Comforting Tonks (One-shot)

Here's a story written a few years back based off a prompt from r/HPsmut. It's an AU where Tonks survives the final battle and has a hard time adapting to life as a single mom. Enjoy!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Rain pelted the cottage windows. A single lamp cast pale light across the living room, illuminating the chaos—a stuffed hippogriff with one wing missing beside an overturned stack of books, a teething ring under the coffee table. Through the kitchen doorway, a tower of plates filled the sink, crusted with half-eaten meals.

On the coffee table was a sealed bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky. Andromeda had brought it last week, insisting Tonks needed something to help her sleep. The wax seal remained intact, though Tonks’s eyes kept drifting to it.

One drink might help. Just one to take the edge off.

No. What mother dulls herself with firewhisky while her baby needs her?

The kind who hasn’t slept in three days, whispered a treacherous voice in her mind.

Nymphadora Tonks’s fingers trembled as she reached for the bottle. Her hair hung limp and brown, the color of dead leaves. Dark circles adorned her red-rimmed eyes. Her Weird Sisters t-shirt bore the evidence of motherhood: a milk stain across one shoulder, a smear of pureed pumpkin down the side.

“Mmmmm-ma.” The sound drifted from the nursery. Not quite a cry. Not yet.

Her shoulders tensed. Twenty minutes. That’s all she’d gotten this time. Twenty minutes of silence after three hours of pacing, bouncing, singing, and pleading with a red-faced baby who couldn’t understand why everything hurt.

She reached for the bottle again, fingernails clicking against the glass as she rotated it to examine the seal. One sip. No one would know.

She would know.

On the mantelpiece, Remus smiled from a photograph of them taken two weeks before the Battle of Hogwarts. His eyes crinkled at the corners, her cheeks rosy from happiness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.

“I can’t—“ The words caught in her throat. She pressed her palms against her eyes to stop the dam from bursting. A tear escaped anyway, dripping onto the sofa cushion already stained countless tears. Her wand lay just inches away, but she couldn’t summon the energy to cast even a simple drying charm.

The whimpering from the nursery quieted down. She let out the breath she held and pushed the bottle away.

A knock at the door—soft, cutting through the silence like a spell.

Tonks’s wand was in her hand before she could think, muscle memory from years of Auror training. She froze, breath catching in her throat, eyes darting to the ancient grandfather clock in the corner. The hands pointed to midnight. Too late for visitors.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

She rose from the couch, knees popping in protest. The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as she padded across the room, wand held at the ready position Moody had drilled into her. She paused three steps from the door, body coiled with sudden adrenaline.

“Identify yourself,” she called, cursing the slight tremor in her voice.

“It’s Harry.” The rain muffled his words, but not enough to disguise the familiar timbre.

Her shoulders sagged. The door hinges squealed as she pulled it open, revealing a thoroughly drenched Harry Potter. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, and his glasses were fogged from the cold. Water streamed from his leather jacket, forming a puddle around his muddy boots. In one hand, he clutched a canvas shopping bag, its sides bulging. 

His smile flickered like the dying lamp behind him. “Wotcher, Tonks.”

“Merlin’s beard, Potter.” She lowered her wand, tucking it into the waistband of her leggings. “You look like you swam here.”

“Nearly did.” He shifted his weight, the shopping bag swinging. “Rain’s turning the lane into a river.”

A gust of wind drove the rain sideways, pelting her legs with icy droplets. She hissed and stepped back, opening the door wider.

“Get in before you wash away.”

Harry stepped over the threshold, water squelching in his boots and dripping onto her already stained carpet. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered a quick cleaning spell, returning the carpet back to pristine condition. The scent of rain and night air clung to him, a fresh counterpoint to the stale atmosphere of the cottage.

“It’s nearly midnight,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Bit late for a house call.”

“Got held up.” He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a Ministry-issued training uniform underneath, similarly soaked. “Robards kept us late with dueling drills.” 

He lifted the heavy canvas bag. “Thought you might need some essentials.” His gaze flickered to the sealed firewhisky bottle on the coffee table, then back to her face. One corner of his mouth quirked up. “And maybe some company.”

Tonks’s fingers tugged self-consciously at her oversized jumper—once Remus’s, now hers—with suspicious dark stains across the front. A hole gaped at the knee of her leggings, revealing pale skin beneath. Her toenails, once famously painted in rainbow colors, was now chipped and uneven. When had she last bothered with a pedicure charm? 

