Mad Snorkacks and Englishmen

A/N: This chapter was supposed to be a simple set-up in plot towards the next bit of action, but I found it much more longer and more difficult to write than I had previously expected. I had to scrap the intro several times before finally settling on the current opener. Hope it worked. The porn titles used are real--shout-out to Nina Hartely. The line of poem is from Matthew Arnold\'s "Dover Beach". I\'m trying to keep any Muggle/real world references exclusive to the timeline of \'97, so Harry will not be employing the massive power of Google in this version. I continue to add more hints to Luna and her father and the trouble suggested by their past, but all will be revealed eventually; most likely in the next few installments.











Chapter 6: The Letter







“Oh yeah, you like it rough, don’t you?”







The Boy-Who-Lived was currently lying on his bed. The house was blissfully quiet except for his raspy lascivious mutterings to a fantasy woman nowhere in his immediate vicinity. His head was at the bottom end of his perfunctory mattress, while his feet were astride the headboard resting at either corner, the stance effectively spreading his legs apart wide and raising his bum in the air. Harry’s back was bent as he pushed his cock upwards into his tightening grip and he could feel a burning in his spine move up to his neck as his body twisted itself to reach for relief. He moaned into the vacant house like a wanton slut for her john, overeager and exaggerated, just because he could. More crude promises flew from his mouth.





“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re gonna beg me for it, whore. Tell me you love my cock.”





His voice was rough and needy, but possessed a soothing burr as one would talk to a lover. While the boy let his concupiscence flood his frame, his muscle adapting to the demands, his eyes were squeezed shut to hold in the powerful images behind his eyelids like a movie in a darkened theatre. It was featuring a woman with long, pale blonde hair and she was propped up in leather straps like a horse in a bridle, her wails of passion muffled by the bit in her mouth. And Harry could see his cock drive into her relentlessly while he whipped at her haunch, the skin glowing bright red under his punishment. So caught up was he in the visual that he barely registered the slide of his hand up to his open mouth, plunging several fingers in and soaking them with his saliva.





Harry’s brain barely noticed as the fingers exited his lips and cruised down below his arse, poking between the split globes of flesh as they searched for a puckered hole. The boy’s opposing hand was now a blur over his rigid prick and the moaning increased to a fevered pitch as a middle finger breached that hidden orifice with slow stitches pushing it forward. Before it could even gain entry to the second knuckle, the boy was seized by a sudden fit of inspiration and he flung his feet upwards and over his head, his knee almost collapsing into his face, but eventually both hitting the bed. Harry’s engorged shaft was now waving in front of him, the superglide of his palm over the skin never slowing in its brutal urging, and with a great gust of a shout, he watched his seed shoot out of the slit and fall into his waiting mouth, although much of it managed to splash everywhere else on his face.





Once his cock was spent, the boy let his body drop back to the bed with a whoosh. His chest still moved fast and hard as he tried to catch up to his breathing, the heart racing with such speed against his ribcage it felt bruised. Harry shuddered in the aftershocks, as slowly he regained his senses, overwhelmed by his workout but sated as he’d rarely felt before. His hand crept up to his coated face in a slow dawning that wasn’t quite prepared to feel one way or the other about this just yet, the globs of white sliding down his cheek.





He had tried fingering his arse only a few times before as he masturbated, and both times had been since his return to the Dursleys. The first time he was experimenting in the shower as he tossed off, his soapy digits seeming to find their way there quite by accident. It had felt different, but intense and he came like a rocket. He enthusiastically repeated the performance in his bed later that same night, but hadn’t done it again since. It made him feel a little too dirty, he thought, and the whole point of this retreat was to get over his perverted subversive behavior and get back to some semblance of a decent human being.





