Commission 3 - Unbound: Part 1

Commission 3

Unbound - Part 1

Fandom: Harry Potter

For: SaltyIslander

Series Tags: Submissive (by choice) Harry Potter, Dominant Ginny Weasley, Male Chastity, Denial, Orgasm Denial, Teasing, Humiliation, Pegging, Femdom, Cuckold, Consensual Infidelity, Hotwife, Bratty Dom Victoire Weasley

Chapter Tags: Submissive Harry Potter, Dominant Ginny Weasley, Male Chastity, Denial, Orgasm Denial, Teasing, Femdom, Male Anal Play, Male Cum Swallowing (own)

The Burrow had always thrummed with noise and life during the summer hols, but tonight's BBQ was something else entirely. The garden buzzed with a liveliness that hadn’t been seen since they’d all gathered to celebrate her parent’s 50th wedding anniversary. Tables groaned under the weight of food, children ran wild through the paddocks, and enchanted fairy lights flickered lazily above like tiny, Golden Snitches. 

But tonight wasn’t just another Sunday evening gathering—it was a send-off.

Ginny Potter, star Chaser and captain of the Holyhead Harpies, for the next month, would be incommunicado.

Pre-season training. The kind that was normally gruelling, but bearable. This year? Draconian.

The rules had been laid out in a painfully formal letter that still sat, crumpled, in her locker. No partners. No nights off. No distractions. One letter a week, and only for those in committed relationships. 

It was like the bloody army—and all because of the incident during the last pre-season training camp.

To call it ridiculous barely scratched the surface. The press had hounded them for weeks after that debacle, blaming the off-pitch antics of a few players for yet another failed title run.

And the part that rankled Ginny the most?

The press weren’t entirely wrong to think that.

Ginny let out a long breath through her nose as she stretched and leaned back against the rickety chair, absently picking at the label in the cold butterbeer in-hand. 

Imagine if the press saw me drinking this? They'd go mental…

She wasn’t thrilled about spending four weeks away from Harry—the thought of sleeping alone in a shitty hotel bed and not in her husband’s arms always put her in a bitchy mood—but she couldn’t argue with the decision. 

Standards had slipped. Results had suffered, and as captain, she shared a decent amount of the blame.

The fallout had been brutal.

Luckily, Ginny was saved from most of the vitriol—being the best player in the league gave one a certain amount of privilege. 

The same couldn’t be said for the others.

Lucinda Peregrine—the Harpies' iron-clad matriarch and long-time owner—had stepped down under fan pressure. Her daughter had assumed control amid the chaos, and while Ginny didn’t know much about the enigmatic heiress, she hoped a freshening up of the ownership would breathe fresh life into the club. As the Harpies’ highest earner, she’d made it a priority to get to know the woman, but Blair Peregrine had remained as mysterious as she was elusive. 

Guess I’ll meet her tomorrow…

The gaffer had resigned under a cloud, and both McCabe and Donnovan hadn’t had their contracts renewed. Quietly cut. No ceremony.

Good riddance.

Ginny and Harry had both thought it harsh on Hayes. The manager had been out of her depth, yes, but a lot of the drama came down to the Seeker and Keeper being wrapped up in some adolescent love triangle that played out on the pitch like a bad soap opera.

Once more, Ginny reprimanded herself. She should’ve stepped in sooner. Put her foot down. 

I should have grabbed those miserable cunts by the throats and smashed their empty heads together. Harry reckons it worked a treat for footballers back in the ‘90s…

Ginny cracked a smile at the memory of that story, but it quickly shifted to a smirk as her gaze flicked across the garden. Her sisters-in-law were nearby, glasses of icewine in hand as they too observed the admittedly hilarious scene.

The target of their focus?

Victoire Weasley.

The gorgeous little tart had made an effort tonight, more than her cousins certainly. Her platinum-blonde hair was curled to perfection, her lips glossed to a shine, and the slinky sundress she wore clung so perfectly to her body it looked like it had been charmed into obedience. It dipped low across her chest, just enough to show off the delicate curves of her humble cleavage and the attractive plane of her decolletage and, when the rays of the setting sun shone on her just right, Ginny swore she saw the shadows of her tiny nipples.

Victoire looked absurdly out of place when compared to her cousins, and she behaved and acted like she knew that.

And of course, as was the case with every family get-together lately, she was glued to Harry’s side—especially since Hermione had been whisked away mid-conversation to scold a misbehaving Hugo.

Ginny raised her glass and took a slow sip, her large aviators hiding the subtle amusement dancing in her eyes. Her fingers idly toyed with the Snitch charm at her neck, its golden wings fluttering faintly in the warm breeze as it spun on the same chain that held her wedding ring.

Unlike Victoire and her even more stunning mother—who was dressed in flowing silks and looked ready to walk the runway—or Angelina—who somehow managed to pack those ridiculously oversized Bristols into another perfectly tailored blazer, Ginny didn’t dress to impress.

At least not deliberately.

Her open jacket was sharp and well-fitted while the crop top beneath clung to her toned torso, showing just enough to make a statement without earning the ire of her puritanical mother. Her ripped skinny jeans looked painted on, so much so that they would have been impossible to slip over her toned arse and powerful Quidditch thighs without the aid of magic, and they tucked into a pair of beat-up, yet stylish boots. The bangles stacked on her wrist clinked softly when she moved, and the dragonhide wand holster on the other had been a gift from her husband—to compliment her rock-and-roller fashion sense, he’d teased.

She didn’t dress like an adult, like her mother constantly begged, nor like a mum like Fleur, Angelina, Penny, or Hermione either. But considering the recent Charm & Quaffle: Swimsuit Edition—which featured her strategically posed and dressed in nothing but a g-string and a smile—was one of the highest-selling issues in the magazine’s history, Ginny figured she must be doing something right.

She grinned wickedly, remembering how Harry had ravished her when she’d surprised him with an early copy.

She hadn’t been able to sit comfortably for days.

Though she could have done without the howlers from Ron and her mother…

Ginny’s attention was drawn back to Victoire’s latest performance, the trio of onlookers chuckling under their breath as she leaned in too close to Harry again. It was harmless—mostly. Ginny found it more funny than anything—but Merlin, she was relentless.

She'd feel sorry for her poor, beleaguered husband if the entire situation wasn't so bloody funny.

‘Doesn't that get on your rag?’ Angelina asked, raising an eyebrow as Victoire let out a tinkling laugh and laid a gentle touch on Harry’s arm.

Fleur cackled into her icewine as Harry visibly flinched.

Ginny didn’t even bother to look as she took a pull of her butterbeer. She'd have to work out later to make up for these indulgences… 

‘It used to. Now I just find it cute.’

‘I'm not sure I'd find it cute if some little harlot was constantly throwing herself at George.’ Realising what she’d said, Angie turned to the nonplussed Fleur with a guilty wince. ‘No offence.’

"She gets eet from her fazzer," Fleur said airily, taking another delicate sip from her wine glass.

The bald-faced lie hung in the air for a beat before Ginny and Angelina collapsed into laughter. Fleur joined in after a dignified pause, her poise cracking under the weight of her comment’s absurdity.

Victoire flounced away just then, hips swaying, glittering tresses catching the light like spun silk.

Ginny suppressed a grin as she watched Harry visibly sagging with relief. Her fellow voyeurs would likely just think he was happy for the brief reprieve, but Ginny knew better.

Poor baby…

Fleur clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘Come! Turn ma chérie,  look over your shoulder!’ She’d whispered it with conspiratorial eagerness, as if urging on her favourite chaser to pass the quaffle.

And just like that, Victoire turned, brushing a platinum lock behind her ear and flashing a sweet, simpering smile over her shoulder. 

Fleur and Ginny whooped like schoolgirls.

Angelina gave them both a look that could curdle milk. ‘You two are mental.’

Fleur shrugged, perfectly composed again. ‘Eet is not so wrong to take pride in ze incroyable talent of my progeny, non?’

Angelina’s look very much screamed yes it is, you unbelievable twat, but she bit her tongue and pivoted to Ginny instead. ‘And why are you so okay with this?’

Ah, the golden question.

Ginny gave the politically safe answer instead of the real one—the one involving sinful, teasing whispers between silken sheets involving her or her husband potentially taking another lover.

She shrugged. ‘I’d have gone grey ages ago if I stressed about women throwing themselves at Harry. You’d be surprised what someone can get used to.’

Angelina gave a reluctant nod. ‘True enough. Not like he’d ever cheat on you anyway.’

The comment was innocent. Harmless. True, as far as Angie knew. Still, Ginny felt a delicious flutter in her core at the mere mention of cheating as fantasies best left unspoken wreaked havoc on her pent-up, lust-addled mind, stirring something wicked in her blood.

‘Exactly,’ she said, schooling her face to neutral while Fleur’s sharp, knowing stare tugged at the edge of her vision.

Fucking veela! Bet her stupid perfect nose twitched the second I started flooding my knickers…

Mercifully, Angelina changed the subject before Fleur could put voice to her suspicions.

‘Sooo, Gin—what’s happening at the office? Any goss? Care to read your ol' big sis in?’

Ginny turned to her with a dry look. ‘Have you and my idiot brothers have a betting pool going or something? You know I can’t tell you anything.’

Fleur rolled her eyes, looked to the sky and muttered something disdainful in French under her breath.

Never liked Quidditch, that one. Probably a mistake to marry into the Weasley family then…

‘Oh come on, Gin! There hasn’t been this much upheaval at the Harpies since I was in nappies. You gotta give me something.’

