Harry Potter: The Lone Alpha Ch. 6

Ch. 6: Potions and Feathers

Harry walked casually down the corridor, schedule in hand. He glanced at the next subject: Potions. Taught by Snape. This should be interesting. His thoughts flicked to Katie for a moment—she’d seemed upset after the Lavender incident. Not really his problem, though. They weren’t official, and emotions weren’t something he had the patience to manage.

The classroom was already filling up when Harry arrived. A middle bench was free, so he slid into it, setting his bag down. Neville joined him moments later, looking a bit like he’d walked into a trap.

“You good?” Harry glanced at him, bumping fists.

“Not really. Everyone says Snape’s a nightmare.”

Harry leaned back, scanning the room. It was shared with Ravenclaw, and a few students stood out. Cute girls. A couple of sharp-eyed blokes. Decent mix. “Doesn’t seem too bad so far.”

Neville fidgeted with his bag. “Just wait.”

Harry shifted topics. “Hey, does Hogwarts have a gym? Like, weights and stuff?”

Neville blinked, caught off guard. “A gym? Uh, yeah. There’s a magical one on the grounds. Barely anyone uses it, though.”

Harry grinned. “Good to know.”

Before Neville could respond, the door slammed open, and Snape strode in, robes billowing. The noise in the room vanished instantly as every student snapped to attention. Snape’s gaze swept the room, cold and calculating, before he climbed onto the podium.

“Potions is an art,” his voice cut through the silence, sharp and low. “Not for the inattentive, the impatient, or the incompetent. Those who lack these qualities would do well to reconsider their presence here.”

Snape flicked his wand, and cauldrons appeared on every desk, accompanied by chopping boards and knives. “The recipe is on the board. Chapter Two of your textbook will guide you. Ingredients are in the cupboard. Begin.”

A textbook materialized in front of Harry with a thud. He flipped it open, skimming the instructions for a basic healing potion. Easy enough. He grabbed a list of ingredients from the cupboard and returned to his desk, working steadily.

“This is just cooking,” he muttered, sprinkling powdered asphodel into the cauldron and stirring gently. The potion shifted to a light blue.

Beside him, Neville was struggling. His potion hissed and bubbled angrily, the surface threatening to spill over.

“Lower your flame,” Harry said, leaning over to adjust it for him.

Neville looked flustered. “It’s too much.”

“You’re overthinking it. It’s like cooking. Ever throw chicken on a pan?”

“Not really.”

Harry grinned. “Alright. Add stuff one step at a time. Don’t overdo it. Just follow the instructions like you’re making a meal. Got it?”

Neville nodded hesitantly, turning back to his cauldron. He followed Harry’s advice, adding the moonstone powder in smaller doses. The potion shifted from an angry orange to a calm gold.

“There you go. Told you, piece of cake.”

Neville smiled faintly. “Thanks, Harry. That actually worked.”

“No worries. Just keep it chill.”

Harry finished his potion early, the shimmering blue liquid sitting calmly in his cauldron. At one point, Snape passed by, his gaze flicking to Harry’s work. He said nothing, which Harry took as a win.

Neville’s potion wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t exploding either. When the bell rang, the class began packing up, a low hum of conversation filling the air.

“Not bad,” Harry said as they walked out together.

“Still not trusting myself in a kitchen.”

Harry chuckled. “Good thing this isn’t Home Ec, then.”

The bell signaling the end of Potions class echoed through the halls as Harry and Neville made their way back to the Great Hall. By the time they reached the Gryffindor table, it was buzzing with chatter and the clatter of dishes. Plates of sandwiches, fruit, and snacks filled the length of the table—a lighter spread for the second breakfast of the day.

Harry piled some food onto his plate but frowned slightly at the options. Eggs and sausages were fine earlier, but the lack of protein now was less ideal. He glanced over at Fred and George Weasley, sitting a few seats down and animatedly joking with a couple of younger students.

“Oi, Fred, George,” Harry called over.

The twins looked up in unison, their identical grins instantly curious. “What’s up, Potter?”