Although it had been naïve of him to really believe he could consider any time at the Dursley household a refuge from his troubles in the Wizarding world. He had fallen back into his intense loathing of them almost immediately, as Vernon sputtered and demanded like a clucking hen the minute they reached the house at Privet Drive. Harry had taken a few days before informing them that Dumbledore had been killed and by one of the staff. Petunia appeared shocked by the news, while his uncle merely glared then grumbled that he had been right about the school all along if they were employing murderers. Still, they had left him relatively alone once they’d settled back into their routines, not even bothering to weigh him down with the usual list of chores. So it seemed the boy had been given a reprieve in that area, but it was almost disappointing he’d lost that mode of mindless work as he looked for ways to fill up his time.





Harry had whiled away the slow moving hours tucked away in his room, letting his brain fracture further as it was besieged by endless worry and constant planning. He grappled with the myriad problems swilling around in his thoughts, but no matter how much the pressure of defeating Voldemort was heavy on his shoulders, his mind kept returning to the fair, dreamy witch who had consumed his thoughts each night.





Harry dragged his finger across his cheek and put it in his mouth again. He let the saltiness of his spunk sit on his tongue as he pondered the taste some more; he had gulped down what little had landed between his lips rather quickly. He didn’t know if it was one he could really savor, but it was inoffensive at least, he decided. The teen wondered how Luna would describe the taste, whether she would enjoy it and swirl it around her tongue in delight as if it were a fine wine or a delicious dessert. The thought made his prick jump again. Surely this would have to end soon, the boy despaired.





He was masturbating up to three and four times a day now, and it was doing a number on his body; he couldn’t continue like this. When he’d gotten back, he’d sorely discovered that doing without sex was like overcoming an addiction, as his cock protested the loss of the young witch’s quim. He wanted her badly, he admitted to himself, but had to settle for the partial relief his own hand could afford him. After a week of that, he was having difficulty getting up the enthusiasm. His body demanded it, but his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t want fantasy and an unsatisfying wank, he wanted her soft flesh under his hands; her mewls and sighs in his ear, her channel surrounding him in an encompassing heat obliterating him beyond reason. He needed Luna, not just her body.





The Chosen One mulled over his tacit promise to Dumbledore to finish what had been started, he wrangled with the fear his best friends’ promise to him brought with it, he analyzed the ways and methods that could be used in his plans to thwart a great dark lord. It was only the pressure of saving the Wizarding world as they knew it at his feet, his exasperation allowed. There was a whole society riding on his success. As the enormity of it all threatened to snow him under again, his thoughts would turn to her, the savior’s salvation. He would imagine her face hovering over his in the dead of night and watch her smile in her ethereal mistiness. Sometimes he felt pain course through him as he succumbed to another orgasm in her honor.





So had these first few weeks back unwound in a fevered loop, and he had looked for other means of diversion to gain some rest from his handiwork and ongoing internal struggle. When the Dursleys were out of the house, he would watch videos from Dudley’s collection and escape into the meaningless pictures on the screen. Most of the modern stuff was lost to him since his point of reference had been so diminished by his long stretches away from the Muggle pop culture. He lost interest and decided instead to play computer games on Dudley’s massive pc in the boy’s spacious room.





While Harry’s experience with technology was limited, he’d had a certain fascination with this particular appliance that had propelled him to learn how to navigate its tools, although his knowledge wasn’t completely lacking; he had been taught the basics back in junior form before Hogwarts. The teen wished that there was some comparable apparatus in a student wizard’s daily utilities. Slogging all hours of the day in a library surrounded by manky old tomes that went back to the Middle Ages was not the most expedient method in pursuit of information, and here he had a plethora at his finger strokes. Of course, the boy was hardly in a mood to research now. Rather, he let his aggression play out on the screen as he blasted through a variety of first-person shooter games in Dudley’s cache, imagining Snape’s face every time he gunned down the animated figures populating the game’s terrain. It had been sort of gratifying for a bit.





However, as Harry explored more of Dudley’s hard drive, he came across an unexpected hoard: Porn.





