Harry Potter and the world of Reversed Sexual libido (SI as Harry)

Harry woke up with a sense of purpose. The cool light filtering through the curtains reminded him it was time for another round of their lakeside routine. He glanced over at Ron, still snoring softly in the bed across the room. A smirk tugged at his lips—this would be fun.

Pulling on his robes, he nudged Ron awake. "Get up, mate. We're going out to the lake again."

Ron groaned, pulling the blankets over his head. "Why the bloody hell do we have to do this so early? Can't we just... skip it?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was amusement behind his tone. "Because we're wizards, Ron. Powerful wizards. You want to be strong, don't you?"

Ron peeked out from the covers, grumbling something incoherent before finally dragging himself out of bed.

It wasn't long before Hermione joined them, looking considerably less thrilled about the idea of exercise. Her eyes were bleary, and she fumbled with her bag, the look on her face one of pure dread at the prospect of running.

The three of them made their way down to the Black Lake, finding the secluded spot under the bridge near the Owlery that Harry had scoped out the other day. The water was shallow, perfect for a swim without running into any of the more dangerous creatures lurking in the lake's depths.

As they reached the clearing, Ron let out a dramatic sigh, staring at the distance they still had to cover before getting into the water. "Why do we have to run so far? It's not like I'm trying to join the Chudley Cannons' fitness regime."

Harry shot him a sidelong glance. "You'll thank me later, when you're not collapsing after one Quidditch match."

Hermione was already panting, her face red. "You know... I don't really need to do this. I have plenty of other ways to train... magical methods, obviously."

Harry couldn't resist the tease. "Sure, if you want to skip out. But then don't complain when Ron's laughing at you being pudgy by the end of the year."

Ron snorted, catching his breath. "Yeah, Hermione, you'd be rounder than Professor Sprout after a whole pumpkin pie."

Hermione glared at him, cheeks flaring red with indignation. Without warning, she stripped off her robes and dove into the water, splashing furiously. Her strokes were powerful, aggressive, as if she was possessed by some untapped energy. Harry and Ron stood there, momentarily dumbfounded.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, blinking in surprise. "She's gone mad."

Harry grinned and elbowed him. "Lesson number one, mate: don't ever call a woman pudgy, or anything close to it. They'll have your head. It's like telling you that you're shit at Quidditch."

Ron's face scrunched up. "Oi, I'm good at Quidditch!"

"Exactly." Harry laughed, and they both stripped down, jumping into the water after Hermione.

The cold water was bracing, but the three of them swam in laps, pushing their limits. Hermione, true to her competitive nature, kept going longer than the boys, barely stopping for breath.

Eventually, they dragged themselves out of the water, collapsing onto a large log that lay along the shore. The air was crisp, and the shade from the bridge offered a cool respite from the early sun. They sat in silence for a moment, catching their breath before starting their meditation practice.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of magic in his core. But it was slow going—he could barely manage to change the temperature of the breeze around them. Frustrated, he opened his eyes to find Ron sitting up, looking perplexed.

"I felt it," Ron muttered, "but then I lost control. I made a warm breeze, but... it messed with my concentration."

Harry's jaw tightened. He'd expected Ron to struggle, but it seemed he was catching on quicker than Harry had anticipated. Maybe Ron had more natural talent than Harry liked to admit. It didn't sit well with him, being "The Chosen One" and all, but that didn't mean shit when raw talent came into play.

Hermione sighed loudly from where she lay on her back, staring up at the sky. "I felt it too," she said in frustration, "but it slipped away. It's like I can't keep hold of it long enough to do anything."

Harry turned to look at her, his gaze trailing over her naked form as she stretched out on the grass. She looked spent from the swim, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.

"Maybe it's different for women," Harry suggested casually, kneeling beside her. "Might need a different approach."

Hermione groaned softly, more in annoyance than exhaustion. "I lose concentration too quickly," she muttered.

Harry, always curious, placed a hand on her chest, his palm resting over one of her breasts, feeling her heartbeat against his skin. He gave it a gentle squeeze, a teasing smile on his lips. Hermione smiled back but shook her head, brushing his hand away.

"Not now, Harry. I'm too tired."

