeared, and Treowe feels Hella stiffen in his arms as he reaches out and opens it, pushing his way inside. Whatever she might have said about the door not being there before catches in her throat when she sees the beautiful interior of the room. Even Treowe is impressed by what his imagination has wrought and left to wonder if perhaps the Room of Requirement had some sort of mind of its own that was inclined to spruce things up a bit.

Regardless, he doesn't let his own surprise give him pause like Hella does with hers. Instead, he makes a beeline towards the extravagantly large bed that takes up the center of the room, laying her down there and beginning to undress her. There's not an ounce of resistance in the small girl as he comments idly.

"You know, before you started coming here, it was rather nice and quiet. The worst that happened was the Weasley Twins' latest experiments, or particularly vicious Quidditch Matches between Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Treowe chuckles lightly at that, shaking his head as he continues.

"But every single year since you've arrived, its been one thing after another. Something you need to learn now is this; once is happenstance, twice is coincidence… but three times is enemy action. Someone is trying to kill you, Heiress Potter, and they've thrown all subtlety out the window with this latest attempt on your life. Why anyone can think you would have willingly put your name in the Goblet… well, it just goes to show how STUPID most of Hogwarts' residents truly are. Thing is, I-."

Whatever else he might have been planning to say dies on the Slytherin Sixth Year's lips as he finally manages to get Hella's robes over her head. He, like every other growing young wizard in Hogwarts walls knew full well that the voluminous robes could do quite a lot to hide the voluptuous figures of witches. He also knew that Hella Potter would have a skinny and small frame, her height rather public regardless of her robes, and her skinniness no doubt having to do with not getting enough food growing up.

But what he hadn't expected was for her to have the most spectacular pair of tits he's seen in his entire life. They honestly weren't all that large… but on Hella's small frame, they looked rather comical. Treowe couldn't help but stare, even as his mind slowly worked out the reasons behind the strange contradiction. She must have been eating quite a lot of Hogwarts, her body trying to make up for the three months of the year that she couldn't depend on reliable meals.

It seemed that had resulted in a sizable bust, barely contained by a rather unflattering beige bra which dug into her tits and was clearly pinching them. Without even thinking, Treowe's hands pulls down Hella's skirt to reveal a matching set of panties. Still staring, Treowe's trance-like gaze is only finally broken by Hella herself blushing and attempting to cover herself after she'd decided he'd stared too long.

Treowe catches her wrists and pulls them away, shaking his head as he finally looks into her eyes.

"No, none of that. There's no reason to hide your beauty, Heiress Potter. Though these garments do you no favor."

Wide green eyes stare up at him, even as Treowe realizes this is another way in which a female Savior of the Wizarding World would suffer more than a male. He could only imagine where Hella got her undergarments from, certainly not a place that catered to her… unique needs. Still, his words have the intended effect, and Hella offers no resistance yet again as he pulls off her bra and panties, tossing the beige underwear to the floor and pulling his wand for the first time since he spoke up. With a flick, he incinerates the unflattering garments, before clearing his throat.

"Binky!"

The House Elf that appears is not a Hogwarts House Elf. No, for this, Treowe has just summoned one of his House's personal elves across a great distance. Still, Binky came immediately, like a good elf should.

"Yes, Master?"

"Take Heiress Potter's measurements and borrow some of my sisters' underwear from the cleaned laundry that hasn't been put back yet. Close as you can get, if you please."

Binky bobs his head, looks at Hella for a moment, and then pops away, just like that. Hella stares after him, even as Treowe chuckles.

"Six sisters… he'll find something in your size, I hope."

Her gaze turns back to Treowe, just as the Reincarnated American is sitting down beside the n.a.k.e.d young woman. Hella seems hesitant, unsure… but also curious and intrigued. She doesn't actually seem that upset about him having stripped her down, which is quite the interesting reaction, in his opinion. It brings unsettling thoughts to mind about just how she'd been treated by the men in her life… all her life.

Pursing his lips together, Treowe doesn't reach out for her. Rather, he places a hand out, palm up and actually leans back from her.

"Heiress Potter. I don't pretend to know your life. I only have the smallest inkling of all the things you've been through. I did not bring you here to do anything you did not want to do. I have no desire to harm you, not when you've already suffered so much."

Treowe pauses, choosing his next words carefully.

"That said… consider this your choice to make, perhaps one of the first anyone has ever given you. If you wish it of me, I will gladly leave the room. You may make use of it for however long you want, no one will disturb you here. Binky will return with better-fitted underwear for you, and we may continue on as passing acquaintances from here on out."

Another pause, and then Treowe lays out his true desires.

"… However, if you will allow me to try, I will make this a Samhain you will never forget, Heiress Potter. Please, take my hand… or send me away."

There's a long moment of silence that passes between them. Hella seems to be staring at him almost searchingly, and though its difficult given how long he's kept his secrets, Treowe endeavors to keep his face as open and honest as possible so that she can see his intentions are true. In the end, something must have worked, because Hella reaches out and takes his hand, as he bade her.

Smiling, Treowe finally does lean in. The wizard kisses Hella gently but firmly, his lips pressing against hers even as his hands run down to her thighs and open her legs. She offers no resistance, but she's definitely more responsive then when he was stripping her n.a.k.e.d. Though its tentative and hesitant, Hella kisses him back, seeming to quite enjoy it.

Eventually though, he moves on, sliding his lips down off of hers and across her cheek, over her chin, towards the hollow of her neck. Treowe works his way down Hella's body, gently pushing her until she's laying back on the bed as he ghosts his lips over her pale, blemish-free flesh. Eventually, he reaches the groomed slit betwixt her thighs, and his tongue finally slips out from between his lips to push against her entrance.

