One would think after all these years that Rita Skeeter would have long since learned not to go after the Man-Who-Won and his family. But anyone who thought that clearly didn’t know Rita Skeeter. And to anyone who might even gently try to bring up the possibility of backing off to Rita’s face, she would have laughed at them.
 
The poison-pen journalist hadn’t gotten to where she was in this life by being timid or cautious. She knew what she wanted, she knew what her readers wanted, and she made sure to give it to them by any means necessary. Her writings were admittedly sensationalist and frankly, sometimes outright dishonest… but Rita could have cared less. It was what got her the most attention, it was what brought her the most publicity that mattered.
 
The Queen of the Quills hadn’t managed to survive even in this new world order by going dark. Oh no, even after all the trouble she’d found herself in during the Triwizard Tournament, Rita hadn’t let that hold her back for long. The thing about blackmail was… it lost it’s strength with time.
 
While Rita’s registration with the proper authorities as a Beetle Animagus made it so that she had to be much more cautious about where she transformed to get her stories, it was better than having that bitch of a muggleborn Granger holding it over her head for all time to keep her on the ‘straight and narrow’.
 
Besides, it wasn’t like the vast majority of wizards and witches kept an overly cautious eye on the animagus registry in the first place. Nor did they spend all of their time looking around for any animal or insect that might be a wizard or witch using their animagus form to spy on them. In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, with the Dark Lord’s second and final defeat, Rita Skeeter had come back stronger than ever once she’d registered her form with the Ministry.
 
And that bitch Granger hadn’t been able to do anything to stop her. Needless to say, Rita had written a few scathing articles about Hermione Granger, over the years. And thanks to the freedom of the press, she was allowed to. Not to say she focused on Granger above all others, however. Really, the muggleborn witch definitely thought too highly of her own importance.
 
There were plenty of people in this new generation worth writing about. Rita had kept up with the times, had adapted to the shifting flow. In fact, she’d even made quite a bit of coin off of tearing down some disgraced Pureblood families in the wake of Voldemort’s defeat. With practically all of their male lines either found dead while wearing Death Eater masks and carrying the Dark Mark or locked away in Azkaban for the rest of their lives, Rita was finally safe to target some of the most powerful houses in Wizarding Britain.
 
And she’d done so with a gusto and a viciousness that had kept her on top as the Queen of Quills long after what most people would consider her ‘prime’. And yes, Rita Skeeter was well aware of how… old she was. Chronologically, she was in her seventies at this point. Did that matter though, when magic could be employed?
 
Even before the turn of the century with Harry Potter’s Hogwarts Years and Voldemort’s Second Rise, Rita had been using all sorts of magical creams and the like to keep herself as youthful as possible. In the wake of the Dark Lord’s defeat, when it seemed like the entirety of Harry Potter’s generation was graduating and then making waves, taking over vacant spots within the Ministry and at Hogwarts faster than one could wonder if they were truly qualified (and Rita HAD wondered at length in her articles) she had known she needed even more of a change.
 
These days, she looked even younger than she had back then. Ever a social chameleon for all that she also liked to stand out, Rita had adapted to the times. Back when she was younger, she’d actually artificially aged herself up at times, just because the Wizarding World was so OLD. All of it’s movers and shakers were in their fifties, and so Rita had to give herself crows feet and wear spectacles just to have the right… appearance.
 
But then the Second War had taken place, people had died, and the Wizarding World that came out the other side was… well, young. Startlingly young. So Rita had adapted. She’d changed. And she’d gotten lots and lots of work done. Her chronological age might be somewhere around the seventies now, but thanks to magic she looked like she was in her thirties biologically, adopting the same age as the generation of Wizards and Witches who took Britain by storm in the wake of Voldemort’s demise.
 
Likewise, she’d gotten some… enhancements at the same time. It was all the rage in the modern world these days, and Rita had always considered herself an early adopter of such trends. A cup size or two increase in the chest region, a bit more junk in the trunk, as the kids were calling it. Nothing that would bring her too much annoying back pain of course or anything like that, but enough to draw the eye and lower the guard of her male victims.
 
