Harry Potter and the Interdimensional TriWizard Tournament - Chapter 3: First Light (Patreon)

Chapter 3: Diana comes for Harry in the dead of night, and the spar she promised him turns into something neither of them planned.

Harry Potter and the Interdimensional TriWizard Tournament

Chapter Three: First Light

The latch moved.

The door started to open.

His wand had been waiting on the nightstand when he came in, the Tower providing it the same way it had provided the folded shirt.

Harry was already on his feet with his wand in his hand and the open shirt hanging off his shoulders. The gap widened. Diana of Themyscira filled it. She was as tall as he was, black hair tied back for work, blue eyes level with his. No breastplate. A short leather tunic, worn soft at the collar, cut to let her arms move, and it did nothing to hide the heavy shape of her breasts or the muscle in her shoulders. Trousers. Boots. The lasso coiled at her hip. She looked at the wand, then at his bare chest, then at his face.

"Put that down," she said. "If I had come to end you I would not have used the door."

He lowered the wand. His pulse had jumped and it did not settle. She smelled of leather and clean skin and the cold air from the stair.

"You said first light."

"I will not wait for it." She set one hand on the frame. The wood creaked under her fingers and she eased off it at once, as if she had not meant to show him that much. "The yard below the Tower is empty. I want the test now, before the Gate, before the hall is awake to watch. Come down with me."

"And if I say no."

"Then I go back to my room and I meet you at dawn anyway, and I will think less of the man who needed the extra hour." Her mouth stayed straight. "I am not here to collect you. I am here to see if you can keep your feet."

He pulled the shirt off the chair-back where it had slipped and put his arms through it. He did not button it. Trousers, boots, wand in his pocket. She watched him do it and did not look away from the open line of his chest or the scar low on his ribs.

"Rules," he said.

"No killing. No maiming. First to put the other down clean wins the pass. You may use your magic. I will use what I am. If either of us says stop, it stops." She stepped back into the corridor to give him the door. "Agreed?"

"Agreed."

They went down the spiral without talking. Lamps burned low. A door on the second landing stood ajar and a woman with a spear across her knees watched them pass and said nothing. The air got colder as they dropped. At the bottom a barred gate let them into the yard, packed earth inside a square of stone, posts set for striking, a rack of blunted swords no one had touched. The sky over the wall was still black. A lamp at each corner threw their shadows long.

Diana shut the gate behind them and slid the bar.

"Here," she said. "When you are ready."

Harry set his wand on the wall where he could see it and rolled his shoulders. The shirt was in the way. He took it off and dropped it. The night hit his skin. She looked at him, the scars, the set of his arms, the line of his stomach, and her eyes stayed a moment too long on the open of his trousers before she lifted them again.

"Ready," he said.

She came in without a bow.

The first strike was a test, open hand at his shoulder, and he turned it. The second was not. She stepped through his guard and drove her forearm into his chest hard enough to knock the breath out of him, and while he was on his heels she hooked his ankle and took him down onto one knee in the dirt. Clean. Fast. The impact ran up his thigh. She stood over him with her hands open and her chest rising, and she did not finish it.

"Up," she said.

"Bollocks." He got up. His knee burned. She was already moving again, circling to his left, and he could hear the shift of her boots on the packed earth and the small sound of the lasso against her hip. He brought a shield up wandless, a flat plane of force at the height of his ribs. She hit it with her shoulder and the shield cracked and died. The shock of it went into his arm. She was inside before he reset, and her hand closed on his wrist and turned it, and he felt the strength in her, simple and huge, the kind that did not need a speech.

He stamped his free hand at the ground. The dirt under her lead boot clenched and held. She checked, off balance for half a breath, and he used it. Shoulder low, hip in, her own weight coming forward, and he dumped her over his thigh. She hit and rolled before he could follow her down, came up on a knee of her own, and was standing again while he was still turning. Dirt on her shoulder. No clean end to it.

"Close," she said.

"You left the foot."

"I will not leave it again."

The next pass was faster. He blocked a strike at his jaw and the block hurt. She caught his elbow, turned him, and he got a hand on her belt and held the throw long enough to drive a pulse of force into the ground between them. The earth bucked. She let go. They broke apart, both breathing hard, both still up.