What follows is a lesson in pleasure for one Hella Potter, her gasps and her m.o.a.ns and her lilting mewling noises telling Treowe exactly what works for her and what doesn't. He plays her like an instrument, and she in turn responds to him beautifully, making the most exquisite music. His hands slide up under the young woman, and he gropes Hella's ass, all while eating her out.

It doesn't take long for her to c.u.m. She squeals like she's never done so before, like it's the first orgasm she's ever experienced. Treowe honestly wouldn't be that surprised, though he does smirk a little when he pulls back and rises off the bed to get undressed as well, only to find Hella looking half-ready to pass out on the spot.

"Don't give up on me now darling… we're just getting started."

That brings her back into focus, and she stares at him with wide eyes, even as he pulls his boxers down, revealing a large c.o.c.k and a nice set of churning balls. Good genes and a magical potion regime from his first day of puberty had done him well, that was for sure. As he climbs back onto the bed, now just as n.a.k.e.d as her, Treowe is surprised when Hella reaches out, getting on her hands and knees and trying to return the favor.

She takes his c.o.c.k in her hands and places the head of it in her mouth. Her inexperience is obvious, but her desire to reciprocate the pleasure he gave her overcomes that as she bobs up and down on his c.o.c.k. In short order, Treowe is groaning, his fingers lacing through Hella's hair as he tilts his head back and simply enjoys the blowjob for what it is.

It's not long before he c.u.ms, filling her mouth with his seed. His first release is too much for her of course, overwhelming her a fair bit and leaving her with his spunk trailing down her chin and onto her b.r.e.a.s.ts as she coughs and pulls back. But after a moment of recovery, Treowe watches as Hella Potter scoops up his seed and slurps it down, seemingly unable to get enough of it.

Rather than get discouraged by her partial failure, Hella suddenly grows demanding, and Treowe just as suddenly finds himself on his back, with her on top of him, seeming to instinctively know exactly what she wants as she rubs her cunt lips against the underside of his c.o.c.k, which is now standing up straight before her. She takes hold of his c.o.c.k and seems almost fascinated by it, by the heat coming off of it, by the sheer size of him.

Treowe in turn grabs Hella by the h.i.p.s and slowly lifts her up, making his intentions to have her clear. However, he pauses when a wind begins to blow in a room that has no windows. He stops with his c.o.c.khead just slightly nestled inside of Hella's p.u.s.s.y lips when a heavy presence seems to fill the air around them. The words come to his lips without an ounce of prodding.

"… The Black Wind Howls, Heiress Potter…"

The Room of Requirement certainly does have a mind of its own, or there's something else controlling it right now, because the room changes in that instant from a place of opulence to a very clear ritual circle. Hella Potter's bright green eyes are positively glowing, and Treowe watches as she gazes off to the side, seeming to be listening to a voice only she can hear, seeing something only she can lay eyes on.

He's never put much stalk in the whole "Master of Death" thing himself, but he has always believed Harry Potter, and thus Hella Potter as well, to be favored or perhaps chosen by Death as its Champion. Given what had happened to her that Samhain night, given where her destiny would likely ultimately take her… Treowe's thought process cuts off as Hella abruptly begins to speak.

Not just speak though, the witch intones the following words, her voice reverberating through the room, and the ritual circle around them glowing bright with the magic of her words.

"I, Hella Lily Potter, demand of Magic this for the sacrifice of my v.i.r.g.i.nity on Samhain Night! That I will be loved! That I will be free of those who would control me! That I will never again be fooled by those who do not truly care for me! So mote it be!"

And then she drops herself down on his c.o.c.k, and Treowe grunts as Hella impales herself on his member, breaking right through her h.y.m.e.n and completing her end of the sacrifice. The wind wh.i.p.s into quite the frenzy, even as Hella herself falls forward, cupping Treowe's face in her hands and kissing him deeply. At the same time, something comes over the both of them. He can't even fully say what it is, only that he finds himself gripping Hella's h.i.p.s quite harshly a moment later, his own h.i.p.s thrusting up into her faster and faster and faster.

Not that the green-eyed witch is any less enthusiastic as she rides him harder than he could possibly have imagined her capable of. Her inner walls clench down and squeeze along Treowe's length, and he in turn fills her with his shaft over and over, pistoning upwards with all his might. Their bodies are as one, and he can feel it as Hella c.u.ms around his c.o.c.k again and again and again.

F.u.c.k.i.n.g Hella is like trying to hold onto a rocket in flight. But Treowe wouldn't take back a single one of his actions this night. It felt right, doing this. It felt completely and utterly RIGHT. Screw staying out of the main plot, screw trying to avoid getting drawn into things. Hella Potter needed him like no one else did, not even his sisters. He would have to be heartless to abandon her, so he simply wouldn't. At the same time, their tongues have long since intertwined and something passes between them that feels almost ethereal in nature as Treowe thinks all of this.

As he loses himself in the ritualistic f.u.c.k.i.n.g, the Reincarnated American's last coherent thought is one of amus.e.m.e.nt. Shitty cliched soul bonds better not be f.u.c.k.i.n.g real in this universe too.

Chapter 2

His eyes itched and for a moment, Treowe Morton rubbed at them to try and give them some relief. Then he remembered he was a wizard, and more than that, a learned wizard. A flick of his wand and a short murmur and the itchy irritation was gone completely, his eyeballs completely rejuvenated from pouring over the small printed lettering of the D&D book before him. With a sigh, Treowe slowly closes the book, revealing the title on its cover.

Draconomicon, Book of Dragons stares back at him as he looks down at it, running his fingers over the embossed lettering with a fond smile. Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps it was silly… but he couldn't help but be happy that one of his favorite books from his past life existed here in this universe as well, where magic and actual dragons prowled about in the dark spaces of the mundane world.

