Harry Potter: Seducing Destiny

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Three hours later, I was back in the limo, with Hestia speeding down the highway.

"Tell me something, Boss," Hestia chirped. "Nymphadora claims you've a deluxe magical hotel for a home. By Morgana's lacy panties, why would you want anything to do with that blasted haunted house?"

I laughed at her description. "Haunted house or not, it's one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in Wizarding Britain. That house lies over the intersection of two ley-lines. Even as it is now, the wards are more powerful than anything my apartment can offer. And it's the Black's seat of power."

"Aaand?"

"The Black Family Library."

Hestia glanced at me through the rear mirror."Never pegged you for the bookworm type."

"Hardly," I snorted. "But the Black Library is special. It contains proprietary magic, which is magic—"

"Limited to the Black family, I know. Most Ancient families have their libraries. Your own family would have those, too."

She was right, but the Potter Grimoire was exclusively vested in Transfiguration, and even the beginner spells in there would require at least a fifty percent affinity in the subject. How did I know that?

The screen told me. Aside from reflecting my affinities, world anchors, and meta-luck, it also served the purpose of an analysis tool, able to determine the affinity conditions required to attempt a particular spell or brand of magic. And if it was to be believed, I was still scraping inches above the halfway line.

Show me my stats.

The screen flickered in front of my eyes, revealing my new magical stats and projections.

Name — Harry James Potter

Age — 16

Sex — Male

Meta-Luck — 19

World Anchor — 167

Required World Anchor - 15

AFFINITY

Transfiguration — 28%

Charms — 34%

Martial Magic — 48%

Dark Arts — 48%

Psychomancy — 5%

Alchemy —- 15%

Spatial Magic — 21%

Magical Analytics — 6%

PERKS

Child of Prophecy, Outlander, Defiant, Horcrux, Librarian of Knowledge, Pheromone, Curse Born

Just as I thought. 28% was enough to reach an EE in Transfiguration OWL, but I needed a solid 45% if I wanted an Outstanding in my NEWTs. How did I know that? Because I had checked on some of the more difficult transfiguration spells, and the screen had been very clear about how they were above my current affinity. Unless I crossed the 50% mark, even opening the Potter grimoire was a waste of time.

The Black Family Library, now that was a completely different matter.

I had done some reading on the subject from a book on the Black Family history that I had collected from the Sirius's Vault. Apparently, the Blacks were descendants of the messengers of the Navajo Holy Ones of the American Southwest. Shapeshifting sorcerers that were corrupted by the magics they practised and developed witchcraft so dark that it came to be known as the 'Black Magic', the origin of their family name.

In terms of affinity, it relied heavily on the Dark Arts, which was something I had a high affinity at the moment, a very respectable 48%, right alongside Martial Magic. Plus, with my perks, I could expand my arsenal by a massive degree. An entire summer lay before me, and if things turned out the way I wanted, I'd be getting a serious magical boost before my fourth year began. Hence the hurry.

Speaking of which—

"Hestia, I want you—"

"Give you a blowjob while driving? Kinky, but the road's pretty ugly. Might end up biting you off."

I rolled my eyes. "I want you to teach me how to apparate and create a portkey."

Hestia frowned. "Fat lot of good it'd do to you. You can't get an apparition licence until you've passed your OWLs and private portkey creation is illegal. You try creating it. The Ministry's gonna be all over your arse before you can say 'bugger!'"

"The Trace?"

"What else?" She laughed. "The Ministry loves the Trace. They've got Mafalda Hopkirk sitting and watching it like a hawk all day. Girlie gets paid twice as much as the fuckin' Minister."

And wasn't that saying something?

"Say…" I began, "how does one get information about the Trace? How it works, regulations, limitations..."

"Dah-ling!" she drawled. "Think who you're talking to."

"Why do I think I'm asking?"

She chuckled. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know how to apparate or portkey around Magical Britain and abroad."

"I can recommend a good travel agent."

I rolled my eyes. "Without the Ministry knowing."

Hestia's lips twisted into a smirk. "Now that's more like it. I think I know a guy that knows a guy."

Parking the car outside the Leaky Cauldron, Hestia gave me a private detour of Knockturn Alley. She had already transfigured one cushion into black wizard robes and a pointy hat for me, and cast a glamour charm on my face, altering my features just enough to keep people from likening him to Harry Potter but warned me it wasn't appearance, but behaviour that distinguished Knockturn Alley shoppers from the straight-laced Diagon Alley visitors.