It was not that Harry was surprised his cousin would have it, but he was a little amazed that it even existed. He’d yet to come across a magical equivalent, although Dean had informed him back in the dorms that blueys were in high demand and that you could see just about anything you had a kink for. That had intrigued Harry, but he didn’t know if he could believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. And here it was in all its Technicolor, perverted glory. Harry had scanned some of the names of the files in a fit of hilarity at first. Names like, Pussyman 3: The Search Continues, Ben Dover’s Butt Bangers Bonanza, Gang Up On Me: The Second Round, and his personal favorite, Asswoman In Wonderland. That last title had made Harry crack up. Merlin, they’ll use any source for a porno title, he marveled, even a beloved classic of children’s literature, and he briefly wondered what kind of shenanigans “Asswoman” got up to with the March Hare.





Then he had started watching them and his attitude changed, no longer with so much amusement. While there was a definite thrill in watching that kind of action roll out with such obvious disregard for the standards of societal norms, there seemed a superficial sheen that failed to engage Harry on a certain level. It was hot, but not scorching. He felt almost clinical as he observed the close-up shots of the women’s cunts, the man’s knob getting in the way of his view. He watched the various styles and positions of the fucking onscreen, accompanied by grunts and moans that lacked any fire, and relegated them to his personal files locked up in the Sexual box of his brain. If nothing else, it was a good way to spend his time building up for another inevitable wanking.





The second review of Harry’s perusal came a few days later, after Dudley had left to make merry with his gangbangers in the park. He still wanted to watch the Alice parody, but his eye noticed a listed file that sparked his interest. Dudley had ambiguously labeled it as “horsey” and nothing more. Oh god, just how far would his ogre of a cousin plumb the depths of his sick fascinations, he wondered. There wasn’t an actual horse fucking a person, was there? His curiosity demanded he open it. It appeared this was not so much a movie as it was just random scenes, but they all involved the same three participants. Harry suddenly lost all air in his lungs as his gaze took in the grotesque play unfolding before him.





There was a woman on a table, up on all fours like a dog. Her head was harnessed in a binding of leather straps, and there was a rod in her mouth connected by metal rings like a bit, with what appeared to be reins dangling from the sides. She was mostly nude, but more leather ties adorned her body and there looked like what could only be described as a horse’s tail protruding from her arse. Harry tried to gulp to no avail, his mouth had gone dry. Two men moved around her, yelling and coaxing for her to attenuate their demands as if she were a beast to be trained. One of the men, dressed in more leather, but his pants cut away so that the area around his crotch was bare and his cock sprang free, carried a riding crop in one gloved hand, and he smacked it across her bottom, while Harry stared, making her moan around the bar in her mouth. Her arse was striped in swaths of red, and the other gentleman barked out his enumeration as each slap made contact. The sound of it was captivating, Harry felt hypnotized by the whole drama.





When the woman had been served enough of the stinging blows, the man by her head had removed the bit and then promptly shoved his prick inside her mouth. The woman groaned around the obtrusion like she was receiving her reward and needed more of it. Something about her submission needled Harry and he drank in her muted hoseas. The gloved man with the crop began whipping her back and she cried out and moved against the pain, but she never pulled away from the second man’s ramming cock at her face. The burning boy watched the bulge in her throat transfixed as she swallowed around her abuser, and then his mind tried to comprehend the tail that was now being disengaged from her rear.





The long hairs were pulled together at a base, and as it exited her arse, he could see what his brain insisted somewhere distantly in the fog of his consciousness was a dildo. It was huge, thought the boy, and he was unbelieving at first that she could have such an instrument penetrating her bunghole. He felt his own sphincter squeeze in accord. Then at some point, the woman’s body had accommodated them both, one pushing into her arse, the other riding her mouth. And if that hadn’t been enough to render him insensible, his eyes suddenly caught the strange dangling bits from her heavy breasts. He looked closer, his face near the screen. They looked like small metal weights, tied around her long straining nipples, making her tits sag in their gravity. Harry lost it.





The boy couldn’t even take the time to shut it off, but left the video running while he ran to his room, knocking over Dudley’s chair in the process, and slamming his door once he’d reached his haven. He’d ripped off his clothes, flinging his glasses at the nightstand, then threw himself to the bed naked and enjoyed one of the best orgasms he’d ever had alone. It was almost as good as the ones he’d had with Luna. Almost.