He also couldn't help but be hopeful that there might be some truth to the small English to Draconic dictionary located at the back of the book, the one he'd been perusing for hours now, trying to find the right combination of words to string into a sentence. It was the basis for but one of many plans in his scheming to get the golden egg away from whichever dragon he ended up going up against. The hope was that there would ultimately be… minimal danger to himself. Perhaps that was a pipe dream though… just like this book was likely a pipe dream.

Still, Treowe had heard legends and myths in both worlds, mundane and magical, about intelligent, speaking dragons that could wield magic. While their magnificent species had been reduced to nothing but particularly large, dangerous cattle, their existences ultimately that of living magical ingredients, Treowe couldn't help but wonder if some instinctive memory of the language still remained. After all, Hella could speak to and understand the speech of both magical and non-magical snakes.

Perhaps it was too much to think that a D&D book written by, as far as he knew, mundane men, would have knowledge of such a language, even if the dragons he knew truly existed in this world COULD speak still. That was okay though. Treowe wasn't the kind of person to go into anything with just one plan. If diplomacy failed, or more likely, was straight impossible, he still had the rest of his hand left to play.

Unfortunately, pretty much all of them revolved around first incapacitating the dragon thoroughly before attempting to retrieve the egg. Adventuring one-o-one and all that… always make sure the dragon is gone, preferably permanently, before looting it's hoard. To be perfectly honest, Treowe really wasn't sure if the dragon was more dangerous because they were placing a clutch of her eggs with the prize, or more dangerous because they were placing shining gold with a clutch of her eggs. It probably depended on the type of dragon, at the end of the day.

The stress of the tournament was undoubtedly weighing down on him though. The knowledge of what should happen versus what could happen… how was he supposed to know when to change the events he remembered and when to let them fall as they were supposed to? More than that, how was he supposed to anticipate the changes that his mere existence, his mere presence seemed to incite.

For starters, most of the school didn't hate Hella Potter's guts like he thought he remembered from the first go around. He believed most still thought she cheated to get in, and those same people believed her to be lying even now about putting her name in… however, whether it was because of him or something else he was forgetting, most of Gryffindor had rallied around her. He assumed it was in an effort to see a Slytherin like himself 'put in his place' or something.

Meanwhile, Ravenclaw was on the fence, while Hufflepuff was split between supporting her for the same reasons Gryffindor was and booing her for cheating to get in in the first place. In the end, Treowe could only assume that changing the house of Hella's opponent had altered things from what he thought he remembered. It had been obvious over the years he'd spent at Hogwarts just what the enflamed House Rivalries had done to the student body.

And that of course was made all the word by the House Cup and the House Points System in general. Morons, all of them. The entire system was just another way to keep the students that grossly outnumbered the teachers in line and obedient. And honestly? Treowe didn't fully mind that. Not only was this a school, a place of learning where the large majority of the students DID need to learn how to keep their heads down and simply follow instructions… it was a magical school on top of that. The dangers that came with students who got too full of themselves, who delved too deeply into the wrong sorts of magic… well, without firm discipline, they'd probably have a new wannabe Dark Lord every other week, rather than as infrequently as it already was.

The problem was with how the system was implemented… and the fact that such implementation made the entire thing so utterly pointless, no pun intended. With how blatantly Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore cheated the system in order to each get the outcomes they wanted, be it throughout the year as was his Head of House's wont, or end of the year as the Headmaster had seen fit to do ever since Hella arrived at Hogwarts, it'd simply gotten ridiculous in nature.

Even the student body as a whole was starting to catch onto that, ruining the entire system in the first place. If no one cared or respected the House Cup or House Points, it would all come crumbling down and Hogwarts would be just on the verge of anarchy. As Filch liked to say, Dumbledore had outlawed the more extreme forms of punishment, 'unfortunately'. That left just detentions, but if they had to resort to those for every single troublemaker, the professors themselves might just riot at being overworked… or, more likely, they'd let more and more bad behavior slide, in a school where bad behavior might escalate to grievous bodily harm or even death due to how dangerous magic could be.

Pushing himself up from the dining table, Treowe looks around the Room of Requirement and sighs. The Room truly was versatile, and even asking it for a dining table had brought one into existence with a pop. It couldn't do the same with true sustenance unfortunately but getting food from house elves was like taking water from a sink faucet.

The Room of Requirement had practically become a second home for he and his new… whatever Hella was to him, since that night weeks ago. There was so much to teach the powerful young witch, and not nearly enough time to do so. Once again, Treowe found himself pacing across the room as he considered the puzzle of Hella Potter's… ignorance again.

It really was a stressful topic, but luckily the Room of Requirement was good at providing some stress relief in the form of some very realistic mannequin targets, plucked right from his mind as it raced a mile a minute. Canon, Fanon, and HIS Reality were as much lining up together as they were fighting each other.

There were so many gaps in Hella's knowledge, and such a lack of what she should know. Treowe understood why of course, he knew her upbringing had left her without any knowledge of wizarding culture, of their manners and customs. She hadn't understood why he had called her Heiress Potter, she didn't even seem to understand what it meant to be a Potter. She had no idea of the wealth or responsibility she would likely inherit with her coming of age.

Unless this was one of the worlds where her father paupered the family in the fight against Voldemort. Or one of the worlds in which Dumbledore, as her magical guardian, simply stole from the coffers using his power and influence and his positions to fund certain things. Ah, but all that stunk of bad fanfiction. He didn't know what to believe, not anymore. It'd been a long time since he'd read the books even before he was reborn in this world. Not so long since he read Harry Potter fanfiction though…

Ultimately, what was real, what wasn't? He couldn't trust his own memories, could he? And yet… and yet he wanted to help Hella all the same. F.u.c.k, the girl hadn't ever even seen her own family's Coat of Arms until he'd had a book brought from home by his house elf! It reeked of the manipulative mentor plot, which if he recalled correctly, was canon, even if Dumbledore ultimately was benign. He was also just an idiot with stupid plans.