This was all to say, Rita Skeeter was still on top, at least in her own little world. She’d never truly regained the popularity of her heyday, and in fact the Daily Prophet had actually LOST it’s position as the premier wizarding newspaper, now very nearly equal with the Quibbler as the most subscribed publication in the Wizarding World most days (and sometimes not even equal, sometimes dipping below).

Still, Rita was still employed by the Prophet, and her sensationalist articles were still the number one reason that the newspaper sold copies. Which meant that Rita was always chasing her next big story, even now. Always looking for that next bit of publicity. And maybe, just maybe, she had stumbled upon something that would propel both her and the Prophet to new heights while at the same time burying the wizarding house she hated the most, deep, deep in the ground.
 
Because for all that Rita had taken down a number of Most Ancient and Noble Houses in the last couple of decades, mostly by coasting off the fact that they were dead, Death Eaters, or dead Death Eaters, there was one House who she hadn’t been able to do anything to tarnish, a rising start like a phoenix from the ashes of two decades of inactivity. House Potter.
 
So of course, when Rita had overheard Michael Corner of all people bragging about having fucked the Man-Who-Won’s wife, and very nearly bagging his daughter as well, she’d been downright intrigued. Dropping everything she’d been doing at the time, the poison-pen journalist had set out to try and shadow Ginny Potter, knowing she would get much more from attempting to investigate the wife then she would from going up against the Head Auror directly.
 
Except… Ginny Potter had all but disappeared from the public eye. The fact that she’d done so around the same time that Michael had begun bragging about seducing her and possibly her daughter as well, was very telling in Rita’s experienced opinion. When trying to figure out where Ginny had gone turned up absolutely no results, Rita had gone back to Michael Corner to ply the wizard for more information.
 
Of course, whenever she tried to learn more about his encounter with the wife of Britain’s most popular wizard, Michael got incredibly vague and even fairly dodgy. Normally, for someone like Rita Skeeter, this wouldn’t be a problem. In point of fact, her quill had already filled in all the blanks for her by the time she was done interrogating Michael a second time. It was her most common tactic after all, filling in the blanks with her own version of the truth.
 
But this time, Rita’s senses, the senses of a journalist hungry for publicity and a true sting, told her that there was more to this story. Enough that she would be made famous all over again if she could but crack it. She might even end up more popular than her heyday, if she was the one to bury the wizard that all of Britain had been fawning over for almost four decades.
 
Oh what Rita wouldn’t give to bury those stuck up Potters so deep underground that they’d never show their faces again in public. Certainly, she wasn’t about breaking the law a little bit to get more information. And so, on her third interaction with Mr. Corner, Rita had broken out the Veritaserum and drugged him with it without his knowledge.
 
Needless to say, once the truth serum was working along with the amount of drink Rita had plied him with, a very drunk Michael Corner had spilled the beans unthinkingly, finally revealing the truth of that night. In the end, Rita couldn’t care less that his claim about almost bagging Harry’s daughter was nothing more than an arrogant boast to cover up the fact that she’d responded in an incredibly hostile fashion when finding her mother with another man.
 
After hearing the true story in it’s entirety, Rita now had a hypothesis… and a good one at that. Heck, it might even be the truth! It wasn’t like she or anyone else had seen Ginny Potter for years, right? Only Harry Potter’s reputation at this point was keeping the vultures at bay… but Rita was a vulture who had never cared for her targets’ reputation. Especially not when she could ruin them for it and walk away with the prize.
 
Able to envision the article easily now, Rita had even started writing it. The cuckolded Man-Who-Won, offing his wife and hiding her demise from the public for years at this point, possibly assisted by his too-close daughter. Oh yes, a titillating tale implying murder and incest and all the sordidness one could desire. And the wizarding world would believe it too, they’d eat it right up, Rita knew they would.
 
The Golden Boy wasn’t quite so golden as he used to be anymore, nor was he a boy. Time had taken away his youthfulness, and even though he’d risen to heights untold throughout his adult life and career, Rita had to believe that his foundations were rotten by this point. Any man in his position would have made mistakes, would have skeletons in his closet. Even if his own wife wasn’t one of those skeletons, Rita’s insinuations would undoubtedly shake SOMETHING else loose. And she’d be there, ready to report on it before anyone else could.
 
