Harry Potter.
I used to date Harry Potter. It was ten years after Voldemort fell. I was spending a year in London working at Flourish and Blott’s. I can’t remember how I wrangled an invitation— a friend of a friend, I think.
I saw him early in the evening. He smiled at me and I looked away. Even among American wizards, he’s famous, and I’m never one to fawn over celebrities. Perhaps that’s because I’ve had so many of them inside me. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Anyway.
I was standing innocently beside the refreshment table, trying to decide between a Chocolate Frog and a handful of Bertie Bott’s when I heard a whisper on my neck.
“Pumpkin pasty?”
I turned and there he was, scar and all.
“It seems the Boy Who Lived is no longer a boy at all,” I said.
He laughed and that pleased me.
“Good of you to notice. Not everybody does. Guess there’s no need for introductions, but I’m Harry, and you are delightful.”
He offered his hand. I bent mine into his and he kissed it.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” I replied. “I feel as if I should thank you.”
“I’ll take it, certainly. What for?”
I tried not to notice that the scar did not diminish his handsome features. It enhanced them, if anything.
“For saving the wizarding world, of course.”
There are things you never hear about legends. You never hear that they’re suave and clever and could get your back on a mattress in twenty minutes flat. The stories speak of adventure and duels and Great Plans thwarted or successful. They leave out the marital problems and the wandering eyes. His ginger wife was nowhere to be seen. There’s no name or face as famous as Harry’s in all the wizarding world and no story more familiar, yet he still somehow surprised me.
We spent the next three weeks nude in my flat, uttering spells filthier than any Unforgivable.
He made promises, as men do. Especially married men.
“I’ll leave her,” he’d say. “I’ll move us to America and I’ll ravish you six times a day. We’ll never be part of stories or legends again. We’ll leave it all behind and we’ll travel and experice anything and everything the world has to offer.”
“Promises, promises,” I’d say, brushing him off. Although secretly, I believed him.
Eventually, it all came crashing down, as it always does. I was sucking him off in my kitchen when he said, “Stop.”
I paused, my mouth full of cock.
“Ginny’s pregnant.”
I knew instantly he wasn’t stating a fact, he was ending it, breaking every promise he ever made me. I knew I would never see him again.
I bit his dick. Hard.
There was screaming, there was shouting, there were tears. Then he left. As for his dick, he had it Healed, of course.
Magic can be useful like that.
