A Veela's Appreciation by Imouto Kitten It was well past midnight when a small figure bundled in a heavy cloak exited the Beauxbatons carriage, the nearly full moon making the snow covered grounds shine nearly as brightly as daybreak and revealing that the wanderer leaves no footprints in their wake as they head for the great castle of Hogwarts. Though having only stepped foot in the castle for the first time little more than 24 hours prior, the short, cloaked figure moves through the empty corridors as though they've spent a lifetime exploring it's many secrets, a pull in their chest drawing them like an overpowered summoning charm towards the one they seek. Reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, the cloaked figure smiles at their luck as the hidden door swings open, Professor McGonagall exiting in her dressing gown, the figure sneaking through as the older witch departs. The Griffindor common room is trashed with a few students past out on couches, a party having clearly been not that long broken up, but the figure pays this little mind as they dash up the stairs to the boys' dormitories in search of their target. As the figure enters the room shared by the fourth year Griffindor boys, they're pleased that their target's roommates are either already fast asleep or absent,, the latter most likely among the bodies downstairs as they instinctively locate the bed belonging to Harry Potter. Slipping through the curtains of Harry's four poster, the figure withdraws a stone amulet they borrowed from their older sister and presses it against one of the bedposts, the runic array carved into its surface glowing and Harry's bed curtains shimmering as a privacy ward encompasses the bed. Assured that Harry's roommates won't be able to disturb them even if they wake before morning, the figure discards their heavy, winter cloak before crawling over to the bed's sleeping owner and shaking his shoulder. "'Arry Potter! 'Arry Potter! [Wake up!]" cries the figure, their angelic voice revealing them to be female. "Huh?!" cries the boy in response as he awakens and fumbles for his glasses, the first thing he sees as the world comes into focus is a young girl with silvery blonde hair kneeling next to him, a young girl who is currently wearing nothing but a baby blue tank top that's short enough to expose her naval and a matching pair of side-tie knickers that hug her hips so snuggly it's a wonder the strings don't snap. In other words, Harry awoke to a sight that would give Venus herself a run for her money and between being woken up in the middle of the night and the reaction the little nymphet's appearance is having on his body, Harry doesn't have the presence of mind to question why a little girl he met less than 24-hours ago is in his bed and dressed in a manner many would consider risque on a girl twice, perhaps even thrice her age as he asks dumbly, "Aren't you Fleur's little sister?" Lacking even the most rudimentary grasp of the English language, her sister's name is the only word in that sentence the little girl understands as she replies in her native French, "[My name is Gabrielle, but please call me Gabby. You saved me in ze lake today and since zat moment, I knew in my heart of hearts zat not only were you my chevalier, but also my destined mate, and so I have come to you, 'Arry Potter, to complete our bond, to mark you as mine and be marked as yours in return.]" Being just as clueless of the French language as his late night visitor is of English, Harry understands little more than his own name, though hearing her name again is enough to jog his memory as he asks, "What are you doing here, Gabrielle?" Sighing cutely as she realizes the verbal language barrier exists in both directions, she repeats herself, "[Call me Gabby, 'Arry Potter.]" emphasizing the nickname before deciding to switch to the universal language of sensuality, thinking it more appropriate to her purposes anyways. She places a dainty hand upon the crotch of Harry's pajamas, smiling as she feels the bulge within, already half-erect from having awoken to a sight that would make the nymphs green with envy as Gabby starts to stroke her destined mate through his Flannel pajama pants Even with the material that was chosen more for keeping the chill of the Scottish winter away than how it feels against the skin, Harry can't help letting out a moan even as part of him can't help thinking that it's wrong for such a young girl, a child not even old enough to start studying magic to be touching him in such an intimate fashion. ANd yet, Harry can't bring himself to push her hand away even as he lets out a strangled cry of, "Ga-Gabby, wh-what are you doing?" Smiling at how easily she's managed to fluster her mate, Gabby crawls atop Harry, turning her back to him, showing off how cozily her knickers hug her plump, little rump as she leans over the now fully erect member tenting the teen's trousers. Reaching for his waistband, the young veela pulls the elastic up and over his erection, licking her lips at the sight of her prize. Though not hung like a hippogriff by any stretch of the imagination, Harry is a decent size, Gabrielle