She came again before he had his feet set. A palm at his ribs, a knee he barely turned, her forearm across his chest driving him back into a post. The post cracked. He got his hand on her hip and shoved a blunt wall of magic between their bodies, and the recoil kicked them both a step apart. His shoulder sang. Her lip had split on her own teeth. She touched the blood with her tongue and looked at him as if the taste had settled an argument.

"Again," she said.

He met her in the middle. They clinched, grunting, her arm locked around his neck, his hand fisted in the back of her tunic. She was stronger. He felt it in the slow bend of his spine and in the way his boots slid. Her breasts were crushed to his chest. Her thigh rode up between his. His cock thickened against her hip, sudden and stupid, and he could not help it. She felt it. Her breath stopped on his throat. Her hand tightened on his arm. For a second the hold was not a hold. Then she broke it to tear free, and he was already moving, low, shoulder into her hip, the ice he had been saving slick under the boot she trusted. Her foot shot. He rode the slip, got his shoulder under her arm, and put her down on her front with her wrist pinned and his knee in the dirt beside her hip. She tested the pin once. The muscle in her back jumped under his hand. She could have thrown him. She did not. She turned her face out of the dust.

"Clean," she said.

He let go and stood. She stood. They looked at each other across a yard of air, both marked with dirt, both still on their feet at the end of it. His chest heaved. Hers did too, and the leather pulled tight across her breasts with every breath, the press of her nipples plain under it. His cock was hard enough that his trousers did nothing to hide it. She looked. She did not smile. Color sat high on her cheeks.

"Even," she said. "You put me down once, clean. I put you on a knee and did not finish it. I will not call that a win." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The split lip had already stopped bleeding. "You are a peer, Harry Potter. I mean it."

He nodded. His knee was going to complain in the morning. He did not care yet.

"You fight like you have had centuries of people trying to put you on the ground."

"I have." She glanced at the wand on the wall, then back at him. "Most men spend the first pass proving they are not afraid of me. You spent it trying to win. That is rarer than it should be."

•

They sat on the low wall at the edge of the yard because standing still had started to feel like another kind of test. The lamp nearest them threw her shoulder into gold and left the rest of her in half light. She undid the tie in her hair and shook it out, and the black of it fell down her back and stuck in places to the sweat on her neck. Harry's shirt was still on the ground. He left it there. The cold on his skin did nothing for the ache in his cock. He set his hands on his knees and told the truth before she had to ask for it.

"Ginny," he said. "Hermione. Those are their names. I left them asleep in my house. Ginny has red hair and a mean right hook and she knows when I am lying before I finish the sentence. Hermione will have a folder open about this by morning if morning still means anything where they are. I am here to finish whatever the Cup has turned into and go home. I am here to keep them out of it. If this place wants a war it can have me. It does not get them."

Diana was quiet for a moment. Her hands rested open on her thighs. A scrape showed on one knuckle.

"You told me that in the hall," she said. "You did not give me the names."

"You had not put me in the dirt yet."

"Fair." She looked at the dark square of the gate, not at him. "Themyscira is an island. My mother keeps it. My sisters train on it, and they do not train for show. We left the world of men a long time ago because the world of men kept deciding what we were for. I fight so that decision stays ours. I fight so the island is still there when I go back to it. Truth is the rule I trust. If I cannot say a thing out loud I do not get to hide behind it."

"And the lasso."

"The lasso makes the truth costly. I prefer to pay before someone else sends the bill." She turned her head. Her eyes were clear. "I have had lovers. Men from outside the island, a few, over a long span of years. Strong men. Kind men. One of them was both. None of them kept their feet against me and then sat down and named the women they were going home to. They either lied about the women or they lied about the fight."

"I am not going to lie about either."

"I know. That is the trouble." Her knee was a hand's width from his. He could feel the heat coming off her. "You are hard. You have been hard since the clinch. I felt you against my hip and I did not step away. I should say that out loud too."

"I felt you stop breathing when you noticed."

"I did." She looked at his mouth, then lower, at the line of his cock under the cloth, and she did not pretend she had not. "I came down here to test a champion. I am still here because I want the man. Both things are true. I will not make you carry the second one alone."

He lifted his hand and set it on her wrist, over the scrape.

The heat hit at once.

It ran up his arm and into his chest, sharp as a brand and then gone into something wider. For a second he was not only in the yard. He saw a cliff and a blue sea and a line of women with shields, and he felt the weight of a sword that fit a hand that was not his, and under it a fierce clean pride that had nothing to do with being watched. Diana's breath left her. Her fingers turned and caught his.