Her nostrils flared. Did she smell of sour milk and baby powder? Probably. Definitely. She ran a hand through her limp hair.

“You didn’t have to—“ she started.

But Harry was already striding toward her kitchen, the heavy thud of his boots against the wood drowning out her half-hearted protest.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, eyeing the mountain of dishes. With a casual flick of his wand, the sink filled with soapy water, and the plates began to scrub themselves.

“When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t cold toast?” he asked, setting the canvas bag on the counter and unpacking its contents. 

Her stomach growled in response. When had she last eaten? Breakfast? Yesterday?

Harry pulled items from the bag one by one—a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, its scent filling the small kitchen; a carton of eggs; several tins of soup; three large bars of Honeydukes chocolate and a large container sealed with a purple wax seal she recognized instantly as Molly Weasley’s.

“Molly’s beef and barley stew,” Harry said, catching her stare. “She says it freezes well if you can’t finish it.”

The kettle whistled, though she hadn’t noticed him filling it. Steam billowed as he poured water into a chipped mug with practiced ease, dropping in a tea bag and adding precisely two sugars—exactly how she took it.

He remembered how she took her tea.

Tonks’s fingers gripped the doorframe, anchoring herself as the room seemed to tilt. Her knuckles whitened. Breathe. Just breathe.

“It’s late, Harry,” she said, hating the roughness in her voice. “You should go home. I’m not...” She gestured vaguely at herself, at the disaster surrounding them. “I’m not fit for company.”

Harry paused, a tin of beans hovering midway to the cupboard. He turned, green eyes finding hers across the kitchen. Not with sympathy—she would have hated sympathy—but with understanding. The kind that came from shared experiences.

“I’m not leaving,” he said softly. The words hung in the air between them, simple and uncompromising. “And I brought this.” 

From his pocket, he pulled a small vial of pale blue liquid. Dreamless Sleep Potion. Far more reliable than firewhisky for a mother who needed rest but still had to be alert for her child.

“Brewed it myself,” he added, setting it on the counter. “Thought you might need it.”

Something cracked inside her chest. A fracture in the wall she’d constructed to keep herself upright, to keep mothering when every cell in her body wanted to collapse. No one had looked at her like that—not Molly with her casseroles and gentle suggestions, not even her own mother with her well-meaning but smothering assistance.

No one had simply seen her.

“Tea?” he offered, holding up a mug.

Tonks shook her head. “I was about to have something stronger,” she admitted, gesturing toward the living room.

Harry’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “I noticed, but you should eat first.”

They moved back to the living room after Harry had restored some semblance of order to the kitchen and forced Tonks to eat half a bowl of Molly’s stew. Her tea sat cooling beside the untouched firewhisky bottle. Harry eyed it as he sank into the armchair opposite her.

“Your mum brought that?” he asked, gesturing toward the bottle.

Tonks nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Last week. Said I needed something to help me sleep.” She gave a hollow laugh. “As if I’d risk not hearing Teddy with a firewhisky-soaked brain.”

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You need rest, though. The potion should let you sleep deeply enough to recover, but still wake for Teddy.”

“I know.” She sighed, playing with the hem of her leggings. “I just...I don’t want to turn into mum. She relies on them too much—thinks potions and alcohol solves everything. After dad...” She trailed off, unwilling to dwell on the other loss from the war.

Harry was quiet for a moment, studying her face. “What about this—you take half of the Dreamless Sleep tonight. I’ll stay and watch Teddy. You’ll get a few hours of proper rest, and you’ll know he’s safe.”

Tonks felt her throat tighten. The offer was so simple, so practical, and so desperately needed that she almost couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.

“I can’t ask you to—“

“You didn’t,” Harry interrupted gently. “I offered. Let me help, Tonks. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

For a moment, she just looked at him—really looked at him. The boy she’d met years ago had vanished entirely, replaced by this man with shadows in his eyes and determination in his jaw. He’d lost as much as she had, maybe more, and yet here he was, offering what little he could give.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

“I miss him so much,” she whispered, the words feeling like they were torn from somewhere deep inside her. “I wake up reaching for him. I hear something funny and turn to tell him, and he’s not there.” Another tear followed the first. “Teddy’s going to grow up never knowing him, and it’s not fair.”