And so here he laid, with cum on his face and sore muscles complaining of the battering exercise, his mind effectively blown and left feeling like he’d just come out of the other side of a tunnel, or through an arcing wave of the ocean. Something big had just happened to him, his conscience insisted. He lay there thinking about that dreamy girl who gave him her body unconditionally and then a seed began to germinate in the muddled swamp of his thoughts.





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Harry sat at his flimsy excuse for a desk the next day putting the finishing sentence to parchment as he closed out the last of his letters. He blew on the ink to speed up the drying process as he looked over the pile he’d already sealed up, awaiting their afternoon delivery to the scattered recipients by a restless Hedwig. The dark-haired boy had spent most of the morning scratching out his missives, and as he concluded his correspondence, he glanced out of his window with a sense of anticipation.





The first few had been addressed to his best mates, just brief notes comprised of succinct updates of his time back conveyed in his usual spare prose, but letting them know in subtle hints how his progress in their upcoming “project” was faring. He identified it as zero to nil, but that he was eager to meet up with them at the Burrow to see if his fellow companions had enjoyed any success on the matter.





The third he had written to Remus Lupin, as he was hoping there would be some more contact from him (ie, the Order) in regards to his transport out of the Dursley home come the time of his seventeenth birthday. When Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley had made a surprise visit the week before, they had informed him that the duty of giving Harry leave would fall to Alastor Moody by Side-Along as the very minutes drew near to the boy’s age of consent. Harry wanted to be quite sure he was ready for the retired Auror when he arrived. He wasn’t expecting Lupin to write in return, as the details would not be safe via letter carrier, but he was hoping his former DADA professor would pay him a visit incognito or otherwise to fill him in on what was happening back at the Ministry. He’d been following the Daily Prophet for mentions of Voldemort’s appearances, but so far had seen little trouble attributed to him, although the Muggle newscasts had painted a different story. Harry could definitely see signs of the madman’s calamitous touch in a variety of unexplained accidents and explosions throughout parts of London.





The final epistle was to the young woman who lived in his every waking moment, shimmering like a fairy in her elusive flittering as she danced among the detritus that cluttered up his overtaxed brain. Dark lords and dead headmasters notwithstanding, she received the bulk of his attention as he weaved in and out of reflection on the many ways his life had gone to seed and yet there burned bright this unholy fire. He wanted Luna, he didn’t want her, he needed Luna, he didn’t need her; until at last the vacillating grew tiresome and he took hold of a singular shining thought, letting it fill him with the conviction of necessity. The raven-haired, sex-starved, possibly aberrant, definitely debauched young wizard felt it was time to ask her to see him. It had to be before his escape from this prison to Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry determined; there was no way the boy would make it another two weeks away from her. Having her visit him was fraught with danger, he knew, but he had resolved to find a way that he could smuggle her into the house and spend at least a few hours with her unhampered by the rest of the world.





It had occurred to Harry that he might have her obtain the use of the Knight Bus for her travel, his only concern her destination point, as he couldn’t let her be seen near the house. He would have to meet her somewhere close by and then sprint her back with him hidden under the veneer of the Invisibility Cloak. Perhaps the park in the square by the school would be sufficient as it was populated enough that it was avoided by dangerous elements, yet invited the type of preoccupied activity that a girl dropping in out of nowhere might not be noticed. Harry felt it was a feasible proposition worth undertaking; his prick heartily agreed.





The boy worried that maybe his desperation was blindsiding him to the fact that, in essence, he was marking Luna in the same way that he had envisioned Ginny with a big crosshair on her back drawing the Death Eaters’ aim. But he foolishly insisted to himself that if he could just see her the ONE more time, if he could just come to grips with this dark sexual obsession he apparently carried for her, then he could leave her alone after that and move on to his fate.