Sidestepping from the main street, we made our way into Knockturn Alley, making long, confident strides, avoiding eye contact with the other denizens of the street, focussed on the destination. It would not do to appear lost or vulnerable after all. Near the end, Hestia paused at a door marked 13B with an elaborate carving of a woman seducing a horde of demons at her feet and holding an amphora. Knocking thrice on the amphora caused the woman's eyes to move and look at us.

It was unnerving.

Her eyes flashed once before the door opened. We walked into a dimly lit room with an enormous stone fireplace in one corner. The entire place was filled with glass boxes of all sizes, hanging on the walls, lined along tables and even tucked away in the shadowy floor corners. Each of them held something in it — a bloodstained pack of cards, a staring glass eye, and a single bony human thumb. On the counter sat a half-bald man with sharpened features.

"Borgin, Dah-ling!" Hestia cooed, "How are you on this fine day?"

"Hestia," the man had an oily voice, and his sharp eyes scrutinised my face. "You brought a customer."

"As always, Borgin," she replied in a sickly sweet tone. "He needs some help. The kind you can provide."

"Depends. How much is he willing to pay for it?"

Hestia gave me a meaningful glance — my cue for taking charge. I did my best to hide my nervousness and strode ahead.

"I'm looking for an artefact. A rather particular kind that can help me evade the Ministry's eye, should I… say, use magic, or apparate around."

"I see," he said in a clipped tone, "you're underage."

"And carrying a bag full of galleons."

The man's jaw tightened further. "I do not sell my stuff to underage customers."

"No," I countered, "you don't sell it to people that cannot afford to buy it. I can."

I gave Hestia my best peeved look. "I don't have time for this drama. Let's try elsewhere."

"Perhaps, dear sir," Borgin quickly capitulated, his voice dropping to his previous level of oiliness. "If you could tell me, how much would you be willing to pay for such an artefact? Presuming it exists?"

"Whatever is reasonable."

"Ah! I have something you'll find interesting."

He pulled out what looked like a wand box and took out a wand hilt. The hilt was crafted out of bronze with a round pommel at the back, and a spiralling guard extending out to hold the wand-end inside it.

"This is the wand hilt of Egbert the Egregious," said Borgin, gingerly pushing the hilt into my hands. "An outstanding dark wizard that slaughtered Emeric the Evil himself, and took over his dominion. You can even see his symbol right there."

He pointed at the pommel. Looking up close, I could see an engraved thestral-head at the bottom. "It's enchanted to mask the magic of the wand placed in it. An ideal tool for moving treachery and attacking from the shadows." I don't know how, but his voice got even more oily with each word.

"And how much will it cost me?"

"It cost me a pretty fortune to gain this, but I'd be willing to part with it for say… three thousand galleons."

I snorted. "Overpriced."

"Even compared to being imprisoned in Azkaban?" Borgin offered slyly. "Upon activating the enchantments inscribed within, you could cast the darkest of curses and spit on the Ministry's face with no one knowing any better."

"Yes, and if this really is what you claim it to be, it wouldn't even be here," I scoffed. "I wasn't born yesterday, Borgin. I know some clients you serve. Three thousand galleons is a steep sum for a student, but to your clients, worth little, especially if this hilt does what you claim it does."

The smile vanished from his face.

"Now tell me what this really does, and make it worth my money, or I walk out."

The man's jaw tightened again, and he dropped his facade of oiliness. "Fine!" He gave a cursory glance at the wand hilt. "It is a copy of the original. It will mask your magic from the Ministry sensors, allowing you to cast magic without triggering the Trace as long as you're holding it."

I scowled. I was already the Lord Potter and Lord Conditional of Black, which meant access to family fortunes, but not the Wizengamot seat. I'd need to sit for my OWLs or gain emancipation through other legal means to get to that stage, and only then would the Trace be lifted off my head. Given my summer plans, and everything else that I had in mind, this hilt would be of use for a year.

Not a very enticing thought, given its price.

"And how much do I have to pay for it?"

"Twenty-five hundred."

I snorted. "Try again."

Borgin snatched the hilt from my fingers. "The price does not change."

I weighed my options. "Too bad. But let's see what else you've got." I inspected around and noticed a pair of shackles, perhaps one of the few things in the entire room that weren't placed within glass boxes. "What are those?"

"Ah!" Borgin exclaimed, "The shackles of Malchance." He gingerly held them up. "These are cursed manacles. Shackle a witch or wizard with those, and it keeps them bereft of their magic. The Wizengamot loves using them to restrain dangerous prisoners during trials."

"Interesting," I said. My mind was already racing ahead with potential uses of such a thing. "Well, I need this one, and that," I pointed at the shrivelled hand placed within a glass bell-jar.