"Harry."

He got a flash the other way and knew she was inside it with him. Ginny's hair on a pillow. Hermione's mouth. A green light in a dark field and his own hand choosing not to finish a man who was already down. The stag in the hall. The grip he had used to put Diana in the dirt, and the care in it. She made a low sound and did not pull away.

"That is what the bond would be," she said. Her voice had gone rough. "Power. Want. The things we do not say. It did not take my hand off yours. It did not make me want this. I already wanted it."

"Same."

His cock throbbed. Her pulse kicked under his thumb. The place where their skin met stayed hot, a small steady burn, and when he shifted his grip the burn moved with it. She looked down at their hands and then at him.

"I am choosing you," she said. "Here. Now. Before the Gate and before anyone else in that Tower gets a vote. I want you to fuck me. If you want that too, say so. If you do not, take your hand off me and we go back up those stairs and we are still peers in the morning."

"I want it."

"Say it plain."

"I want to fuck you. I am saying yes."

"Good." She stood and pulled him up with her, and the strength in the pull made his stomach tighten. "Then do not be gentle for my pride. Be honest with your hands. I can take you. I am asking you to let me."

•

He got the tunic off her in one pull. She lifted her arms and helped, and then she was bare to the waist in the lamplight, bronze skin shining with sweat, breasts heavy and full, dark nipples already tight from the cold and from him. He filled his hands with them. They were warm and heavy and the nipples dragged against his palms, and she sucked in a breath and arched into it.

"Yes," she said.

He bent and took one nipple in his mouth and sucked, hard, and she grabbed the back of his head and held him there. His tongue worked the tight peak. His other hand squeezed the soft weight of her other breast and she pushed into both. When he bit lightly she swore, a short word in a language he did not know, and her hips rolled against his thigh.

"Trousers," he said against her skin.

She shoved them down and kicked them off with her boots. Nothing under them. Strong thighs, a dark triangle of hair, the lips of her cunt already slick when he looked. She stood there and let him look. Her stomach was ridged with muscle and still soft at the hips where his hands wanted to sit. She reached for his belt.

"I want to see you," she said.

He let her open his trousers and push them down. His cock came out thick and heavy, longer than her forearm, the head clearing her wrist when she wrapped her hand around the shaft, and her fingers did not meet. She stared. Her lips parted. A flush ran down her chest.

"Gods," she said. "You are big. I felt you through the cloth and I still did not have the size of it."

"We can stop if it is too much."

"Do not insult me." She stroked him once, slow, from the base to the wet head, and her thumb slid through the slick there. Her hand looked smaller on him than it had any right to. "I have not had a man like this. I want it. I want you to work me open and then I want you inside me. Tell me what you need."

"On the cloak. On your back. Legs open."

She pulled her cloak from the wall peg where she had dropped it on the way in and spread it on the dirt. She lay down on it and opened her thighs, and the lamplight caught the wet on her cunt and the muscle shifting in her legs. Harry kicked his trousers clear and went down between them. He put his mouth on the inside of her thigh first, bit the soft skin there, and she jerked and then spread wider.

"Harry."

He licked up the length of her, one slow stroke through her folds, and the taste of her hit him, salt and heat. She was wet. He did it again and she swore and grabbed his hair. He sucked her clit into his mouth and worked it with his tongue while two fingers pushed into her cunt. She was tight. The muscle gripped him. He curled his fingers and she rocked onto them, a broken sound in her throat.

"More," she said. "I can take more. Do not tease me."

He gave her a third finger and fucked her with them, steady, his mouth still on her clit. She got wetter. The sound of it was plain in the quiet yard. Her thighs shook around his head. He could feel the strength she was holding back so she did not crack his skull between them, and the holding back made his cock ache against the cloak.

"I am close," she said. "Do not stop. Do not you dare stop."

He did not stop. He sucked harder and drove his fingers deep and she came with a sharp cry, her cunt clenching around his hand, her heels digging into the dirt. He worked her through it until she pushed at his shoulder.

"Enough. Enough, I want your cock. Now."

He knelt up between her legs and stroked himself once. The head was dark and wet. She looked at it and her breath went short, and she reached down and spread herself with two fingers.

"Slow at first," she said. "Then I want it hard. I am choosing this. Put it in me."