Harry moved from the armchair to the couch, the cushions sagging under his weight as he sat beside her. “No,” he agreed softly. “It’s not fair.”

“How do you do it?” she asked suddenly. “After everything—Sirius, Dumbledore, your parents...how do you keep going?”

“I don’t know if I’m the best example,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Some days I feel like I’m just...existing. Going through the motions.” He glanced toward the firewhisky, then away. “The nightmares don’t help.”

“You get them too?” Tonks asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Almost every night,” he admitted. “It’s why I put in so many hours at the Ministry. Easier to bury myself in work than face an empty house and another night of dreaming about the dead.”

Tonks understood that all too well. “At least I have Teddy,” she murmured. “He needs me, so I have to keep going. But sometimes I worry...”

“What?”

“That I’m not enough. That he deserves better than a broken mother who can barely remember to eat. Who stares at a bottle of firewhisky and actually considers drinking it when her baby might need her.”

“Hey,” Harry said firmly, shifting closer. “You’re not broken. You’re grieving. And the fact that you didn’t open that bottle? That proves Teddy is lucky to have you.”

Tonks laughed bitterly. “Look at me, Harry. Hair that won’t even change color anymore, living in this mess, staring at firewhisky bottles at midnight. I’m not fit to be a mother.”

“I see someone who’s fighting through the hardest thing anyone can face,” Harry countered. “Someone who gets up every day and takes care of her son, even when it feels impossible.” His voice softened. “Remus would be proud of you, Tonks.”

The mention of Remus’s name sent a fresh wave of pain through her chest. She tried to suppress a sob, but it broke free anyway, and then another, until she was crying in earnest, shoulders shaking from the force of it.

Harry hesitated before moving closer, wrapping an arm around her. Tonks turned instinctively into his embrace, burying her face against his shoulder as months of pent-up grief poured out of her. His shirt grew damp with her tears, but he didn’t pull away, just held her and let her cry.

When she finally quieted, hiccuping slightly, she became aware of his hand stroking her back in slow, soothing circles. His touch was warm, steady, and it had been so long since anyone had held her like this. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched, to be held.

“Sorry,” she mumbled against his chest, embarrassed by her breakdown.

“Don’t be,” Harry said, his voice a low rumble she could feel through his shirt. “Sometimes you need to let it out.”

Tonks pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes. “Look at me, blubbering all over you. Some tough Auror I am.”

Harry reached up, brushing away a tear she’d missed with his thumb. The gesture was so tender, so unexpected, that Tonks felt her breath hitch. His hand lingered on her cheek, warm against her skin.

“You don’t always have to be tough,” he said softly.

Their eyes met, and something shifted in the air between them. Tonks became acutely aware of how close they were sitting, of the rough hand cupping her face and the warmth radiating from his body. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and a different kind of heat unfurled inside her, something she hadn’t felt in ages.

The untouched firewhisky was a reminder of the strength she’d shown for the sake of her son. But this—this was different. This wasn’t about numbing pain or escaping reality. This was about connection, about feeling something other than grief, even if just for a moment.

“Harry,” she whispered, not sure what she was asking for, but knowing she needed something, anything, to rescue her from the pain and loneliness.

“Please,” she added, her voice barely audible. “Make me feel good.”

Harry’s eyes darkened behind his glasses, uncertainty warring with something else—desire, perhaps. “Tonks, you’re vulnerable right now. I don’t want to—“

She didn’t let him finish, leaning forward to press her lips against his. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, testing. His lips were warm, chapped, and tasted of chocolate. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond. Tonks pulled back, mortification washing over her.

But then his hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, and he was kissing her back. Harder, deeper. A small noise escaped her throat as his tongue traced against her lips, seeking entrance that she eagerly granted. The kiss turned hungry, desperate, both of them pouring months of loneliness and need into the connection.

Tonks felt a tingling warmth spread through her body, and was surprised to notice her hair shifting color for the first time in weeks. Pink strands falling across her vision as she pulled back to catch her breath. Harry looked equally breathless, his glasses slightly askew, green eyes heavy with desire.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice rough.

In answer, Tonks grabbed the hem of her jumper and pulled it over her head, revealing a faded cotton bra beneath. She hadn’t dressed to impress anyone, but the way Harry’s eyes widened and traveling over her exposed skin made her feel beautiful for the first time in months.

