Harry Potter: Seducing Destiny

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I walked to the front of my apartment, crossed the outer courtyard that held ridiculously lethal booby traps for trespassers, out over the front porch where my car was awaiting.

I stopped so suddenly that Hermione, who was right behind me, nearly walked into my back. She caught her balance with a hiss of discomfort, and then looked up and caught her breath.

"Oh, my!" she whispered. "Is this yours?"

Nearly two tons of British steel and chrome sat idling in the drive. Its purring engine sounded like a sewing machine. The white Rolls limo was brand new, but in my perspective, an old model, something right out of a pulp-fiction adventure film, preserved in a gorgeous condition. Its panels shone, freshly waxed and without blemish, and the chrome of its grill gleamed sienna in the light of the morning over the house.

I walked down to peer inside the Rolls. Back in my old life, I could never have been able to afford anything this expensive, but in this life, it was little more than a minor dent in my family fortune. The interior was all silver-gray and white leather and similarly colored woodwork, polished to a glowing sheen and accented with silver. The carpet on the floor of the Rolls was thicker and more luxurious than the well-kept lawn around it.

"Yes. I had the goblins purchase something that looked expensive and wasn't resistant to enchantment. They got me this."

"Wow," she whispered. "That's a work of bloody art."

I snorted. "You're sounding like Ron now."

"Wow," she repeated, ignoring me. "Look at the filigree."

I nodded.

Hermione gave me a sidelong look. "And there's plenty of room in the back."

I blinked and looked at her.

Her expression was innocent and bland. "All I'm saying is that it's an idea."

"Hermione," I said. I felt my face getting a little warm.

The dimples reappeared. She was just teasing me, of course. We had fucked until the early hours of the morning. Hermione had been rather excited after her performance in the presence of the big bad Auror, and her werewolf stamina had vigorously agreed with that sentiment.

"What model is this?" she asked.

"It's a Silver Wraith," I replied, folding my arms smugly. "Vintage, but great for enchantment. A fucking bomb could hit us and still not feel anything save a sudden jerk. Cost me a pretty penny, too."

I slid into the car and pulled the door behind me. Hermione was going to stay back this time. I had a few things planned out for the day after my meeting with Hestia Jones. Hermione's presence would obstruct things that required my fullest attention.

"That's nice and all, but do you even know how to drive it?"

Good question. Harry didn't, but I did. At one time in my past life, I did a small run as a valet. Wasn't glorious by a long shot, but I got to sit in and drive some uber-expensive cars. Compared to those, driving this Rolls was like driving a tank. It had all kinds of momentum behind it, but lacked any power steering or power brakes. A vehicle that demanded I paid my respects to the laws of physics and think a little further ahead than I otherwise might.

If I were driving the mundane version of this car.

But I am a wizard. I cheat. I had gotten implanted fire-based enchantments to increase the potency of the fuel; water-based ones to improve fuel flow efficiency and oil life duration; well-placed durability charms to increase natural physical composition density and hardness; kinetic spells to reduce air resistance and improve the exhaust systems; spatial charms to expand the interiors and luggage chambers; atmospheric charms to maintain a steady temperature within, regardless of the outer environment, and finally strengthening charms to enhance the internal systems and link the car's natural performance to the user and make it almost like a magical artifact, not very different from Arthur Weasley's Flying Ford Anglia. They did most of the stuff out of basic rune sequences and small, normally difficult to produce changes that, when combined with the right spells, would make the car better in one small way or another.

I drove right up to the front of the Leaky Cauldron, where a brown-haired young woman, close to Tonks' age, stood wearing a light pink full shirt and pants, fitting right in place among the other mundanes. She was a fit and perky five foot five, with long, wavy hair and light brown eyes that looked inviting.

"Miss Jones?" I asked, pushing my neck out of the window. "I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

I reached out and grabbed her hand. It takes a unique form of power to say your own name when you know that everyone in the world already knows it. The excitement on Hestia's face only doubled.

"It's my pleasure," she shook my hand, before her face shone with excitement, "And you own a Royce?"

"You like?"

"Verily," she exclaimed, and extended her head. "Hestia Jones. Nymphadora told me all about you."

Nymphadora, huh? "I hope not everything's bad."

She laughed. "Oh, there were plenty. I know it's forward of me, but could I…?" She gestured towards the steering.

I chuckled and shifted to the other seat. "Sure thing."

Hestia Jones was exactly like Tonks had described — spirited. As soon as I had offered her the driver's seat, she had gotten in, and with a flourish of her wand, transfigured her attire into a classic black suit, white shirt, black tie with the peaked hat, common among limo drivers.

"You look right at home."