"The Hand of Glory," Borgin said, "gives candlelight only to its wielder. Best friend of thieves and plunderers. I will admit, sir, you have got a good eye for cursed objects."

I frowned. "Less useful than I thought, but give me a sack of Peruvian instant darkness powder."

Borgin looked at me calculatingly. "A wand that masks your magic, a shackle to restrain another's magic, a powder that brings true darkness that no light can penetrate, and a cursed hand that gives light to its bearer. The ingredients of a kidnapping, or a heist, I imagine."

I didn't need to turn around to know that Hestia was watching me like a hawk. No doubt she'd ask me about it later. Or, if she was smart enough, she'd try the plausible deniability route and wash her hands off the matter.

"You have no idea," I promised. "But say, how do five hundred galleons sound like for the lot?"

"I told you," said Borgin, "the price does not change."

I smiled.

…

…

Around ten minutes later, I stood inside the shop, six hundred and fifty galleons lighter, but incredibly satisfied with my purchases. Borgin had even thrown a couple of mokeskin pouches with undetectable extension charms placed on them to store the purchases inside it. Technically, just the hilt would have been good enough. The others were simply a convenient distraction, painting me as an insurgent. I pulled out my wand and inserted it in the hilt. Also,I got myself an extensible pouch out of it. I mean, who doesn't want a TARDIS, right?

Keeping my inner giddiness to myself, I pointed the wand at Borgin. "I hope this hilt bloody works, or you're not gonna like it."

Borgin gave me a toothy smile. "I'm a dealer of dark artefacts, sir. Reputation's all I've got."

I gave him my most wizardly glower, which did nothing to wipe that sly smile on the man's face. Knowing him, he had made an absolute killing. But given what this hilt would get me, that six hundred and fifty galleons was going to look like pocket change.

Walking out of the shop, I turned to Hestia. "Where's next?"

"I'm famished," she exaggerated, holding her stomach. "How about we grab something to eat?"

The Leaky Cauldron was a pub in every sense of the word. When you walked in, you took several steps into a room with a deadly combination of low clearance and high crowds. The place was filled with pillars, making you take a circuitous route, especially if you're headed to a corner table. Thanks to Hestia's glamour earlier, I didn't have to worry about people gawking at me and destroying every shred of my privacy. Tom, the barman, sat on the counter, his friendly disposition never failing to attract customers. Behind him, in a room filled with wood and smoke, were several pairs of elves cooking on stoves. And you can damn well walk over to the bar to pick up your order when it's ready, according to Tom.

"Jones!" Tom greeted, when she followed me into the bar.

"Hey there, Tom," she hailed him. "Get us some steak sandwiches, will ya? I'm starving."

"Right att'ya!" said Tom, and a large tray appeared on the counter. Hestia grabbed it and walked towards the table I had chosen. The dim, comfortable room and the shadows aided the anonymity, not that we'd require one with a privacy ward in place.

"So there's this thing I've been meaning to ask," said Hestia, picking up a sandwich. "Just what were you and your girl up to that evening? I've never seen Nymphadora that hot and bothered. I'll bet my sweet arse she fingered herself to sleep."

"That was more Hermione than me. Honest."

She eyed me. "I wonder, you know. How does a sixteen-year-old satisfy someone like that? I've seen Chiara during her orgies. She keeps slamming deep and hard even after the fourth guy."

"I'm sure you'll find out soon."

"Of course, now that we're going to be working closely. And you have that enchanted limo, so we've some common tastes. Though it's usually women that enjoy something big and powerful between their legs."

I tried to hold back a laugh, but failed.

"Alright, that was a good one." I raised my bottle of coke to acknowledge her point.

She graciously accepted her victory.

"So…" I trailed off, "Nymphadora said I could trust you. That you were great at your job and you'd be a real asset to me if I could learn to rely on you. Any idea what she meant?"

Hestia gave me a look. "Think 'about what we just did."

I nodded. "Point taken, but I doubt Miss Auror would've seen grabbing dark objects out of Knockturn Alley as an excellent trait."

She snorted. "I'll give you that one. Honestly, it could be something as simple as trying to encourage you to open up and trust me. That way I can learn how to support you more effectively, do my job more efficiently and help you out as much as possible." She frowned. "Did she really say that?"

I nodded, feeling a certain craving kick back in.

"Want a cigarette?"

I blinked at her.

"I caught you staring at the shop thrice now. Sometimes you instinctively reach into your breast pocket. The signs are all there."

Perceptive. "It's a recent habit."

"Must be. You're sixteen. Anyway, you've got to lean on me to get stuff done."

I arched an eyebrow.

"For advice only," she corrected, "unless you're drunk. Or exhausted from an orgy. In that case, feel free to lean. I might even forgive a few gropings along the way."

