Harry Potter: Seducing Destiny

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You have gained a World Anchor

Tracey Davis — 9% World Anchorage

Current World Anchor Analysis

World Anchor — 253

Required World Anchor - 15

Meta-Luck — 37.6

"Tracey, I'm cumming!"

I didn't want to surprise her with a mouthful of spunk, but the pretty chestnut-haired girl just bore down harder as I began to cum. She greedily sucked my cock with obvious relish while rubbing her pussy over her panties. Some of it leaked past her chin and onto her ample bosom, but she looked deliriously happy to wipe up the remains with her fingers and lick it off with obvious enjoyment. I really hoped it was true, and Tracey wasn't making a show just to please me.

It reminded me of Hermione. During our first week together, Hermione realised how much I loved cumming on her breasts, so she just let me do it. I had felt guilty about getting off while she kept getting sticky out of it. The brunette had laughed when he had mentioned it, saying that it was very erotic to watch me cumming, knowing it was because of her breasts. She said that the look of lust in my eyes made her tingle and she'd then finger herself in the shower every night before bed, thinking about it.

I looked Tracey in the eye and found her satisfied eyes looking back. There was a look of lust in them that assured me she, too, was getting something out of it.

I let out a gleeful chuckle. "Really, whoever said money can't buy happiness didn't know where to shop."

She laughed. "I'm happy you're this satisfied."

"After this level of customer service, I'll have to keep coming back over and over," I said.

I was at Twilfitt and Tattings, one of the more prominent wizard shops in Diagon Alley that served the elitist factions of the society. Most of the muggleborns and half bloods preferred Madam Malkins, which was why it stayed busy throughout the year, but this one offered a more personal touch.

But I wasn't here for a wardrobe. I was here for a pair of glasses with wayfarer frames, which looked way better than these round glasses that Petunia Dursley had stuck Harry with. And Outlander or not, being Harry Potter meant dealing with this ruddy poor eyesight and I would be damned before I let it become responsible for my death simply because some sod summoned my glasses during a battle.

Turns out Twilfitt and Tattings also offered optometric services, with custom-designed, enchanted eyewear, for those that had the gold to pay for it. I had already opted for one with anti-summoning charms and impervious to water and fog, as well as auto-change their colour in response to the degree of light outside. There was also a zooming function, much like Mad-Eye's in the movies, that allowed zooming up to three hundred feet with ease. The optometrist had wondered why I was going for something that sophisticated, but the sound of thirty galleons silenced him immediately, leaving me alone in the lounge, with the attendants ordered to service me. It turned out to be a massive surprise when the service included a blowjob from the slytherin girl from my year.

"I'll let Mr. Hayden know I impressed you."

"Of course I am," I said. "What's not to like?"

I wasn't joking. Hermione gave outstanding blowjobs, but there was something to be said about a witch that went for your balls first. I had offered to return the favour, but she had denied, citing the rules around the workplace.

Irony. Yes? It blows the mind.

I looked around at the closed door, halfway expecting someone to be irately banging on it, demanding to know what was going on.

"You should really stop worrying, Harry," Tracey said. "services are customary for our… more appropriate customers. Mr. Hayden would be most annoyed if the Boy-Who-Lived left his shop in anything else but a good mood."

"And… you just did what he asked you to do?"

"Oh no," she chirped, "I volunteered. You've got to be crazy to lose an opportunity to get up close with Harry Potter?"

Yeah, I wasn't sure what was crazier. That I was sitting there, getting a blowjob as part of customer service, or that the shop owner would be annoyed if I didn't get it. Seriously, why did Rowling never include this shit? It would have made a much better read than taking seven years to Expelliarmus Voldemort.

"Not that I'm complaining, but you're a Slytherin. I thought…"

"That I'd go Malfoy on you?" She asked. "Life in Slytherin House differs from what you think. And I'm a half-blood. That's doubly bad for me. Being Greengrass's lackey helps a bit, though."

Greengrass…. Daphne. The fan-favourite of fanfiction authors. I distinctly recalled the girl was an eye-turner. And if Davis was her lackey then…

"So, why do you work here?" I asked.

"OWL-level books are expensive, so I'm working here for the summer."

"And… you don't have a problem with this?"

I tried to point at my crotch and then back at her. Hypocritical, I know, to have enjoyed it first.

"I'm a half-blood, Harry," she said, giving my cock another slow lick. "My mum's a muggle. The wizard that raped her didn't think twice about her. I got into Hogwarts on a student loan like every other muggle born, and it's mostly enough till OWL year. After that, you gotta earn your keep little by little."

"Wait, student loans?"

"Duh!" she said, "surely you didn't think Hogwarts was free, did you?"

I went back to Harry's memories of meeting Hagrid for the first time. Hagrid had told the thirteen-year-old kid that his name had been down on the list since he was born. But Harry Potter wasn't just anyone. The scion of an illustrious family like the Potters. Maybe the rich families simply had an advance booking, with an automatic payment setup down the line. But for muggleborns and half bloods and the less fortunate….

"How does it work? This loan, I mean."