The knowledge Hella DID have revolved mostly around spells she'd learned from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Made sense, really. While her first DADA Professor had been a stuttering fool with a specific reason for keeping her weak, and her second had been a bumbling idiot with a penchant for mind-wipe spells, her third year had been under a learned man like Remus Lupin, while her fourth year was currently under Moody… or as close as Moody as they would get until the end of this damn tournament.

There was the thought of revealing Crouch Jr. early. Would it thwart Voldemort's plans, or would he simply call more servants to him and demand they help in Bart's place? That was what stayed Treowe's hand. The fear of the unknown, it left him… a little stressed out, to be sure. Still, Hella knew spells that would help her fight and help her defend herself. She was very good with the Patronus as well.

On top of that, she had power to spare, and could pick up magic rather quickly once he walked her through each spell. It was… rather humbling to watch her overpower the spells she was just now learning, able to cast them with a greater strength than even he could after years of practice. Heh, damn protagonist powers…

A weapon rack appears beside him quite suddenly, causing Treowe to glance at it as his eyes slide over the usual castle armaments. Sword, mace, axe, polearm, bow… he then looks away as mannequin targets appear in a row, one by one. A second later, Treowe's wand is in his hand and the gaudy robe of the very realistic Dumbledore dummy is now on fire with barely a thought.

He vaguely recalled something about that from the Evil Overlord List he'd once read. Something about dressing in bright and cheerful colors to fool one's enemies. Did that mean Dumbledore truly was evil? F.u.c.k if he knew. He didn't trust the old man as far as he could throw him though…

As the Dummy Dore burns up, Treowe takes up the bow and a quiver of arrows appears on his back as he draws one and takes aim at the next target. Malfoy's frozen face looks back at him, and the blonde ponce is dressed in Slytherin robes, which are in turn covered in those stupid buttons. Seems that more than a few people had discarded him, if the amount that have found their way to the Room of Requirement are any indication. They all currently show POTTER STINKS in glowing orange, every last one.

If, and it was a big if, if Malfoy had actually created these buttons by himself, it would easily be the most impressive thing he'd ever done in his years at Hogwarts. Treowe snorts derisively at the idea and lets his arrow fly as it skewers through a button right over Malfoy's heart, before sinking deeply into the mannequin itself.

Luckily, it hadn't taken much to get out of having to wear one himself, as well as once again reminding Malfoy of his inadequacies. Ever since Hella had spurned the Noble Scion's offer in the first year, there had been bad blood between the two of them. And when there was bad blood between two heirs to two noble houses, it was a little more serious then two school kids having a simply rivalry. Treowe knew that now, from his own upbringing.

Of course, that's not to say he thought she should have taken Malfoy's hand on that very first train ride and accepted his help. If she had, there was a very good chance the Malfoys as a whole would have their claws sunk into her by this point, and where Hella Potter would be by now, Treowe couldn't even begin to wonder. Regardless, it didn't change the fact that Malfoy felt slighted and wrong and Hella didn't even realize what she'd done.

If Draco had realized this to begin with, if he'd realized that Hella wasn't actually snubbing him as Heiress Potter, but simply an eleven-year-old girl skeeved out by his creepy, piss-poor attitude, he could have just pretended it never happened and saved quite a lot of face. Instead, he'd assumed the worst and reacted accordingly… by trying to damage the behemoth that was the Girl-Who-Lived's reputation, year after year in whatever way he could.

Problem was, year after year, Hella came out looking better than she did before. This year was the first where anyone other then the Slytherins truly hated her, and even that was just Malfoy seizing on an opportunity. Treowe had had to remind his fellow Slytherin of that when Malfoy walked up to him in the common room and tried to hand him one of the pins, before slyly showing him the special feature with a wide grin on his face.

In front of their entire house, Treowe had laid out Draco Malfoy's obsession with the Potter girl, he'd laid out the actions he knew Draco had taken each year to try and get Hella in trouble, only to either get in trouble with her, or fail entirely. He'd lambasted the Malfoy Scion before their entire house, and then he'd left off by telling Draco that until he came up with something more worthwhile then a pin with which to discredit the Potter Heiress, he should quit waiting Treowe's time.

… The Malfoy mannequin is a pincushion by now and Treowe's quiver is empty as he lets out an audible sigh. That last bit might have been a mistake on his part, if he's being honest. Telling Malfoy to up his game had the potential to backfire spectacularly. After all, in two years when Malfoy did up his game in canon, he got f.u.c.k.i.n.g Dumbledore killed and essentially helped to kickstart the Dark Lord's second rise.

But Treowe had a reputation of his own to uphold. While being named Hogwarts Champion gave him QUITE a lot of credit with his fellow Slytherins, he was well-aware that the fastest way to lose that credit was to be seen defending Hella Potter overly much. There would come a time when he'd have to decisively pick a side, and he had no doubts about who he would side with, but for now… House Slytherin was useful, and he would continue to wring them dry of their usefulness until he could do so no more.

Letting out another deep sigh, Treowe drops his bow to the ground as well as the empty quiver, reminded in an instant of some of the more… questionable lessons taught at Hogwarts. Specifically, the treatment of 'animals'. While Hagrid did his best, the culture that was promoted and thus permeated through the wizarding world's younger generation was a simple one. Normal animals existed for their amus.e.m.e.nt, while magical animals existed to be turned into magical ingredients. Muggles, as they called them here, were at beast treated as little more than clever animals.