“Any way to get more options at meals? I mean, this is fine and all, but I could use more… variety.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, while George leaned forward conspiratorially. “What kind of variety?”

“Protein,” Harry said simply, gesturing to his plate. “Chicken, fish, maybe something a bit different.”

Fred’s grin widened. “Why, trying to bulk up? Impress someone, are we?”

“Or just outpace the rest of us,” George added, elbowing Fred.

Harry smirked. “Something like that. So, what’s the trick?”

George leaned back, tapping his chin theatrically. “Oh, it’s simple, really. You just need to pop down to the kitchens.”

“The kitchens?”

Fred nodded. “Yep. Hogwarts’ finest chefs are the house-elves. They’ll whip up anything you ask for. All you’ve got to do is ask.”

George added with a sly grin, “Just don’t go demanding filet mignon every day, or you’ll have a very cranky elf on your hands.”

Harry chuckled, filing the information away for later. “Good to know. Appreciate it.”

“Anytime, mate,” Fred replied, winking. “Though if you do manage to convince them to make steak for breakfast, let us know. We’ll owe you one.”

As the twins returned to their banter, Harry turned back to his plate, feeling more at ease. The idea of tailoring his meals wasn’t something he’d considered, but it was another step toward making Hogwarts work for him.

“You’re really going to ask them?” Neville asked, his voice tentative.

Harry shrugged. “Why not? If they can do it, may as well.”

“Guess it doesn’t hurt to try,” Neville muttered, glancing at his own plate.

Harry smirked. “Exactly. Work smarter, not harder, Longbottom.”

After second breakfast, Harry stood, brushing crumbs off his hands before nodding toward Percy Weasley, who was seated at the far end of the Gryffindor table. Approaching him, Harry kept his tone casual. “Oi, Percy. You know where the kitchens are?”

Percy blinked, momentarily surprised. “The kitchens? Why do you need—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind. Down past the Hufflepuff common room. There’s a painting of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear, and it’ll let you in.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Tickle the pear?”

Percy’s tone grew brisk, clearly done with the conversation. “Yes, Potter, tickle the pear. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve Prefect duties to attend to.”

“Cheers,” Harry replied with a smirk, turning away and heading off to his next class—Charms with Professor Flitwick, paired with Slytherin.

As he rounded the corner toward the classroom, a raised voice caught his attention.

“Can’t even hold your wand properly, Longbottom. Honestly, what are you even doing here?”

Draco Malfoy stood just outside the classroom, his pale face twisted in mockery as he loomed over Neville. Behind him, Seamus and Dean chuckled, though their laughter carried a nervous edge, as if they weren’t entirely sure they should be joining in.

Neville’s face was flushed, his hands gripping his wand tightly as he stared at the ground.

Harry’s jaw tightened as anger flared in his chest. He strode forward, stopping just short of Malfoy. His voice was low, steady, and edged with warning. “Fuck off.”

Malfoy blinked, his smirk faltering. “What did you just say?”

Harry stepped closer, his green eyes boring into Malfoy’s with calm intensity. “I said, fuck off.” His tone was sharper this time, each word cutting through the air like a blade.

Malfoy’s pale cheeks flushed pink. He opened his mouth to retort, but Harry didn’t give him the chance.

Ignoring Malfoy entirely, Harry turned his gaze to Seamus and Dean. “And you two. What the hell are you laughing at?” His voice was quieter now, but no less commanding. “Neville’s one of us. Don’t forget that.”

Seamus and Dean exchanged sheepish looks, their grins fading as guilt crept across their faces.

Malfoy recovered quickly, sneering. “Getting all noble, are we, Potter? Just wait till—”

“Until what?” Harry’s voice was cold, his eyes never leaving Malfoy’s.

The Slytherin boy’s lips tightened into a thin line. With a final glare, he turned on his heel, muttering something under his breath as he stalked into the classroom.

Neville glanced up, his face still red but now with a hint of gratitude. “Thanks, Harry.”

Harry clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t let idiots like him get to you, mate.”

Seamus and Dean shifted awkwardly, mumbling half-hearted apologies to Neville as the group made their way into the classroom. Harry didn’t say anything further, but the brief nod he gave Neville said enough.