Ginny raised a challenging, coppery eyebrow. ‘Is this my sister asking out of concern for a family member, or is this Angelina Weasley, editor-in-chief at the Prophet looking for a scoop?’

Angelina scowled reproachfully at the unfair attack and Ginny had the good graces to look contrite.

In her defence, she’d been hounded by the press for weeks. She was at her wit’s end!

Ginny let out a long breath. ‘Even if I wanted to spill the beans, I couldn’t. I’m as in the dark as you are.’

Angelina’s face twisted in disbelief. ‘Youwot? You’re Ginny bloody Potter. League’s biggest name. Captain-leader-legend and all that. How can they not tell you who the new gaffer’s gonna be?’

Ginny gave a helpless shrug. ‘It’s all hush-hush back at the Roost. I know bugger-all, but I’m expecting some big changes with the new ownership.’

‘Have you signed yet? Unless you’re pulling a Gwenog and planning to play into your fifties, this might be the last big one.’

Ginny sighed again and nodded. ‘Talks were put on hold when Lucinda stepped down. But as long as they don’t stiff me, I’ll sign. And yeah—it’ll probably be my last. Harry’s been hinting at kids again. Can’t dodge it forever.’

"Zen why doesn’t he retire to look after zem, and you keep playing your children’s game?’ Fleur asked, finally finding something she could latch onto in their conversation.

Ginny barked a laugh. ‘You answered your own damn question. Because it is a children’s game. And I’d feel ridiculous making Harry Freaking Potter hang up his wand so I could keep tossing a quaffle around. For the record, before you besmirch my man’s good name again, he offered to retire. I told him to shove it.’

Both Fleur and Angelina looked suitably impressed and put in their place, and then Angie leaned in with a cheeky grin.

‘Damn, Gin. I just can’t picture you pregnant.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘At least we’ll have a few months where you can stop shoving your abs in our face, ay?’

Ginny gave her bared stomach a smug little pat and stuck out her tongue. ‘Jealousy’s a bad look, dear sister.’

With a grin of her own, Angelina stretched dramatically and arched her back until it cracked—an act that was no doubt about putting her massive baps front and centre, all-but shoving them in her face.

‘If you two are quite done acting like teenagers,’ Fleur said crisply, ‘she is coming back.’

Sure enough, Victoire was prancing back to Harry like a model on a runway, her angelic smile dazzling, her eyes locked onto her target.

Harry stiffened and threw Ginny a silent plea over the girl’s shoulder.

Ginny only offered a smirk—unhelpful, amused at his plight.

He sagged in defeat.

They giggled like the teenagers Fleur had only just accused them of acting like.

Harry rubbed the back of his head and used the motion to discreetly give them the two-finger salute behind Victoire’s back. Subtle. But they saw—and lost it all over again.

Victoire didn’t notice. Too wrapped up in her little fantasy.

She held a plate of pumpkin pie, forked a piece, and held it out.

‘Here, Uncle Harry. I made it myself. Try it.’

She leaned in, leg crossed, bare foot sliding up his calf like it had a mission.

Angelina snorted. Ginny giggled. Fleur rolled her eyes.

‘Petite coquine… I made that pie,’ Fleur muttered with good natured annoyance, pride shining in her crystal-blue eyes. 

Apparently, she couldn’t help but respect her daughter’s flirting game.

‘Stolen valor? Poor form, Vicky,’ Ginny jeered with a wicked grin, using her niece's hated nickname as a petty jab—her friends typically called her Vee.

‘Nice footwork though. Looks like Harry’s about to bolt.’

They watched the scene like critics at a matinee. Ginny couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed this much.

She would remember this moment fondly while miserable and sweating her arse off over the next month.

Still, as much as she was enjoying the show Victoire was putting on, she kept one eye on Hermione and her mum. They’d spoil the fun the moment they picked up on what the little scamp was doing.

Or trying to do.

Luckily, her mum was too busy chasing Hugo with a dish towel, and Hermione stood to the side frowning like someone had replaced the dessert table with a pile of dung.

The brilliant witch always looked bothered by her mother-in-law’s brand of discipline, less because it was harsh and outdated and more because it often worked. 

And if there was one thing Hermione Weasley hated, it was a successful hit to her pride.

Even her brothers were too distracted—all drooling over Arthur’s latest toy. Gone were the days of fiddling with old clunkers. Her father was making serious coin now buying muggle cars, converting them to run on magic, and upselling them at a serious profit to wealthy magicals or nostalgic muggle-born and half blood customers.

Could have done with that coin when I was forced to use second-hand gear as a kid…

Though, in her parents’ defence, things had turned out okay for her on that front…

Last Ginny saw, the boys were joyriding through the paddocks like a bunch of overgrown adrenaline-junkies. Harry hadn't joined them—he got enough excitement from work…

A sudden cackle from Angelina snapped her attention back just in time to see Victoire ‘accidentally’ spill her drink in Harry’s lap.

Ginny didn’t even bother to hide her smirk.

‘I’m so sorry, Uncle Harry! I can’t believe I was so careless!’

Her flirting game may be spot-on, but I’m not so sure about the acting…

Fleur’s wince had Ginny thinking her mother was thinking likewise.

She reached for a napkin.

Harry’s hand shot out, snatching her wrist mid-reach. People thought he had fast reflexes back when he was a Seeker at Hogwarts? They should see him after two decades as an Auror.

Her husband could make a cat jealous.

‘Victoire,’ he barked in a low, authoritative tone, his frustration finally getting the better of him. ‘That’s enough.’

Victoire flinched like she'd been hexed, then sat frozen—blinking up at Harry with wide, doe eyes, utterly stupefied. She had the look of someone who’d never been told no before. 

Or been snapped at.

Knowing her big brother? That didn't surprise her. Bill had always been a big softie. She wouldn’t put it past Victoire to have her father wrapped around her little finger—much as Ginny had managed the same at an even younger age.

Once Victoire got over her shock, then came the flush. Subtle, but there—high on her cheeks, and extending to her ears. She ducked her head, desperate to keep her surprised reaction hidden—the expected embarrassment, the less expected arousal.

Oh, pet. If you’re going to fly that close to the hoops, you’d better not flinch when the Bludger comes flying.

‘Y-yes,’ she whispered contritely, but Ginny’s sharp ears caught something else in her tone, something defiant and naughty. ‘Sorry, Uncle Harry.’

‘Fuck me,’ Angelina whispered, fanning herself and necking the rest of her wine in one gulp. ‘Don’t tell George, but hearing Harry use his Auror voice? Wow. I might need to scourgify my knickers. No offence.’

Ginny tapped her chin and sent her sister-in-law a teasing grin. ‘You know, saying no offence after spouting out something offensive doesn’t make the filth you spew suddenly acceptable, you skank.’

Angelina rolled her eyes and darted a hand out to try and cuff Ginny on the back of the head. As an ex-athlete who had nearly gone pro, Angelina was still fast. Ginny, of course, was faster. She danced away from the slap then lunged back in to deliver a devastating nipple twister.

Angie had a lot to grab onto.

She cursed in pain and Ginny laughed maniacally. Making sure to keep one eye on the suddenly violent, now glaring dark-skinned beauty, she turned to her other sister-in-law.

Fleur had gone silent.

But Ginny saw the look in her eye.

Thinly veiled hunger.

And fuck if that didn’t make her proud.

And horny.

Well, horny-er…

Ginny had always suspected Fleur harboured a secret crush on Harry dating all the way back to their school days and The War—when he'd saved her sister and faced off against dragons, Death Eaters, Riddle and Merlin knew what else. 

It had taken Ginny years to shake off the phantom sting of jealousy.

Now? She wore that knowledge like a badge of honour.

She’s won after all.

‘That’s nothing,’ she said aloud, voice laced with smug glee while her head motioned in the direction of where their show had abruptly ended. ‘You should see what happens when we break out his cuffs…’

The gasp from Angelina was everything Ginny had hoped for. She didn’t drop the bomb for shock value—not entirely—but because she knew exactly where their minds would turn.

Not to the truth, of course, but that she was the one wielding the cuffs more often than not.

A wicked little thrill crawled down her spine at the thought.

‘Alright, Gin,’ Angelina drawled with a roll of her eyes, grinning through her disbelief, ‘no one likes a show-off.’

Ginny jerked her chin at Fleur, who remained maddeningly serene. ‘Tell that to this one.’

Fleur didn’t miss a beat. ‘Eet is not showing off when I do eet. Merely stating ze truth.’

Ginny snorted, turning her gaze back toward the garden just in time to see Victoire disappearing behind the house with her metaphorical tail between her legs. The sight stirred something primal in Ginny—not quite satisfaction, not quite hunger. Maybe both.

Left alone with Angelina and Fleur and with no Harry and Victoire to keep her amused and distracted, Ginny’s good cheer faded as her mind unhelpfully reminded her that she’d be without Harry’s comforting presence for an entire month.

Suddenly, the party felt suffocating, the butterbeer too warm and the conversation too dull.

With their evening entertainment gone, the atmosphere soured. Ginny endured two more hours of inane mum-talk between Fleur and Angelina, smiling politely, nodding at the appropriate beats, all the while feeling like her very soul was trying to claw its way out of her skull.

Is this what happens when you start popping out kids? You become… boring?

The thought made her shudder.

She mentally swore that wouldn't be her.

When the time came to leave, Ginny lingered by the fireplace and urged Harry on ahead. ‘I’ll be right behind you,’ she promised with something dark and wicked in her eyes, her arms wrapped around his neck and their faces centimetres apart. ‘I just need to have a quick word with ickle Vicky.’