He set the head against her cunt and pushed. The stretch stopped him halfway into the first inch. She was soaked and she was still tight around the thick of him, and the heat of her made his jaw lock. She grabbed his arms. Her nails bit. Her thighs tried to close and then opened again, wider, a choice he felt in the shift of her hips.

"Wait. Gods. You are thick." She breathed, in and out, and he held still with just the head inside her, the rest of his cock straining against her. "I have taken men. I have not taken this. Give me a moment. Do not pull out."

He stayed. His arms shook with holding back. She rocked, a small motion, taking another inch on her own, then another. The stretch eased. Wet heat slid down his shaft. She looked between their bodies and watched him sink into her, and a sound came out of her that she did not try to pretty up.

"All right. More. Give me more. I want the rest of it."

He sank in. She took him. Her cunt stretched around the shaft and fluttered, and she swore when the thickest part of him pushed through. He watched himself disappear into her. When he was seated to the root she was shaking, full of him, her breasts rising fast, her nails deep in his arms.

"All of you," she said. "I have all of you. No man has put that in me and stayed. I can feel you everywhere. Move. I need you to move."

"Merlin's sack." He drew back and thrust in, deeper than the first stroke, and she cried out and locked her legs around his hips. He did it again. The cloak scraped under them. He got a hand in her hair and closed his fist and pulled her head back so he could see her face, and she looked at him with her mouth open and her eyes bright.

"Yes," she said. "Like that. Pull my hair. Fuck me."

He fucked her. The pace went from careful to rough in a dozen strokes, his hips snapping, the wet sound of his cock in her cunt loud between them. Each thrust shoved a breath out of her. Her breasts rocked with it. He bent and sucked a nipple into his mouth without losing the rhythm, and she arched and swore and pulled him deeper with her heels.

"Harder."

"Take it."

"I am. Gods, I am taking it. You feel so good. You feel so fucking big." Her voice broke on the next thrust. "Please. Right there. Do not slow down. I can take it. I want it. No one has fucked me like this and kept their head."

He pinned one of her wrists above her head. She tested it, the muscle in her arm jumping, and she could have broken the hold. She left her wrist where he had put it and looked him in the eye.

"I am letting you," she said. "Do not forget that. Now use it."

He used it. He drove into her harder, the head of his cock hitting deep, and she took every stroke and asked for the next one. Heat built where their skin met, the same burn as the wrist in the yard, and it ran down his spine and into his hips. A flash hit him mid thrust: the sea again, her arm lifting, the clean pride. She gasped and he knew she had seen something of his at the same moment, a red braid, a kitchen table, his hands.

"Your magic," she said, ragged. "It is in my skin. I can feel it when you push in. Do not pull it back."

He let it go. The stones at the edge of the yard warmed. A faint gold crawled along the cloak under her shoulders. Her strength came back at him through the place they were joined, and his next thrust had more behind it than his own body, and she felt it and laughed once, breathless, and then the laugh broke into a moan.

"No man has withstood me like this," she said. "No man has held me down and made me want to stay down. Harry. Please. Do not stop. Fuck me until I come on your cock."

He let go of her wrist and grabbed her hip and angled her up and fucked her there, deep and steady, his thumb on her clit. She came again with his name in her mouth, her cunt gripping him so hard he had to grit his teeth to keep from finishing. He fucked her through it. She shook and held onto his shoulders and bit the meat of his arm, and the bite went straight to his cock.

"Up," she said, when she could speak. "I want to ride you. I want to take it on my terms and then I want you to take it back."

He pulled out. The loss of her heat made him swear. She pushed him onto his back on the cloak and swung a leg over and sank down on his cock in one long slide, her hands on his chest, her head tipped back. The sight of her, breasts swaying, stomach tight, his cock vanishing into her cunt, hit him low and mean. She rolled her hips and took him to the root and stayed there, breathing hard.

"Look at you," she said. "Filling me. I can feel you in my belly."

"Ride me."

She rode him. Slow at first, learning the depth, then harder, her thighs working, the wet slap of her arse against him every time she dropped. He got both hands on her hips and met her. She leaned forward and her breasts hung in his face and he sucked one and then the other, and she ground her clit against him and made a raw sound.

"I have wanted this since the hall," she said. "Since you took my hand and did not try to win the handshake. Since you told me the truth. Harder. Use me."