Of course, if this were still the height of her popularity and publicity, Rita would have had the hit piece written within a few hours and published in the Prophet the very next day. Because it wasn’t, and a lot of the magical procedures she’d gone through to… reinvigorate her looks had been quite expense, Rita had found herself stopping and stalling as an idea had wormed its way into her pretty little head.
 
Namely, why not milk Potter for some cash as well, while she was ruining him? Blackmailing the Man-Who-Won like she had been blackmailed by his bitch of a friend all those years ago, getting as many galleons out of him as she could… and then publishing the article anyways? Was there any sweeter way to begin the toppling of Harry Potter?
 
No, not in Rita’s humble opinion. Which was why the sensationalist reporter had arranged a meeting with the Head Auror in his office, an ‘interview’ to say that she’d at least gotten his side of the story before going to print. And that was where she found herself now, being let into the office by an Auror and finding Head Auror Potter waiting behind his desk for her.
 
As Rita walks forward with her head held high, she allows herself a small smirk at the way his emerald green eyes rake up and down her figure. She knows just how gorgeous she is, and even if she’s about to ruin this man, it’s good to see that even the Savior of the Wizarding World recognizes how well she’s rocking it.
 
“Ms. Skeeter. I have to admit, I was a little surprised when you asked for this meeting. More surprised when you said the subject matter was to be my wife. Please, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”
 
He doesn’t sound worried or even scared, but his words alone tell Rita she has the upper hand as she smiles a poisonously sweet smile and takes her seat across the desk from him. While sometimes she preferred to stand and maintain the high ground, she WAS wearing high heels, and any chance to get off of her feet was greatly appreciated.
 
“Oh, Head Auror Potter, it’s not about what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. I am indeed currently writing an article about your wife, Ginny Potter.”
 
Dangling the bait, she watches as Harry takes it, lifting a single eyebrow as he hums in confusion.
 
“Intriguing. Ginny has been out of the Professional Quidditch scene for years now. I wonder what one such as yourself would think interesting enough for an article to concern her. She’s not exactly a public figure anymore.”
 
Rita lets out a laugh at that, covering her mouth daintily as she does so.
 
“Funny you should say that Head Auror. That’s exactly what the article will be about. Ginny Potter’s sudden retirement at the height of her career. Her disappearance from the public eye. Why, for such a well-known pro-player just to up and vanish like that… it certainly sounds to me like it’s something the public has a right to know… and speculate on.”
 
There, she’d begun laying her cards out on the table. Rita watches Harry closely for the fear that she’s come to associate with these meetings, when she gladly gloats and boasts about how she’s about to destroy them. Sometimes, she gets that delicious fear even when she’s not going after them at all. They’re so afraid of what she could do to them, that they’re always so very willing to say whatever they think they need to about their colleagues and close associates.
 
Unfortunately, the fear she’s looking for in those enchanting emerald eyes never crystallizes. Instead, clearly feigning amusement, the Head Auror simply leans back in his chair casually and chuckles.
 
“Is there really a story there? Ginny retired to be able to spend more time around the kids while they were still kids. She realized she had wasted too much time pursuing a career in athletics and not enough time being a mother. That’s all.”
 
There’s something so final in his words, as if he’s so very assured and confident of them that he expects Rita to believe him, full stop. And perhaps she would, if she didn’t know what else she knew. Her smirk sharpens, and she leans forward, pushing her enhanced breasts together in a conscious move that’s designed to draw the eye down to her now-expansive cleavage. She’d paid good money for these tits after all, she was going to put them to use. As Harry’s eyes slide down to her cleavage, Rita hums.
 
“Is that so, Head Auror? Ginny Potter just… decided to retire for the sake of her children, despite her children mostly being grown already, despite Lily Potter already being in her Seventh Year. She just decided to retire to make up for being a bad mother… so soon after your eldest caught her in your kitchen with one Michael Corner.”
 