Harry swallowed hard, then reached for the buttons of his own shirt, fingers fumbling as he undid them. Tonks helped him, pushing the damp material off his shoulders to reveal a toned chest marked with scars. She traced one that ran across his collarbone, feeling the raised texture beneath her fingertips.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and meant it.

His hands found her waist, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips. The new position brought their bodies flush together, and Tonks could feel his arousal pressing against her through their remaining clothes. She rocked against him, drawing a low groan from his throat that sent a shiver down her spine.

The friction between them was maddening, the thin fabric of her leggings and his trousers doing little to dull the sensation. Tonks ground down hard against his straining erection, her movements desperate and hungry. Harry’s hands squeezed her gyrating hips, his breath catching as pleasure coursed through him.

As she moved, her hair began to shift rapidly, morphing from pink to a bushy brown. Her face changed too—features shifting to rounder cheeks, fuller lips, a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Harry blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself looking up at what appeared to be Hermione Granger.

Before he could react to the transformation, she changed again—vibrant red hair flowing down her back, Ginny Weasley’s familiar face smiling mischievously at him. Another shift, and Luna Lovegood’s dreamy eyes gazed down at him. With each transformation, her body subtly adjusted—Hermione’s slimmer frame, Ginny’s athletic build, Luna’s softer curves—teasing Harry with variety as she continued to rock against him.

Tonks rolled her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, her voice playful but with an underlying vulnerability. “Like this, Harry? Who’s it gonna be?” Her features shifted again, morphing into Parvati Patil’s exotic beauty, dark eyes gleaming. Her movements became more insistent, the friction between them building to an almost unbearable level.

Harry stilled her movements, hands gently but firmly grasping her face. Her features froze mid-transformation, caught between Lavender Brown and her natural appearance. His expression was serious and intense, emerald eyes dark with desire but clear with certainty.

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t want them. Just you, Tonks. Only you.”

Something bloomed inside her heart—relief, gratitude, perhaps even a spark of genuine joy. Her features flowed back to her own, hair settling into its natural bubblegum pink. The color was vivid, brighter than it had been in months, reflecting her surging emotions.

“Just me,” she repeated softly, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Just Tonks,” Harry confirmed, pulling her down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper, filled with appreciation for who she truly was.

When they broke apart, Tonks slid off his lap, kneeling on the floor between his legs. Her hands moved to his belt, undoing it with nimble fingers, then the button and zipper of his trousers. Harry lifted his hips, allowing her to tug them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection.

Tonks took a moment to appreciate the sight of him—his cock stood impressively at eight inches—thick and veined—with a slight upward curve that made her mouth water. The tip glistened with pre-cum, his shaft rigid and pulsing with unabashed arousal. 

She ran her hands up his thighs, feeling the strong muscles flex beneath her touch. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, then another, working her way up slowly, teasing him. Her breath was hot against his skin, making him shiver visibly. She paused, looking up at him through her lashes and a curtain of pink hair that framed her heart-shaped face.

“I’ve thought about this before,” she admitted, her voice husky. “More than I should have.”

When she finally took him into her mouth, Harry let out a deep, guttural groan. He rested his hand at the back of her head, losing himself to the sensation of her warm mouth. She worked him slowly at first, lips wrapped tightly around the thick tip, tongue swirling and flicking at the sensitive underside. One hand gripped the base of his shaft firmly, while the other cupped and gently massaged his balls. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, holding his gaze as she took him deeper, and the implication made his cock twitch eagerly against her tongue.

“Fuck, Tonks,” he gasped, fingers threading through her pink hair.

She hummed in response, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. With deliberate slowness, she began to take more of him, relaxing her throat to accommodate his considerable size. Her lips stretched wide around his girth, saliva making his cock glide smoothly as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper with each downward motion.

Tonks lost herself in the act, in the salty-sweet taste of him, in the heavy weight of his cock on her tongue, The sounds he made—the raspy groans and hushed encouragements—was pure music to her ears. Her hair brushed against his thighs with each movement, shifting through vivid shades of pink and violet as her own arousal built. She could feel herself growing wetter, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her bra. Her body had awakened from its long dormancy. It had been so long since she’d felt this alive.

Harry’s breathing grew ragged, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Wait,” he gasped, gently pulling her back. “Not yet. I want—“ He swallowed, eyes dark with need. “I want us to come together.”