I rolled my eyes.

"Makes sense. I'm kinda new to this Lord thing. Can you tell me what to avoid?"

"Time Management is going to be a factor for you. There's only so many hours in a day, and you're gonna be busy, so don't accept any appointments. Refer them all to me."

I blinked. "I'm just a student."

"Not anymore," she said, and cheerfully patted my shoulder. "You'll get used to it. Also, you can ask me anything. Don't think it'll upset me, or if it's just stupid. Don't worry about asking twice either. You might forget things, so rely on me. That's what I'm for."

I grinned.

"What else? Be honest with me. If something annoys you, you let me know and I'll either agree, or we'll fight about it and I'll win."

"As simple as that?" I grinned.

"Hmm. Probably not, but we'll figure it out. Also, please don't lie to me. If you do that, it affects my job and there'll be consequences."

"Like what?" I ventured. "You'll punish me?"

She snorted. "If you're into that, sure. Remember, I live with a sex worker. I've got all the toys."

My grin slowly turned into a frown as her words came back to me. Don't lie. Tell the truth. Talk to me about anything. Trust in me. I wondered how much trust I could place in her. But Nymphadora's words stuck out to me. I was a Lord and a celebrity. Being associated with multiple women would mean endless courtroom drama. Unfortunately, it was also my ticket to Godhood.

"Hestia…" I said hesitantly.

"Yeah?" Her gaze lifted, turning into a frown as she saw my serious expression.

"There's something you'd need to know, but…"

"Harry, whatever you're gonna say is between you and me," she said firmly. "My secretary vow holds that up. And I already have a privacy ward in place."

I did a double take. Now that I noticed it, I wondered when she had done it. I couldn't help but feel I had made a good choice going through Tonks's suggestion.

"It's kinda fucked up." I admitted after a moment.

"Go ahead."

"You know I live with Hermione, and we're… intimate. But I've been with two other girls recently, and Hermione knows this, so that's not a problem."

"Okay," Hestia nodded. "Did you get anyone pregnant?"

"Uh, no."

"Any Auror infringement?"

I shook my head.

"Then I don't see why that'd be a problem. You're a student and it's natural to… shall we say, sample the goods around."

"I'm coming to that. The thing is, I still plan on being intimate with other girls and… possibly women."

Her face darkened slightly, but before she could run to the wrong conclusion, I quickly added. "There's a reason for this though."

"I'm listening."

I inwardly winced at her clipped tone. "Before the term ended, I had an accident involving Sirius Black and the dementors."

"Oh," Hestia said, "Yeah. I've heard. It was in the news."

It was? I looked at her, surprised. Honestly, I had half-expected the matter to be pushed under the rug.

"The Minister faced a lot of flak for it. Boy-Who-Lived nearly kissed by dementors. The press had a field day over it."

"Yeah, the thing is. I wasn't nearly kissed. I was kissed. For a moment, I — I died. Or at least, it felt like I did. When I woke up, I felt different. At first I thought I was suffering dementor exposure, so I shagged Romilda and Ginny. Admittedly, it felt good. Then Hermione happened, and I started living with her. But I've realised recently that it isn't just the exposure. My magic's changed. I've changed."

"Changed how?"

I hesitated for a moment. What I was about to do next would make or break things. I flicked my wand, bringing it out of my sleeve, which caused her to stiffen. I was inside her privacy ward, so the underage magic wouldn't register.

I pointed it upwards. "I swear on my magic that what I'm about to say is true to the best of my knowledge."

Hestia frowned. "There was no need for that."

I shook my head. "You need to know I'm telling you the truth. I figured this'll make it easier, considering it's gonna be hard to believe."

She laughed softly. "I bet it isn't harder than your claim to have been kissed and yet returned alive."

I met her eyes evenly. "Do you know what incubi are?"

Hestia's hand flew to her mouth. "No fucking way!"

I nodded, my expression frozen. "It's not that I want to have sex. I need to have sex. Not a tip, but a prescription. If I don't, I'll fall out of balance. Or worse, my soul might implode. I found out that the more sex I have, the more women I bed, the stronger I'll get. It is my path to power, and it is my insurance against my enemies."

"Okay," she said after a moment's thought. "Alright. I appreciate you trusting me with this, Harry." She shook her head as she thought about it, her eyes distant. "Talk about fucking bad luck."

"Tell me about it."

"And you're a celeb. Which means if you're casual about it, it'll hit your repo." She sighed and clasped her hands together. "Okay. How much do you know about perception?"

I arched an eyebrow.

"I mean, about how others see you. How your perception of yourself differs from how others see you."