Those were the sorts of ethics taught at Hogwarts, and they wondered why they continued to have so many problems years later. Why in the hell did they even need to learn a spell that turned a hedgehog into a pincushion? When would any of them ever have a hedgehog on hand to replace said missing pincushion. He couldn't help but hate any transfiguration class that involved turning a living creature into an inanimate object.

Rolling his shoulders, Treowe considers the last of the three mannequins that the room had summoned for him. Professor Snape, a man he'd visualized dying in a great many ways over the years. Some of which would be quite easy to pull off in a place like Hogwarts, though Treowe wasn't foolish enough to ignore the fact that Snape was an accomplished wizard.

He couldn't act on any of his plans, unfortunately, even the ones most likely to succeed. His father and himself were the only male members of the Morton Family left after the war, and after his Uncle Thomas had been gored and devoured by the Bicorn Herd for breaking the Pact. That was the reason his part of the family had been elevated to the Lordship in the first place. His Uncle, the late Lord Thomas Morton, had been left with no heirs save for Treowe's father.

There always had to be a Lord Morton, or the Bicorn herds would be lost. Luckily his father was a better man, a better father, and most important of all, a better husband than his uncle had ever been. But even still, if anything were to happen to the current Lord, Treowe had to be ready to take up the mantle at a moment's notice, meaning he couldn't risk his life or his freedom for anything like a bit of premeditated murder.

So, for now the Death Eater bastard remained alive. For now, he was allowed to continue his yearly torment of three-fourths of the student body, and his consistent degradation of the wizarding world's younger generations. Why no one had noticed that Snape had done more damage to the last two generations of wizards and witches by just being his loathsome self then even Voldemort had managed in his short reign was... well, no. It wasn't beyond Treowe. In fact, he had a pretty good idea of why no one noticed. Dumbledore.

Gritting his teeth, Treowe picks up the axe from the weapon's rack and tests its weight for a moment before hurling it end over end towards its target. A burst of satisfaction fills him as the bladed head of the weapon buries itself in the mannequin's chest and topples it over onto it's back. He felt… better now. But then, physical action, even if it was a simulation, always did help him relieve stress.

With but a thought to the Room, the weapon's rack and destroyed mannequins disappear, and Treowe settles down at the table once more, ready to return to studying for the First Task. It wasn't long now, after all… soon, within days, he would be fighting a dragon… no pressure.

-x-X-x-

When Hella finally walked into the Room of Requirement, Treowe was in the middle of reading the latest story in the day's Daily Prophet. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, but earlier at the feast he'd had to hide his big, shit-eating grin at the sight of Rita Skeeter finally being reported missing within the very rag she'd written so many libelous pieces for. Her coworkers were having a field day suggesting unfortunate fates that the intrepid reporter might have suffered.

… She really should have quick while she was behind. After he'd taken her Quick-Quotes Quill and incinerated it at the Wand-Weighing Ceremony, after he'd pointed out the multitude of hit pieces she'd written on a multitude of different wizards and witches with promising careers in front of them, he'd started a chain of 'No Comment' from every Champion in the room.

Obviously, Rita hadn't liked that much. But you'd think given her years as an animagus, she'd have known better than to hide her large beetle form in a witch's robes… no matter how famous and juicy a prospect that witch is. Unlike Hermione, Hella hadn't known what she was doing. Rather than being caught in a jar for the better part of a year, Rita… well, they would certainly never find the body.

And Treowe… Treowe would never tell Hella that she'd killed the detestable woman. The Potter Heiress didn't need that weighing on her. He could carry it with him instead. Tossing the Daily Prophet down on the table and stretching, Treowe yawns as Hella walks in. Only a loud bang alerts him to her current… mood.

A glance over shows Hella is pacing back and forth, her hair alive in its movement, reminding him of a cat all ruffled and fluffed up, both in irritation and warning. Treowe remains still upon seeing this, very still indeed while he watched the Potter Scion mutter mundane curses under her breath, gripping her wand with a furiously shaking hand. The hairs on the back of his neck are raised, and he can practically taste the palpable rage coming off of her. He CAN taste the magic. One of the more obvious changes after the Samhain ritual in which they'd sacrificed her v.i.r.g.i.nity.

A mannequin suddenly appears, only to get blasted across the Room of Requirement as quickly as it shows up, breaking into parts as it impacts the wall, shredded particularly violently by Hella's screamed Reducto. The next one to appear a moment later bursts into flames and melts down as she shrieks out the Blasting Charm. The one after that is sent into the opposite wall again with a geyser strength casting of Aguamenti, the surge stripping away any details of the target.

Several more mannequins are summoned and summarily dispatched in inventive ways before he finally gets a glimpse at the target of Hella's wrath. A severed head bounces across the room before rolling to a stop by his feet. Treowe stares down into the snide, frozen features of one Ronald Weasley. The word 'Parasite' immediately comes to mind from an old game he'd once placed in another life, another world.

A Man Builds. A Parasite asks, 'where's my share?'. All of his brothers before him had come up with goals early on in their lives and then strived towards them with purpose that had seen those goals mostly achieved. Curse-Breaker, Dragon Handler, Ministry Stooge… even the twins had their jokes and their pranks, and advance knowledge told Treowe they would turn that into a profitable business venture one way or another, even without Hella's gold. It would just take them longer.

But Ronald Weasley… perhaps it was just his bias. Perhaps he wasn't giving the boy a fair shake. It didn't change how he felt though. Ron Weasley had always come across as a parasite to him. Both from his memories and from what he'd seen these past few years from afar. The ginger boy seemed utterly content to ride on Hella's coattails and stuff his face in the Great Hall.