He shrugged, letting his hand fall back into the grass. "Suit yourself. I'll just find someone else."

They spent the next few minutes making crude jokes about Snape's latest potions lesson, before finally pulling their robes back on and heading towards the castle for a much-needed bath.

Harry's mind was elsewhere as they walked, turning over the thoughts of Ron's progress and his own frustrations. When they reached the changing rooms, Lavender Brown was waiting for him, draped in nothing but a towel.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she practically bounced forward, her voice low and eager. "Harry... please. I need it. One more time, spit on me."

Harry sighed but couldn't resist the eagerness in her tone. Taking her hand, he led her back to her dorm, the tension between them thickening with every step. When they arrived, Parvati Patil was lounging on her bed, raising an eyebrow as they entered.

Without a word, Harry threw Lavender onto the bed, her towel slipping off her body in a cascade. He tugged off his pants and joined her, his body pressed against hers as he whispered into her ear. "Your punishment is over. But we're doing this my way now."

Lavender whimpered, spreading her legs wide as Harry thrust into her, the soft mattress cushioning the force of his movements. Parvati watched from across the room, her hand sliding into her panties, eyes locked on them as Harry drove into Lavender harder than ever before.

Lavender moaned, her hands coming up to rub the spit Harry dribbled down onto her breasts. She massaged the slickness into her skin, her head rolling back in ecstasy as Harry kept pounding into her. "Please... in my mouth," she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry paused, his rhythm faltering as he stared down at her. "Why should I?" he asked, his cock still throbbing inside her.

"Please, Harry. I need it. For me," she begged, writhing beneath him.

With a growl, he spat into her open mouth, and she rolled the saliva around on her tongue, moaning as she swallowed. The instant it hit her throat, her body seized with an orgasm, her pussy tightening around him as she came hard, her cries filling the room.

Harry didn't stop, drilling into her with renewed vigor, his release building until he finally came, groaning into her neck. He collapsed beside her, sweat slicking their bodies, his breath coming in heavy pants.

Across the room, Parvati's quiet whimpers reached his ears. He turned his head to find her watching them, her fingers still working inside herself. Harry smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Need a hand?"

Parvati grinned, crawling over to him as he gestured for her to clean him up. Her mouth closed around his cock, licking away the remnants of their session, while her other hand furiously rubbed at her own clit until she shuddered with release.

Satisfied, Harry wiped himself down with Lavender's discarded towel before pulling on his clothes. He shot them both a smirk, committing Lavender's thoroughly satisfied form to memory before heading off to the baths. She'd definitely become a permanent fixture in his routine.

Harry left Lavender and Parvati sprawled across the bed, their bodies limp with satisfaction, and made his way to the baths. The cool stone hallways of the castle echoed softly with his footsteps as he reflected on the sheer control he had over the girls. Lavender had practically begged him to spit in her mouth—again—and Parvati, always the voyeur, could barely keep her hands off herself watching him fuck her friend. It was becoming routine, but it was a routine Harry was more than happy to indulge in.

The bath was a welcome reprieve after the intensity of the morning's activities. The hot water eased his sore muscles, and for a while, he simply floated, letting the steam and warmth wash away the lingering tension. But the relaxation was short-lived, his mind already buzzing with thoughts of what the day would bring. He had McGonagall's class next, and that meant another opportunity to test the boundaries. She was always so composed, yet her reactions when he pushed just a little—those blushes, the way she stiffened when his hand brushed hers—gave away more than she probably wanted to.

After drying off and dressing, Harry made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As he sat down, an owl swooped in, dropping a letter in front of him. He recognized the seal immediately—Gringotts. His birthday was coming up soon, and the goblins were summoning him to discuss his inheritance. He groaned, already dreading the inevitable cliché: heir to multiple families, lands, fortunes—and probably some obscure magical object, too, he thought with a roll of his eyes. But he knew he'd have to go, if only to satisfy his curiosity.

Pushing the letter aside, he dug into his food, his mind drifting back to McGonagall. The last time they'd shared a moment, she'd surprised him—letting her hands stray to places he hadn't expected while talking about the dangers of magical potions. It had been subtle, but the tension was undeniable. He wondered how far he could push it today.