barely able to fully encircle his girth in her tiny hands and his length sufficient she can wrap both hands around it without her hands touching. A fully human girl of Gabby's age and stature might be intimidated by such a well-endowed specimen of manhood, but being descended from beings of sensuality, all Gabby can say upon seeing her destined one's pride and glory is a reverent whisper of "Magnifique." Meanwhile, Harry is nearly going mad from the sensations assaulting his senses. If the sight of Gabrielle in what Harry could only call lingerie was divine and the sensation of her rubbing him through his pajama pants was heavenly, than the young champion didn't have words for the sight of nearly having those perfect half-moons staring him in the face and the sensation of being caressed by her dainty hands... and if having this young goddess visit him in the middle of the night wasn't surreal enough, he could feel his cheeks burning as her whispered compliment reaches his ears, her one word declaration of admiration for his wand close enough to the English for him to understand her meaning. Shaking his head in an attempt to drive away how good her hands feel on his member and how beautiful that delectable derriere looks in those silken unmentionables, the boy reluctantly declares, "Gabby, I think we should stop." Thinking he's just nervous because he's inexperienced, Gabby replies, "[My dear 'Arry, just lay back and let me take care of my mate.]" and before he can say anything else, the little girl's dainty tongue has emerged from her mouth to twirl teasingly around his tip before she parts her lips and takes the whole of his head into her small mouth. Although it is Gabby's first time giving head and Harry's first time recieving it, her veela heritage gives the young nymphet an instinctive knowledge of how to best please a man, and while her mouth is too small to even attempt a deep throat, the way her tongue dances about his tip would be more than enough to drive all rational thoughts from the boy's mind,,,,,, but her fingers are just as talented as they dance up and down his shaft. Gabrielle is pleased to hear her mate moaning under her ministrations and she can feel a heat building in her own loins in response. Swaying her hips hypnotically, she pulls her mouth off of Harry's cock just long enough to coo, "]Please, 'Arry, please pleasure me as well.]" before resuming her blowjob. Though he didn't understand a word of her plea beyond his name, having the little French girl shake that absolutely amazing arse in his face as the rapidly moistening gusset of her knickers cling to her every nook and cranny, outlining the feminine folds of the forbidden fruit concealed within, Harry can't resist the urge to lift his hands to place them upon those luscious half-moons. As Harry gives her pert posterior a squeeze through the luxurious silk covering it, Gabrielle moans around his tip, sending even more shivers up his spine than her already breathtaking performance had managed. Lowering his hands to caress her bare thighs, Harry is surprised for what feels like the millionth time that night, her skin so soft and supple to make the fine silk of her knickers feel like burlap even Hagrid would deem too rough by comparison. Eventually, Harry works up the nerve to slide a finger along her cleft, making the little girl hum in pleasure around his cock head. She wants more, but before she can contemplate how to convince him to venture inside her panties, he cries out, "Gabby, I'm going to cum!" and despite her heritage, the young blonde is caught off guard as before her mate can finish his sentence, his warm essence is filling her small mouth. Recovering quickly, she swallows Harry's load even as her dainty hands pump his shaft to extract every last drop, and when he's done spilling his seed, she meticulously licks his tip clean before pulling away from his wilting wand. As she sits up, plopping her cute, little butt atop Harry's Pajama clad stomach, she comments, "['Arry Potter's seed is saltier zan I expected, but still quite delicious.]" Turning around, she pouts cutely and lets her voice adopt a scolding tone as she declares, "[but you left me needy... I'll forgive you since you're clearly nervous and inexperienced, but I want to feel how good you are with your tongue, 'Arry Potter.]" Before Harry can recover from the mind blowing climax she just gave him, much less respond to the latest string of incomprehensible French to fall from her angelic lips, Gabrielle has slid forward until she is straddling Harry's neck, and placing her hands on her hips, she slowly pulls on the loose ends of the ties of her underwear, the loops shrinking to nothing before the silk barrier falls upon Harry's upper chest, granting the teenaged boy his first unobstructed view of a girl's most precious place. Glancing down to see her mate staring slacked jaw at her treasure, his cheeks a rosy red, she teases, "[Like what you see? I assure you, I taste as good as I look.]" and before the boy can find his voice, the young, quarter-Veela has lowered herself to her mate's mouth,, her tiny twatty nestling cozily between his