There it is, the killing curse factoid. Delivering that particular jab gives Rita no end of satisfaction. And it finally provokes an emotion besides amusement from Harry Potter, as the Head Auror’s eyes flash with anger. For a very brief moment, Rita can’t breathe. Her own eyes widen as a pressure pushes down on her, causing her to buckle in her chair, her entire body trembling with the exertion of keeping just her back straight.
 
And then, as quickly as it happens, it’s gone and so is Harry’s anger. Instead of furious, the Head Auror proceeds to laugh in her face, his emerald eyes twinkling with mirth and the knowledge that he knows something she doesn’t, something she wants to know.
 
“Cute, Rita. Very cute. I’ll tell you what. You’re insinuating that I… what, killed my wife for cucking me? Well, why don’t we lay your insane theory to rest, hm? I will give you an exclusive, all access interview at my home this weekend. You’ll have the run of the place, something that no journalist before you has ever gotten. In exchange, I’ll have a favor for you to complete later on. How does that sound?”
 
It sounds absolutely amazing. It sounds like the deal of a lifetime, especially since Rita had absolutely no intention of following through on this ‘favor’ if it wasn’t something she cared for. Smiling wickedly, already shaking off that moment of stupefaction and soul-deep terror, Rita rises from her seat and offers Harry her hand.
 
“It sounds like you have a deal, Head Auror. I look forward to seeing what you have to show me.”
 
Not that it will matter. Even if Ginny is alive, Rita will still probably release a story telling all about Ginny cheating on Harry. Maybe even still include the insinuation about incest between father and daughter too, just for the fun of it. But the sheer amount of opportunity and potential in an all-access exclusive interview at his home is just… too much to pass up.
 
Harry stands as well and shakes her hand with a smile of his own on his face. Then he leads her to the door, with Rita walking away feeling like she’s just won the lotter… and perhaps just a little wet from that earlier brush she’d had with truly overwhelming magical presence.
 
-x-X-x-
 
The weekend arrives, and Rita happily makes her way over to the Potter Residence. Within moments of her arrival on the premise, she’s already so very excited… mostly because it’s not Harry himself who greets her, but two beautiful young women clad in skimpy, sluttified maid uniforms. She recognizes them, of course… who wouldn’t? Rose and Victoire Weasley. Daughters to Hermione Granger and Fleur Delacour respectively.
 
As they take her coat, Rita wonders if their mothers know where they are and what they’re doing. Even better, she wonders if their FATHERS know. Tittering with light laughter, Rita’s eyes are dancing with mirth as they return from tucking away her coat.
 
“Such dutiful dears. Such obedient maids. Tell me, where is the Master of the House, hm? I WAS promised an all-access exclusive interview with him.”
 
Rose and Victoire share a glance and then both smile in her direction. The smiles aren’t real, Rita can tell as much given how often her smiles aren’t real, but still they bow before her.
 
“Right this way, Miss. The Lord is in the back, looking after the cows in the barn.”
 
Seriously? Rita cocks an eyebrow, even as she follows the pair of scantily clad maids through the manor house and out the back, onto the wide expansive hundreds of acres of property that rests behind it. What was Harry Potter playing at here, exactly? She was already coming up with a truly sordid story in her mind, of course. Rose and Victoire’s presence… it spoke to something far darker and deeper than Ginny’s disappearance or even possible incest.
 
And yet, he’d been happy to flaunt his happy little maids to her like their presence and their state of dress meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Why was that? The daughters of his best friends made to serve him and possibly also ‘serve’ him based on how they’re both dressed, and that wasn’t important enough for him to hide from her?
 
Did… did he really think he could convince her not to publish an article ripping him to shreds? Rita is both amused and confused by the notion. It sounded like the Man-Who-Won was starting to buy into his own hype a bit too much, to be perfectly honest.
 
As they walk over to the barn, something made slightly more difficult by Rita’s high heels having to suddenly make their way through dirt, she can hear the distant mooing of the agitated cows that Harry is apparently tending to. Still somewhat baffled but in a good way (this whole experience has been a treasure trove of information so far, and Rita hasn’t even met with the Master of the House yet) she follows Rose and Victoire into the barn… only to stop dead in her tracks, jaw dropped open at the sight before her.
 
