You Love Me For Everything You Hate Me For [2]

Groaning and grunting and heaving atop Harry, Darcy was ready to get this over with. "Just fucking cum already, Potter. Finish with me so you can roll over and go to bed like an animal." Her ample chest bounced wildly, the mad indulgence and fever heaving quicker on. But her breath was tight, lips constantly shivering, pussy squeezing around Harry's cock with an absolutely hopeless feeling consuming her. This was insane, burning hotter and stranger through her.

Harry's hands caressed their way up Darcy's body, exploring her more intensely, savouring the way she jerked about in these passions, a frenzied rush of weirdness and anger that kept her confused beyond sense. It was another night with Darcy staying with him. Due to the 'unique' circumstances, Harry had been given an empty dorm room in the tower to stay in with Darcy, who was still technically a member of Slytherin, but was absolutely not welcome there. In theory, it was for Darcy's privacy and to 'respect' the unique situation of one student directly owning another. In practice, it meant the two could fuck indiscriminately, and they absolutely did so.

Throwing herself erratically into this and trying to deal with all the chaos and frustration and commotion, Darcy kept riding Harry, throwing herself harder into this and trying to keep up with the boundless frustration that came from trying to deal with being Harry's. Fucking him every night left her tense and frustrated, working through her messy emotions without much clear idea how to handle herself or what she was supposed to do to deal with all of it. She just rode him, trying her best to deal with this. Only a few days into this living arrangement, the tense situation was becoming all too expected, all to normal. It was infuriating, but Darcy had to roll with it, knowing that right now all of her safety and security lay in Harry's hands.

"Not if you don't cum," he said. "You should enjoy this too." He started to thrust up from below, feeling her up harder, insisting his touch upon Darcy with ravenous excitement and molten intent. The pleasure was growing fiercer and harsher, driven by a passion that kept escalating impatiently through him with only one goal in mind.

Scoffing and hissing her way through the pleasure, Darcy struggled to ground herself, the tensions growing weirder inside of her, demanding something she felt powerless against in this infuriating state. She didn't want to give up to him like this, didn't want to let him have this much lead on her, but she kept faltering, struggling harder to deal with him and to make sense of this. "Stop acting like a--you're not a gentleman!" She clicked her tongue, stubbornly bouncing faster in a mad bid to be the one to take responsibility for her own orgasm no matter what. She was a mess, growing more fierce and frustrated by the second, caring only about the stubborn strangeness that escalated inside of her.

She wasn't ready to concede just that fast to this all. She had to fight this, struggling through the maddest of attentions and the pleasures that she was unable to deal with in a healthy way. Darcy was still aggressive and grumpy about this whole thing, frustrated to eb owned by Harry and to deal with the humiliations that followed, each passing day feeling more strained and offensive to her as she tried to navigate her way through life as not just a girl but a girl despised by all her former friends and under the ownership of her enemy. She had little in the way of choices now, but she was determined to hold tight and to keep barging stubbornly through this, to refuse any semblance of care or attention Harry tried to smooth things over with. Darcy wasn't here for that. Darcy was here to be mad.

Harry held onto her, letting her ride out her anger on him. The mad slams of her hips down into his lap certainly felt nice enough to be happy letting her take this at whatever pace she wanted to, so he rolled with it, embracing these moments and the pleasures that came, watching her be so cute with her face furled in anger like that. She'd come around on her time, and Harry was just doing his part to not push her too hard or do anything too drastic to push her around. He just did whatever he could to make her feel good and to keep urging Darcy deeper, the writhing pleasure getting to her, wearing at her patience and including the most bizarre of pleasures. He was sitll trying to find a good balance to handle all these commotions through, not being too rough with her in this feeling-out period.

All huffy and furious and desperate to deal with this, Darcy rode out the moment to a height of spectacle and ecstasy, and the pleasure was too much for her to pretend she didn't want. her body writhed and her spine arched back, the sensations crashing down hotly upon her and bringing with all of it something absolutely mad. Darcy gave in to the pleasures, to fiery passions demanding everything from her, and she couldn't ignore it. Her body trembled, an all-consuming passion ripping through her completely. She was so ready for these pleasures to take her, to be consumed by it, and as Harry's cum pumped into her, she struggled to pretend she hated it while giving in hazily to every second of mad hunger and satisfaction.

The shaky, frustrated haze hung onto Darcy as she went limp atop him, shaky and frustrated, biting her lip and trying very hard to maintain a scowl of some sort. Harry just met it with a smile. "Something tells me you're Reay for sleep too," he said.

Darcy rolled off of Harry and turned around, yanking blankets over herself and facing away from him. "Not that you have any reason to care," she grumbled. There wasn't much she felt like she could do about all these attentions, left trying to sleep it off and grump her way into tomorrow.

Harry had other ideas, slipping happily in from behind and pulling Darcy in against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, a firm and comforting attention making her scrunch up in frustration, but not exactly in ways that she felt like she could fight. She didn't say anything or lash out any further, even pressing back against his touch and feeling the comfort of his warmth soothe over her body a little bit with its warming attention. She hated that he could make her feel safe, but as her eyes sank slowly shut, it was exactly the sort of safety that she needed.