lips as her nectar drips into his mouth without the need of his tongue extracting it. As her juices coat his tongue, Harry's eyes widen at her flavor, a sinfully rich sweetness filling his mouth to make the finest treacle tart seem bitter by comparison. Overwhelmed, Harry reaches up to grip Gabby firmly by her hips as he thrusts his tongue deep into her folds, the little girl crying out in euphoria as her mate finally gives her flower the attention its been craving. Though just as inexperienced as Gabby and without even the benefit of a heritage that grants an instinctive grasp of how to pleasure one's lovers, Harry's enthusiasm for extracting the little girl's intoxicating nectar more than makes up for it, and before long, the quarter veela is crying her pleasure to the heavens, her moans a melodic mixture of angelic choir and birdsong and loud enough to wake all of Griffindor Tower if not for the rune stone she had placed on the bed post ensuring no one beyond the curtains can hear or see any of what is going on in Harry's bed. "'Arry Potter! 'Arry Potter!" cries the young Veela in her ecstacy as she squirms under the boy-who-lived's oral ministrations, his grip on her hips holding her in place as her hands grip the headboard to keep her upright and her tiny toes curl atop the sheets. "[Your tongue is amazing! I...I zink I'm going to cum!]" Not understanding her warning, Harry is surprised when her passage suddenly tightens around his tongue, trapping the prehensile appendage within her depths and her nectar, which had flowed like juice drunk from an ever filling goblet sprays forth in a cascade that fills his mouth and overflows to drench his face, the taste and scent of a Veela's virgin love juices nearly overwhelming him in such quantity. Even as the little girl inadvertantly tries to drown him with her orgasm, Harry does his best to swallow as much of her sweet nectar, and even once the downpour has halted and her internal muscles slacken so he can withdraw his tongue, he can't help but lick her clean, even lapping away the splashes upon her smoother than silk thighs. When she finally recovers, Gabby gives her mate a pleased smile as she declares, "[Zat was amazing, "Arry Potter!]" before her smile turns mischievious and she adds, "[but I zink zat is enough foreplay... I zink it is time for ze main event.]" Before harry can respond to the latest bit of French, wishing not for the first time that school year, or even that evening, that Professor Flitwick had taught his students a translation charm of some sort, Gabrielle has sidled down Harry's torso to once again straddle his waist, this time facing him and in only her short top as she kneels over his renewed erection and slowly lowers her netherlips to kis his tip. As his brain catches up with what's happening, Harry cries out, "Gabby, I don't think- but before he can finish his protest, the young veela has dropped her hips, impaling herself upon her mate's magnificent manhood, driving Harry balls deep within her passage, his tip piercing her maidenhead and coming to rest tightly pressed against her cervix in a single fluid motion. As Harry's wand is engulfed by the most wondrous of warm and wet of velvet vices, Gabby's every internal muscle seeming to massage his shaft of their own accord, it's harry's turn to cry his pleasure to the heavens, the boy so lost in the sensation of having such a beautiful nymphet take his virginity that he fails to notice the few tears that stream down Gabby's cheek or the trickle of blood pooling around the base of his member. Though diluted enough to not fully spare her the discomfort of losing her virginity, Gabrielle's veela blood lets her recover quickly as she lifts herself about halfway off Harry's hardon before dropping down once more, repeating the motion at a slow, sensual speed several times, smiling as her mate, overwhelmed by the way her walls wrap around his wand, cries out under her ministrations, his hands digging into the bedding. As the young girl slowly increases the speed at which she rides her mate, her hands reach for Harry's night shirt, unbuttoning the bottom button and slowly working towards his collar. Once the top button is undone, Gabrielle pauses in her motions before pulling the garment open, exposing Harry's pale, scrawny torso to the veela's appreciative gaze. If she's bothered by his obvious lack of sun exposure and absence of muscle tone, she doesn't show it as she runs her tiny hands all over her lover's chest and stomach, her bouncing increasing in pace as she explores every square inch of the Boy-Who-Lived's petite physique. Between her loving caresses and her enthusiastic gyrations, it isn't long before Harry can feel himself approaching climax once more, and as the reality of what's happening sinks in, that he's about to erupt inside not only an underaged girl, but a very underaged girl and the daughter of a foreign dignitary of some note, the fourth champion cries out, nearly in a panic, "Gabby, you need to get off! I'm going to cum again!" However, as he reaches for her hips to push her off of his member, her hands halt in their explorations to intercept his, guiding