Deep in the blacker spaces of his mind, Harry had already questioned his mortality, had considered the very real possibility that he might not be coming back from this journey. Death lurked in every shadow for the Chosen One, so much so that he should have become good mates with the scythe-wielding hooded wraith by now, so it was with no surprise that Harry felt a certain amount of ambivalence in the prospect. Yet, underneath that morbid acceptance, the boy felt small and insignificant in the face of it, raging into a dying of the light at the unfairness and the utter waste of it all. But he had to try, because it was in the attempt, no matter how futile or impossible the fight, that Harry felt his identity shine through. He had to try to vanquish the pure evil manifested in the scaly visage of the former Mr. Riddle. He had to try to fulfill this idea the prophecy birthed forth and bring it to fruition so that others might go on living and loving; even if there was only the slimmest chance of success. And so he would try to see his desire for Luna contained, with all of its ferocity and all of its scary implication, into the festooned, glittering package that he had gifted to himself.





Harry scrawled her name across the envelope in his inimitable scribble and handed it to the waiting beak of a spirited Hedwig perched on his dresser. “Fuck it,” the boy said aloud.





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Luna was in the kitchen making some Gurdyroot tea for her father. He had just arrived home from his small office in town and was out touring his vegetable garden as the day faded into early evening. The sun cast its last lingering warmth over this side of the earth as it bade it goodnight in a pool of rusted gold, and Luna watched the elder Lovegood doddering around his plots of tomato vines, runner beans and the bushy, overeager tops of the rhubarb. He spoke encouragingly to the buds appearing on his Flutterby bushes as if they were his younger children, and his daughter once again felt the squeeze of her heart at the sight of his contented glow. It was good to hear him humming as he turned on the path to the back door. Her father seemed more resilient, more excited, and more alive than ever before. The girl smiled at the proof of his recovery because she loved him more than anything in the world.





Xenophilius Lovegood did most of his work out of his home, but for the weekly meetings with his tiny staff of writers, most of them freelance, to discuss upcoming layouts his father rented a space that was apart from his rook-shaped domain. Even though every copy of The Quibbler was doused with his sweat and blood, he spared his daughter the disturbance of having her home taken over by printing presses and excitable, herbal guzzling conspiracy theorists. Luna would cherish every opportunity her father gave her, however, to assist him in shaping the content of the magazine. Up until a few years ago, he had done all of the work and the writing himself, even down to distribution. Yet, his perseverance and insistence on championing the truth as he saw fit seemed to buoy his enterprise into a middling success. The growing readership since the seminal Harry Potter interview had pushed his dream into a quantifiable reality, and with the continuing upsurge, there were days ahead to thrive on.





Luna would read her father’s articles over and over, although he would have already consulted her to read through the material before ever running it to print. She did this not just to support him and his newfound livelihood, but also because she adored his writing. Her father’s waxing would often be overlooked and underappreciated by his readers in light of the more sensational elements of the piece, but for his progeny, there was a wound up literary style that proved endlessly entertaining to her, as she watched her father’s words overlap into humor and reverence and poetry in a tight braid of fanciful language. She dreamed one day that she could write as honestly and as joyfully as he did; her father’s muse seemed to be the very universe and all that populated it.





As the girl poured the tea into cups for them both, she looked up in time to notice a distant black spot over her father’s head looming forth into the shape of a large white owl. Luna’s breath caught for a moment as she seemed to recognize the bird but dared not make assumptions just yet. However, as it flew up to the windowsill, to the delight of her dad, she knew from whence the animal came and who had sent her. She stroked Hedwig’s wings and spoke to her gently, thanking her for the mail as she pulled the letter forward. Luna asked Hedwig to wait just a moment and then offered him a bit of ground meat from the shepherd’s pie mix on her dinner plate. Then she went to hurriedly rip open the parchment. It was blank when she unfolded it, but the girl simply pulled her wand from behind her ear and tapped at the page with its tip. At her magical signature, a messy script bloomed forth. Luna sat back to read as her father jumped into the room crowing over the majestic beauty of their visitor.





Luna,



If you’re able to read this, then you’ve figured out the means to end the enchantment on my letter. Can never be too careful; constant vigilance and all that.