Tonks smiled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a spark of her old playfulness returning. “I like the sound of that,” she said, voice husky from taking him so deeply.

She stood, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings. With deliberate slowness, she peeled them down her legs along with her knickers, revealing creamy skin and the neat triangle of hair between her thighs, glistening with her arousal. Then she reached behind to unhook her bra, letting it fall away to expose her breasts, heavy and full with milk. Her nipples—darkened from pregnancy—were swollen with desire, eager for attention.

Completely nude, she allowed Harry a moment to look at her—to take in every inch of her body that had changed after childbirth. The faint silvery stretch marks across her breasts and stomach, the generous curve of her hips that had widened from carrying Teddy, the soft fullness of her thighs. She didn’t use her abilities to hide any of it, showing him her true self, vulnerable and real.

Harry’s eyes heated as they roamed over her body, his cock visibly twitching with renewed desire. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathed, the words containing no hint of lie or flattery.

The way Harry looked at her—like she was a wonder, something precious and intensely desirable—made her heart swell. He reached for her, drawing her down onto the couch, guiding her to lie back against the cushions. He settled between her thighs, his thick cock sliding against her wet core. He didn’t enter her yet. Instead, he kissed her deeply, one hand cradling her face, the other sliding down to cup the weight of her breast.

His calloused thumb brushed over her sensitive nipple. Tonks gasped into his mouth, arching sharply into his touch. A drop of milk beaded at the tip, and Harry’s eyes widened slightly before darkening with lust. He broke the kiss and slid his lips down her neck, peppering her with kisses, until he reached her breast. The first touch of his hot mouth on her sensitive flesh made her cry out, fingers grasping onto his messy black hair to bring him closer.

“Harry,” she breathed, the word half plea and half prayer as he suckled gently. His hot tongue swirled around her nipple, careful but insistent against her quivering peak.

He looked up at her, emerald eyes shining behind his glasses, milk smeared across his lips. He shifted position, the head of his impressive cock nudging at her entrance. She was dripping wet, her body more than ready for him. He pushed in slowly, the thick head stretching her deliciously, giving her time to adjust to his considerable size. Tonks wrapped her legs around his narrow waist, urging him deeper with her heels. His thick cocked filled her entirely, stretching her almost to the point of pain.

“Fuck,” she gasped, feeling him throbbing inside her. “You’re so big. I’ve n-never felt this full before.“

For a moment, they remained still, foreheads pressed together, both adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of their connection. Then Harry began to move, withdrawing almost completely before pushing back in with deliberate force, setting a steady rhythm that Tonks met with an eager rock of her hips. His hands braced beside her head, the corded muscles on his arms and shoulders flexing with each thrust. She dug her nails into his back, scraping red lines across his skin that would mark him for days.

“You’re enough,” Harry murmured against her neck, echoing his earlier reassurance. His breath felt hot against her skin. “More than enough.”

Those simple words unleashed something in Tonks, breaking a dam inside her. Her hair flashed a brilliant violet as pleasure shot through her stomach, her body responding in ways she’d almost forgotten it could. Her inner walls clenched around him, drawing a deep groan from his throat. The pace quickened, Harry’s hips slamming against her with quiet fury, the wet sound of their bodies joining again and again mixing with their gasps and moans.

“More.” Not a request—a demand. She pushed away, muscles tensing as she turned under him, twisting her body and digging her knees into the worn cushions. Tonks steadied herself with her palms and arched her back invitingly.

Her hair—now electric pink—cascaded down her spine. She turned, looking over one shoulder, pupils dilated. Sweat trailed down her nape, guiding his eyes across the curves of her back.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Harry,” she demanded. She reached back to spread her ass, revealing her glistening pussy. “I need to feel you. All of you.”

Harry’s cock twitched at the sight.

“Fucking hell, Tonks,” he growled, wrapping his fist around his shaft, guiding it to her entrance. He rubbed the head through her wet folds, coating himself in her juices, teasing her clit with each pass. “Your pussy looks so fucking good from this position.”

His hands found her hips, fingertips sinking into soft flesh. Calluses scraped against her skin as he tightened his grip.

He aligned himself, the tip of his cock nudging against her throbbing entrance. Heat radiated from her core. The thick head parted her drenched folds, meeting resistance for just a moment before he buried himself into her in one thrust.

