There were two bars in Hogsmeade. One was the Three Broomsticks, a clean and cheerful place run by the gorgeous Madame Rosmerta.
That wasn't where Harry was headed.
He stopped in the street, staring up at the dingy pub in front of him. The windows were too dirty to see through, even though it was still the afternoon. A sign of a large, ugly, tusked boar was hanging above the door, advertising the Hog's Head Bar.
Harry walked forward, pushing open the door and stepping inside.
There were patrons inside. Not too many, and most of them were deep in drinks despite the early hour. But there were three middle aged witches and wizards scattered around, and sitting at the main bar was a girl Harry's age in Hogwarts robes.
When he entered, she stared at him, before turning to a man behind the bar.
"You've got a customer," she said.
The man grunted. He had long and rather wild gray hair, which looked like it was cleaned about as often as the dingy bar.
"I heard the door," he said.
"But this one's famous," said the girl.
The gray haired man stiffened. He twisted quickly, anger surging on his features, only for it to be subdued the moment he recognized Harry.
Knowing even the little bit he did about the man's history, Harry assumed he had taken 'famous guest' as meaning his brother. Harry clenched his hands and strode forward as confidently as he could, sitting down beside the Hogwarts girl.
"What're you ordering?" grunted the old man and owner, one Aberforth Dumbledore.
"I just wanted to talk," Harry said.
"He doesn't like that," the girl informed him. "Even I can barely get him to do it, and he's crazy about me."
Harry looked at her. She was a good-looking girl the same age as him, yet one he'd never exchanged a single word with. Her house probably didn't help with that. Tracey Davis was a Slytherin, albeit one who often kept her distance from Draco Malfoy's posse and their feuds with Harry's friends.
"Who said I'm crazy about you?" Aberforth demanded.
"I'm like your granddaughter," Tracey said. "Adoptive, of course. But you can't get enough of me."
"Just because I can't get rid of you doesn't mean I can't get enough. You're like a rash. A damn rash!" The grouchy old man turned away from her, slamming a hand down on the bar in front of Harry. "If you want to talk, do it with a drink. That's my best offer."
Harry got a Butterbeer. Aberforth collected it quickly, filling a frothy glass. As he did, Tracey turned her head, studying Harry. So Harry studied her in return.
He really knew hardly anything about the girl. She had dark skin, though not nearly dark as Professor Sinistra. Her black hair was braided back. She had sharp eyes, which were completely intent on Harry at the current moment. Her lips seemed prone to smirking naturally, as they were doing now.
"What's the Boy Who Lived doing in a place like this?" she asked. "You always struck me as more of a Three Broomsticks type of boy."
"I've been here before," Harry said.
Once. To set up an illicit club outside of Umbridge's notice last year.
"Congratulations!" Tracey said. "You're officially less boring than I thought. I'm sure you're thrilled."
"Of course," Harry said dryly. "You can't see it, but I'm actually shaking in my boots right now, vibrating from pure happiness."
Tracey snorted. She was surprisingly easy to talk to, for a Slytherin, to the point that Harry momentarily forgot the reason he was braving this dingy place at all. Until a Butterbeer was slammed down in front of him with a bang as loud as a blasting curse.
"Drink," Aberforth commanded.
The old man was quite tall, and he had leaned forward to put his weight into slamming the glass down, only pulling back slowly. It was an angry enough reaction to remind Harry of the moment where Aberforth thought he was Albus. Harry's eyes couldn't help but flicker between Tracey and Aberforth.
"Told you he was crazy about me," Tracey whispered, her smirk growing slightly.
Harry didn't doubt it now. But Aberforth's relationship with a random Slytherin wasn't the reason he was here. It was the man himself he was interested in.
"I have a request for you," Harry said.
Aberforth pulled out a glass and began cleaning it by hand, not even looking up. "No, I won't sell you Firewhisky lad. Come back once you've graduated."
"No!" Harry said. "I mean, it's nothing about that. I want you to teach me."
Aberforth's hands stopped. He looked up, slowly, from the cup.
"That's even stupider," he said, promptly going straight back to his chore.
"I can pay!" Harry insisted. "I have money. If it's something else you want, I'm sure I can get it for you."
"What I want is to run my damn tavern, and come back each night to my lovely goat in perfectly good health. Nothing you offer me can help with that."
"There has to be something you want!" Harry said.
"Not enough to go messing around with a baby celebrity in whatever stupid endeavor caught his fancy." Aberforth sniffed, wiping away a bit of snot with the black of his hand and leaving it there. "Though… And I won't be teaching you even if you answer, mind, but I do want to know. What made you pick me?"
"I heard stories from a few mutual acquaintances," Harry admitted. "Mostly Elphias Doge, about a year back. He talked about Professor Dumbledore—"
"Shock," Aberforth snorted. "Doge, talking about my brother?"