As Hella exhausts herself in the moment, having rendered her voice hoarse with both shrieked spells and unintelligible screams, Treowe finally rises from his seat and slowly approaches her, making sure that she seems her coming before he finally closes the distance and carefully plucks her wand from her still-shaking hands.

Hella's face is flushed with both rage and embarrassment, and there are streams of tears running down her cheeks. With a sigh, Treowe pulls the shaking Potter Heiress into a hug, her rage clearly spent as she loudly and openly sobs into his clothes. Too many years of holding it in, as far as he could tell. Too many years of having to put on a brave face, of never letting the emotions inside of her break free. It seemed to be catching up with her now that she had a safe space in the form of him and this room. It all seemed to be catching up with her.

"H-He… HE KNEW, Treowe! They ALL knew!"

She wails that after a moment, and Treowe frowns, even as he runs a hand through her hair, watching it slowly become less frazzled and less puffy, returning to a straight and smooth state, the way he preferred it. It was a bad sign that the only time she literally and figuratively let her hair down was around him, but at least she could now DO so after a little practice. While he had a good idea of the cause to her distress, Treowe asks anyways.

"Who? What happened, Hella?"

"Weasley!"

Her voice is a hiss with such venom, such vitriol that Treowe would have thought she was talking about Malfoy if his hearing were worse.

"You were right! He knew… he knew about the dragons! C-Cause he had to, you see? His brother, Charlie is here in the Forbidden Forest, taking care of them! And he didn't tell me! He didn't tell me at all! None of those damn gingers did! I had to hear it f-from you, a-and then from H-Hagrid!"

Treowe presses his lips together as he strokes Hella's locks and considers her words. Obviously, he knew that Hagrid's warning had actually come from Ron. But it didn't absolve the boy of his true nature, not in Treowe's eyes. So, he remains quiet, even as Hella goes on to curse Ronald and the rest of the Weasleys, after all they'd been through together.

He listens as she recounts their adventures, as she tells him all she'd done, all they'd done together, only to be betrayed now. And he revels, silently and inwardly of course, in the knowledge that he'd started this schism. It was for the best, in his mind. The Weasley Family had plenty of good eggs, sure. But with everything so close to what he thought he knew but at the same time completely out of whack, Treowe wasn't sure what to believe about anyone anymore.

The young man could only trust himself with Hella… which meant to help her, he had to cut the ties that bound her to those he wasn't sure were using her or not. The funny thing was, he hadn't even needed to fabricate a reason for his past knowledge, as he'd found out about the dragons on his own, quite legitimately.

He'd first spotted the Dragon Handlers while feeding the Thestral herd on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Thank you, Uncle Thomas for THAT ability. Watching your uncle get gored and devoured wasn't something Treowe would wish on anyone, but the memory DID have its uses, and there was something to be said about the magical death horses and keeping a good relationship with THEM as well.

Regardless, that wasn't even all of it! The House Elves in the Hogwarts Kitchens, where he tended to take every meal that wasn't a mandatory attendance in the Great Hall, had taken quite a liking to him. So yes, they'd told him all about the Dragons they were tasked with transporting food to each night… because no one in charge had thought to tell them not to.

And then of course, there was his Head of House, who'd volunteered him for a joint-mission into the Forbidden Forest to gather potion ingredients. Despite his hatred for Snape, Treowe was well-versed in deception by the time he arrived at Hogwarts. He knew not to let his true feelings show. As a matter of course, he and his Head of House had a shockingly good relationship, at least on the outside. Whether Snape actually liked him or just saw him as a tool to be used, Treowe didn't know or care… the greasy Professor would never be HIS friend… and would likely ALWAYS be his enemy.

That said, Snape led him into the Forbidden Forest, and after a bit of a roundabout, they'd arrived at where they were keeping the dragons, with Snape barely even trying to keep his satisfaction at revealing the first task to Treowe hidden behind his apologetic words, even as he swore his student to secrecy. Of course, Treowe had immediately gone and told Hella. Snape probably hadn't expected that, or he would have used an ACTUAL magical oath to keep Treowe's silence.

In the end, Treowe had a plan for breaking Hella away from the influence of the Weasley Family… permanently. This was but the first step of that plan, with intentions to convince her that Ron and Ron alone was to blame for keeping her so ignorant. Later though. Later. Now was when he needed to be there for Hella, now was when she needed him most.

"F-F.u.c.k me…"

At first, he assumes that now would be a bad time to joke about that being an offer. But then he looks down and realizes Hella is staring up at him as she presses and rubs her sizable bust into his chest, her eyes swirling with hurt and l.u.s.t and desire, biting her lower lip needily.

"M-Make… make me forget that my first friend in this world was willing to send me up against a C-Class Five Magical C-Creature without even o-offering me a warning solely because h-he's a JEALOUS GIT!"

Perhaps if he was a better person, he wouldn't take advantage of Hella in this vulnerable moment. But despite his burgeoning love for her, Treowe is still just a growing young wizard… and his erection pressing against her body tells Hella all she needs to know on what his subconscious thinks of the idea. Now giving the frozen young man a sultry sort of grin, or at least an attempt at one, Hella further entices him by pulling away just enough to take off her panties, a dark green pair that had come via his sisters.

She holds them up, showing off her wetness for a moment, her eyes still full of need and arousal and desire as she then steps away from him entirely. The bench is pushed away from the dining table a moment later, and her panties are left bunched in one hand as Hella bends herself over said table, reaching back and simply hiking up her skirt to show off her now-bare bottom as she wiggles it back towards him.

"D-Do it, you Slytherin B-Brute… f.u.c.k me! Curl my toes and make me see stars! Make me forget all about this shitty-ass d-day!"