She frowned slightly. "I'm not sure if you know this, but British pounds mean nothing to the goblins. Same for any muggle money. Hogwarts has a trust fund of sorts at Gringotts for the ones that cannot pay. The professors collect us from our homes, take us to Gringotts, get some galleons and purchase our books, cauldrons, robes, everything. From sixth year onwards, we need to pay for the books and equipment, but they still account for the tuition. And after we finish schooling, we pay back the debt."

"How much?"

"Four thousand galleons."

I think I froze a little. I don't know if it was because of Harry's own memories of a rough childhood, or my experience of growing up with limited means, but suddenly the mokeskin pouch felt a lot heavier than it was supposed to. I had just spent close to a quarter of that buying dark artefacts from Borgin & Burkes, a quarter of the sum of money that all but forced people like Tracey to suck the dicks of the rich here in these fancy shops to pay their debt. Not that the real world was any different, with ninety-five percent of the world's fortune with the pockets of the remaining five.

"Why…" I croaked, "Why don't you try other jobs?"

She laughed. It was the same laugh Hermione had given me when I had tried to downplay her lycanthropy.

"I'm a half-blood, Harry. People like us don't get jobs at the Ministry. We have to work for purebloods, happy with whatever they throw at us. You ever wonder why Draco Malfoy gets away with so much? It's because they're the richest family in Wizarding Britain. His father has invested in half the shops in Diagon Alley and maybe the entire Knockturn Alley. Getting on his bad side is the easiest way to fuck up our life."

"What of the muggle world? Surely you can—" I paused, realising my folly. Muggle money had no meaning for the goblins, so any payment needed to be made in galleons, and those could only be made by working for the existing social system.

"What about your father?"

"My father is… Androcles Selwyn, Heir of the House of Selwyn."

I did a double take. The House of Selwyn was one of the richest houses in all of Wizarding Britain. And this random girl was the daughter of the current heir. What were the chances?

Tracey grinned again. Mirthless. In a fair world, she'd probably have been the heiress of the House, with a fortune large enough to make me look at her in envy. Instead, she was working her arse off during the summer, jerking my cock to earn some coin.

"My father…. The bastard thinks he's being generous by not killing me outright. He told me if he ever saw me again, he'd lock me up and let his friends use me to their heart's content. He said that being a toy to upstanding purebloods was better than to live a life of a pathetic half-blood."

I…. I felt angry. I felt terrible. Everything in me screamed that this was not fair. That the system here was wrong. That no one should ever have to face this plight. Hermione, an A-student on all counts, was hanging on a thread because of a curse that happened for no fault of her own. Hestia, a talented half-blood, was thrown out of her job because she ran across Lucius Malfoy. And Tracey…

"And… does your friend Greengrass know about this?"

She nodded. "The Greengrasses have offered me help, but frankly, I'd rather not. Personally, I think that's because Daphne's mother is Anastasia Selwyn, so she and I are related. I think Daphne's dad thinks that when the bastard dies, he can use me to claim the Selwyn fortune."

I clenched my fists.

"Considering everything else, I think this is pretty good," she replied, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "I mean, most of the rich families wouldn't want to sully themselves by having a half-blood suck their dick, so they stick to the pureblood girls out there. So I rarely ever have to do it."

Every single word coming out of her mouth felt like a hex. That she was saying this while jacking me made it burn that much more.

"And this happens to… everyone?"

She shrugged. "Some people have it worse. There was this girl, Sally-Anne Perks, in our year. Do you remember her?"

I did, but not for the reasons she thought I did. That name stuck out simply because her name never came up again after the first book. Fanfiction writers and their insatiable curiosities.

"She got pregnant with Cormac Mclaggen's child in our second year. The Mclaggens rejected it, and she tried to abort it the muggle way. There were some complications, and she perished."

My fists clenched. This–this was Hogwarts? This was the world of magic I enjoyed as a child? It was like they had put me in a dark mirror of the actual thing. Like I had fallen into a twisted Game of Thrones variant of Rowling's world. I had enjoyed Romilda and Ginny's bodies with relish, but now…

Hestia's explanation had given him a different outlook to the entire situation. But now, I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than Romilda's forwardness.

This world was wrong. Every inch of me wanted nothing more than to reject it. To close my eyes and forget this wrongness and wake up in the correct version that Rowling had painted in her novels. But… I had no choice. Not now. One cannot win a war in a day. As much as I hated it, as much as I despised it, there was nothing I could do. Not yet. This world was rotten, and the pureblood supremacy was rotting it even further. If I wanted to change it, I'd have to become a part of the system. Tear it from the inside.

Be this world's reckoning.

But—

A weird question popped into my head. Just why was it I was getting so agitated about it? This was a fictional world, and these people were fictional characters. But I couldn't get Hermione's heartbroken smile, or her questioning eyes. I could forget the accepting tone with which Tracey had talked about her life. I couldn't. I couldn't get those images out of my head. Real, fictional or whatever, it was still wrong.

Was I… was I getting soft?

Fuck that. I mean, I'm no paragon of virtue. Back in my old life, I was a fucking hustler. A selfish bastard that didn't care for anything else as long as he made his cut and lived a comfortable life. There was some serious fucked-up shit I had done, but there was a point where even I had to draw a fucking line.