********************************

"Hey traitor, what's it like to suck Potter cock?" jeered a voice from across the dungeon where potions class took place.

"His mum's a mudblood, right? Is he gonna steal your magic from you for himself?"

"Imagine being so bad at dueling you get turned into a big titted slag who sucks cock for shelter."

Darcy's quill snapped from the tension with which she applied it to the paper, the frustration boiling over inside of her. The Slytherin bullies had all fallen in line and taken orders from Malfoy, but Darcy was not a leader to them, and wasn't seen as one of their own, leading to the mad, cackling jackassery that showed little restraint or dignity, and not a shred of cleverness to go around. It shouldn't have even hurt Darcy, but it was so persistent, and it was from people who used to be friends.

"If you'd like to get beaten at a duel that hard, you can keep talking!" Harry's swift, harsh response perked up immediately. He rose up to his feet, hand reaching into his pocket and visibly preparing to grab his wand. "We can duel right now. All of you, if you'd like. Well, not you, Crabbe. I think you'd make a pretty ugly girl, honestly. But Goyle? Zabini? Come on, if you want to jeer at Darcy, why don't you put up?"

None of the three responded. There was a lot of attention on Harry, the whole classroom having directed all of its shock and its surprise now at the confident posture of Harry standing at the ready.

"Oh? Nothing, then. No words. No words from a trio of coward idiots who don't even know how to stand up for themselves. Must be hard not having a leader to tell any of you what to do and give any of you spines. None of you are smart enough to even string a response together, because all you have is 'cocksucker' and the usual tired crap. You're making fun of Darcy, but she wasn't just the brains of the operation, she was the only thing that turned you three into anything more than hexed statues that mutter slurs every few minutes."

"Potter," Darcy said, voice trembling under the haze of these emotions. "What are you doing?"

"Are you insulting her because you hate her, or because you're mad you lost someone to do all the thinking for you? All I see are a trio of idiot pigs who are afraid taking orders from a girl will make them less men, as if you could become any less of men in the first place." Goyle rose to his feet. He didn't know why. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he jolted up, staring at him from across the desk. Harry was ready to slam him harder. "Do you even understand why that's an insult, Goyle, or are you just trying to look impressive because there's girls in the room?"

That one absolutely flew over his head, given the way Crabbe's brow furrowed in confusion. Pansy grabbed his sleeve and tried to urge him to sit back down, but Harry's comment about taking orders from girls made him self-conscious, left him pulling against her touch and standing there trying to be firm and trying to present a bold face. He was failing miserably at that, drawing some snickers from around the room. He was now embarrassing himself just by standing up and reacting dumbly to Harry's insults.

"Darcy is my girl now, and if anybody wants to pick a fight over that, they can expect trouble, got it? If you insult her again, you're going to have to answer to me." His words drew silence. Awkward, strained silence from people who didn't want to say anything or provoke too bold a response, but Harry's authoritative presence had a funny way of making them almost immediately too frightened to want to speak up against him. He was ruthless and firm, staking his claim now. "Silence. Okay. Good. Keep it that way, because if you don't want a fight, you should just keep quiet. And if you do want a fight, pick one you can win."

"Har--Potter," Darcy whined, bitter under her breath as she buried her face down into the pages of her potions textbook. Her cheeks were bright red. "Why?"

"I'm tired of the things they say about you," he told her. "So I'm going to stand up for you from now on."

"I'm not a fucking charity case. I don't need your protection."

"I want to protect the people closest to me, and you're my girlfriend, s--"

"You keep saying that," she growled, head sinking lower. She remained a squirming mess, embarrassed by all these attentions and by the confidence with which Harry said things that embarrassed her more. "Why do you keep--it's not like th--we're not--"

"We are," Harry said.

"I'm the sex slave you take pity on, not your girlfriend. And I wouldn't want to be your girlfriend anyway!"

"Well, I'm not telling your former friends that you're my sex slave I take pity on, Darcy. That would make things worse." Harry sounded oddly amused about the whole thing as he responded; as much as he should have been more restrained about this, the truth was, the way she got all grumpy and insistent and panicked when he started to be affectionate to her at all was unbearably endearing, and he couldn't resist the intensely satisfying feelings he felt in pushing her a little bit. "How about I order you to pretend you're my girlfriend to embarrass you less?"

"Shut up," she growled. "I need a new quill."

"I'd buy my g--"

"If you finish that sentence I'll stomp on your foot right now," she growled while snatching Harry's from his hand. Harry accepted it with a growing smile, oddly delighted to see how she kept reacting and happy to let the moment rest now. He'd stood up for her, and she could act like she didn't want to give him credit for it all she wanted to, but he could tell she needed it.