She saw the hesitation flicker across his face. His brow creased, gaze casting over her shoulder as if to make sure the girl wasn’t in earshot.

Oh, he thinks I’m about to tear her a new one. How precious.

She leaned in to kiss him goodbye, then caught his bottom lip between her teeth and gave it a slow, teasing tug. Harry growled—low, deep—and Ginny preened, satisfaction blooming in her chest at the sheer need in his eyes.

‘Relax,’ she murmured softly, sensually, her lips brushing his ear. ‘It’s nothing bad. We’re just going to talk about career stuff. As for you…’

Her hand slid down the back of his jeans, fingers cupping the curve of his arse and even slipping into the crack.

‘Go home and get ready for me, mmkay?’

She felt him shudder and whimper against her, this big, powerful, beautiful husband of hers, like putty in her hands. Ginny flooded her knickers, and it was only the sharp reminder of what she needed to discuss with Victoire that stopped her from sodding it all off and jumping through the Floo with him right then and there.

She kissed him again, quick but hard—a promise of what was to come—then gave him a gentle shove into the Floo.

Harry disappeared with a sheepish, aroused little smile, and Ginny exhaled slowly, hands braced on the mantle.

Am I really doing this…?

The idea had been marinating in her mind all evening, growing bolder with every passing hour of denial. An entire week without release—a deliberate strategy for what she'd planned to be an earth-shattering farewell shag—had her wound so tight she could barely think straight.

Maybe that’s why I’m considering something so crazy…

It was never a good idea to make potentially life-altering decisions when you were thinking with the wrong brain, but Ginny was well beyond caring at this point.

She was too turned on. Too horny.

Maybe a recipe for disaster, but she had enough trust in her marriage, in her husband, that she was convinced they could weather any storm. Together.

She bit her lip. Her knickers were practically ruined—soaked through and sticking to her like a second skin. She’d have to peel them off later. She looked at the palm of her hand, it was shaking adrenaline and arousal wreaking havoc on her body.

Why does the idea turn me on so much…?

She didn’t need to ask. She knew why. Had known for years, really, as her fantasies grew darker, sharper, and increasingly impossible to ignore. That, coupled with her husband’s receptiveness each time she’d sinfully whispered them into his ear when they made love… it gave her confidence.

Tonight, Fleur and Angelina’s prattling had only sharpened her intent. Like her very body rebelled against the dull fate of nappies, training brooms and chaotic trips to Diagon Alley.

By the time she found Victoire—alone, upstairs, hiding in her old room—Ginny’s resolve had hardened into granite.

The door creaked open on silent hinges, and there she was.

Frozen. 

Startled.

Dress hiked up, knickers around her ankles, breathing as if she’d just run a marathon and a guilty flush spreading across her high cheekbones.

Ginny raised a brow.

‘Thinking about Harry?’

The door shut with a click went off like a bombarda in the stifling silence of the room.

Victoire’s eyes widened, then darted to her wand—sitting, distressingly, just out of reach.

Ginny chuckled, low and fond. ‘Oh relax, Pet. Even if I wanted to hex you, you wouldn’t have time to reach for that wand.’

She gave Victoire a disarming wink as she prowled closer like a cat enjoying playing with its food. ‘Besides, your daddy’s been upgrading the wards here every year since The War—you’d only knock yourself out if you tried to apparate.’

Ginny sat down on the edge of the bed and watched with wry amusement as Victoire scurried backward, cheeks burning, awkwardly tucking her legs beneath her and trying to pull her sundress down to cover the evidence.

It didn’t help.

The room reeked of sex—sharp and musky and utterly undeniable.

Ginny smirked, let the silence hang just long enough to make the girl sweat.

Merlin, look at the little harlot. She’s always so confident and arrogant out in the open, but now? She can’t even look me in the eye. Like a child who’s been caught nicking sweets…

‘Would you calm down?’ Ginny said eventually, voice dry. ‘You’ve been about as subtle as a Bludger this past year. If I had a problem with you throwing yourself at Harry like a tramp, do you honestly think I’d have waited until now to say something?’

Victoire blinked at her, lips parting, brain clearly short-circuiting.

‘T-then what…?’

Ginny waited, patient, until the girl dared to meet her gaze again.

‘Your mum tells me you’ve accepted an apprenticeship at St Mungo’s,’ she said. ‘Healer track—specialising in physical therapy?’

Victoire blinked again, this time in confusion.

Ginny almost laughed at the way her pretty face scrunched up like someone had slapped her face with a wet towel.

Still, she nodded. ‘Y-yes. I worked very hard.’

‘I know you did. That’s impressive. Mungo’s is a nightmare to get into. Must’ve aced your NEWTs.’

The girl visibly preened at the praise, straightening just a little.

Good. Better she’s her regular, arrogant little self again for this…

‘But do you know what’s even more impressive than getting into St. Mungo’s?’

Hook.

Victoire tilted her head. ‘What?’

Ginny smiled.

‘An apprenticeship under the head healer for the Holyhead Harpies.’

There it was—the sharp inhale, her eyes flying wide with disbelief and greed.

‘They don’t accept recent grads,’ Victoire said breathlessly, her voice pitched in excitement. ‘None of the professional teams do. I tried.’

‘Right,’ Ginny agreed, before leaning in with a smug, conspiratorial grin. ‘But you didn’t have the league’s best Chaser vouching for you, did you?’

Victoire’s cheeks flushed for a very different reason now, desire and ambition battling behind her glittering gaze.

‘You’ll help?’

‘Of course,’ Ginny said warmly, slipping an arm around the younger woman’s trembling shoulders. ‘It’s a bit late for pre-season training, but if you play your cards right, I can get you in before the season kicks-off.’

‘Truly?’

Ginny nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

Then her grin turned positively vulpine.

‘You,’ she said, poking a finger at her forehead playfully, ‘just have to do something for me first.’

In that moment, Ginny was certain she could’ve asked the girl to crawl through dragon dung and Victoire would’ve smiled and curtsied before diving in head-first.

Luckily for her niece, Ginny had something much more enjoyable in mind.

-

Harry was already in place and eagerly awaiting his wife’s return by the time he heard the roar of the Floo downstairs.

Almost naked, he wore a blindfold pulled snug across his eyes while the silver shimmer of his own Auror cuffs glinted around his wrists. They were locked tight to the headboard of their bed, charmed to resist any wandless escape attempts—which, of course, made them the perfect choice for moments like these.


I swear they get more use in our bedroom than for their intended purpose…

At Ginny’s teasing command, he'd come straight home from the Burrow and readied himself with hurried, practised ease. Strip. Blindfold. Cuff. Wait.

Naturally, that hadn’t been the only thing he’d had to prepare, but he preferred not to think about that. This whole business was embarrassing enough as it was, and as much as he enjoyed their games, Harry still struggled to cope with acknowledging, intellectually, his complete submission

Pesky ego won’t just let me enjoy myself…

And so, the waiting continued.

He’d been doing exactly that for—well, he wasn’t sure how long anymore. But the grandfather clock downstairs ticked every second. He’d been counting those to distract himself. Tick. Tick. Tick. A maddening metronome of need. The last number he remembered was over eighteen hundred. So… half an hour, give or take? 

Probably more.

The silence was absolute. Not oppressive, exactly—not yet—but it pressed in on him, broken only by the pounding of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. He tried, uselessly, to slow his breathing with measured inhales. But every breath only reminded him how horny he was, how desperately he was trying to remain calm.

At least he was comfortable. 

Sort of.

The whoosh of the Floo shattered the quiet. Then came the heavy, familiar stomp of Ginny’s boots on the hardwood downstairs. And just like that, the thin veneer of calm he’d clung to evaporated like morning dew in the sun, his body trembling with need.

Heat surged across his chest and face. His breathing grew uneven. He tilted his head toward the bedroom door, straining every sense.

A whimper—soft, nearly inaudible—slipped from his lips. Instead of hearing those thudding footsteps ascending the stairs, he heard the clatter of cupboard doors and the tinkling of cutlery. Then, after the longest minute of his life when all sounds had abruptly ceased, the high-pitched whistle of the kettle. 

The delicate clink of a spoon against porcelain. 

The splash and gurgle of boiling water.

Of course she was making tea.

Ginny hated tea. She hated it almost as much as she hated coffee. The only reason she would be imbibing was to waste time and torment him.

And it worked.

I wonder how many tablespoons of honey she added… utter savage. She’s lucky I love her.

A sigh. The rustle of paper. And then—

She started humming a familiar tune.

That bloody tune she always hummed when she was feeling smug or good about herself.

He could see it, even blindfolded. 

Harry’s experienced senses created a picture more vivid than his eyes ever could.

She’d Floo’d in, tossed her jacket across the couch—despite the coat rack being three bloody feet away—and strolled into the kitchen like she had all the time in the world. Cup in hand, she’d then sat herself down in his favourite armchair—the one that smelt like him because he spent countless hours sitting in it, reading case files by the fire—and crossed her legs. Casually flipping through the Prophet, back pages only.

Smirking. Always smirking.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Every second she delayed was exquisitely calculated torture.

And Harry knew damn well she had no need to read the bloody Prophet—he’d watched her read it that morning, desperate for any news about what was going on at the Roost.