Harry’s ‘cows’ are not in fact actual cows. She probably should have caught that, probably should have realized that those weren’t real cow sounds but rather the mooing of two witches in distress, but she’d been so caught up in his maids that she hadn’t been paying enough attention. Now though… well, her eyes don’t lie.
 
There, tied up and hanging off of the ground, are two very busty women. Both are wearing cowbells around their necks that dingle and jingle as they sway back and forth. Meanwhile, their lactating tits and dripping clits are pierced with three barbells apiece. And finally, as they slowly swivels, Rita catches sight of the bright red brand of H.P. on the sides of their thicc, voluptuous ass cheeks.
 
Standing between them, with his hands fisted in their red and blonde hair, Harry smiles down at them both almost fondly, thrusting his cock between them and using their questing tongues and lips to stroke of what has to be the biggest, most gargantuan specimen of male genitalia that Rita has seen in all of her decades of life.
 
“Ah, Ms. Skeeter. Welcome to my home. I see you’ve already met the girls who take care of the house. Care to meet my cows as well?”
 
Even as Harry jovially welcomes her into his home, Rita is still blanking. Because all of that… from the tied up women to the piercings, even to the brandings… all of that pales in comparison to WHO the women are… or rather, who one of the women in particular is. She barely recognized the blonde witch, truth be told. Hannah Longbottom, Neville Longbottom’s wife, right? A mediwitch, if Rita was remembering correctly.
 
But Hannah’s presence was completely overshadowed by her fellow cow. Susan Bones, current Minister of Magic, was suckling the side of Harry’s large cock, completely ignoring Rita’s presence as she seemed almost desperate to try and get Harry off. The once-proud Minister of Magic was reduced to nothing more than a wanton whore for the Head Auror’s dick, tied up, pierced, and branded for his pleasure and still so eager and excited to pleasure him with her mouth.
 
This was insanity… but before Rita could do anything else, the two young maids she’d all but forgotten about are on either side of her. Her wand is slipped out of it’s pocket before she can even reach for it, and Rose and Victoire grasp her arms, frog-marching her forward as Harry grins at her wickedly.
 
“Care for a taste of their milk? I assure you; my cows are of award-winning quality. You won’t taste anything sweeter in all the British Isles.”
 
Pushed down to her knees before him and between the two hanging ‘cows’, it’s not like Rita has much of a choice. But at the same time, as Rose and Victoire lean around her and grab a tit each from Susan and Hannah, guiding them towards her mouth… Rita finds herself instinctively opening her mouth. That pressure she’d felt the other day in Harry’s office for only half a moment… it’s building again, but much more subtly this time around. Rita doesn’t even notice it this time, too caught up in the moment as she is… but it certainly helps her let go of her inhibitions, awakening her long dead libido, and driving her to suckle greedily at the offered teats before her.
 
Meanwhile, Harry increases his tempo up above, grinding Hannah and Susan’s faces into the sides of his cock as he thrusts between their wide open lips and rides along their swirling, darting tongues with a groan of pleasure. He fucks their mouths in tandem while Rita drinks of their milk… and the poison-pen journalist has to admit, at least internally, that he’s right. It’s some of the sweetest milk, nay, some of the sweetest liquid altogether that Rita has ever tasted. Right from the ‘tap’ as it were, she drinks and drinks and drinks, eyes wide as she watches a scene of absolute debauchery take over right above her head.
 
Finally, Harry grins down at her, his emerald green eyes flashing.
 
“Here, let me offer you some extra cream with that milk.”
 
And then he’s cumming, and spraying her down with his seed, painting her revitalized and youthful features with his white hot cum, absolutely coating her in his jizz. The hot spunk ends up dripping down into her cleavage, but a fair amount of it ends up in her mouth too. Rita shakes as she experiences a truly explosive orgasm, perhaps the first she’s had in years, from just the taste of Harry’s cum and the ‘cows’ milk on her tongue.
 
“Oh dear. Sometimes I just don’t know when to stop, do I? I apologize Ms. Skeeter for ruining your robes and leaving you such a mess. Though at the very least, it certainly looks like you’re enjoying yourself so far, aren’t you? Girls, help Rita out of her robes.”
 