*****************************

Gagging noisily on Harry's cock, her throat struggled in panic and frustration, noisy sputters and heaves and a sense of complete surrender pushing her out of her mind. She had to keep struggling and slobbering, her head working up and down Harry's cock, guided with brutal tugs on her hair to urge her along. Her beautiful, blonde locks were something to be proud of, but Harry saw their best use as glorified handles to use on her, pushing her to struggle and shiver and lose track of any semblance of focus. She was just gagging on Harry's dick and being thrown into pure chaos, a struggling mess wishing for sanity to prevail while receiving the mad attentions forward that wore her down harder.

Everything gentlemanly about the ways Harry stood up for Darcy were fucking gone now, replaced by wild strokes from below that made heavy balls smack against her chin while Harry used her throat like a cocksleeve. "After a long day, this is the best thing," he groaned, and the sounds of her gagging and struggling on his cock were music to his ears. Harry wasn't subtle or gentle about what eh was after from her, letting the mad chaos push her to a state of panic where she was doomed to fall ever lower into his touch, to twist through madness and worry and panic with his wicked hands holding ever firmer onto her hair.

The duality of Harry being decent to her in public and using her like a cheap whore in private left Darcy's head spinning, every desperate attempt to make sense of his attentions failing harder and harder in the haze of what he did to her. She was stuck just obeying, going along with whatever he did and wishing she had the capacity for rational thought, but this was getting messier and more difficult, something she just had to navigate through with sloppy panic and an intent to try and hold herself even somewhat together. This was insanity, and she felt less and less able to grasp the pressures and panics of a moment sliding further away from her as Harry used her up.

For Harry, this was just pleasure. Just the mad fascination and desire that came from letting these pleasures rule him. He was unrepentant about throwing himself into this, about orally dominating her and pounding down her throat. "You're so good at this," he told her. "Helps that I know you'd never agree to this normally, but you make such a cute girl." Harry was unabashed and shameless about how smitten he was with Darcy in this state, and how much he enjoyed these mad spirals of indulgence. He was out to have his fun at any cost, and these mad passions pushed her deeper into panic and weirdness, forcing her to the limit of what she could handle.

The fact this had become an everyday spectacle was the utmost frontier of madness for Darcy, but nothing made this simpler, nothing made her head settle or made the ideas of containing herself any easier. She was just giving in deeper, stumbling her way through these pressures and into something that she was powerless against. She didn't understand how anyone could have possibly dealt with these pressures, how she was supposed to make sense of feelings burning through her with such madness and fire, but with every frustrating twist she fell lower, deeper into weird, weirdness, until she was barely able to comprehend things a moment longer.

Darcy hated sucking cock most. Not because of the action, not even because of how rough he was with her. Just because she felt the most vulnerable here, unable to snark or lash back at him or try to insist she wasn't into this, couldn't call him a pervert or insist that she was having a bad time. She was just sloppily serving his dick, succumbing to the most absolutely fundamental pressures for his satisfaction, without the ability to insist she didn't want this, to aggressively let Harry know as much, she was doomed to fall deeper, doomed to struggle her way through panic and frustration, the madness and weirdness that forced her ever lower. This was all too much to handle, but she felt powerless, stripped of a choice now.

Instead, she just kept serving, letting Harry get off without objection or even a token effort to push back against this. She was just his plaything, a helpless slut that got used only for surrender and desire, and she was powerless to fight it, learning the hard way what spirals of chaos and frustration could force her down. Madness and twisting fire simply forced her down, and she wasn't able to do anything about it but plunge. She felt ready, felt needy, and she was prepared to give in to this madness fully, and there was just absolutely no restraint to it. Harry's pulls and tugs and aggressive gestures wore harder at her patience, and Darcy knew what was coming.

Harry's cum erupted into her mouth, a gooey rush of sticky, messy delight coating the lining of her throat and flooding into her mouth. Darcy swallowed before she could think, guzzling down his seed and further embracing these senseless pleasures. It was automatic, her submission magically enforced and her will belonging to him. It sent a shiver up her spine, but she held tight, giving in to this and letting him cum all he wanted, the mad embrace of pleasure and chaos and fire proving a point that made her body shudder, made her twist in bafflement and frustration. Darcy was powerless against Harry and she knew it, trembling under these pressures and struggling to handle all of it.

Darcy frowned as he pulled back. "My hero," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Done with me yet? All that bluster and bullshit this morning, and now you've finished down my throat, that's got to be it, right? The great Harry Potter, standing up for 'his girl', pumping a load in her mouth, and fucking off to bed. Go on and be all talk, I know you're just a territorial jock who wants to own me. It's fine. I don't even really care."

Harry responded to those words by grabbing hold of Darcy and swiftly turning around her, shoving her face-down onto the bed and lifting up her skirt and tugging her panties aside. "You can just ask me to fuck you like a normal girlfriend," he said.

"But I don't want you to--ah, fuck me!" she howled, head rolling back as Harry's cock slammed into her pussy and the nature of her cry was thankfully ambiguous enough to shield her from opening up to too much. She was a mess, struggling harder to deal with these attentions and to handle how badly she was falling into this chaos, but she was powerless to do anything about it. She just kept sinking, pushing deeper into madder pleasures and into passions that didn't make a lot of sense in this state.