Harry tugged at his bindings, muscles flexing in vain. He knew better. Knew the cuffs wouldn’t yield. Knew that without her blessing, without her taking his wand to unlock them herself, he wasn’t going anywhere. But even knowing didn’t stop his instincts to strain, to resist, to do something with all this maddening, pent-up energy.

These were Auror-grade restraints. Designed specifically to contain even the most dangerous witches and wizards capable of wandless magic, when a simple binding hex didn’t suffice.

Perfectly suited to contain him.

If she wished it, Ginny could leave and no matter what he did short of cutting off his own hand, there was no getting out of them.

Harry would know, he’d helped design them.

It was a sign of how deeply he trusted his wife that he’d put himself in such a vulnerable, precarious position without a second thought.

Finally, at long last, the gentle clatter of porcelain in the sink.

Rinsing.

A soft tap of china being set into the drying rack.

Yes, she could have vanished it all with a flick of her wand. But where was the fun in that?

Ginny might have been a professional Chaser—one of the best the league had ever seen—but her true talent, Harry was convinced, was playing him like a bloody fiddle.

The stairs creaked.

One… two… deliberate steps. Measured. Cheeky. So painfully slow.

Harry inhaled sharply, body tense, back arching slightly in anticipation.

She was coming.

Her footfalls stopped just outside their bedroom door. She lingered there for an agonising moment, silent. Watching him, no doubt. Drinking in the sight of him laid out on their bed, bound and helpless, his muscular body slick with sweat and and his muscles rippling as he strained uselessly against his bindings.

He imagined the look in her eyes—hungry, possessive, dark with want. Her lip caught between her teeth. The way she looked at him when she was about to do something wicked.

The door creaked open.

He felt the shift in the air before he heard her. His skin prickled.

She giggled. Low. Knowing.

Cloth rustled as she undressed and kicked off her boots. Harry held his breath, counting heartbeats.

Then… after he swore she was standing there and watching him as naked as the day she was born… more rustling.

No! Please no! You’re having a bloody laugh!

She was.

She was redressing.

His disappointment was instant and visceral. He sagged against the cuffs, all the strength leaving his body, his jaw tight.

Ginny chuckled, quiet and cruel.

And then, like a cloud of mist that slipped through his fingers, she was gone again.

Her footfalls now softly padded away in her trainers.

He frowned, confused for only a moment—until the clinking of metal reached his ears a couple of rooms over. Then, a steady rhythm. Weights.

She’d gone to work out in their home gym while he was bound, helpless and ready to do whatever she wanted.

Harry clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose like a man trying not to scream. She knew. Of course she knew. She always did.

His cock throbbed angrily in protest and once more he struggled to calm himself. His balls had suffered enough that day. Despite his torment, his traitorous body was flush with excitement and arousal. To an outside observer, what Ginny was doing to him might seem cruel, but if they were to ask Harry, he’d tell them the true culprit was his own sinful, embarrassing desires.

His wife knew him too well, she was only giving him what he truly wanted… even if he struggled to admit it to himself sometimes.

Licking his dry lips, he counted out her reps.

Fifteen presses. Twenty squats. Twenty Russian twists. Ten lunges. Five deadlifts. Five sets. She was nothing if not consistent. The sounds were a countdown—an extended, torturous prelude.

When she was done, she didn’t rush.

Weights were returned slowly. Each one set down with care. Deliberate. Audible. Every clank another second of agony.

The process was even more maddening because his wife was typically a slob who never picked up after herself.

Only when teasing me, apparently… If Molly had known years ago that all it took to get Ginny to do her chores was making them somehow inconvenience Ron, the Burrow might’ve been spotless.

Eventually, her steps returned.

Quieter now, thanks to her trainers, but unmistakable. Not with how sensitive his ears currently were, with his entire focus set on sensing his surroundings.

And then—her scent. He caught it the second she stepped into their bedroom.

Harry inhaled deeply before letting out a shuddering breath. The faint sweetness of her perfume, now tinged with salt and exertion.

She chuckled.

Floorboards creaked as she circled the bed. Then—

A finger.

One, single, teasing finger along the inside of his thigh.

He gasped, body jerking like he’d been hit with a Shocking Jinx. The chains clinked sharply above him and his muscles bulged as he strained against them.

And then she was gone again, dancing away, laughing softly.

That one touch had been enough.

Blood surged downward, hardening him instantly. Harry grit his teeth, it was too much, too sudden, he prepared himself for the pain.

His back arched and he groaned as his privates were enveloped in sharp, intense cold that managed his excitement more effectively and torturously than his breathing exercises ever could.

Harry barely managed to regain his composure before he heard the bathroom door close.

A beat later—the shower.

He let out a long, ragged, defeated sigh.

She bloody loves a long shower…

The water finally shut off after what felt like an eternity—and still, she didn’t immediately come to him. 

Another stretch of unbearable silence followed, broken only by the creak of the bathroom door and the sudden rush of warm, humid air spilling into the bedroom. It rolled over Harry’s bare skin like a lover’s caress, steamy and scented faintly with Ginny’s favourite body wash—citrus and vanilla.

He would’ve missed her entirely if not for that scent—Ginny moved like a shadow, silent and smooth. She didn’t speak. Didn’t announce herself. Just drifted closer, until Harry felt her presence beside him like a predator, ready to pounce.

And then—her breath. Hot. Sweet. Right against his ear. His body broke out in pleasant tingles, his breath coming out in a shaky, shuddering exhale.

‘Do you have any idea how wet I am…?’

Harry swallowed hard and licked his too-dry lips. He didn’t answer—wasn’t permitted to. But he didn’t have to.

Ginny’s chuckle was a low, sultry thing. Equal parts approval and delight.

‘You have my permission to speak,’ she whispered, almost lazily. ‘But only when I ask you a question.’

His laugh was rasping, disbelief wrapped in arousal. ‘I… might have some idea.’

‘Yessss,’ she cooed, voice dripping with pleasure. ‘You would, wouldn’t you?’

The mattress dipped as she climbed onto the bed beside him, her weight shifting the springs. She didn’t touch him. Not yet. But her heat bled into him, her body, fresh from draining the local dam, a furnace at his side.

‘Merlin’s tits, you’re so beautiful like this,’ she murmured in appreciation, her voice thick with desire. ‘Bound. Waiting. Desperate. Just for me.’

There was no question—so he kept silent, his body trembling with anticipation.

He’d been trained well.

Her fingers, when they finally touched him, were slow and deliberate. They traced from his chest downward—circling a nipple, skimming over taut pecs, dancing between his abs. She ghosted around his belly button, then trailed down the V-groove of his hips…

And stopped.

Right before touching him where he wanted to be touched the most.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, doing his best not to whimper. But Ginny heard the tension in his breath and laughed again, wicked and knowing.

Her teasing touch roamed—back up to his ribs, over his shoulders, down his arms. Featherlight, maddening. And then—she replaced her fingers with her tongue.

Harry shuddered violently, muscles clenching as her warm, wet tongue licked slowly up the centre of his chest.

He couldn’t help it. He was hard again in an instant, painfully so.

Then came the cold.

A sharp, magical sting of freezing pain wrapped his cock and balls in a grip that made him gasp aloud.

Ginny’s cruel cackle filled the room, even as her hand soothed gentle circles on his stomach.

‘Ohhh, poor baby,’ she crooned mockingly. ‘Did that hurt…?’

‘Yessss,’ he hissed, eyes clenched beneath the blindfold, his voice choking out in a pained gasp.

‘But you love it, don’t you?’ Her voice was purring now, like molten honey, smooth and unrelenting. ‘You love the pain. Love knowing how wet it makes me—seeing you squirm like that.’

‘Ungh. I dooo…’

And he meant it. Every shuddering word.

This wasn’t new for them. Their sex life had always been passionate, adventurous and exciting. But this? The surrender? The obedience? The raw, aching denial? That was newer.

And Ginny had taken to it like a dragon to flame.

Her fingers slid lower again, cupping his neglected, swollen balls—gentle now, almost reverent.

‘Are you ready to fill me with all this cum you’ve been saving…?’

Before he could answer, she leaned in and gently bit his earlobe, holding it between her teeth.

‘Or would you rather pump that little slut instead?’ she whispered heatedly, and despite the venom in her words, Harry could feel her excitement overpowering everything. ‘I saw how hard you got at the Burrow. The way she teased you. You wanted to fill her tight, little cunt, didn’t you?’

It was a trap.

‘Not as tight as yours,’ Harry rasped, barely managing to get the words past his dry throat.

Ginny purred, pleased. ‘You’re such a good boy. I’ve trained you so well.’

Finally, finally, she touched the cage.

Her fingers traced the metal with delicate care, reverent, like she was touching a sacred object. She didn’t poke inside, didn’t grant him that mercy. She just acknowledged the enchanted bondage device—the symbol of his surrender.

‘Do you want me to take this off, baby?’

‘Yessss,’ he groaned pathetically, head falling back against the pillow.

She laughed—cruel, sweet and delighted all at once.

‘And you think you deserve it?’

He arched involuntarily, the ache in his groin driving him insane, but not enough to not recognise another trap when he heard it.

‘T-that’s for you to decide…’

‘Good boy,’ she praised smoothly, the proud grin on her lips audible in her tone. ‘It is my decision, isn’t it?’

Her fingers danced along the edge of the cage, still refusing to truly touch.

‘It must’ve hurt so bad,’ she whispered. ‘Watching her throw herself at you like that. I saw you squirming. I saw the cage punishing you.’

That’s not how it was designed, but Harry didn’t dare correct his wife. His chastity cage didn’t punish him in the strictest sense of the word, ironically, the freezing cold it shocked him with was as much if not more for his own health and benefit than for any kind of punishment.