"He talked about both of you," Harry said. "He told me the things you got up to when you were younger. You were the one who liked duels more, always going around fighting in ways that your brother wouldn't. He said that for a while, you were in a different fight every week. And it must've paid off, because when the time came, you held your own."
Aberforth certainly wasn't distracted now. He was staring at Harry extremely intently, issuing a silent command not to say any more.
"So you came to me for what?" he asked. "To learn how to be a stupid ruffian getting into fights wherever he goes?"
"Trouble already finds me," Harry informed him. "It always has. I need to be ready! I'm growing up, but I'm not learning fast enough. Not as fast as I need to be. You're probably the best duelist for a hundred miles, other than your brother."
"You're wrong," Aberforth growled. "There's no probably about it. But I don't go around teaching kids how to make the same mistakes I made. Finish your drink and scram."
He turned his back on Harry, storming to the opposite side of the room, showily busying himself organizing racks of bottles.
"Ouch. Shot down."
Tracey Davis was still smirking. Harry looked at her, before averting his eyes and chugging a solid chunk of his Butterbeer.
"I'd rather not be made fun of right now," Harry grunted.
"That's no fun," she said. "You know, despite how much of a mess he is, that old man is stubborn. It's probably his main quality. You have no chance of winning him over through persistence."
Harry frowned and downed another, even larger portion of his drink.
"How badly do you need to learn from him?" Tracey asked.
"Desperately," Harry admitted.
It was the perfect solution. Aberforth wasn't as powerful as Albus, but as Harry alluded to, he had dueled with Grindelwald and lived through it. He was a prime target throughout the whole First Wizarding War, and yet no Death Eater ever took him down. What he lacked when it came to the power his brother wielded, he made up for with skills and experience. If he could impart even a fraction of those onto Harry, who had the power but not the skills to use it with, Harry could improve by leaps and bounds.
"Define 'desperately'," Tracey said, a calculating glint in her eyes. "Badly enough to owe a Slytherin a favor?"
"I guess it depends on who," Harry said. "Is the Slytherin Draco Malfoy? In that case, there's not a chance in hell. But if the Slytherin were a stranger, who didn't get along all that well with Draco and his gang… That would be more than worth it."
Something about the way Tracey smiled, the pure triumph in it, made Harry feel like he'd made a mistake.
She leaned into his personal space, speaking quietly and authoritatively.
"Aberforth is making a show of how uninterested he is in your offer," she said. "I've watched him do this before. He'll only look at those bottles for the next five minutes, before sneaking glances to see if you've left. It'll be exactly ten minutes after that before he really pays attention to the room. That means we should go now."
Feeling a bit confused, Harry allowed Tracey to grab his hand and pull him up. Rather than leading him toward the door, she took him deeper into the pub, to the area where rooms for overnight guests were.
Sure enough, they crossed the room without Aberforth looking up. He kept on organizing bottles while the two of them disappeared together.
Tracey pulled him past three rooms to the last one on the left, which had an open door. She dragged him inside, pushing the door shut behind them, although she left it cracked.
"Welcome to my home away from home!" she said. "This place has had at least one vacancy for the last three decades, so Aberforth loaned me a room to use as I like, whenever I like. What do you think?"
Harry glanced around. It looked a lot like the main room of the Hog's Head, which was to say missing a few too many cleaning charms with cobwebs in nearly every corner. But the bed was nice, its covers mussed up like someone had recently been sleeping on it.
"I didn't expect to see a Slytherin okay with slumming it like this," he admitted.
For a moment, a dark look crossed Tracey's face. "Not all of us have Malfoy money."
She didn't say anything else, and Harry coughed slightly as he cleared his throat, feeling somewhat bad. It seemed like he'd struck a nerve. His view of Slytherins had always been one of pureblood heirs raised with silver spoons in their mouths, but maybe that was just because he'd interacted with so few. He briefly considered apologizing, but Tracey didn't seem the kind of girl to care about something sappy like that. From his impression of her, the best thing he could do to brush past this moment was to get back to business.
"How does showing me your room convince Aberforth to change his mind?" he asked.
"You're powerful, aren't you?" Tracey asked.
Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Maybe…"
"Oh don't look shocked," Tracey said. "If you weren't, how could you compete with seventh years when you were only in your fourth year? You won that tournament on points, before everything got strange. Besides, it would only make sense for the Boy Who Lived to be strong, right?"
Harry shrugged, and his lack of denial was enough for Tracey to take as agreement.
Tracey paused. Something came over her. Harry wanted to describe it as lust, of all emotions, yet he couldn't shake the feeling it was fabricated, like she was a skilled actress putting on a show. Tracey stepped closer to him. Harry didn't step away.
"Did you know that strong wizards attract women?" she hummed, reaching up and fiddling with his collar. "Maybe all of this was just a ploy. Maybe I can't change Aberforth's mind… Maybe I'm not thinking about that old man at all, I just wanted to get you all alone, in private…"
Tracey dropped to her knees, and she did so without letting go of Harry's robes, tearing them open from the top. She nuzzled his abs with her forehead while her hands popped open his pants. Harry's member made its appearance, not yet hard because of the rapid development of this situation. Harry couldn't help but gape.