She giggled. "Where would you like me to take you?"

"Anywhere we can sit and discuss, Miss Jones. And then there's quite a few places I plan to visit today."

"On it," she said, and the car roared to life. "And anyone that lets me drive their limo gets to call me Hestia."

I grinned.

"This is fantastic!" She exclaimed, taking to driving like a duck to water. The vehicle began moving faster and faster, yet Hestia seemed perfectly at ease with it. "A magically enchanted limo? This is fucking glorious!"

I smirked. The goblins had done a good job with it. The engine, gas tank, and tires had been covered in arrays that enhanced each one's capabilities as far as they could without using elemental spells, ensuring unheard of mileage, nonexistent slippage even on ice, stronger frames, and a voluntarily activating muggle-repelling ward just to list a few of the features. Combined with the slightly changed engines, fuel pump systems, suspensions, and altered outer frames, there was little doubt that the car would be beyond anything modern science could achieve for the next decade.

For all their skill in enchanting, the goblins knew diddly about motor mechanics. And given the success of our first prototype, they were giddy about a potential partnership agreement over opening a magi-tech firm, one that would enchant muggle inventions to make them usable for the wizarding populace, after clearing them through Arthur Weasley's office. My ideas and designs, their skills and effort. Unfortunately, working with goblins meant being satisfied with a 35-65 agreement, 35 for me, 65 for them. But it was good business.

It was yet another reason having a full-time secretary would be a boon for me at the moment.

Eventually the adrenaline wore off and Hestia drove the car into one of the more expensive eateries that looked like the sort of place a Rolls owner would park.

"You seem to know a lot about limos," I started, as Hestia returned after ordering for us.

"Haha! Yes. My dad was a limo driver, and I occasionally replaced him in the shifts during the summers. You see some sights, believe me."

"Like what?"

She snorted. "The last time I was driving in his place, I had these three Scottish businessmen in the backseat. I pick them up from a restaurant and they're all blitzed, right?"

I tilted my head.

"And then one of them tells me to get them some hookers."

I coughed. "Just… like that?"

She giggled, brushing her hair back from her face. "Yeah. Just like that. So I've got three options, right? One, I can just ditch them and get no tip and probably hear an earful from Dad. Two, I can try bewitching them to forget it and then get a Ministry letter from the Underage Magic Bullshitters Office, and three, I can go find some skanks that are probably riddled with Merlin-knows what diseases."

I chortled. "And you chose?"

"Option Four. I called in a friend from school and told her to round up some friends."

I blinked. "Your friend from school… is a hooker?"

"Escort, and a very well paid one at that," she replied with a raised eyebrow. "She works only four nights a week and earns more money than I did as Crouch's assistant."

"Why's a Hogwarts student an—"

"Escort?" she finished for me. "She's a werewolf. Got bitten in her fifth year. Got expelled because the others didn't want a werewolf on campus. Probably because Filch'd have to clean up all that cum off the broom cupboards. Werewolves can be horny bitches, but I bet you already know that."

Translation — she knew about Hermione. And seriously, another werewolf? What were the chances?

"What's her name?"

"Chiara Lobosca," Hestia said, "and ya, Nymphadora mentioned your werewolf girl. Told me you're doing a good job of satisfying her." She gave me a saucy grin. "Few guys can boast that."

I chuckled uneasily at that. "So… you went and picked up those girls?"

If she noticed my attempt at diverting the topic, she didn't show it. "Yeah. Three guys, three girls, and a big fucking orgy at the back of the stretch limo for hours. Got to give those guys respect for keeping it that long without potions."

I laughed and raised the glass of water before me. "To Scottish businessmen."

"And the girls they rode in on," Hestia joined in, chinking her glass against mine.

"What about cleaning the limo afterwards? Don't tell me you used a cleaning charm."

She shook her head. "Not my job. Though yours looks spanking new. Don't know how you managed that with a werewolf living with you, but it suits me fine."

"Is it quite a lot like that? In the back of a limo?"

"Yeah." Hestia said, "I've had couples hiring a limo just so they could drive around, fucking behind tinted windows. Sometimes I have guys jacking off on their own, women who've helped them, and sometimes even men who've helped them."

I snorted at that.

"You should try it out sometime. Maybe hire a couple or three classy escorts. It'd blow your mind."

That it would. In more ways than one.

"Speaking of which, you see those girls to my right checking you out?"

I turned to look at them from the corner of my eyes, and yes, they were indeed watching me. The moment they saw me looking, they looked away and giggled.

"Want me to get them in the back of the limo for you?"

I snorted. "The job was for my secretary position, not my pimp."