Harry was… very well endowed. So much so that they quickly found companies just didn’t make chastity cages in his size. They’d had to get one custom made—a delightfully humiliating experience all on its own. And while most men who wore one were able to endure the pain of their erections while caged… that just wasn’t an option for Harry. 

He was not only well endowed, he was a grower, the girth his wife adored so much so unwieldy that, were the bondage device not enchanted to forcefully control his erection, he was at real risk of cutting off circulation.

Naturally, the fact that it brought him intense pain every time he got aroused enough to grow hard was just a delightful bonus for his wicked wife.

Harry had initially worried he’d regret agreeing to this kink, but years after trying it, and despite how much his wife loved to torment him, he couldn’t lie to himself and say he regretted it.

This relatively new dynamic and aspect of their sex lives hadn’t been spontaneous. Chastity had been a wicked fantasy for years, whispered threateningly by his wife in half-jokes and filthy promises. It wasn’t easy for Harry to take that initial plunge.

Now, Harry struggled to remember a time from before chastity was a part of their sex lives.

It was agony.

It was perfection.

‘What would you have done if I released you right there, hmm?’ she mused wickedly, licking the shell of his ear. ‘Would you have bent Victoire over the table? Fucked her in front of everyone? Imagine how she’d squeal for you…’

‘N-no,’ he choked out. ‘My dick’s yours. Only yours.’

Ginny made a pleased noise in the back of her throat, still circling the cage, still maddeningly close.

‘Well… that’s not exactly true, is it?’ Her teasing words were highly amused, her fingers circling one of his nipples teasingly. ‘You’ve had my blessing to shag whoever you want for years. You just need to ask…’

Harry sucked in a shaky breath.

Technically, yes, his wife spoke the truth. He did have permission to shag whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

If he could live with the consequences, that is.

‘I hope you do,’ Ginny whispered, her lips at his ear again, hot breaths causing his skin to prickle delightfully. He loved when she spoke into his ear like this, it was as if she was licking his mind—hot, intense and invasive in the best way. ‘Because the second you slip up, the second you forget who you belong to…’ 

She leaned closer, her voice like honey but with an unmistakable edge.

‘...Another bloke is gonna to shag your wife.’

He said nothing—there was no question.

His body betrayed him anyway. He groaned as the cage bit down again, punishing his arousal.

Ginny cackled.

‘I bloody love how you can’t lie to me in this thing.’

Just when Harry thought he might lose his mind, might break from the pent-up lust roaring through him like Fiendfyre—she touched his face.

Fingers brushed his temple. Then a quick tug.

The blindfold fell away.

Ginny stood beside the bed in nothing but candlelight, still damp from the shower, her hair wet and clinging in dark coppery waves to her shoulders and back. Her skin glistened, catching the flicker of flame deliciously and turning her pale skin golden. The shadows that danced across her pale flesh and in the crevices between powerful muscles enhanced her already striking form, the contrast between light and dark causing her already glorious, naked physique to become elevated. More.

She’s so beautiful…

Her smile widened as she basked in his adoring gaze—hers was a body he knew better than his own and worshipped all the more for it. Her powerful thighs were thick and solid from years of broomwork and training, her core carved and pronounced for the same reasons. Her arms were toned and firm, but not bulky. She carried strength not for show, but for purpose. She had her mother to thank for her birthing hips, sure, but it was dedication and hard work that kept her waist narrow, giving her the kind of silhouette most thought an impossibility for someone with such an athletic, toned physique.

His wife owned it and wore it casually, with a feline grace.

Harry licked his lips as he hungrily eyed her powerful body, from her perky breasts and pebbled nipples that looked desperate for a suckling to the shredded abs that glistened in the candlelight and screamed for a bathing from his tongue. Sensing movement, his eyes tracked a droplet sliding from her collarbone, down between her breasts, over her abs, and finally to the soft folds of her sex, flushed and perfect and still, somehow, as tight and pristine as the first time he’d laid eyes on the delicate folds.

There was a distinct and noticeable lack of orange fuzz above her lips, just an expanse of perfect, unblemished, pale flesh—apparently his wife hadn’t only been tormenting him with her extended shower…

Even after all these years, with all the teasing words and lusty threats, she remained untouched by anyone but him.

His wife’s sinful words echoed in his mind and the image of someone else spreading those delicate lips around their invading member flashed unbidden, all the while he remained bound, helpless and forced to watch. His cock surged painfully in the cage. He groaned—half in shame at his obvious arousal, half agony.

Ginny’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She tilted his chin up so their eyes met.

‘Eyes on me, Luv.’

‘...they always are.’

Her grin sharpened and Harry’s eyes widened, his stomach sinking when he realised his error. ‘Did I ask you a question?’

‘N-no. Sorry.’

‘Aww,’ she pouted, mock-sweet, delightfully cruel. ‘You were so close, Honey. Only to fumble at the finish line.’

From the bedside drawer, she retrieved her oversized vibrator—typically saved for when work kept him from her arms for extended periods of time.

…Or for when Ginny was feeling particularly kinky…

Harry groaned—not from anticipation, but dread. His wife giggled as she straddled his chest, pinning his arms with her knees.

A week in chastity had honed his senses to the sharpest edge. Her thighs framed his view, her pussy glistening above him. Her folds, usually closed tight, were now plump and parted with her arousal, dripping and demanding.

He wanted nothing more than to throw his wife down, to bury himself inside that perfect pussy until his knob was battering against her cervix and she was groaning like a cat in heat, but he was bound, at her mercy and had little control over his own destiny.

Just the way Ginny loved it.

Looking up along the planes of his wife’s sculpted physique, he stared deep into her dark, teasing, ravenous eyes.

Just as he’d been locked in chastity for the entire week, his wife had also been forced to go without.

He briefly wondered if that would always be the case… Though his wife’s words were meant to tease, Harry knew for a fact they represented true desire more than kinky, never-to-be explored fantasy. 

As if sensing his distraction, Ginny squeezed him with her powerful thighs and smirked. 

‘Get to work.’

Then, before he could even poke out his long tongue, Ginny gently placed the knob of the vibrator against her peeking clit, her entire body convulsing as the sex toy powerfully hummed to life and sent waves of pleasure shooting through her writhing, dancing body.

‘Oh fuuuuuuck!’

Her erratic movements had put her lips directly against his mouth, and Harry eagerly set out to please and make amends for grave lapse in judgement.

Harry didn’t hesitate. The moment her slick heat pressed to his lips, he met her with quiet determination—not the frantic lapping of a man begging for release, but the slow, controlled technique of a lover who knew her better than anyone ever would. He flattened his tongue and dragged it upward in a long, steady stroke, savoring the way her folds trembled beneath him. He repeated the motion again and again, varying up his speeds and the pressure he applied.

He wasn’t just eating her out — he was worshipping her, every reverent swipe of his tongue an ode to the goddess who owned his pleasure, his cock, and his heart.

She whimpered as her hips danced and gyrated against his face, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth hung open as she unabashedly moaned her delight out to their bedroom. The vibrator hummed steadily, held firm against her clit, but he felt the rhythm in her movements falter, her composure and sensual confidence stuttering.

There!

Harry let his eyelids flutter closed and reached out—not with his hands, not even with his magic in the traditional sense, but with his mind. A gentle, subtle whisper, his consciousness brushed against her unprotected mind like a feather, her defences unable to hold up against the dual assault against her clit and vulva.

A master Legilimens, Harry used the esoteric skills honed through decades of hunting and outsmarting dark wizards to lavish love and pleasure on his wife.

Unlike with his targets however, he didn’t try to intrude, he didn’t pummel his way into her mind.

He simply listened.

And reacted.

He felt it before Ginny’s conscious mind realised what was happening—the shiver before a spasm, the tiny spring of tension winding deep in her core, the moment her breath caught and her mind sparked with need and desire before she even knew why.

His tongue moved to match, to satiate his wife’s still unconscious desires. A sudden flick, a swirling spiral, he varied his pressure in perfect counter to the vibe’s movements—not fighting it, only supplementing and enhancing. 

When she pushed harder, he’d already read her intentions and backed off just enough to tease. 

When she rolled her hips, he didn’t chase her motions so much as met them without missing a beat.

His nose brushed her clit from beneath, the lower half of his face drenched in her passion. He adjusted again and again, perfectly reading her desires before she even knew what she desired. To a casual observer, it looked as if he adjusted his technique to the sounds of her euphoric cries, but in truth, he ignored them. They weren’t a guide so much as a result of his talents.

‘Oh Merlin, you’re the best, the best, I can’t, oooooh, I love you, yessss…’

Though concentrating on reading his wife’s desires, his mind supplied him with colour commentary.

How does she even know I’m the best? I’m the only one that’s ever done this to her…

He was shocked by how much the thought aroused him, but at this point, he’d grown used to the constant, freezing ache that kept his excitement in check. 

He always did, eventually…

Ginny was panting heavily now, her lips parted and her eyes screwed shut as she gyrated against his tongue. Her hands gripped the headboard for balance after letting the now useless vibe slip through her fingers and clatter to the floor, soon to be once more relegated to gathering dust in the draw.

The absurdity of feeling smug at having outperformed a toy wasn’t lost on Harry, but he took his wins where he could get them.

‘Oooooooh, fuuuuuck, Harry, yes! Yes! Right, oooooh!’

He didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. He was already coaxing her higher, each lick a calculated step towards nirvana.