This note might seem odd, in that I’ve never written to you before, and I hope you don’t hold that against me. I suppose I took your friendship for granted without really extending myself more than necessary. I let you help me when I needed it, but forgot to look out for you in return. That’s not what being a good friend is about and it was woeful of me to let it remain one-sided throughout the school year. Even now, you still continue to put yourself out there for me when all I’ve done is…well, ‘abuse the privilege’.



I don’t know how you’re feeling about me right now after the way I treated you on the HE ride home. I wish I could say that person wasn’t really me, but I know that’s not totally accurate. I suppose it is obvious that I’m going through a rough patch, but I have to pull myself together, and lately all I can think about is you.

In another fortnight, I’ll be heading away from Little Whinging for good and meeting up with everyone at The Burrow, but that is still a long way away when I only have thoughts of your hair and the taste of your mouth and the feel of your skin to sustain me. I want to see you very much. I have to be honest in that my desire behind that wish is not merely to talk though I have much to say to you.



If you feel that you would like to talk to me, too, and that you would feel up to visiting Surrey for a day….or two, then please send Hedwig back to me with a yes and I will let you know further my plans for your transport.



With much sincerity,

Harry





Luna ripped the bottom of the parchment that was still clean, grabbed the quill sitting on a table by the hearth, and wrote out three letters. She then folded it over and tied it back to Hedwig’s leg. The girl gave him another niblet of her meal and then watched her white neck twist as she hooted once before flying away. Her father had scampered to her side to view the take-off.





“Now, what was that lovely specimen bringing to us, Poppet? I daresay but it looked like Harry Potter’s owl for a moment.” He turned to her excitedly, as his eyes bulged as great as his daughter’s most visible feature. She regarded her father seriously for a brief spell, but then decided it was time for her to have a little chat with him.





“Daddy, it was Harry’s owl. He sent me a request,” she informed him as she leveled her gaze at his enthusiastic response. She moved him to his chair to seat him for dinner while they spoke, but his head and body twisted around as he tried to glean more information.





“Oh, most excellent, dear. Does this mean he’s considering giving the Q another interview? Tell me, is he ready to indict Scrimgeour and the Ministry in the case of Dumbledore’s murder? I can see now why the Heliopaths were secretly recruited if Fudge was planning on taking control of Hogwart’s through such sinister misdeeds all along. Rufus must have decided to follow through what Cornelius started. I have heard through a source that there may also have been a Giant involved. Will Mr. Potter be giving us an eyewitness account of the grisly event?”





Luna patted her father’s hand as she bid him eat his food before it got cold. “Daddy, Harry is not granting us an interview. This is about another matter.” The girl sipped at her tea and took a deep breath as she prepared for the conversation about to arise. Her father looked at her expectantly but said nothing further.





Her eyes cast downward to her plate at first, but then she raised her face fully to him and pulled back her shoulders a bit. “Harry has asked me to visit him in Little Whinging,” she stated quietly. Xenophilius looked baffled by the words, but then pulled his eyebrows upward in a show of surprise.





“Well, that is a very friendly gesture, and most delightful of him, I should say, but isn’t his home with his family somewhat in question right now? My sources are telling me that the head of the MLE, that Thicknesse fellow, is not to be trusted. He’s been floating around some suspicious sounding propositions in the name of security to the rest of the Department heads. All eyes are on the Chosen One at this juncture, particularly from the head of the Aurors. Are you sure it would be a wise move, Poppet?”





“Do you really think Scrimgeour and his lot will be watching Harry at his home, Daddy?” Now, Luna was starting to get worried that he might be in danger. This seemed like an awful invasion of the teen’s privacy.





“Well, I can only speculate, dear, but things are becoming very shadowy under the new Ministry rule. Harry is a symbol to a lot of people. It’s likely he’ll become a target if they try to cover up their criminality behind Albus’ murder.” He looked to be debating the likelihood of all this with much wrinkled consternation, but then his face popped into a wide smile and he shook off his gloom and doom. “But then, who am I to suggest you turn down a nice boy’s invitation? Is this going to be a luncheon sort of a date, or will there be a party involved?” Xenophilius suddenly seemed thrilled to discover that his daughter might be consorting with friends outside of school, as most other children typically did.