Shaking, shivering, trembling, Rita can’t even find a way to process what’s happening right now, let alone formulate that into actual words and give the Head Auror a response. This has so rapidly gotten out of hand and out of her control that she doesn’t really know what to do. At the same time though… she kind of likes it.
 
It’s nothing more than a budding emotion within her, but as Victoire and Rose both step forward and begin to strip her out of her entirely ruined clothing, Rita lets them, not resisting for even a moment. Instead, her dilated pupils are fixated on Harry Potter as the emerald-eyed man hums, beginning to untie Susan and Hannah. Not completely, but enough for them to fall down from where they’re hanging, ending up on the floor of the barn and inching along like pathetic yet voluptuous worms.
 
With a flick of his hand, no wand in sight, Harry uses magic to force them both into position, and Rita finds herself sitting upon BOTH of their faces once Rose and Victoire have finished stripping her naked. Her pussy lips, so very sensitive from her recent explosive climax, are set upon by the Minister of Magic herself, Susan Bones eating out Rita’s cunt with the same voracious gusto that she showed for Harry’s cock. Meanwhile, the blonde witch, Hannah Longbottom, is left behind her, reduced to eating out Rita’s ass. And to be fair, she does so with her own sort of enthusiasm.
 
Riding between the both of them, Rita can feel how hot her face is and knows she’s flustered beyond all hell as she moans wantonly, enjoying their tongues in each of her rejuvenated, youthful holes. She’d gotten all of this work done on her body simply to keep herself in tip top shape and to allow herself to continue hobnobbing with the who’s-who’s of society.
 
In truth, Rita Skeeter had never been a very sexual creature. This… all of this was incredibly new for her, despite being in her seventies. She was somewhat used to debauchery and depravity; she’d unearthed plenty of it both real and fictional in her time as a journalist. But she herself had rarely if ever partaken in the carnal delights, preferring to get her own satisfaction from her popularity and from the savage pleasure that came with destroying someone’s reputation and life with nothing more than words on a page.
 
This though, this was something else. She was being driven crazy, both by Susan and Hannah’s tongues, and by the mere presence of one Harry Potter, his magical might pushing down on Rita both physically and mentally. As he kneels down in front of her, grabbing Susan by the legs and forcing them apart, his thick fat cock pressing into her cunt and then impaling her, Rita simply can’t take her eyes off of him. He smiles at her and cocks his head to the side.
 
“I wonder, would you be interested in hearing all about the good Minister’s fall from grace, Ms. Skeeter? After all, it’s a long way from Minister of Magic to becoming my pet cow, don’t you think?”
 
Even amidst all the pleasure, Rita is still who she is in her core. Harry’s words awaken that part of her, and the Quick-quotes Quill and enchanted notepad immediately rise from her robes and hover in the air beside her, already scribbling crazily as he looks at it in amusement for a moment before beginning to speak once more.
 
“I suppose to understand Susan’s current predicament, you must understand what happened between me and Hermione.”

And so, as Harry fucks Susan Bones silly (and Rita knows that the Minister is enjoying it from the way she’s constantly moaning and squealing in ecstasy up into Rita’s oh so sensitive quim) he regales Rita with the tale of how he came to OWN Susan in mind, body, and soul. It’s certainly a sordid affair, like something right out of a soap opera. From Harry taming Hermione (and Merlin had Rita cum hard at the parts where Granger got what was coming to her) to Hermione trying in turn to rein Harry in by involving Susan Bones.
 
That, of course, had resulted in Harry preempting his childhood friend and taking Susan for himself. As he talks about breaking down the red head, about how easily it was to make the Minister of Magic herself bow down before him and submit to him as her Master, Rita loses track of just how many orgasms she’s had. The combination of Harry’s debauched story and Susan and Hannah’s tongues inside of Rita’s holes is just… too much for any woman to be able to handle, let alone her.
 
All the while, her Quick-Quotes Quill gets it all down, writing at a truly furious pace as Harry outlines everything he did to make both Hermione and then Susan his bitches. He doesn’t go into detail on how Rose ended up as his maid, but needless to say both Rita and her quill are more than capable of filling in the blanks.
 