There was an art to using Legilimency for lovemaking, one Harry had grown increasingly masterful at over the years. It wasn’t as simple as reading your partner’s desires, not even the next level up of anticipating and reacting accordingly based on said desires. Each person’s mind was unique, and Harry wasn’t sure how this would translate to other women, but he found Ginny’s mind would become less focused the closer she came to orgasm, all her focus lasered in on her rising euphoria and the gleeful anticipation of release.

The closer she came to the peak, the less he could glean, the more he had to rely on his knowledge of her body to tip her over the edge.

Thankfully, there was no one on Earth that knew his wife’s body better than him, even if she did start taking other talented lovers.

Through their connection and the reading of her emotions, he felt her orgasm rising through her like a tide, inevitable and mind-shattering. Her thoughts were all but incoherent at this point, smouldering and scattered to the wind, but he still played her like a fiddle, his technique switching from a mind reader’s grace to a life’s partner’s instinct.

When Ginny finally came—clenching, grinding, her whole body seizing with raw, electric pleasure—she did so with a roar, like a lioness both staking her claim and crying out her victory. The climax was powerful—they always were when they played this denial game of theirs—so much so that Harry instinctively lifted his knees and planted his feet on the bed so he could catch his wife with his thighs. He cradled her quivering body, his tongue relentless and drawing out every last iota of pleasure until she fell limp, collapsed against his body as if it were a fleshy throne.

And still he didn’t stop, his tongue lapping up her secretions and cleaning her womanhood until she cried from overstimulation, desperately pulling away with an exhausted laugh, unintentionally giving up the control they both craved for her. Harry gave her slick folds one last kiss before they were out of reach—a soft, reverential farewell—before laying back, eyes closed, the persistent pain in his cock a distant memory as he beheld his thoroughly satiated wife with pride.

Though Harry made sure the smug smirk was long gone by the time Ginny’s eyes fluttered back open.

Panting and out of breath, her pale cheeks flushed with passion, Ginny tried valiantly to school her features while tucking a long, coppery strand of hair behind her ear. With her lips quivering in an attempt to hide a grin and her eyes twinkling mischievously, she gave her husband a nod of confirmation.

‘That was… adequate.’

The effect, of course, was rendered completely useless given her voice still shook with pleasure and her body quivered from the aftershocks of her orgasm, but Harry still somehow managed to resist the urge to laugh in her face.

If he did, he knew for a fact he wouldn’t be getting out of the damn cage tonight. As much as his wife loved him, she had a vindictive streak a mile wide.

Regaining what semblance of composure she could manage, she pulled back and looked down at him imperiously, her smug, domineering persona back in full-force. 

‘Did you prepare yourself for me?’

The answer to that was obvious and apparent, but Ginny was asking about something specifically and Harry felt his face flush with warmth. Clearing his throat, he obediently spread his legs and rotated his hips, ready for inspection.

‘Y-yes…’

Smirking, Ginny slid down until she was laying on her belly between his spread legs. Her gaze however wasn’t focused on his caged cock or overinflated bollocks. Instead, her interest lay…lower.

To the plug capped with an emerald firmly lodged in his anus.

They hadn’t yet gotten this toy enchanted, though hearing his wife’s ideas of what that could entail had always left Harry with his knees feeling weak.

‘Yessss,’ Ginny purred from between his legs before hooking her fingers under the cap and unceremoniously pulling the plug out with a wet, sucking sound, the tight ring of muscles giving way to his wife’s quick, indelicate tug.

Harry groaned at the release of the plug, then gasped when Ginny wasted no time and immediately slipped a finger inside, then another, searching for that special spot inside him.

‘Do you think you deserve a reward, Babe?’

Harry could barely think straight—not only was Ginny already applying varying amounts of pressure to his sensitive prostate, but her tongue did the business from the outside too, licking both his overfilled balls and quivering taint.

His preparations had included a thorough cleaning.

It was all Harry could do to muster up a response, because the only thing worse to Ginny than speaking out of turn was ignoring a direct question.

‘T-that’s, mmnh, that’s for you to decide…’

‘Good boy,’ she purred, her voice dripping like molten honey, the amused and satisfied tone unmistakable.

Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head—the first semblance of pleasure in over a week, it was all he could do to muffle the desperate groan that slipped from his lips as his wife fingered and licked him to what was looking to be one of his quickest ever orgasms since he lost his virginity.

Ginny’s giggle at his reactions only spurred him on. Though caged, he could feel the climax building like a tide, ready to consume him, overwhelming and unstoppable.

But to his wife? Unstoppable was a challenge.

And Ginny Potter only had one speed when it came to dealing with challenges—something her fans would easily attest to.

Ginny’s tongue never slowed, tracing slow, wet circles around the heavy swell of each of his plum-sized balls while her fingers dug deeper and curled just right. At this point, Harry was a babbling mess, much like his wife had been when she neared her own climax. His legs shook, and his whole body was locked in a rigid arc of pure, overwhelming, pre-orgasmic tension.

He was right there, on the edge, his body desperate and his expression begging, pleading, for release.

Then Ginny struck with a wicked cackle, sounding like the Hags mothers warned their children about through scary bed-time stories.

With an evil grin, she pulled back just slightly—not enough to stop what had already been put in motion, but enough to shift the tide and turn his world upside-down, turning the crashing wave of pleasure into a cruel, sucking undertow.

‘Go on, Baby,’ she cooed with wicked glee, her warm breath ghosting over his spit-click scrotum. ‘Be a good boy, let it all out.’

And despite that being the last thing he wanted, Harry did.

He had no choice.

Just as Ginny wanted.

His body convulsed, back bowing off the mattress as the orgasm tore through him—or tried to. What came out instead after his pathetic whimper was an equally pathetic dribble, a few strings of thin, watery release from the slit in his cage that offered no pleasure, no climax, just raw humiliation and aching emptiness.

He’d been ruined, and as much as he wanted to—maybe needed to—burst into uncharacteristic, frustrated tears… it was perfect, a masterful execution from someone who revelled in the supreme control they had over his mind, body and soul.

His body shuddered through the ghost of an orgasm, muscles relaxing after their preemptive clenching had been rendered moot. His wife leaned back to watch it happen, eyes gleaming, fingers still buried inside him as he whimpered, gasped and shuddered beneath her.

‘There it is…’ she crooned, half-laughing, half-mocking. ‘Such a good boy. Look at that pathetic little mess…and you didn’t even get to enjoy it. Mmm, you’re so sexy like that…’

Harry’s hips twitched involuntarily, nerves aflame, mind broken open with the unrelenting ache of denied satisfaction. His hands strained uselessly against the bindings as his cock pulsed one last time in its steel prison—drained and, for now, utterly spent, completely denied the chance to prove its worth.

Ginny eased her fingers out of his bum with a wet pop, gave his ruined cock a patronizing pat and climbed off the bed with a hum of satisfaction, and one of the sexiest, self-satisfied smiles he’d ever seen on her.

She wore the mantle of his dominator like she was born for it.

‘You’ll thank me later,’ she promised with a grin and a pat on the hip, already sauntering away towards the ensuite. Harry’s eyes zeroed in on the powerful muscles of her arse, bulging, beautiful and swaying side to side with each step. She paused in the doorway of their ensuite and turned to look at him with a teasing, mocking grin. ‘At least, you’ll thank me once your balls stop trying to explode…’

She didn’t regard him with another look as she disappeared into the bathroom, hips swaying and hair bouncing with each step. The water turned on a moment later, steam billowing out of the open door. Harry let out an almighty groan of frustration and, shortly after, he was met with the faint sound of Ginny’s laughter echoing off the tiles—a low, knowing cackle that made Harry ache with need all over again.

He lay there as Ginny took another long shower—spent, ruined and more in love with her than ever.

I’ve bloody lost it. She’s driving me crazy and I can’t help but love it…

He still hadn’t fully recovered by the time Ginny returned to him, his eyes staring wistfully at the moving portrait of them from their wedding day, hanging over the fireplace opposite the bed.

Seeing her out of the corner of his eye, he turned and desperately wanted to watch her muscular, naked body prowling around their bedroom, wet and glistening from the shower, but he found he just didn’t have the energy to even lift his head.

That all changed in an instant when he heard the magic words whisper out of his wife’s grinning lips.

‘Your Mistress has need of your services…’

Harry shot up into a sitting position and let out a victorious groan at the audible click from his groin, the steel ring magically detaching from the cage that encased his cock. No amount of control could have stopped the blood filling his huge member, the rapid growth almost launching the cage away like a rotten nuisance.

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed, his muscles relaxing as he felt the familiar weight of his colossal shaft, finally let free after a week of captivity.

This denial game was all well and good, but the longer his wife locked him up, the longer she went without too. Ginny was as gagging for it as he was…

That all might change Old Boy if Ginny starts taking other lovers…

He put that terrifying thought out of his mind and instead revelled in the feeling of freedom. Turning to his wife, he found her gazing at his towering shaft like a lioness did a haunch of meat, her fingers blindly playing with the Switch charm on her necklace. Then, with an almost silent click, the tiny charm opened and the magic in his chastity cage activated, rendering the once unbreakable, imposing prison for his genitals into a cloud of flowing mist. The cloud was almost comically sucked up by the tiny Golden Snitch before closing and dangling to rest beside his wife’s wedding band.

On her neck, she wore both the symbols of their love, and his submission, for all to see—not that anyone knew the significance of said charm.