For the rest of them, the message was clear: mess with one of us, and you’ll answer to me.

The classroom buzzed with chatter as the Gryffindors and Slytherins filed into their seats for Charms class. Harry found a spot near the center, only for Daphne Greengrass to slide gracefully into the seat beside him.

“Guess we’re partners, Potter,” she said with a casual smirk, setting her bag on the desk. Her blouse dipped slightly at the neckline, revealing a hint of smooth, pale skin. Harry’s eyes flicked down for a brief moment before leaning back in his chair, keeping his expression unreadable.

“Lucky me,” he murmured.

Daphne arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by his composure, but said nothing as Professor Flitwick climbed onto his stack of books at the front of the room.

“Welcome to your first Charms lesson,” the tiny professor began, his voice carrying easily despite his stature. “Charms is an essential part of your magical education, and I expect you all to approach it with diligence and care. Today, we’ll start with one of the most foundational spells: the Levitation Charm. Can anyone tell me the incantation?”

Parvati Patil’s hand shot up, her gold bangles jingling softly as she waved eagerly. “It’s ‘Wingardium Leviosa,’ Professor!”

“Excellent, Miss Patil,” Flitwick said with an approving nod. “Five points to Gryffindor! Now, the proper wand movement is a swish and flick. Observe closely.”

As Flitwick demonstrated the motion, Harry leaned back in his chair. Daphne had pulled out her wand, twirling it lightly between her fingers, the smooth wood catching the light.

“So, Potter,” she said, her voice low enough to keep their conversation private. “What’s your wand made of?”

“Phoenix feather core. Eleven inches, holly,” Harry replied, glancing down at the wand in his hand. “Ollivander said it’s unique—twin core with Voldemort’s, apparently.”

Daphne tilted her head, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s… interesting. But I meant the one you’re holding now.” She paused, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. “Unless, of course, you thought I was asking about your other wand. You know, the thicker, longer one?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard for half a second before a slow grin spread across his face. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

Daphne shrugged, her smirk widening as she leaned slightly closer. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

Before Harry could respond, Flitwick’s voice broke through their exchange. “Now, everyone, pair up and take turns practicing the charm. Remember, proper pronunciation and wand movement are key!”

Daphne leaned back in her chair, giving Harry a sly look as she gestured toward their shared feather. “Shall we?”

Harry chuckled softly, his hand tightening slightly around his wand. “Let’s.”

Harry flicked his wand with a practiced motion, muttering the incantation under his breath. The feather on their desk lifted smoothly into the air, hovering in place. He tilted his head, studying it with a faint smirk before letting it drift gently back down.

“Simple,” he said, leaning back in his chair and glancing toward Daphne. “Your turn.”

Daphne huffed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She mimicked his movement, her wand swishing through the air as she said, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The feather twitched, rolling slightly, but stayed firmly on the desk.

“Almost,” Harry murmured, watching as she tried again.

Daphne’s brow furrowed as her wand moved with more precision. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The feather trembled but still refused to rise. She let out a soft growl of frustration, her fingers tightening around her wand.

“Need a hand?” Harry offered, his tone light, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Daphne looked at him, suspicious. “What’s in it for you?”

Harry chuckled. “I was going to be nice and help you out, but if you’re going to make it a negotiation…” His gaze dipped briefly, drawn to the way her blouse gaped slightly as she leaned forward.

She caught the direction of his eyes and arched a brow, her lips curling into a sly smile. “See something you like, Potter?”

“Plenty,” he admitted with a grin, leaning closer. “Now, about that feather…”

Daphne shook her head, amused, before passing him her wand. “Fine. Let’s see if the great Harry Potter can work miracles.”

He took the wand, his fingers brushing hers, and demonstrated the motion again. “Swish and flick. Smooth, no hesitation. Got it?”

Daphne gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

He handed the wand back, nodding toward the feather. “Your turn. Slow and steady.”

She raised her wand, her movements deliberate this time, and spoke the words clearly. The feather lifted an inch off the desk, wobbling slightly.

“There it is,” Harry said, his voice warm with approval.