But it silenced her complaints. Maybe too well. After beign so eager to have his cock no longer plugging up her throat, wanting to express her revulsion and dismay, all she did was take it. Harry knew exactly why.

**************************

"Do you want to come study with us?" Hermione asked, gesturing with her book of copiously detailed notes toward Darcy. She and Ron had come by to drag Harry to their study session, one Hermione had roped a bunch of other classmates into. "Instead of beign left alone."

"What if I want to be left alone?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

Hermione was taken aback by the response. "That's fine, I just thought I would offer it. We have the same exams at the end of the year, right?"

"And why would I want to study with a bunch of Gryffindors? Do you think I can't pass the exam on my own? Do you think I need your charity, Granger?"

"No, I just know you're amazing at potions and thought you could contribute something really good to the conversation." Hermione's voice sounded stunned and a bit disbelieving over the abrasive backlash she received.

Something inside of Darcy, slow on the take, began to turn. She'd looked away from Hermione and crossed her arms, but delayed realization hit her without much hesitation. It wasn't like Darcy had never been invited to do things with others before, but a study group? Usually, people wanted something. Status. Answers. Popularity. It took a moment to realize, but the shock abruptly hit Darcy; there was no ulterior motive in that invitation. It was a gesture of trying to get to know Darcy and be a friend, stripped from any desire for status, because Darcy had no status now. She was simply an ordinary girl, and within that invitation was a chance to overcome their past frictions not because of any desire to get something, but just to be decent.

Hermione was a muggleborn. Hermione was a know-it-all shrew who Darcy had no reason to associate with. Hermione was exactly who Darcy needed to hate and outperform and prove she was superior in all ways to.

But the people who told her that abandoned her. Her father, her friends, the Dark Lord... They had told her how to behave and what to think or reinforced that pressure, and they were gone now, having tossed her away when it became inconvenient to them. Now, at her lowest point, where her name meant nothing and she could offer nothing, a gesture. A token gesture, certainly, but more than she could have ever imagined. Was it because Hermione pitied her? The hope that Harry might be rubbing off on her as much as he was rubbing against her.

"Wait," she said, voice catching in her throat. "Wait, I--" She gestured for them to stop. "Maybe. Maybe I..." She hated this. Vulnerability. There was no good way to express this without doing something to expose herself. "Why would you want me to join you?" she asked. "With everything I've said to you."

Ron spoke up, "Hermione could tell you didn't want to come, and the requirement for joining her study group is not actually wanting to be there." It was a joke. Ron was joking with Darcy. He sounded a little bit uneasy about the idea, sure; his voice was audibly forcing the good cheer. It was a conscious effort to be good natured and friendly to Darcy. It made her feel even weirder about this.

But it made Darcy laugh. Just out of shock at how outrageous this was, maybe. But it made her laugh either way. Hermione shot a look at Ron before saying. "Everyone deserves a second chance. You're free to join us to study if you want to."

Darcy slid off of the bed and found herself moving toward them before she even really knew what was happening. She couldn't help but feel like a crazy person for offering up any of this, but there she was, striding her way forward. "I'll be bored in here otherwise." She put on a bold face even though an internal clenching left her wanting to cry, and she didn't even really understand why she wanted to, but she pushed it all out of mind and threw herself at whatever salvation might be offered by trying something new.

************************************

Each passing day felt more and more normal to Darcy. She hated it. Waking up next to Harry, being around his friends, even starting to get along with them! She played a game of wizard chess against Ron and found herself lapsing into an overlong conversation about transfiguration with Hermione that she didn't even realize was really a problem until she was in too deep to want to stop. This was all becoming borderline mundane, a normal everyday thing that became weirder and sturdier. She was getting too used to this, too ready to live this life.

In class, she sat next to Harry. At dinner, she ate at the Gryffindor table. There were still stares from across big rooms from her former friends, but Harry's protective streak and a general lack of organization now among the bullies in their year left everything as distant, catty remarks that Darcy was largely shielded from. The 'bravery' that the Slytherins found in picking fights with Harry was all Draco's. There was no Draco anymore, which made even Crabbe and Goyle into cowards who focused on smaller students in the lower years and intimidation instead of picking on anyone their age. Which wasn't ideal, but Darcy was out for herself enough to find some comfort in it.

Pansy was a cunt up until Hermione took a precision shot so bold and so blatant that it shut her down completely. "You're spending a lot of time thinking about another girl, Pansy," Hermione had told her in the middle of potions class. "Is yelling about how you're not gay trying to compensate for something?" It was a shot right to her skull, and she fell largely silent. It was a vapid remark, absolutely ludicrous and Hermione knew it, but it was a dirty play that shut down Pansy, and that was worth the idiocy of the comment.

People looked out or Darcy. Selflessly, at that. Not Harry, maybe; she saw his motivations clear as day. But she was making friends, and those friends stuck up for her when she offered little more than her presence. Nobody was around her looking for something. As Ron warmed up to her more and she and Hermione talked about class, everything felt simple. Neville was shaking his fear of her off, Ginny was snakebit but slowly came around as her brother did, and Luna seemed unaware she was even the same person in her own spacy way. Darcy had friends. It was a surprise she was still trying to make total sense of, but it was impossible to shake off. She was becoming a part of Harry's life and a welcomed presence with his friends.