He sat up. The change drove him deep and she cried out and grabbed his hair. He fisted hers in return and pulled her head back and took her mouth, a rough kiss, teeth and breath, and then he set the pace from below, short hard thrusts that made her breasts bounce against his chest.

"You feel incredible," he said against her mouth. "Tight. Wet. Take it."

"I am. I am. Please. I want to come again. Make me."

He got his thumb between them and rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts. She broke. The orgasm took her hard, her cunt milking his cock, her arms locked around his neck, her voice open and plain against his ear. He held her hair and kept fucking her, and the heat between them flared until he could see a wash of her island behind his eyes and feel his own magic answer it, steady, hungry, his.

"Where," he said. His balls were tight. He was close. "Diana. Where do you want it."

"In me." She pulled his hair until he looked at her. Her eyes were wet at the corners and clear. "Come in me. I want it. I am asking."

He rolled her under him without pulling out and pinned her and fucked her through the last of her shaking. Three strokes. Four. He buried himself and came, cock pulsing, spilling deep in her cunt while she held him with her legs and her arms and said his name against his throat. The gold on the stones flared and went out. The heat in his chest settled into a low burn under the skin of his wrist, where her hand had been, and under the skin of hers where his had been. No mark he could see. The feeling of her stayed.

He stayed inside her until the aftershocks finished. She stroked the back of his neck. Her breathing slowed. When he lifted his head she looked at him and touched his mouth with two fingers.

"Peer," she said. "And more than that. I chose this. I would choose it again."

"So would I."

"I underestimated you." She kept her hand on his mouth. "I wanted you. I also assumed you could not hang with me. I was wrong. You are beyond any man I have had."

He pulled out slow. His come leaked out of her onto the cloak and she looked down at the mess and at his cock, still half hard and shining, and she made a small satisfied sound that went straight through him. He lay beside her and put his hand on her stomach. She covered it with hers. The burn between their palms was faint now, a low heat, almost gone.

"Ginny and Hermione," she said. "When you go home, you will tell them about me."

"Yes."

"Good. I do not want to be a thing you hide. I will not be a thing that keeps you from them either. Remember that when the Gate opens and people start making claims."

"I will."

She turned her face into his shoulder. For a minute neither of them spoke. The yard was cold again. Sweat dried on his chest. Her breast was warm against his ribs. Somewhere above them a door opened and shut, far off, and a voice he did not know laughed and was cut off by the latch.

•

The sky over the wall had gone grey.

Diana sat up first. She found her tunic and pulled it on without hurry, then her trousers, then her boots. Harry dressed beside her. His knee had stiffened. She saw him test it and said nothing, only passed him his shirt from the dirt and waited while he shook it out. The cloak was a loss. She folded it anyway, come and dirt and all, and set it on the wall.

"We should not be in the yard when the hall wakes," she said.

"Too late for that if anyone looked out a window."

"Then they saw a fair fight and what came after it. I will not be ashamed of either." She tied her hair back. The scrape on her knuckle had already closed to a pink line. "You fight clean, Harry Potter. You fuck like you mean it. Do not let the Gate teach you a worse version of either."

He almost answered. The air changed before he could.

The lamp flames bent inward. A note ran through the stone, the same note the Cup had used on his shelf in Grimmauld, louder here, and the barred gate at the yard mouth shivered in its frame. Letters wrote themselves in the grey over the wall, white and plain, big enough to read from the Tower windows.

THE FIRST GATE OPENS AT FULL LIGHT.

ALL CHAMPIONS TO THE HALL.

THE YARD IS CLOSED.

Diana read it and looked at him. Her hand found his wrist, over the place that still burned, and the heat answered once and went quiet.

"First light," she said. "We did not get to wait for it."

"No."

From the Tower above them doors began to open. Footsteps hit the spiral. A voice he knew, silver and sharp, asked someone what the writing on the air meant, and did not wait for the answer. Diana stepped back and picked up the lasso and coiled it at her hip. She was a champion again. The want was still in her mouth. She did not hide it.

"Come on," she said. "If we are late they will think we are afraid. I will not give them that."

"Bollocks to that." Harry took his wand off the wall. The sky was getting lighter. The Gate was open, or about to be, and the woman he had just had on her back in the dirt was walking toward the stair with her shoulders square, and he went after her because the Cup had started speaking and he had never been any good at letting a summons go unanswered.

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