Daphne grinned, her focus on keeping the feather steady as it hovered. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry teased, leaning back in his chair.

She lowered the feather, turning her gaze to him. “Alright, Potter, I owe you one. What’s it going to cost me?”

Harry studied Daphne for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes sharpening. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that only she could hear. “Alright, Greengrass, since you asked so nicely…”

He paused, letting the anticipation build before continuing. “I think… a favor for a favor sounds fair.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “A favor, Potter? That’s a bit vague, don’t you think?”

Harry’s gaze held hers, unwavering. “Not vague at all. You see, I’ve been thinking about it, and there’s something I’d like… from you.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly, a flush creeping up her cheeks. Harry took that as his cue, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. He reached down, his hand deftly undoing the button of his trousers.

The sound of the zipper caught Daphne’s attention, her eyes darting down as Harry’s hand disappeared into his pants. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding the object of her focus, his half-hard length now exposed.

The color in Daphne’s cheeks deepened, her gaze flickering from his face to his hand and back again. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper when she finally spoke. “Potter, what are you doing?”

Harry’s smirk grew, his hand gently stroking himself to full hardness. “I’m collecting on your debt, Greengrass. You said it yourself—you owe me one.”

Daphne’s eyes were wide now, a mix of shock and curiosity playing across her face. She glanced around the room, ensuring that their classmates were still preoccupied with their own feathers and incantations.

Harry watched her, gauging her reaction, the thrill of the risk they were taking adding an edge to his arousal. “So, what do you say?” he asked, his tone smooth, almost casual. “Are you going to make good on your word, or are you all talk and no action?”

Daphne’s gaze dropped to his erection once more, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She seemed to be weighing her options, her eyes darkening with a desire that she couldn’t quite hide.

Harry’s challenge hung in the air, heavy with implication. Daphne’s gaze lingered on his exposed length, her mind racing with the boldness of his request. She was no innocent, but this… this was a line she hadn’t yet crossed in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

The room buzzed with the sounds of spellwork, oblivious to the tension crackling between them. Daphne’s heart pounded in her chest, a rhythmic drumbeat that drowned out the world. She could feel the weight of Harry’s stare, the silent dare in his eyes.

With a defiant tilt of her chin, Daphne made her decision. She met his gaze, her voice a husky murmur that hinted at the promise of what was to come. “I always pay my debts, Potter.”

Slowly, she sank to her knees, the stone floor cold beneath her. Her hands, delicate yet firm, reached out to grip his thighs, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles through the fabric of his trousers.

Harry’s breath hitched as Daphne leaned forward, her tongue darting out to taste the salty bead of precum that had formed at his tip. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of forbidden desire and raw masculinity.

She took him into her mouth, her lips stretching around his girth. Her tongue swirled around his shaft, lavishing attention on every inch of him. Harry’s head fell back, a low moan escaping his lips as Daphne worked him with a voracious hunger.

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as Daphne’s mouth enveloped him, the wet heat of her tongue tracing the underside of his shaft with practiced ease. The sensation was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that thrummed through his veins and pooled in the base of his spine.

Daphne’s hands moved to his hips, her fingernails digging into the fabric of his trousers as she took him deeper, her lips meeting her own fist with each downward stroke. The sound of her ministrations filled the air—wet, filthy, and utterly thrilling. Harry’s breath came in shallow gasps, his fingers tangling in her hair as he fought the urge to thrust into the tight embrace of her mouth.

The classroom around them faded into a blur of background noise, the chatter of their classmates and the rustle of parchment becoming nothing more than a distant hum. All that mattered was the sensation of Daphne’s lips around him, the intoxicating suction that promised release.

Harry’s muscles tensed, his body coiling like a spring as Daphne worked him with a fervor that left him breathless. Her technique was flawless, a blend of pressure and pace that drove him inexorably toward the edge. The sight of her, the Slytherin princess on her knees before him, was enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to his core.

With a low growl, Harry gave in to the temptation to move, his hips canting forward in time with Daphne’s rhythm. The friction was divine, each stroke of her tongue sending sparks of pleasure coursing through his body. He could feel the telltale tightening in his lower abdomen, the harbinger of an impending climax.