He was changing her.

Was it for the better? Darcy really couldn't tell. People were looking out for her. Studying with her. She ended up going on a walk with Hermione while Ron and Harry were in a Quidditch team meeting. She was spending time with Harry's friends even when Harry wasn't around, which was her first clue-in to the realization that they were in fact her friends. It was a lot to take in and it was only getting more shocking as she progressed deeper into these day by day monotonies.

And being a girl became its own kind of easy, too. There was something nice about being Harry's stacked arm candy. She felt natural in this role, and it helped that she looked damn good. Everything was becoming easier in ways she didn't expect, becoming simpler and steadier and making everything just feel right. She grew used to her body and waking up with it, all of its functions and its new quirks. She stopped thinking of herself as a cursed boy and began to think of herself as a girl, her mindset accepting it and her struggle her way into trying to make sense of all of this. Everything about her life was changing so rapidly, and all of it came with the hazy and baffling realization that this was becoming normal, becoming what she needed most, and she just had to accept it. All of it.

She didn't know what to make of that.

"Why do you bother with me?" The question pierced through the silence. Darcy lay on the bed, leaned lazily against harry. "Why do you do any of this for me?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. That was too open a question, and he didn't want to answer something she wasn't asking.

"You own me. You're fucking--you just get to tell me what to do and boss me around. I'm dirt. I'm property. So why do you put so much effort into me? Intimidating Crabbe and Goyle. Getting your friends to talk to me and act like they care. Am I a fucking charity case to you, Potter? Do you pity poor, scared, helpless Darcy so much you can't even properly use her like fuckmeat?" She was upright no, trembling, tears welling in her eyes. She'd had a perfectly good and ordinary day. She'd been happy up until this moment when all the emotions came rushing forward and every insecurity began to scream out from inside of her. "Or am I not even worth being an asshole to?"

Harry looked at Darcy, remaining frustrated and tense. "You're worth more than you think you are."

"I'm worth nothing now! That's what makes being patronized by all of you so fucking awful. What do you want? What do you get from it?" She'd found some sort of comfort in the 'selflessness' of their gestures, but it couldn't be real, could it? "If I won that duel, you would be my bitch. You would be chained up in a dungeon right now and getting whored out. So why? Why are you being a good man to me? What are you doing?" She didn't trust any of this. She didn't think she could. "Why are you stringing me along?"

Watching Darcy almost curl up with her shoulders drawing in and her arms wrapping around herself, Harry was hesitant to touch, but he felt like there weren't a lot of other potions here. He advanced slowly forward, putting a hand onto her shoulder. "It's not like that. I'm not patronizing you, and I'm not leading you on."

"And why should I trust that? Someone who's leading a girl on would always say he wasn't!" Seamless logic on her part. But Darcy didn't recoil from his hand at all. She was letting him draw closer. She was letting all of this happen. "I was a bitch to you. A horrible, scheming cunt who was waiting for the day you failed so I could be there to laugh at you. I was ready to ruin your life and take everything from you? So why are you nice to me? What's in this for you?"

"I didn't ask for this. You challenged me to that duel, and I didn't know what was going to happen. When I won, I fucked you and I enjoyed it. And if that was all that happened, maybe I wouldn't be doing all of this. Because you'd still be a horrible, scheming cunt, wouldn't you? If your father forgave you and told you to try harder. If your friends didn't abandon you. If nothing changed but your genitals, you'd still be how you used to be, wouldn't you?"

"Yes! Yes, I would be! That's the fucking point, Potter. I'm glad you can keep up with this. I'll be sure to explain every step of your life to you in greater, more painstaking fucking detail next time!" She was noisy. Harsh. But she was ready to throw herself in against his body in the volatile emotional state she was in.

Harry held strong through it. "But you aren't, are you?"

"I'm n--" She stopped. Everything went still, her chest clenching up under the realization, and she didn't know what to say.

"You came running here scared and afraid, and you broke down in front of me. Since then, what have you done? Who have you been? Your father was horrible for abandoning you, but he was also horrible for making you act like that. Your friends suck for dropping you, but your friends brought out horrible parts of you. Without them, you've been nicer, you've been friendly, you haven't called Hermione any horrible names and you're even taking notes together in class. I'm not using you like a cheap whore if that's what you really want. I've been fucking you like that anyway, and if you don't want anything more, I'll stop. But I gave you a second chance to be something better, and you have been. And maybe I've..."

Choking on her own tears, Darcy felt barely able to handle the way Harry started to wrap his arms around her. She wanted to scream and hiss and bang her fists onto his chest. Wanted to throw a massive fit. But the weight of his words were too much upon her, making her feel tired and weighed down, making her feel what she'd maybe been hoping to feel. It was certainty. It was trust. She didn't know if she could believe Harry, and maybe she still couldn't, but in her bossy and confrontational way, she'd been able to ask him the things that drove her every insecurity. "Say it, P--Harry," she hissed. "Say you fell in love with me."