But why, though?

What did I want? What was my goal here?

The answer was simple. Power. I wanted power. I wanted to be God. But what was God? Just an omnipotent deity that sits around lazily on his throne while his servitors work their arse over? Maybe I could just Imperio a couple dozen women right now and have sex with them for the rest of my life. The Potter fortune was enormous enough to last me by several generations, but then what?

There had to be more than that to life.

What could I do if I really set my mind to it?

I wanted to be the guy that inspired fear in others. Fear. Respect. Awe. Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Voldemort– all of them had those three things and changed the world as they thought best. I? I had the exceptional power to fuck women and become the strongest being in this entire world, more than even Grindelwald or Voldemort had thought possible.

I sat still and came to a conclusion.

Fate brought me to this world for a reason. There had to be one. Why else was I given these World Anchors and these reality-defying powers of Meta-Luck?

I would use it. I'd bring this world to its knees. And if that meant I'd have to fuck every single witch out there and bring them under my banner, I would.

The screen flickered in that exact moment.

Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Tracey Davis

Transfiguration +6%

Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage

I blinked. A six percent rise in Transfiguration from a minor 9% anchorage? Had I accidentally come across a transfiguration prodigy?

"Hey Tracey," I asked casually, "how good are you at transfiguration?"

Tracey gave the tip of my cock a lick and stared up at me. "Pretty good, why?"

"And how much is pretty good?"

She frowned. "An easy O. McGonagall told me I can go for Animagus training after my OWLs. Why?"

Just as expected. Animagus transformation required a minimum 40% affinity for Transfiguration, and a minimum 20% affinity for the psychic arts. I had verified that when rummaging through the Potter grimoire.

This girl was a goldmine. One that was technically the Selwyn heiress?

A plan began to form in my mind.

"Say Tracey…"

"Huh?"

"How would you feel…" I tried to be nonchalant. "... about continuing this? You know, on a long-term basis?"

Tracey blinked and then laughed at me. "Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Harry Potter? Because I'm currently seeing someone."

Damn it.

She gave him a small smile. "But I wouldn't say no to a casual meet up now and then… you know, or you could just come to Twilfitt for more purchases."

"Bad idea," I cut her idea down. "Why should I pay Twilfitt when I can just pay you directly?"

Surprise flickered across her face. "Are you asking me to?–"

"Be my whore? Yes. I am. I'll pay you that four thousand galleons, and you work for me?"

She blinked. "You mean sex?"

"Work… and sex."

Her lips twisted, and she stood, one hand on her waist. "What sort of work?"

"Information," I said carefully. "On people."

"Malfoy?"

"Maybe. Maybe others as well."

"You're out of your mind if you think I'll be your spy in Slytherin House. If I get caught, I'll be murdered."

"Maybe you're right," I said, lowering my voice, eyes fixed at hers, "but tell me, are you really better off? You'll have to whore yourself for years to gather that amount, and then what? Who will give you the life you want? Your father who hates you? Or the Greengrasses, once they've realised you're useless to their goals?"

Tracey stayed quiet.

"I understand what I ask is a dangerous job. But I'll make it worth it. You'll be compensated. You'll be free to just leave your current hell right now. I can get you a place to live. I can give you my backing. And you can always pretend to not know me at all while at Hogwarts."

I'd admit it felt a little bad at manipulating this girl. She was already in a terrible place, and I was hanging another carrot in front of her. A carrot with a huge stick waiting for her, should she mess up. But Tracy was a natural at Transfiguration, and perfectly suited to my goals. And in a worst-case scenario, a dark part of me pointed out–

A very convenient scapegoat.

Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Patience was the name of the game, and the one that spoke first, lost. As seconds dragged on, I was about to just drop it as a failure and move on when Tracey spoke up.

"Five."

"... what?"

"Five thousand," she said, meeting my eyes. "You want me to do this? Give me five thousand. Four for my loans, and one for my savings."

I smirked. Four thousand or five, it didn't matter. I had more gold than I'd need in ten lifetimes. But I didn't want to make it too easy. I wanted to see how far she'd go for it.

"Don't you think you're being a little too greedy?"

"Maybe I am, but that's what I offer. Take it or leave it."

I crossed my arms. "I don't see anyone else offering you four thousand galleons, and I'll get any bitch to spread her legs for three galleons."

"True," Tracey shot back. "But you don't just want me to be your bitch. You're a Gryffindor, Potter. The golden boy., You don't understand just how deadly it is for a half blood in Slytherin. Nothing short of being killed in front of a professor will be overlooked." She took a step forward. "But you're right. No one's coming with an offer half as good as you've given me. Merlin, even if you paid me half of that, I'd still take it. I'd hate it, but I'd take it, because life's just that unfair. But if you pay me five, then… then I won't just be your bitch. I'll be the bitch that wants to work for her master, not just forced to do so. You say jump, I ask how high. You want me to spy, I'll do it. You want me in your bed, I'll take it in any hole, any place, any time."

I laughed. "Fine. Let's shake on it."

Tracey smirked. "Shake what? Your cock, my pussy or my arse?"