The advanced bit of enchanting magic held little fascination for either of them anymore, having witnessed it countless times at this point. Instead, Harry strained against his cuffs, his cock towering up from his groin, throbbing and ready for action, his eyes wild with lust as his muscles bulged with the effort.

Ginny took her time sauntering towards him, smirking at Harry as she slowly—ever so slowly—positioned herself at the foot of the bed, her legs spread wide as her fingers played with her engorged, glistening lips.

At his warning growl, Ginny outright laughed in his face.

‘My little puppy sounds so eager…’

He growled again, like a starving greyhound itching to chase after a rabbit, but Ginny didn’t flinch, her sexy grin maddening. Then, because his wife clearly wanted a shagging as desperately as he did, she finally made a come hither motion with her free hand.

The Auror cuffs he’d helped design were unbreakable, immune to magic and could only be unlocked by the wand that had locked them in the first place. In this case, Harry’s wand.

‘Show me how much you’re gonna miss this over the next month…’

The Elder Wand eagerly, like a puppy eager to please, flew into his wife’s hand and, with a casual flick, his cuffs loosened.

In one instant, he’d been straining mightily against his bindings like a rabid beast, desperate and needing.

A heartbeat later, Harry had launched himself at her like a greyhound from the blocks, his lips crashing against Ginny’s and his powerful arms crushing his wife against his body.

His wife groaned needily into his mouth, but apparently she had as little patience for any more foreplay as he did, because she reached between them, grabbed the head of his huge, throbbing, freed cock and aimed it at her greedy, impatient lips.

The second Harry felt his crown kissing Ginny’s tight, succulent lips, he thrust, his eyes screwed shut as stars burst behind his eyelids. His guttural groan was half pleasure, half victory as he buried his face in Ginny’s wet hair to muffle his euphoric screams.

His wife came, immediately. Even after all the pleasure she’d extracted from him already, she’d apparently been as desperate for his touch as he had been hers.

Harry might have followed her over the edge, had she not just finished ruining him.

His wife’s words from earlier came unbidden, floating to the forefront of his mind.

‘You’ll thank me later…’

Harry resisted the urge to chuckle as his hips got to work—one of them was definitely the bigger beneficiary of his ruined orgasm, and Harry was pretty sure that wasn’t him.

Greedy, sexy little slut…

His wife’s powerful limbs wrapped around him like an anaconda, constricting, almost bruising as she let out guttural cries of pleasure and satisfaction, his immense girth stretching her to almost the point of pain, while his colossal length sought out her deepest weak points. 

Harry didn’t stop.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

His mind brushed hers again—barely controlled, raw, the subtlety from earlier all but impossible—and found nothing but a chaotic sea of euphoria and need. She wasn’t thinking anymore. She was feeling.

Even so, he found what she wanted—buried beneath the bliss—and gave it to her. A shift in angle. A deep, punishing thrust right where she needed it. Her body seized up, another climax crashing through her with violent grace.

His hand tangled in her soaked coppery tresses. He yanked her head back, baring her throat to him like an offering, and bit down—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to claim. To brand.

She screamed his name like a curse and a prayer all at once.

‘Oh Merlin’s tits! Harry! Harry—!’

Her cries fuelled him.

Her trembling, writhing body called to the beast in him, and Harry answered.

He fucked her like a man possessed—no restraint, no hesitation. A week’s worth of denied pleasure, all exploding into every brutal, exquisite thrust.

Ginny held on for dear life, sobbing, clawing, growling like a bitch in heat. Any other woman wouldn’t be able to handle his brutal passion like this, but not his wife, not Ginny. She was superior, not just a professional athlete with the body to match, but a warrior. Her sculpted body absorbed and relished in the rough treatment, the primal release.

And Harry gave it to her—not to dominate, not to reclaim control, but because no one else could fuck her like he could, no matter how many lovers she eventually took.

As that thought filtered through his primal fury, Harry groaned loud and deep into his wife’s shoulder, his passion exploding and threatening to overwhelm his embattled wife.

This wasn’t submission anymore.

It was devotion.

It was love, expressed in the language of sweat and guttural growls and the desperate need to fill her up until she couldn’t take another drop.

By the time he was close—really close—Ginny was wrecked, barely clinging to consciousness.

Hair matted. Skin flushed. Lips parted in a ruined smile. Her thighs trembled with the aftershocks of a dozen orgasms, but her eyes burned with the same fire as always.

She cupped his face, meeting his gaze, her voice ragged and breathless and hungry.

‘Fill me up, Harry. Cum in me—yes, yes, yesss…’

If people only knew…

If they saw this—the world’s most famous and powerful wizard rutting into his wife like a feral beast, his control obliterated, his cock twitching inside the woman who’d owned his heart, body and soul for years—they might ask why, or how.

Why did he let her tease and torment him? Why did he give her so much power?

But Harry was no poet or wordsmith, he couldn’t put his feelings into words—if the right words even existed.

Instead, it’d be easier to connect his mind with theirs in that perfect, wondrous moment—and let them feel it, let them drown in the raw, soul-emptying, world-ending release he felt when he finally, finally came.

His climax ripped through him like a lightning strike.

The world blinked out.

Stars exploded behind his eyes. His mind blanked, spine arched, muscles locked. He came with everything he had, shouting Ginny’s name and his love for her like it was the only thing left tethering him to reality…

Then… nothing.

When he came to, Ginny was wrapped around him, arms and legs forming a warm cocoon, her fingers drawing soothing circles into the sweat-slick skin of his back. Her heartbeat thudded in his ear, steady and real.

‘How was that, baby?’

He let out a broken, half-laugh, half-whimper. His throat was dry. His brain still fogged with afterglow.

‘The… the best…’

Ginny snorted then Harry yelped in surprise when she burst into motion, flipping them over in an almost wrestling manoeuvre, his legs pushed back over his shoulders and his ankles held firmly in his wife’s powerful grip.

Previously, Harry had been looming over Ginny. Now his wife loomed over him, their groins grinding together. He was still inside her, his cock somewhat deflated but soon ready for more—especially with Ginny straddling him in the Amazon position and grinning down sexily at him, her eyes alight with desire.

‘I’m not sure you’ll survive without this for a month…’

Harry gasped as Ginny steadily started to bounce on his cock, then wheezed out a self-deprecating laugh as he was reminded of that unpleasant factoid.

‘I don’t wanna think about it…’

Ginny bit her lip and a complicated expression flashed across her features before she masked her emotions. With heavily lidded eyes, she let out quiet, luxuriant moans each time she bottomed out on Harry’s reviving member.

It had only been a flash, but Harry knew that look. It made his cock throb inside his wife with need, but he resisted the urge to peer inside her mind.

‘What if you didn’t have to go without?’

With his back arched and his chin forced into his chest, Harry wasn’t sure his roguish grin was as handsome or effective as he envisioned it in his mind.

‘Found a way to sneak me in?’

Ginny didn’t return his smile and Harry’s eyebrows rose with interest. His wife regarded him with an unreadable expression, though as practised as she’d become with hiding her emotions from her teammates, opponents and the media, her eyes would always be a crystal clear window into her soul. 

At least to him.

And Ginny’s eyes burned with desire.

‘What would you say if I told you I’ve organised for someone to come and stay here and take care of you?’

Harry’s face scrunched up in confusion. ‘I’d say I can take care of myself…?’

‘Don’t be daft, you know what I’m talking about—we’ve talked about this before.’

And then her words clicked in his lust-fogged mind. Take care of him sexually. They’d had a laugh about it in the past after a particularly attractive fangirl had thrown herself at him, pretty much begging for him to take her to bed.

What had made the entire situation even more bizarre was that this wasn’t some random off the street, it was a fellow Ministry employee, and she’d done so publically at a Ministry event.

Harry had told Ginny everything afterwards, of course. But she hadn’t found the situation as funny as he had. Rather than get annoyed like he’d expected however, she’d only grinned saucily and asked if he’d been tempted. That had been the genesis of their dirty, fantasy talk of taking other lovers—something Harry had always suspected to remain firmly in the world of fantasy.

Harry bit his lip, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

‘But you said—’

Ginny grinned salaciously. ‘I know what I said, and that still holds true. You have my full blessing to fuck whoever you want, but the second you do… so will I…’

Harry screwed his eyes shut as his cock betrayed him, surging to life inside his wife’s beleaguered pussy. Ginny’s highly amused laughter echoed out around him as Harry recalled his reaction to those words the first time he’d heard them. He’d balked at his wife’s teasing suggestion when she’d first said it years ago…

But that was then…

‘Oh? nnh, feels like someone is excited… dirty boy.’

Just like when he was locked in his cage, Harry tried desperately to control his traitorous erection, but it was no use. The combination of his wife’s powerful nethers clenching and milking him for all he was worth and the implication that they might seriously open up their marriage proved too titillating an image to ignore, even if the mere thought of it made his guts churn with sickening angst and jealousy.

Why the bloody hell is this turning me on?!

Before he could defend himself, or try to pump the brakes on this madness, Ginny surprised him by shooting up and standing on the bed, unsheathing herself in the process. Without her holding his ankles anymore, Harry flopped back down on the bed with a grunt, his cock thudding against his abs with a meaty thwack.

His wife stood over him like a conquering Valkyrie, smirking down at her foe in triumph, hands planted proudly on her hips.

Her glorious, battle-worn body gleamed—slick with sweat and the lingering damp of her earlier shower—giving her skin an almost unearthly, divine glow in the firelight.