"I've fallen in love with you, Darcy. Whatever the spell says about you being my sex slave, I don't care. You're my girlfriend, and I'm not going to treat you like garbage just because the person you used to be would have done the same to me. You're different now."

The dam ruptured. An audible burst into sobbing left Darcy trembling in his arms, slumped against him. "I love you too," she said. "I'm so afraid to trust, but you keep proving me wrong every time I think you're about to turn around and hurt me. I've spent my whole life around people who can't be kind to me unless they get something out of it, but you've remained so good to me. You and your friends have... I didn't know what it felt like to really be cared for. My own parents abandoned me!" It was as much about the joy and relief of Harry's words and the confirmation of his attention as it was about the cathartic release of every misery that had taken her life and derailed it. "Say you won't. Tell me I can trust you."

"You can trust me."

She cried louder. Harry could tell it was a good thing. "If you do, I'll fucking kill you!" Darcy was a few things but clearly, she wasn't yet all that soft.

Harry helped ease her down onto the bed, lying with her while she worked out her tears. He held onto her and did little to provoke any bold responses yet, letting her ease into this.

Darcy wasn't having it. "Fuck me," she growled. "I said I'm not a pity case. So roll me onto my back and use me."

"Are you s--"

"I'm not the master here, but at least I'm not a fucking pussy. I said fuck me!" Darcy shook off her tears and squirmed out of his hands. "Have the balls to do your fucking job."

It was a surprising backlash, but one that Harry understood quickly enough; she wanted to fuck her pain away, but didn't want to ask for it outright. He still had work to do to make her ease down and defrost, but he took that responsibility firmly in mind as he pushed her onto her back and got to work. Her panties had to go, yanked up off of her body and tossed aside. He reached over her top and tugged it open, not caring about the buttons in the way of exposing her chest to his hungry gaze, his hands grabbing hold of them. "Your job's a lot easier. All you need is to be a bitchy blonde with big tits. Anyone could do that."

"Anyone?" she asked, brushing some tears from her eyes and snarling at him. "You think that just anyone can do what I do? What, like you can replace me with Lavender Brown?"

"Can't I?"

"That stupid bimbo is all talk!" she gasped. "She's nothing. She'd give the most half-assed head you could imagine and then spend five minutes brushing her teeth because she got half a shot of cum into her mouth." Darcy raged and seared. "Lie back, Harry, and I'll show you how much you fucking need me to tend to your cock." She was confident, forward, and her aggressive pride went too well with her snarl. This was a game. Darcy wasn't about to ask to suck his cock, but they could walk the weird line of her petulant, aggressive intentions, a backhanded, sarcastic, aggressive way showing her affection for him.

Harry lay happily back and watched as the horny blonde pounced on him, tugging his pants down and blowing past nay of her fears or her worries. Darcy's tears dried up and her thoughts were singularly fixated now only on getting across the mad point she wanted to prove herself with. She was ready to burn through all those concerns and ignore them. They were obstacles in the way of what she needed, and she pulled his clothes away, tugged them out her way and grabbed hold of his huge cock with both hands. The time had come, and she worked up and down his shaft with impatient fever. "No girl can suck you off like I can. I was turned into a girl just to do this, and I do it fucking well." She snarled her way through diving down and staring at his cock with licks every which way.

It was a game now. It certainly felt like one, at least, and Harry's first instinct was to resist giving Darcy what she wanted. He held strong against the way she licked his cock, holding back the urge to moan and embrace these pleasures. She wanted praise, and he wanted to hold it back and make her prove herself. He held strong and let her work at him without any abrupt pushes in any direction, just relaxing back and letting her go.

Steady licks dragged all over his cock, every bit of his sizer no longer an intimidating factor for her, but something she felt confident in working with. Darcy had been through it all, and now she felt prepared to keep firm, to prove herself to him with each lick and slither across his length. She was forward and direct, almost unbearably committed now to the pleasures and frustrations of this mad fever, of a challenge she imposed upon herself and threw harder into. Her lips pressed against his cock, hazy moans of, "Fine, you have a huge cock. But you don't know what to do with it, got it?" She squirmed through all these attentions, letting every push and caress against his cock feel bolder and more dramatic.

"I'm sure," Harry said, grumbling his way through a wicked smirk. "Only you know how to worship it, I get it. That's fine." He relaxed back and let her go at it. "Made to worship my cock, is that it?"

"And damn good at it." Darcy remained stubborn and forceful, resisting the temptations and the pressures that came with this. She pushed forcefully on, keeping up these pleasures and a bizarre praise she just had to continue pushing in to this. Their playfully belligerent back and forth distracted her from the insecurities that fed her breakdown, and in their place was the firm confidence of someone ready now to ease her way into something calmer. But not too calm given all the things she was going to have to do to placate him. This was madness, but it was a madness she felt ready to work with, and the natural advance was to wrap her lips around the head of his cock and suck it down.