Daphne’s response was to redouble her efforts, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she took him to the hilt. The sight of her, cheeks hollowed and eyes watering with the effort, was Harry’s undoing. A shudder wracked his body as he reached the point of no return, his release barreling down on him like a runaway train.

With a final, strangled moan, Harry let go, the world exploding into a blaze of white-hot ecstasy. Daphne stayed with him through it all, her hands gripping his thighs as she swallowed around him, her throat working to take everything he gave her.

Spent, Harry slumped against the desk behind him, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the aftershocks of his orgasm rippled through him. Daphne released him with a soft, wet pop, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she wiped the corner of her mouth with a manicured fingertip.

For a moment, the two of them simply existed in the aftermath, their heavy breathing the only sound louder than the blood pounding in Harry’s ears. Then, with a sly wink, Daphne rose to her feet, her robes falling back into place as if nothing had happened.

“Consider us even, Potter,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that seemed to resonate with the undercurrent of their shared secret.

Hours later, as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the Great Hall, Harry and Neville made their way to dinner, their stomachs growling in anticipation of the evening feast. As they filled their plates with roast chicken and steaming vegetables, conversation turned to their recent endeavors.

“How’s your day been, mate?” Neville asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Anything exciting happen in Charms class?”

Harry grinned, taking a hearty bite of chicken. “Well, aside from getting caught in another one of Flitwick’s never-ending lectures, not too eventful.” He paused, his eyes glinting with a mischievous gleam. “Actually, I was thinking of heading to the gym later. Want to join me?”

Neville’s eyebrows shot up, his round face betraying his surprise. “You work out, Potter? Since when?”

Harry laughed, a casual shrug belying the challenge that was beginning to form in his mind. “I go from time to time. It’s a nice way to blow off some steam.” He gestured to his muscled forearms, a subtle flex that drew Neville’s attention. “You should come. I can show you some things my Muggle relatives taught me.”

Intrigued, Neville reached for another roll, smearing it with butter. “I guess I could give it a try. Never really thought about working out before. What do wizards even do for exercise?”

Finishing his mouthful, Harry stood up, wiping his hands on a napkin and tossing it onto his now-empty plate. “It’s mostly Muggle stuff. Lifting weights, running, that sort of thing. I’ll guide you through a chest workout. I’ll show you the proper form and spotting technique.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Neville pushed back his chair, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “Alright, let’s do it!”

Minutes later, the pair arrived at the gym, a spacious room filled with various Muggle and magical exercise equipment. They made their way to a bench press station, where Harry set about explaining the proper form to Neville.

“Alright, Longbottom,” Harry said, his voice carrying a hint of command as he took on the role of mentor. “You want to lower the bar to your chest slowly, keeping your elbows tucked in. Push it back up until your arms are fully extended, and remember to breathe.”

Neville nodded, his eyes focused as he settled into position, his hands gripping the bar with determination. Harry stood by, his eyes sharp as he watched Neville’s form, ready to step in as a spotter if needed.

“That’s it,” Harry encouraged, his voice steady. “You’re doing great. Now remember, don’t lock your elbows at the top.”

Neville grunted, his face reddening with exertion as he pushed the bar upward, guided by Harry’s steady stream of instructions. With each repetition, he felt his muscles burn, the unfamiliar sensation leaving him breathless.

Harry’s eyes never left Neville, his words a continuous stream of encouragement and advice. “You’re almost there, just a few more reps. Focus on your form, and keep those elbows tucked.”

Their voices mingled with the clinking of weights and the grunts of other students pushing themselves to their limits. Beads of sweat formed on Neville’s brow, his arms shaking with the effort of his final reps.

Finally, Harry clapped a hand on Neville’s shoulder, a smile of pride spreading across his face. “That’s it, mate. Well done!”

Neville sat up, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve, his face triumphant despite the soreness radiating through his body. “Blimey, that was tougher than I thought.”

Harry slapped him on the back, a gesture of camaraderie. “You did great for your first time. Keep at it, and you’ll be beating me in no time.”