“Um, no, Daddy. Harry wants for me to spend the night there.” She let the words suspend between them at the supper table dangling by a thin wire, but quickly looked down to her shepherd’s pie again; it appeared to be congealing in its cooling temperature.





“I see. That is most unusual for a boy and a girl, though, from what I’ve gathered. You know, the parents I occasionally have cause to deal with professionally suggest by their anecdotes of their own children that it is more than likely inappropriate. Will there be other friends at this sleepover, my moonbeam?” Luna’s father cast a measured gaze at his daughter as he waited for her answer.





“No, Daddy. I believe Ginny told me he lives with a cousin, but other than that, Harry only requested my presence. I don’t know what his aunt and uncle think of the decision, but they must be alright with it. We’ll have supervision. But…..” The girl paused as she prepared her next words. She knew she could be completely candid with him, but she didn’t want to disappoint him, either. She looked her father square in the eye.





“Harry and I have entered into a sexual relationship, Daddy. It’s still fairly new, and I think he wants to be able to discuss it further, in terms of what it means for the both of us.”





A procession of expressions sifted over Xenophilius’ face like a time-lapsed Wizarding photo, but he finally settled on one of compassion, and he addressed his daughter tenderly in a patient examination of the details.





“I see, Poppet. And is the boy aware of your situation? Has he been attentive to your needs?”





Luna remained blunt in her admission. “No, I haven’t told him, Daddy. This was all a bit unexpected. For both of us, I imagine. Although, he was very responsible towards me; he offered to use precautionary methods.” She felt it only fair to give Harry his due and she knew her father would appreciate his maturity.





“Well, did you take him up on it? You say he merely offered. Did you children use a contraceptive or not?” Her father seemed to be holding back at his hammering, and eased into a calming demeanor again. “This is most important, Luna,” he spoke with some gravity.





“But Daddy, you and I both know I can’t bear children. Madame Huxley told me that the potions I take every week were enough to keep me protected.”





“From transmittable disease, yes, luv, but from fertility, it is not quite as potent as you would suspect. I fear that Madame Huxley was not as clear in her medical consultation as I would have hoped. Do not misunderstand her notes to you in regards to your reproductive organs and their care. You can’t afford to make a mistake.” Her father’s eyes were now wide with his increasing alarm as he tried to reason with his daughter. He took her hand in his and curved his fingers around her palm while watching her face carefully.





“Listen to me, Poppet, it was not proven systematically that your organs had lost the ability to conceive, your prognosis only indicates that you would never be able to carry a child to term. Furthermore, your body would suffer from the impact greatly if that were to transpire. Now, we don’t want that to happen, do we?” Luna felt his concern flow across her form like the whipped breeze and spray from crashing waves, reminding her of the summer they took in the beaches of Dover when she was thirteen (”Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land ”). She suddenly grew fearful of how her body could betray her.





“Of course not, Daddy. I’m sorry I didn’t think it through more carefully. I’ve been hopelessly facile in my understanding of it.” Her silver irises grew cloudy in her contrition.





Xenophilius patted her hand in comfort and reassurance. “That’s alright, moonbeam. We’ll take care of this. I’ll firecall Healer Huxley in the morning and set up an appointment for you at St. Mungos. Just a quick examination to make sure you’re put to rights, then we’ll increase the dosage on the contraceptive ingredients in your administered potions. Alright, then?” He smiled sweetly at his daughter.





“Yes, Daddy. Thank you for sorting me out.” Her father hesitated for a moment at her words, but then pressed forward.





“Now, luv. While it is critical that we understand the physical components of this kind of relationship in connection to your case, let us not forget that there is a very intense and, often times, confusing emotional aspect to such an entanglement. Especially in ones so young as yourselves. I confess that I was not quite prepared to be faced with your passage into a woman so soon. I’m well reminded of how I bungled up our chat over your burgeoning maturity when you began your monthly, and I know I’m a poor substitute for your mother…”





“Oh, Daddy, you know that’s not true. Our chats are just fine. Mother would be so proud of you,” the girl cried in her insistence. She knew how difficult it was for her father sometimes, to live in the constructs of everyday life, and informing his daughter of her body’s growing changes had been a duty he took on with the zeal of a professor drilling the periodic table of elementals into his students.