“Oh fuck!” Her spine bowed, changing the angle, forcing him deeper. Her breasts swung beneath her, dark nipples grazing against the rough fabric of the sofa and leaving a trail of milk.

So big. So fucking big.

The aged sofa creaked beneath them, springs protesting each movement. Flesh struck flesh—a wet rhythm punctuated by the slap of his balls against her clit. 

The lamp flickered, responding to waves of uncontrolled magic.

“You’re so tight,” Harry panted, watching his cock disappear between her pussy lips, stretching her around his girth. Her inner walls clung to him, her juices coating his shaft with every thrust. “So wet for me.”

Her hair brightened to pure crimson. “Harder.” Through clenched teeth. “Fuck me harder Harry!”

Harry grunted and slammed into her with animalistic need. His eyes burned bright with each push, driving his cock deeper into her core. The squelching sounds of their flesh filled the room. Black hair plastered against his forehead. Tendons stood out on his forearms as he gripped her hips, slamming into her again and again.

“Your pussy feels incredible,” he groaned, each word punctuated by a thrust. “Taking my cock so well.” 

His grabbed a fistful of crimson hair, wrapping it around his fingers. A gentle tug—enough to arch her back, to let his cock reach the spot inside her pussy that made her explode with ecstacy.

“Right there! Right fucking there!” she screamed, her pussy clenching around his cock. “Don’t stop—“

Harry’s free hand reached around, fingers finding her clit. He circled the swollen nub with firm strokes timed with his thrusts.

“Cum for me Tonks,” he commanded, voice strained. “I want to feel your pussy squeeze me when you do.”

A scream tore from her throat. Her body convulsed, inner walls clamping down on his shaft, rippling and squeezing. Her arms gave way, face pressing into the cushions.

“I’m cumming!” she wailed, voice breaking. “Oh fuck, Harry—I’m cumming on your cock!”

Her pussy spasmed, hot flesh contracting in waves. Fresh wetness flooded around him, coating his balls and dripping down her thighs. Her body shook with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

The sight pushed Harry past the point of no return. His rhythm faltered, growing desperate. His loins tightened as pressure built at the base of his balls.

“Fuck, Tonks,” he groaned. “Gonna cum. Gonna fill your pussy—“

With a final thrust that buried him balls-deep, Harry exploded. His cock jerked, shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside her. Each spurt triggered another aftershock in her body, her pussy continuing to clench around him, milking him of his seed.

“Yes,” she moaned, pushing back against him, unwilling to lose a single drop. “Fill me up Harry. Claim me.”

They remained locked together, bodies shuddering with sweat, his cock buried inside her, twitching with the last pulses of his climax. Her inner walls fluttered around him, squeezing the final drops of cum from his rod.

When he slipped free, a stream of cum followed down her thigh. The sight sent a jolt of satisfaction through him. He gathered her against his chest as they collapsed into the sofa, a tangle of limbs and sweat-dampened hair. His softening cock—drenched from their combined juices—rested comfortably between her cum-stained thighs.

With a murmured spell, he conjured a blanket to cover them as their passion subsided into a contented glow.

—

Her legs wobbled as she made her way to the nursery, Harry’s cum still warm inside her, providing a pleasant reminder between her thighs. She leaned against the doorframe, watching Teddy’s chest rise and fall in the glow of his magical nightlight. His turquoise hair shifted to a peaceful blue as he dreamed, little fists twitching against the crib sheets.

The floor creaked as Harry settled behind her, still naked and wet from perspiration. His cock pressed against her bum, impressive even when soft.

“He has your gift,” Harry murmured, nodding toward Teddy’s changing hair.

“And his father’s face,” she replied, a shadow crossing her features before being replaced by something else. Acceptance. Healing.

Harry wrapped his arms around her, one hand on her ribs, the other on her stomach. She leaned back and snuggled into him, breathing his scent—sweat and sex and something uniquely Harry, like freshly cut grass and broom polish.

The rain had stopped, leaving only the sounds of their relaxed breathing. The grandfather clock chimed once, marking half past one.

“You’ll stay?” she murmured against his skin, the question heavy with meanings beyond tonight.

Harry’s fingers traced patterns along her stomach, reawakening their simmering desire. His other hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face until their eyes met in the darkness.

“As long as you need,” he promised.