As the bell rang for the first class, Harry gathered his things and headed to Transfiguration. The room was already filling with students, and McGonagall stood at the front, her usual stern expression firmly in place. But Harry saw it—the slight flush in her cheeks as he entered, the way her gaze flicked to him before quickly looking away. He smirked to himself. This is going to be fun.

Throughout the lesson, Harry played the perfect student, answering questions and following instructions with precision. But every now and then, he let his hand brush against hers as he handed back his transfigured objects. Once, when he was pretending to struggle with a spell, he let his knee press lightly against her thigh under the desk. She didn't pull away. If anything, she seemed to freeze, her breath catching ever so slightly.

He leaned closer. "Professor, I think I need a bit more help with this," he whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear. His hand lingered on hers a moment too long as he passed her his attempt at turning a needle into a matchstick.

McGonagall's eyes flickered, and her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't pull away. She reached for the needle, her hand trembling just the tiniest bit. "It's simple, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice slightly more strained than usual. "You just need to focus... more."

Harry grinned. He was getting to her. As the lesson drew to a close, McGonagall sent the rest of the students away but asked Harry to stay behind. He could feel the tension crackling between them as the last of the students filtered out of the classroom, leaving the two of them alone.

McGonagall stood by her desk, her back to Harry as she gathered up the lesson materials. "Mr. Potter," she began, her tone sharp but laced with something else—something softer, more uncertain. "You've been... quite forward in your interactions with me lately."

Harry leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on her. "Have I, Professor?" His voice was casual, almost teasing.

She turned to face him, her expression stern but her eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability. "You know exactly what I mean, Harry." The use of his first name didn't go unnoticed.

He stood up, slowly approaching her desk. "You didn't seem to mind last time," he said, his voice low, almost a purr. "When we were discussing that potion and when you took me to your room about the flying incident you didn't exactly stop me did you"

McGonagall's cheeks flushed, but she held her ground. "That was a lapse in judgment. It won't happen again."

Harry stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "Are you sure about that?"

For a long moment, she said nothing, her gaze locked with his. There was a battle going on inside her—Harry could see it. Part of her wanted to maintain her composure, to keep the line between student and teacher intact. But another part of her—one that Harry was all too eager to coax out—was tempted. He could see it in the way her chest rose and fell a little faster, in the way her eyes darted to his lips for just a split second.

Without breaking eye contact, Harry reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her arm. She didn't pull away.

"You don't have to fight it, Professor," he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. "I know you want to."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to push him away. But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned forward, just enough for their faces to be inches apart. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"Harry..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He moved closer, his lips hovering just above hers, the tension between them thick and electric. "Tell me to stop," he whispered back, his breath hot against her skin.

But she didn't. Instead, she closed the distance between them, her lips brushing lightly against his in a kiss that was tentative at first but quickly grew more urgent. Her hands came up to grip his robes, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. Harry's hands found her waist, pulling her against him as he kissed her harder, more forcefully.

McGonagall moaned softly against his lips, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as she gave in to the desire she'd been fighting for so long. Harry could feel the tension in her body, the way she trembled slightly under his touch, but there was no hesitation anymore.

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "You don't have to pretend anymore."

She didn't respond with words. Instead, she pulled him back to her, her kiss hungry, desperate. Harry's hands roamed over her body, feeling the heat of her skin through her robes as he pressed her back against the desk. McGonagall gasped as he lifted her onto the edge, her legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them.

Her hands were all over him now, tugging at his clothes, pulling him closer. Harry could feel the heat radiating off her, could hear the ragged breaths she took between kisses. He grinned against her lips, his hands sliding up her thighs as he pressed himself against her.

McGonagall's head fell back as Harry's lips trailed down her neck, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she arched into him. "Harry..." she moaned, her voice thick with need.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands still gripping her thighs. "You sure you want this, Professor?" he asked, his voice teasing but with a hint of sincerity.

Her eyes met his, dark with desire. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

That was all the confirmation Harry needed. With a smirk, he pulled her closer, his hands deftly working to free himself from his robes. McGonagall's hands were frantic, pulling at his clothes with a desperate urgency that only fueled Harry's excitement. It was good that he was skipping Quirrels class, he did not want to feel Voldemort's headaches coming at him.

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