"Don't look so shocked!" Tracey said. "Slytherin girls can have fantasies about Gryffindors just like any other house can. In fact, I'd argue we do it even more."
She giggled, her fingers wrapping around his cock as she reached up to it from below, delicately jerking him off with a motion somewhat like throwing a spear. Blood rushed down throughout Harry's body, engorging his cock.
"I know a thing or two about Slytherin girls," Harry admitted.
"Do you?" Tracey looked curious. "That's a tidbit not even I knew. Those are rare."
"I know that they don't do anything for no reason," Harry said. "Even when they're the ones that want you, it's hard to make them act."
You just had to look at Daphne. In hindsight, Harry could see she wanted him even back on the Hogwarts Express. But she'd held back, and it took getting caught by Fleur and trapped into an "Interrogation" in order for her to finally break down and be honest.
What he was getting at was that Tracey's sudden change hadn't fooled him. There was more to this than she was letting on.
"Look at the savvy Gryffindor, thinking about things like this," Tracey said. She glanced at his cock, which had grown so large she couldn't wrap her fingers all the way around it. Although the strange, fabricated lust was still visible in her expression, Harry thought that she still looked a little bit excited by what she had found.
"Just relax," she said, "and enjoy the beautiful girl on her knees for you."
She released his cock, causing it to bounce slightly, before opening her sarcastic mouth as wide as it would go.
Despite his recovery period, Harry was still slightly sore from his rounds with Tonks. So when Tracey shoved him in her wet little mouth, he groaned immediately.
She was good. Much better than he expected. Despite his enormous size, she put away the entirety of his length in one smooth motion, relaxing her throat to engulf the parts that wouldn't fit in her mouth. Her dark head bobbed back and forth. Harry shuddered.
It was much smoother than he was used to when it came to deepthroating. Somehow, ever the Slytherin with their obsession over keeping up appearances, Tracey didn't even leak drool except for what she smeared on his member. Her appearance remained pristine.
She began twisting her head side to side as she went at him in this ruthless, yet controlled manner. Harry could hear her slurping at him. Her hands pulled her shirt forward, giving him a view down it at the white bra beneath, contrasting brightly with her skin. She had particularly large lips, which she used well, suctioning them against him to enhance the sensations.
Her hands left her shirt a moment later, reaching up to caress his balls. She twisted and turned her fingers, tweaking his sensitive skin in delicate ways that made his body shudder even more than it already had been.
He'd had a very intense day, from the brutal sex with Tonks to the dueling they'd done before each round of lovemaking. It had left his body sore, and having his balls caressed and his cock swallowed so suddenly made his aching legs give out. He fell back, sitting down hard on the bed behind him.
His sudden movement pulled his cock out of Tracey's mouth, but that only lasted for a brief moment. She was on him again in a flash, plunging her head down, this time holding onto his hips to keep him locked in place. Harry grabbed the back of her head, but she grabbed his wrist in return a moment later, pulling his hands off and returning them to his sides.
She didn't need to be pushed through the motions. Holding her head down would only get in the way, when she could suck him off this well. Every step of this was rehearsed and skilled, and she was going to use it to wring him dry.
A tremor ran through Harry's body, making him moan quietly. Tracey tensed, knowing that she had done what she needed to. She pulled her mouth free, sliding her hand up and down Harry's slick member to keep the pleasure going while her mouth was busy speaking.
"Good timing," she told him. "Honestly, I don't think it could've been better."
Before he could ask what that meant, she'd opened her mouth wide, positioning it above his cock just in time for streams of semen to erupt out. She collected them in her maw, letting it pool at the bottom of her mouth.
Squinting out of focus, Tracey shoved a finger in her mouth, pulling it out with a little bit of semen on it, which she smeared in a precise way above her lip. She swallowed the rest in one gulp, her hands refastening Harry's pants in place almost too fast for him to see.
"Oh Baby!" she said, another strange expression crossing her face. "I love you so much! I can't wait until we're out of Hogwarts, when we can marry and you can take me into your home forever!"
"What…" Harry started to say, only for the door to bang open.
It hadn't been latched from the start, as Tracey only pushed it closed, leaving a crack for noise to escape. There in the doorway, breathing heavily, was Aberforth Dumbledore.
"Out," he whispered, his voice deceptively quiet.
Tracey scurried away, disappearing past him as quickly as a mouse fleeing fleeing a hawk. Harry cursed, jumping to his feet, only to find a wand aimed at him.
"I was talking to her," Aberforth said coldly. "You, boy, will never be leaving this room again."
Cursing in his head, Harry added something else to the things he knew about the Headmaster's brother:
Skilled duelist, quick temper, stubborn… And an overprotective (adoptive) grandfather.
Not seeing any other way out of this, Harry grabbed his own wand.
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