his hands to her flat chest, encouraging him, "[Zey are still small, but feel free to massage my breasts to your eart's content.]" At the same time, her internal muscles ripple along his shaft and her cervix dilates little-by-little with every downward thrust of her hips, her body knowing instinctively that her mate is about to flood her innermost sanctum with his essence as it prepares to accept his offering. It isn't long before it all becomes too much for the young wizard, and with a powerful thrust of his hips up into her just as she's dropping down, the head of Harry's hardon pops into the veela's waiting womb, her cervix clamping around the collar of the champion's cock as his second climax of the evening washes over him, far more intense than the one she induced with her mouth, the first jet of warm, fresh seed splattering against the walls of her womb sending her into a toe-curling climax of her own, the tiny girl's trembling tunnel of love redoubling it's efforts to milk Harry for all he's worth as the boy feels like he pumps a pint of potent, pearly seed straight into her receptive, unprotected uterus. As their climaxes subside, Gabrielle collapses against Harry's chest, the pair basking in afterglow for what feels like a blissful eternity, but is really just a few minutes. Gabby is the first to break the silence, Kissing Harry over his heart as she asks, "[Did my mate enjoy zat, Arry darling?]" Snapping out of his euphoria-induced stupor at the indecipherable question, Harry makes two decisions in quick succession: First, that a verbal response would be pointless, and second, that if he's going to rot in Azkaban or its French equivalent for raping the daughter of a foreign dignitary, never mind that she was the instigator, he might as well make the most of it. Rolling so he's on top of Gabrielle, Harry grabs the quarter veela's ankles, the slender bones under that smoother than silk skin feeling like they'd snap with a flick of his wrist, Harry pulls his hips back until only his cock head is within the young girl before ramming balls deep in her passage once more, and in a matter of seconds, the Boy-Who-Lived has worked himself into a frenzy, pounding the preteen's perfect pussy with absolute abandon, moving at a speed he's only ever surpassed on a broomstick as he ravages the young girl. But despite the sudden shift from submissive to dominant that has taken over her mate and being pressed into the mattress with force sufficient that she might fear a broken bone if she hadn't inherited incredibly strong but light bones from her veela ancestors, Gabrielle couldn't be happier as she can feel her innate magic reacting to her mate's as it flares up now that he's taking an active role in their mating, the physical pleasure of the act itself combining with a sense of being protected as Harry's aura surrounds her tiny form. Glancing down, Harry feels a sense of relief wash over him when, despite his somewhat rough treatment, he can see only pleasure and desire in Gabby's expression instead of pain or fear, his heart swelling with pride that she's enjoying herself even though he's convinced her actions have condemned him to a life of imprisonment in the vicinity of dementors. When she senses that he is about to erupt once more, Gabrielle reaches her dainty hands up to cup his cheeks, asking sweetly, "[Kiss me.]" and while he doesn't understand her words, he somehow knows exactly what she wants as he relinquishes his grasp on her ankles, draws the petite girl into an all encompassing embrace and crashes his lips upon hers. As their tongues entangle, Gabrielle wraps her arms and legs around Harry's neck and waist, the pair swallowing each other's cries of ecstacy as she bucks her hips in time with his thrusts, both of them working towards a shared climax. And then they are there, both of them losing all awareness of anything except each other as they share a climax that dwarfs all others either of them have had that evening, neither of them noticing the black mist rising from Harry's scar as they bask in mutual bliss, their magic intermingling to the point neither could distinguish them even if they had their full faculties. As Harry finishes spilling inside the quarter veela for the second time, he barely has the presence of mind to roll over so Gabrielle lands on his chest instead of pinning her beneath him, and as the pair bask in afterglow, the young girl knows in her very soul that the mating is complete as she whispers sleepily, "[I love you, 'Arry Potter.]" Harry isn't sure why, but despite still not comprehending her words, he somehow knows the intention of her words and can only reply, "I love you too." as he lets out a yawn and rests an arm possessively, yet protectively across Gabrielle's back. Smiling, and knowing exactly why she can suddenly understand Harry's intent, if not his words, the young veela lets out a yawn of her own before deciding that such trivial explanations can wait until morning as she snuggles into her mate's embrace and allows sleep to claim her, her lover's wand still buried balls deep within her and leaking seed into her already well-seeded womb.