As much as Harry wanted to hold himself back and not make too much of a commotion of praising Darcy, her mouth sank down his cock and he was immediately locked into a ravenous excitement for these attentions, giving in hopelessly to the touch and the temptation, to the pleasure of feeling her urging him on. There was no way to fight these attentions and these pleasures, his body winding up and every sense of need and hunger pushing him quickly into a state he just had to accept as what he needed most. "Fuck," he groaned, head rolling back, winding pleasures hitting him with a firm sense of absolute joy and need. he couldn't resist it, letting these passions wear at him immediately.

Darcy had her sign, and she took to sucking him right down, taking his cock into her mouth and throwing herself into these mad excitements without any restraint or hesitation. This was about getting what she needed now, about sucking his big dick into her mouth and pursuing the maddest of desires and commotions. Her jaw opened p and she accepted him down with sloppy intent, forcing herself down onto his cock and throwing herself into the deep end. Without any worries or shames, she took to guzzling his cock down, pushing down deep and sloppily surrendering to him, throwing herself into a mad back and forth with his dick, moaning and slurping and accepting the sloppy attentions that just had to be given in to now. She was aggressive and ready, forceful fires burning up through her body as she went.

This was madness, but the sloppy chaos she imposed upon this situation was one that she felt fully committed to now. Up and down her head bobbed, each push along his shaft opening up to the madder pleasures. It was sloppy and noisy, driven by a chaos as direct as she could muster, prepared to give in to all of it and to explore her way into what felt too deranged and senseless to believe. She was out to prove herself to him, out to make sure that he got the point, and she went probably way too far in doing that, gagging him down, slurping loudly on his shaft, slathering him in ample amounts of spit. She did anything she could to prove herself to him, to prove she was ready to give in these pleasures.

All for the sake of pushing harder at his limits. All to make Harry praise her. "Fuck," he groaned again. His hips grew fitful and needy. "You're so good at this." It wasn't the praise she needed, but it was praise, ands he wanted to escape all the emotions she'd been feeling, to throw herself into the deep end and shed any concern for her emotional wellbeing. To confront serious emotions any further was to invite more sobbing and ugly reality, but to be praised for sucking his cock like nobody else could? She'd take it. Big, needy, light grey eyes stared up at Harry, her lashes fluttering while she pushed through to service him more thoroughly, and she felt utterly unable to contain herself.

Sucking Harry's cock brought her pleasure like few things could. Darcy was well past the point of worrying any longer about the ways this new body was made for his pleasure. She took a stubborn pride in being so good at it, and the ways Harry appreciated her only made her dig in harder on it. She was out to prove herself, choking his cock down, throwing herself into the pleasure and the fire of something that was absolutely senseless, an unashamed pleasure and panic that she threw herself ever deeper into. It was all too much, the weight of these attentions and the way she succumbed to ravenous hunger making her feel way too much at once. This was the time. This was her moment to shine and persevere and prove what she could do.

And she did an amazing job at it, leaving Harry twisting on the bed, growing more panicked and hungry by the second. 'You're the best," he conceded. He was happy to. "I was wrong. Shit. Nobody can suck cock like this. Lavender wouldn't be able to do half of this. Just keep sucking, Darcy!" His fingers tangled into her hair, but he didn't pull her down or force her on. He let her keep dictating the pace, let these mad pleasures drive the situation deeper into pure chaos and want. He was happy to let this happen, eager to surrender to her every desperate and dizzy push, savouring how devoted Darcy was and loving the ways she threw herself into this, indomitable and hungry and ready to throw herself into this all.

The pleasure escalated, throbbing and aching and pushing everything into weirder hunger until there was just no restraint left. Harry's cock throbbed in her grasp, every push forward feeling bolder and weirder. Darcy felt responsible now for the rush of chaos and heat pushing her along, and she just had to throw herself into all of it, prepared to embrace the most mad of panics, of ravenous needs and heats that kept her moving. Everything about this excess kept adding up, and determined to contain this, Darcy held strong until finally she got Harry to cum in her mouth, holding strong and steady for the mad surrender and chaos of getting him off so fucking hard. She swallowed every drop down, guzzling his cum with the utmost pride in herself and in her ability to make him lose himself.

"Darcy," he groaned, wasting no time in perking up, pulling her from his cock and turning her around. He was impatient and forceful now, knowing what she wanted and deciding to just barge in and take it as he shoved her onto her back and climbed up on top of her. "Fine, you're the best. Nobody will ever fuck better than you. Maybe I should knock you up as a reward."

The sound that Darcy made was not human. It was a squeaking, mad expression of hopeless excitements, of desires and panics she was deeply embarrassed by for just how much they expressed and how reckless she sounded in giving in to it. The earnest truth of her desires was embarrassingly apparent now, something completely unavoidable and fierce, and she just couldn't fight it as he forced her legs apart and slammed into her.