Most disarming of all though, was her bare, satisfied sex, finally unplugged and leaking a thick, viscous trail of his cum down the curve of one muscular thigh. She didn’t try to arrest its descent, cover up her shame or clean it up, no, that was Harry’s job.

Just as he was really getting into admiring his wife’s incredible body, she was straddling his face, his oozing cum mere centimetres from his lips. As if her intent wasn’t clear enough, she grasped the back of his head with both hands and shoved his mouth into her core.

When they’d first tried this, Harry had initially been disgusted at the mouthfeel and taste of his own discharge, and while that still held true to this day, the power move never failed to turn him on like crazy.

It didn’t hurt that she’d also finally given me her arse as a reward…

Ginny wasn’t content to stay silent as he lapped at her mess of a pussy this time, however.

‘Imagine that’s someone else’s cum,’ she urged in a passionate whisper, unable to hide her excitement or raw passion. ‘Imagine how sexy that would be, you, here, waiting for me, and I come home to give you a treat…’

Harry groaned into Ginny’s sloppy, abused sex, unable to hide his reaction to her sinful, evocative words. He made a token protest, the churning in his guts ratcheting up to a whole new level, but that somehow only added to the eroticism of the not-so-fantastical fantasy that was now playing out unbidden in his mind.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried to mask his unexpected excitement, to hide his shame, Ginny saw right through him and cackled with glee, forcing his face into her core even harder and having a mini-climax on his lips.

Acting…was never really Harry’s strong suit.

Gripping his messy, ebony locks in a tight fist, she forced his lips against her harder and bent down as much as she could to whisper in his ear.

‘No need to pretend, Babe, no need to put on airs. If you truly don’t want this to happen, all you have to do is ignore the woman I’ve sent to take care of you. You don’t have to shag her, but, well, if you do…’

Harry groaned, his tumultuous mind a whirl. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that this wasn’t just some dirty talk gleefully whispered and teased between silken sheets. Most importantly, he couldn’t believe he wasn’t putting a stop to this, that his arousal had completely overridden his common sense.

Her assurances sound less like a choice and more of an inevitability—she’s convinced I’ll shag whoever she’s sending to stay with me…and she’s excited…

When his tongue finally found no more of his cum to scoop out and clean from his gushing wife, Ginny crawled down his body and startled nuzzling against his half-hard cock—even in its softened state, its length reached from chin to forehead. The visual was absurd, like his wife was cuddling with a favourite toy she’d sorely miss.

Then, she grinned naughtily up at him and uttered the words that made his stomach drop and his cock almost harden out of sheer protest.

‘Mistress has had her fun…’

The Snitch charm dangling from her neck popped open with a click, the cloud of mist hissing out and coalescing into the fully formed cage on the bed.

Though the cage had been custom made to fit his oversized member, there was no way his wife was getting it on while he was even a little bit hard.

Unfortunately, she had ways around that, especially if she used a wand. Fortunately, she wasn’t in a rush.

‘So…what’re you gonna do for fun while I’m gone?’

Rather than magic his erection away with charms similar to the one enchanted into the cage, Ginny went the less painful route of engaging him in mundane conversation. She still held his dick in hand and slowly played with it, but without any overt stimulation, not even he could stay hard forever like he did in his teens.

Harry knew what she was doing, especially as his cock softened and she started to slowly slip the ring in place, passing one oversized teste through the ring at a time. This was his moment to back out, to put a stop to all this madness, throw his wife on the bed and shag her so hard she’d have to be Portkeyed to this secretive training camp the next day, unable to even muster the strength to hold onto her broom.

But Harry found himself tongue-tied. Every time he thought he’d mustered up the courage to rebel, his guts would churn with that delicious cocktail of jealousy, angst and arousal. He said nothing until the cage finally clicked into place, the sound like a blasting hex in the silent room, or like a metaphorical stone door slamming shut, sealing his fate.

Then the cage started to work its magic, zapping him into submission.

Harry groaned in pain, his cock shrinking to its smallest possible size. Panting heavily when the torment was over, he looked down at his wife, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her eyes alight with passion.

‘And you’re okay with this?’ he wheezed out, his eyebrows raised into his hairline. ‘With me being with someone else?’

He found it hard to believe. Ginny had always been… possessive.

She shrugged playfully, her fingers dancing over his cage mischievously. ‘No, I hate it,’ she admitted, causing Harry to frown. ‘The thought of this big, beautiful cock shagging someone else…?’ Ginny shut her eyes and shuddered, a mixture of rage and… something else twisting her features. When her eyes fluttered open again, they were playful, aroused. ‘I imagine you’re feeling the same thing as I am… denial, but turned on in a way you just can’t explain…’

Harry swallowed thickly but saw no need to deny it. At his nod, Ginny’s smile widened and she crawled up to sit in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips softly pressed to his.

‘I love you.’

The kisses turned more passionate, his need for his wife everlasting. He held her close, pulling the blankets over them and already dreading how cold his bed would feel without Ginny there to snuggle with.

It wasn’t until Harry drifted off to sleep that his mind reminded him with its last conscious thought that Ginny had never told him who she had organised to take care of him and, when he finally woke up the next morning, her side of the bed was empty, her lingering warmth rapidly fading.

She was gone.

Just like that—off to the Harpies’ training camp with a duffel over one shoulder, his lips tingling with a kiss he hadn’t been conscious to appreciate.

The silence left in her wake wasn’t peaceful. It was crushing. Grimmauld Place hadn’t felt so depressing since The War.

Harry lay back on the bed they’d spent the previous night wrecking together, his body still aching in all the best ways, his cock, soft, caged, imprisoned.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on the warm afterglow—but his mind wouldn’t let him.

Not now.

She hadn’t said it, not outright. But he wasn’t an idiot. He’d spent the last twenty years digging through the words and minds of his targets to find the hidden subtext, to find the truth.

This wasn’t just about teasing him. Locking him up. Denying him. To Ginny, this wasn’t just another one of their wicked, if innocent games.

No.

This was about freedom—hers.

She was going to fuck someone else.

Maybe not tonight. Maybe not even when she returned to him. Maybe he’d even hold out against whatever scheme she had planned, and never fall to temptation, but that wasn’t the point.

She wanted to fuck somebody else. That was the point of this.

That was the point in this little game, in tempting him to stray.

And Merlin help him… it wasn’t just jealousy churning in his chest and boiling his blood. it was sinful desire. A desperate, yearning need that he’d never felt before…

The idea of his wife, sweaty, breathless, and a teasing smile on her lips, bouncing on someone else's cock while he sat here, locked, aching and turned-on—

He let out a long, shaky breath.

It made him feel sick. It made him feel pathetic. It made him want to touch himself so badly it hurt—but the cage was already in place, snug and unyielding. A mocking reminder of not only who owned him, but of his submission.

He was hers.

All of him.

And the terrifying, humiliating truth? The realisation that had him shaking, his cage magically tamping down on his sudden surge of arousal?

He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever felt so excited, so aroused, and all at the thought that he might no longer be enough for her.

It wasn’t like this kink, this lifestyle was unknown to him. In his line of work, you met all sorts. Harry just never thought it would be a possibility for him. He was not only incredibly—some would say unnaturally so—gifted in the todger department, but he knew he was an unparalleled lover and, if the women around him were to be believed, incredibly handsome.

And that still wasn’t enough for his insatiable wife.

That, more than anything, convinced Harry that her taking another lover was an inevitability, even should he survive this little game of hers.

When Ginny Potter wanted something, she wouldn’t stop until it was hers.

Looking at the time, he cursed. He needed to get ready for work. How he’d concentrate with his mind in the state of turmoil it was in?

That’s for Auror Harry to think about.

Finding the Elder Wand discarded on the floor, he fetched both it and his holly wand and went to shower, snorting as the billow of steam hit him in the face as soon as he opened the door.

I wonder if she’s completely drained all of London by now…

Showered and dressed in his Auror’s robes, Harry was about to Floo to work with his mind in tatters and guts still churning in a… not wholly unpleasant mixture of angst and arousal when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Harry frowned in confusion. Grimmauld Place was still under Fidelius—a necessity for anyone with his and his wife’s level of popularity, or someone in his line of work. Out of curiosity more than anything, Harry trudged over and swung open the door, his eyes widening in shock at what, no, who he saw standing there.

Looking as radiant as he’d ever seen her, Victoire Weasley stood on his doorstep with a smile so bright it might’ve blinded him if London’s skies weren’t a consistent, depressing grey. The last time he’d seen the incorrigible flirt, she’d been scurrying away from him, her confidence shattered and her tail between those long, model-like legs.

The morning light kissed her silvery-blonde hair, tousled just enough to suggest effortlessness while undeniably stylish and beautiful, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief—and something else. 

Something dangerous.

She looked like raw temptation given form. Like trouble dressed in a slinky designer dress. Like every bad idea he’d ever had rolled into one gorgeous, grinning bundle of temptation and seduction.

‘Good morning, Uncle Harry,’ she greeted sweetly with far more energy than anyone her age should have first thing in the morning.

She lifted her hand in a wave—casual, cheerful, innocent—but there was nothing innocent about what dangled from her wrist.

A very familiar Snitch charm caught the light with a glint of polished gold, twinkling as it spun on its chain like it had a mind of its own.

His key.

His release.

The only way Harry had to free himself until his wife came back… now hanging from the wrist of Victoire Weasley, the person his wife had apparently organised to take care of him while she was away.

The woman he had to resist, for a month, lest his wife be given free reign to take as many lovers as she desired.

His stomach sank.

And Victoire just smiled wider.