In the face of such primal need, Treowe wasn't about to say no. Especially not with how plump Hella's behind was starting to grow, a proper potion regimen doing wonders. His c.o.c.k is out of his robes and his pants in moments, and he walks up behind the bent over witch, grabbing hold of her h.i.p.s without pause and simply thrusting into her.

Hella lets out a loud m.o.a.n in the face of her penetration, and her hands come back around to her front to claw at the glossy surface of their dining table. At the same time, her insides clench and squeeze along his c.o.c.k, tightening all around his member as if to try and hold him in place. Of course, that's not about to happen. A determined look on his face, Treowe begins to give Hella exactly what she's asked for… a nice, harsh pounding.

"Yes! Just like that Treowe, just like that! F-f.u.c.k!"

He responds with nothing but grunts, even as he stares down at where their bodies are joined together with a single-minded focus. His c.o.c.k buries itself inside of her cunt again and again and again, and its not long before every last inch of his massive meat rod is fully hilted within her, each thrust leaving her pale booty to jiggle with the force of his crotch smacking up against it.

The Room of Requirement is filled with the noises of intense, rough, primal s.e.x as Treowe f.u.c.ks the bent over witch with all his might, plowing a fellow noble scion from behind like she's nothing but a cheap whore. It's exactly what Hella seems to need, given how she begs for more… and how quickly she reaches her first climax.

"YEEEEESSS!"

Hella's head tilts up towards the ceiling and she screams out her pleasure quite loudly, even as Treowe pauses for a moment, feeling the way her insides grip at him all the more harshly, enjoying the ease with which he can make her c.u.m. Grinning slightly, Treowe rears back a hand and smacks one side of her booty with a palm, drawing a throaty m.o.a.n from Hella as she hangs her head once more, focusing on pushing her h.i.p.s back towards his pistoning prick, even as her legs tremble.

"M-More… more, you bastard! F.u.c.k.i.n.g give it to me!"

She all but snarls out the order, and Treowe isn't intending to disappoint. Reaching out, he grabs a fistful of Hella's animated hair, feeling her locks lash around his hand and even up his arm a bit as he pulls back. She gasps as her back arches and her insides squeeze down around his c.o.c.k tightly once again. With that grip secure, Treowe once more begins to thrust, f.u.c.k.i.n.g Hella Potter from behind with even greater force than before, using his hold on her hair to drag her head back even as he pushes his entire length forward into her tight, sopping wet cunt.

Her throaty cries fill the room as she c.u.ms again and again around his c.o.c.k. Her eyes roll around in her head, and her words become all but unintelligible, turning to m.o.a.ns and mewls and shrieks of pleasure as he draws all sorts of interesting noises from her. No one will hear them. No one will come looking for the source of the sounds coming from the Room of Requirement. One of the 'requirements' that Treowe always makes sure to think on as he creates the room before each time that they use it is soundproofing.

Its just the two of them, and no one else… and it's clear that Hella knows this, or she just doesn't care, because she's REALLY letting loose right now. Her fingers have carved small grooves into the glossy wood beneath her, and her entire body is shaking and spasming as she tries her best to continue pushing back into his thrusting c.o.c.k.

In the end, he does as she asked of him. He makes her see stars, he curls her toes. He causes her to collapse forward, m.o.a.ning pitifully, everything before now likely forgotten through a haze of pleasure, her eyes glazed over. And only when she's had enough does Treowe let loose inside of her, filling the Potter Heiress' w.o.m.b to the brim with his seed and pulling out only once he's done.

Afterwards, he scoops her up and carries her off to the large bed he'd taken her v.i.r.g.i.nity on, all those nights ago. Just like that night, he sets about undressing her, slowly taking the time to show her that she is loved and cared for as she stares up at him the entire while with an unreadable expression. Then, he strips his own clothes off.

His intention is to do whatever she wants to do, whether that's cuddle and bask in the afterglow or sleep, or something else. As it turns out, its something else, because by the time he gets to her, n.a.k.e.d as she is and starts to climb onto the bed, Hella's hand slips out and she grabs him by the c.o.c.k, dragging him down between her legs again, pushing his c.o.c.khead up against her sticky, leaking p.u.s.s.y lips. Treowe takes over the rest of the way, pushing slowly but completely into her, filling her up with his length and displacing some of his seed in the process.

Chuckling as he leans over her, slowly beginning to make tender love to her, Treowe grins down at Hella as she bites her lower lip.

"Suppose I'll be spending the day before Thanksgiving stuffing a bird after all."

Hella lets out a half-laugh, half-sob at that, and then drags him down into a deep, passionate kiss as the two of them happily embrace, holding each other tightly and rocking back and forth slowly and sensually, their rough, fast-paced rutting from before replaced with lovemaking as they simply enjoy one another to the fullest extent possible.

-x-X-x-

Hours later, the two of them are still n.a.k.e.d and still laid out on the bed. Though perhaps 'still' isn't the right word. With Hella resting with her back against his bare chest, and her head nestled under his chin as they laid there studying the movements of various dragons, Treowe couldn't help but smile as matching satisfied rumbles leave their bellies.

Behind them lay the remains of their private feast, along with a few potion vials. It was a food massacre that had resulted from the aftermath of their marathon s.e.x and their immense appetites. Hella had done even greater damage than he to the food population… it might never, ever recover. Meanwhile, off to the side what had been a recessed tub of hot water has long gone cold after being used for their bath. Or more accurately, baths, because there had been multiple attempts to clean up before they'd finally stopped being distracted by one another's bodies and ACTUALLY got clean.

Now, they were back on the bed, lounging and resting. Treowe's long arm reaches out and snatches up another fresh, hot and gooey strawberry tart off of the tray that made the trip with them and brings it to Hella's mouth. Her nostrils flare with desire, even as she whines in a mocking tone.