"That and more," Hestia snickered. "As long as I get my galleons and enjoy my work, I don't care what you make me do." The smile on her face held a deliberate hint of evil to it. "Nymphadora must have told you. I'm a perv. I don't care."

"She.. might have worded it lightly."

"Prude," Hestia frowned. "You'd think being a metamorph would make her more liberating."

"I dare you to say that to her face."

"I bloody well have a million times. Still a prude. If I were a metamorph, I'd double my arse and tit size and make a bloody fortune out of it."

We continued the discussion, somehow avoiding Hestia's repeated suggestions of dragging those muggle girls with us. Ordinarily, that idea would have held a ridiculous appeal to me, but after everything else that was going on, I needed to get the actual shit done first.

As Hestia said, werewolves have incredible stamina. I was already exhausting myself just to keep up with Hermione. Unless I somehow gained a perk or two that doubled my own, things could get problematic. That or start taking potency potions.

And then we came down to business.

"So there I was," Hestia shared, "writing those artifacts off as illegal and framing charges on this man, and the next, I get a call from Barty, telling me to drop everything and get to office. Being who I was, I sent my report to Director Bones, and left for whatever new shitstain Barty wanted me to mop up. Next thing I know, I have a half a dozen charges against me, and Minister Fudge throws me out of my job, and that Gibbon walks out of Barty's chambers with Lucius Malfoy in tow. Two plus two equals four."

"What was your job like?"

"Executive assistant to Crouch, mostly. Act as his liaison and schedule manager, set up everything he needed, meet and haggle with attorneys of other international representatives at the ICW. That sort of stuff."

"Seems like a handful."

"Yes, sir."

"And if we're working together all the time, call me Harry."

"Yes, sir."

"Harry, not sir."

"Understood, sir."

I noticed the hint of a smile twitching in her mouth. "Funny."

"Harry, it is then," she grinned. "But if I'm to be your secretary, I might 'Sir' you in public, though."

"Whatever gets you off."

Her eyes really lit up at that. "Oh, a bunch of things. I can send you a list if you like, Sir."

We guffawed.

"Jokes aside, Nymphadora gave me a rough idea about your situation. Lord Potter, Lord Black, Boy-Who-Lived, and Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelor, you sir are a brimming cauldron. One wrong thing and it'd explode. How you've managed things on your own so far is beyond me."

"Mostly by keeping my head down and ignoring all the surrounding fawning," I admitted, "but this year, things changed. I'm trying to gain a bit of control back into my life. Has Tonks mentioned about my little… skirmish with Malfoy Junior?"

Hestia nodded.

"Well, I need help with that, and whatever else the government and Rita Skeeter might have to say about me. I also have some investments running around and some plans for the future. Plans that might cause drastic changes to our world. I need someone whom I can trust to do right by me, and, be able to smack sense on my face when I'm bullshitting around."

She cocked her head. "Well, that makes things easier, I suppose."

"About that. You sure you wouldn't have a problem working for someone like myself?"

She arched an eyebrow.

How did Tonks put it again? "Someone who's fantastically wealthy, publicly notorious, good-looking, younger man."

Hestia guffawed. "Lemme guess, Nymphadora?"

"Five points to Ravenclaw."

She laughed some more. "Frankly Harry, I'm rather comfortable working with men than women. Sides, you look like you've some experience in business and investing. How you got that while still being in your third-year is mysterious but ultimately not my concern, but it's clear you have things very well laid out. Plus, I've found that it's a little easier to establish good working relationships with men than women."

"You mean they end up acting like bitches?" I offered, opting for honesty.

"Some of them, yes. I've encountered resentment because of how I look, and my lack of ability to kowtow before pureblood ladies that aren't worth the scum beneath my shoes. As for your ongoing relationship with Miss Granger, I live with a sex worker, remember? How much more depraved can you get than that?"

I cocked my head and smiled.

"My point is, don't bother yourself with wondering if asking me something is gonna upset me, or if you think it's stupid or even wrong. If I'm going to be your secretary, you've got to rely on me for things. As for protections, the standard Secretarial Vow works, unless you have something more stringent in mind?"

"Uh, no, that will do for now."

Hestia smiled. "Then let's get on with it. Discuss the pay and perks. And then you can tell me in what way you want to have me."

That caught me off-guard. "I'm… sorry?"

"Don't be," Hestia said, "We're young, Harry. You can admit it. You feel a longing. I see it in your eyes. A deep, carnal hunger."

She smiled. "I feel it too. And that craving is about to be satisfied."

"... It is?" Her words emboldened me slightly. Harry Potter or not, there was only so much one could do if a girl slaps you in public.

"Completely." She held up the menu. "I ordered everything they've got!"