I shrugged. "Can't say I've given it much thought. You mean like an image, though?"

"Sort of. See, this is how it looks to others. Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived. Born to the illustrious Potter family, which means old money. Every kid, mother and granny knows your name, and yet, you were away for twelve years, hidden in the muggle world. Then you come out, with a Weasley and a muggle born in tow, and show familiarity with Rubeus Hagrid. For an observer, that feels like Dumbledore's protégé coming out of the shadows, championing his cause. Your antagonism with the Junior Malfoy is well known, and that entrenches you firmly on Dumbledore's side of the line."

I frowned. Even for someone that knew the entire story inside out, getting into this meta-discussion felt… odd.

"Is that a bad thing?" I asked. "Being on his side?"

Hestia shrugged. "You're missing the point. Good and bad are relative. I'm talking about public perception. And now this summer, you suddenly change. You ride an enchanted vehicle. Rich, tall, dark hair, well-groomed, smartly dressed and single. You've got properties and more gold than you can waste in five lifetimes, so you can do pretty much whatever you want to, go wherever you want to, and anyone you want to take with you to have a good time."

"But I'm not like that," I said.

"But it's how people will perceive you, though," she blurted. "Guys will be envious of you, women will be attracted to you, and chase you all over town. It's part of the package."

"You're talking about scandals," I said. "Some girl sleeps with me and gets my child and I end up paying thousands of galleons every year in alimony payments while she gets set for life?"

She shrugged. "It's the truth."

I scowled. I didn't have to like it, but it had a ring of truth in it. The Wizarding World might have been fiction, but it was all too real for me. And it had its dark sides. Suddenly Romilda's words made a unique sense to me. She was dating Finnegan, but in her own words, he wasn't Harry Potter.

"What do you suggest?"

"Ordinarily?" Hestia offered. "it'd be for you to be selective about the spotlight. We could arrange favourable media events that would fit in perfectly with the Boy-Who-Lived image. Maybe arrange for scholarships for muggleborns and needy students, or schedule a visit for patients at St. Mungo's, or contribute to the DMLE fund and follow up with a positive press statement. But given your incubi state, I doubt you'd be able to go through without getting into others' panties."

I clenched my fists, not liking the insinuation in her words.

"Don't take it personally, Harry," she advised. "Since you need to satiate your need for sex, I suggest you take the playboy route instead. It'd be a far cry from the protégé of the Leader of the Light image, but it'd go well with the public, especially if we can get a good word at Witch Weekly. Like it or not, you're Wizarding Britain's Number One Bachelor, and the moment this Black Lord Conditional news hits the town, every family with a female child will send you betrothal offers. Worse, there'll be those that'll even try for concubine status."

"Really?" I asked, sceptically.

"Of course. Getting to fuck the 'Harry Potter'. Living a comfortable life and being fucked raw, while staying away from the Lord-Lady politics. What's not to like?"

"You're not serious."

"Of course not, I'm Hestia."

I rolled my eyes.

"If you decide to date girls, both within and out of your age limit, it keeps the papers guessing. The public won't see what you're doing if they're too busy playing matchmaker. You'll probably find girls offering to sleep with you just to get your attention. Honestly, that's a far cry from what happened with Romilda and Ginevra Weasley. Both of them are objectively pretty, and yet, what? They threw themselves at you in less than two days?"

"Romilda…." I began, and then stilled, as something else hit me.

Could it… could it be?

"What?" she asked, biting into her sandwich.

"You said that I shagged those girls in two days."

She froze, her half-eaten sandwich in hand. "Yes?"

I pushed my wand out of its sleeve, ready to attack, just in case. "You told me I shagged them in two days."

"I did," she breathed.

"How did you know that?" I demanded. "We had school for over two weeks after that incident. There's no way you'd know of it unless…"

I gripped my wand.

A small smile formed on her face. And then she replied in a throaty and playful voice. "Perceptive. Seems like I owe her ten galleons."

"Whom?"

I pointed my wand at her.

"Quick on the draw too," she murmured. She slowly put the sandwich down on the plate and made absolutely no attempt to raise her wand. Not that I was going to be fooled. The woman had proved herself to be quite uncanny and perceptive during the entire day. It made me wonder if all of this was just an elaborate facade.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

She laughed, musically. "Oh Harry, I am indeed Hestia Jones. Junior attorney and former secretary to Barty Crouch. Member of the Order of the Phoenix, and as of now, your official handler and operative."

"..."

"Come now," she lifted her brows in a faint smile, hands deceptively folded in her lap. "Surely you didn't think Albus Dumbledore would just leave the Boy-Who-Lived to gallivant around without precautions, did you?"