"You're going to make me fat at this rate, Treowe…"

But she opens her mouth nonetheless and bites into the tart again and again as he feeds it to her, even going so far as to lick his fingers of any leftover crumbs or jelly when its good and gone like those that had been sacrificed to his black-haired goddess before it. Chuckling at her words, Treowe can't help the genuine smile that spreads across his face. It was a good sign that she was even willing to make comments about her body image like that.

His other hand moves from cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t to stroking her belly as he leans in and nibbles at her ear for a moment before speaking.

"You are a witch, Hella… and a metamorphmagus at that. It would take far more than regular meals and some delicious treats to make you fat."

Hella sighs and leans back into him like a particularly satisfied cat as he continues to massage her tummy, soothing her worries and hopefully taking her mind off of the idea of becoming a female version of her male relatives. His private correspondence with two of his sisters, Leala and Shelbie, had been illuminating. After the Potion Mistress and Medi-Witch respectively had seen Hella's current weight, height, and measurements, they'd both agreed she was underweight and stunted in height for her age, with too much fat building up unhealthily in the wrong areas.

Treowe's hand traces off of Hella's tummy for a moment down to her h.i.p.s and bum, fully believing that her growing curves were the work of the potions and food that she'd been assigned by his siblings. General Nutrient Potions and Hogwarts food would have to do until he could sneak her out of the school during Christmas Break for a FULL examination.

"Besides… you can just shift around the excess mass later as you like."

He threw that out kind of randomly, not knowing it for a fact, but also having found from research that there was really no such thing as a FAT metamorphmagus. The magic had to be capable of some extraordinary things, with that in mind. Hell, she could probably do it right now if she really wanted to… but much of Hella's focus was currently on the internal muscles of her anus, what with his c.o.c.k buried up her ass.

A groan slips from Treowe's mouth as Hella bites her lip, very clearly purposefully trying to milk another release from his c.o.c.k. Her back door ripples along the length of his rod, while at the same time keeping him trapped nice and snug within her. Chuckling at her antics once more, Treowe fetches another tart and Hella happily eats it, this time without comment. Truly, they really didn't have the energy for any more s.e.x.u.a.l activity then this… not right now.

Suddenly, Hella goes still in his hold.

"The Hungarian Horntail…"

She breathes out the name, and Treowe's eyes slide up to where one of the dragon portraits moves outwards from all the others at her call. It expands, likely on Hella's mental command, showing the two of them the fully glory of the dragon that either might have to face tomorrow. It was the one Harry had fought in canon, but Hella wasn't Harry and he wasn't Cedric Diggory.

At the same time, Treowe doubted that either of their luck was good enough that one of the other Champions would end up facing that monster. It would be one of them… almost definitely. Sighing, Treowe presses into Hella from behind as he pulls her against his body all the tighter, causing the young witch's breath to hitch. At the same time, he strokes her hair and speaks quietly.

"Remember our plans… and the emergency tactic, alright? If all else fails, if it gets really dire, dive for the dragon handlers or the judges. I personally suggest using the Headmaster as a human shield. If he wants to fight see a wizard or witch fight that damn monster, why not make it him, right?"

Hella nods into his chest, even as she mewls a little at the feeling of his throbbing prick inside of her. Treowe just smiles. He's spent a lot of time building up her distrust of authority figures. The Headmaster in particular had proven to be a difficult goal, until he'd let it slip that both Dumbledore and Snape could read minds and showed her the actual passage on what a Legimens was and how to protect against it.

"… Hopefully Hogwarts won't be the front stage for the re-enactment of Smaug's Destruction of Laketown."

It was said in jest, but he also knew full well that it could happen. A single C.o.c.katrice had ended the last Tri-Wizard Tournament with a massacre, and that'd been nothing but a nice, comparatively safe Class Four Magical Creature. With his foreknowledge of this world so uncertain at this point, Treowe was trying his best not to leave anything to chance… but there was always a possibility that it all went to shit. That he died, that she died…

Hella's head has whipped around and she's looking at him with incredulity in her face and her voice.

"You've read the Hobbit?"

Treowe grins, even as he finds himself wondering how SHE read the Hobbit. Images of her sneaking a discarded book away to her closet under the stairs after her cousin decided he didn't want it fill Treowe with rage that he has to push down and not let show outwardly, even as he nods.

"Yes, someone, likely a muggleborn, has stuffed a copy in the History section of the Hogwarts Library. Madam Pince keeps putting it back there, though whether she's just daft or actually has a strange sense of humor that none of us have ever seen, I couldn't tell you."

Hella stares at hi for a few more moments before breaking down into laughter at the sheer hilarity of what he's told her. Best of all, its true. Treowe just smiles wider still and holds himself back from continuing on. She would probably lose it if he told her that he had a Super Nintendo in one of the magic-less vacation homes his family owned.

It took the young witch a while, but eventually her laughter subsided. Taking a few deep breathes, Hella nibbles at her lower lip and wiggles her bum against him before looking up at him with clear desire.

"One more time… for luck."

It's half-statement, half-request. Nodding slightly, Treowe takes one last deep breath and holds her tight. Already on his back, he raises up his knees and spreads her legs wide. His hands cup Hella's large, soft b.r.e.a.s.ts as the witch m.o.a.ns, and he begins to thrust up into her ass as she in turn bounces up and down on his c.o.c.k quite happily, m.o.a.ning and then screaming her ecstasy into the air within minutes.

Neither of them wants this to end, but both of them know that it just might. Their lives hang in the balance of what happens next… and they might lose each other before the First Task is done and gone with. It didn't happen in canon, and Treowe can hope it doesn't happen here, but at the end of the day, he's nothing if not a pragmatist.

One last f.u.c.k before they went to face their fates…