"Don't breed me, you fucking pervert," she whined, finally finding her bearings and snapping through another unconvincing, bright cheeked expression of pure chaos. She was struck by just how forceful he was, moving upon her with extra intensity and vigor, with the desire to make Darcy give in harder to the pleasures and commotions of his worst desires, and it all came without a shred of hesitation now. He was out to make her give up to this all, to make her his in ways so profound and chaotic that she could barely believe it. The chaos and vigor Harry approached these matters with was senseless now, driven by his most wicked and forceful of wants, by a desire to push her to the limit of sense and have his way with her. This was too much, and he cluing tightly to her

And she relished in it. Gasping in panic and surprise, Darcy writhed through these ecstasies, bucking under the pleasure of his heavy body crashing down upon hers. Harry fucked like a beast, ready to prove what eh was capable of and ready to make her lose any semblance of control left in her. With her head spinning and any semblance of thought leaving her, she was just giving in, just falling lower into madness and savouring how nice it felt to be so utterly committed to giving in. she couldn't contain herself now, the real depths of her hunger and her fire coming across with brilliant joy and a need that escalated further out of control by the second.

Harry's thick cock did to her mind things that she couldn't help. "Harry!" she shrieked, hips bucking off of the bed to meet his slams as he tugged her legs up and almost folded her in half, drilling down into her with greedy, messy intent and something as harsh as he could muster. He was out to win now, out to pound Darcy into a kind of delirium and passion so mad and so wicked that she wouldn't be able to handle him. There was no time for restraint, and every slam forward felt like a mad plunge into making her lose herself. Darcy couldn't believe how good this felt, how hopelessly she was sliding into surrender. There was no fighting it, no acting like she was 'above' these mad satisfactions. With every deep stroke down, he filled her with his cock and sent her into a spiraling haze of madness and desire too steep to grasp, but she knew to keep going, knew that with each passing second, these mad delights were consuming her and sending her into a state of pure satisfaction, driven by raw delirium and need.

"You feel so good," Harry groaned. 'I respect you. I love you. But every part of me wants to fuck you like a cheap whore sometimes." He threw himself into the bizarre middle ground, into the pleasure of admitting how badly he loved this dominant, rough sex, but also how much he cared about her. It was an absolutely unrestrained rush of delight and desire to throw himself into, waling the strange line fraught in frustration chaos, but the ecstasy that came with it was undeniable, and Darcy was moaning so loudly that he just knew he had to keep it going, that this was everything to him now. Darcy was committed to riding this out with him, and Harry simply stopped caring about restraint or decency now.

"Harder," she growled, her ample tits heaving and bouncing before his eyes, her legs wrapping their way around his body, thick thighs squishing down against his midsection and locking him in between them. This was an insanity that only got weirder and hotter, and every senseless throb of pleasure felt better. This was too much, but she was stubbornly committed to all of it, refusing to slow down through this blistering madness. This was too much, and every passing second along the way felt so unhinged. "I'm already your bitch, right? I'm already your whore. Do you have the balls to make me your fucking wife?" Her face lit up in mad excitement, breath racing, every throb in her body feeling madder and weirder, but she was committed, ready to embrace it without thought or control.

Harry's hips responded approvingly by pounding even harder down into her, drilling her cunt without mercy or restraint and forcing her into howling excitement. Harry's answer was bold and forward, clear as could be, and Darcy was giving up hotter to these mad excitements, to the pleasure of being dominated and ruled by Harry and his tremendous cock. No hesitation, no restraint. Just the delirious fever and joy of giving in to whatever he asked of her.

This was too much, but the ways it twisted and throbbed through her body felt better and better. Darcy was well on her way to crashing headfirst into ruin, but she was so happy to give in to his touch that it didn't matter. she needed this, craving his attention and craving the mad surrender that it invited. She was too far gone to care about holding back now, howling out louder and greedier, drowning in need that consumed her utterly, and Darcy was just happy to ride out these final moments until she broke down. Until she was thrashing and almost babbling in joy. Teetering between wanting to be bred and wanting to infuriate him, between coyly inviting him deeper and wanting to scream, Darcy felt like she was just going to get torn in two instead, and she felt oddly excited about that prospect.

With a few final strokes that boldly screamed for her surrender, Harry finished off with hard groans, hips bucking and thrashing as he came undone inside of her. Darcy had taken his loads countless times before, but never had she felt such raw intent behind his strokes, never had she felt like she was actually about to be impregnate and knocked up this thoroughly. It was excessive and fiery but it was absolutely everything she needed, driving her hard over the edge and into screaming joy. This was too much, her head spinning and any semblance of rational thought melting out of her. He pumped her full, pinning her to the sheets and making sure he wrung out every drop right into her tight hole, sending her into gasping, shivering ecstasy without a shred of sense left in her head.

Harry held her down, remaining buried inside her. "You're mine," he snarled. "Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes." She couldn't play coy about this. "Treat me like a lady and stand up for me out there, then use me like a whore here. That'll keep me happy, no matter how much attitude I give you."

Harry smiled. "If you didn't give me attitude, I'd be worried. I like the Malfoy who's a bitch about wanting to be impregnated a lot better."

"No," she said, groaning and shaking her head viciously. "That's not my name anymore." Her hands squeezed tighter against him. "Darcy Potter. My name's Darcy Potter."