“Well, you are sweet to say that, Poppet. But I want you to understand that this is not something to be held lightly. I can see how this may have come about, surely. You’re a very mature girl with a much deeper understanding of the world than perhaps your classmates are ready to observe. I daresay you exhibit more sense and awareness than many adults, in that regard, but then you are as brilliant as your mother. Not quite as genius as the old man, though, but getting there,” her father winked at her as he teased with a jovial smirk, but with evident pride in her abilities.





“Harry Potter is a bit of a special case, too. He’s had to deal with quite a lot in his short life and I suspect he exudes an air of one who’s lived their life beyond what their appearance suggests. There’s a very grave center to the boy. I admire his tenacity against the iniquities of his judges. I hope you will arrange an introduction for me soon, sweetheart, I’m most enthused to make his acquaintance.” His face now bore a broad grin and Luna felt the tenseness in her stomach slide away.





“So, does this mean that you have no objections to my excursion? Harry would never allow me to be placed in a compromising position,” she shivered slightly at this, “but I am ever so eager to see him.” She felt strong in admitting this to her dad. Luna could still feel Harry’s power course through her.





“I consent to the arrangement, Luna, as long as you promise to think everything through carefully and don’t do anything rash. Do you have an idea of how you’re going to get to Surrey? Are you expecting a Side-Along with your ol’ da’?” he enquired.





“Actually, Harry is sending me more correspondence on how he deigns to have me arrive. I got the impression from his conversation with Hermione and Ronald that he has some protection around the vicinity to keep him safe from attack of Death Eaters. I’m not sure how this will figure into his plan, but I will fill you in as soon as I get word, Daddy.” Her spirits continued to rise higher in anticipation.





“Alright, we shall discuss it then. Now, drink up your Gurdyroot. I’ll have to start adding more asphodel to the brew to keep away the Knashers. They can cause quite a nasty affliction from one’s passion. You know how they feed off that libido, those teeth are vicious and ghastly. You’ll have to keep watch for any bright red patches around….er, certain areas,” he fumbled with some light color blooming in his cheeks.





Later, as Luna fell across her bed with the bright magenta duvet, she gazed up at her ceiling contemplating her partial work on the painting she’d began, while her mind sifted through Harry’s offer and how it affected her. She’d finished Ginny and Neville facsimiles first, their faces vivid in her mind with every detail intact, but she’d slowed her hand and wand once she started to draw the boy, her need to bring Harry’s artful countenance into being with all of its perfection in every stroke. Her body felt a flush now at the thought of those lips brushing over her skin, her breasts; her slick and wanting core. The image of those emerald green pupils boring into her with all the flash of a Kneazle’s yellow eyes lit a fire inside her belly that quickly heated throughout her body.





In a dreamlike daze, she slowly drew up her skirt and rubbed her fingers across the wetness in her knickers. She thought about the ways that Harry’s tongue had driven her desire into a frenzy, how his wild, uncontrollable hair had looked between her legs like it belonged there. The girl allowed her finger to slip underneath the material and dip into the dribbling rivulet along her slit as she immersed into the full flower of her lust. She pushed her hips upward as she felt her finger slide inside of her and couldn’t contain the small moan that escaped her lips at the intrusion. Now she took her other hand and filled her mouth with as many fingers would fit, sucking on them the way she wanted to suck on Harry’s strong prick. She entered another finger inside her cunny to rub alongside the other and as she snapped her pelvis forward in her need to feel full of the boy, her orgasm quickly washed over her in a flooding suffusion of light and heat. She slumped back down in an exhale of shaky breath. "Yours," she whispered.





Luna could hardly wait for the next letter to arrive.











I\'d be very interested to hear what you think of the dialogue between Luna and her father. I worked very hard to portray a certain kind of candidness they would have with each other, so I hope it didn\'t go beyond the realm of believability.