Finishing inside of Susan after who knew how long, cumming a hot thick load into his pierced and branded pet ‘cow’ that leaves Susan shaking and shivering before ultimately slumping in exhaustion, Harry chuckles and slowly draws his cock out of the red head. Then, he gives her gushing wet creampied pussy a harsh slap, as if to restart her. It works too, as her tongue returns to writhing up inside of Rita’s quim in short order.
 
With that taken care of, Harry moves around to the other side, where Hannah is laid out as well. Rita tries to look over her shoulder at the two of them but can’t for long with how she’s gyrating and riding both Susan and Hannah’s faces, her hands clutching at blonde and red hair by this point, her mouth open in a wide, continuous moan.
 
“Hannah, meanwhile, was a case of delicious inadequacy. Poor dear never liked her cow-like body. She hated her udders, her hips, her ass. Years of sexual harassment at Hogwarts drove her into a depressive state. But of course, I couldn’t let such an injustice stand. The way she was hiding this body of hers before I got to her… what a travesty.”
 
And so, as Harry fucks Hannah next, Rita listens on as he happily outlines breaking in the voluptuous blonde mediwitch, fucking her on his bitch breaker of a phallus until she finally accepted her whorish, curvy body for what it was. Until she finally accepted her place as his cow. This too, the Quick-Quotes Quill goes crazy getting down. It might not be as salacious as the Minister of Magic perhaps, but it was something in its own way.
 
After all, Hannah had apparently been working at Hogwarts when Harry got his hands on her. Hogwarts, where everyone knew that Harry had taken a half a year sabbatical years back. What else had he done at Hogwarts while he was there? What other witches had he absolutely wrecked with his thick fat cock, leaving them completely dependent on him for sexual satisfaction?
 
The questions whirl through Rita’s mind, even as her Quick-Quotes Quill, with a mind of its own, works overtime to answer those questions with pure speculation, conjecture, and probably falsehoods. This… all of this was so much more than she initially could have expected. How was Harry able to get away with this for so long? Why was no one stopping him? Why… why was she going along with all of this?
 
Filling Hannah with his seed as well, fucking her into a pleasure coma, the two ‘cows’ end up dropping Rita’s sensitive body to the ground as they’re both pulled away by his magic. The last Rita sees of Susan and Hannah is them curling up against each other in a Sixty-Nine, already eating each other’s overflowing quims out. Then, Harry’s body is in the way of her line of sight, namely his cock as he uses her face like a cum rag.
 
Grabbing her by her blonde hair, he smears the length of his messy, massive, majestic member across Rita’s face, further destroying her already-ruined makeup. Shuddering and quivering in both expectation and fear, Rita looks up into Harry Potter’s emerald green eyes… and for the first time sees the monster that she’s always pretended to paint him as.
 
Deep down, even Rita had fallen for the lie, the myth, the legend. This was the Man-Who-Won after all, the Savior of the Wizarding World. He and his little friends were a bunch of bleeding heart goody-two-shoes who made it all the more difficult for enterprising individuals such as herself to make their way in the world.
 
Rita had always hated Harry and Hermione for being better people then herself, even if she would never have admitted that, not internally and not outwardly either. But now, in this moment, Rita recognizes in Harry a deep wallowing pit of darkness. He’s NOT a better person than she is… and he hasn’t been for a long, long time.
 
Finally realizing that she’s next on the chopping block if she sticks around this obviously insane and incredibly dangerous wizard, Rita suddenly finds words, stuttering and stammering in a way that she hasn’t stuttered and stammered since she was in Hogwarts.
 
“I-I should p-probably be g-going now, I-I’ve gotten the m-message Head A-Auror…”
 
But when she tries to rise, that pressure is back in full force, no longer subtle in the least as Rita squeaks, finding herself face planting on the floor of the barn, pushed and pinned down by an invisible, exorable force that holds her trembling figure in place. Face down, ass up, she can’t do anything but claw at the ground as Harry lets out a bark of laughter.
 
“Oh dear. Did you think that I was trying to warn you off or something, Ms. Skeeter? Did you think that I was threatening you? Don’t be silly… I’m inviting you to join me.”
 
Rita sputters, even as she wiggles and writhes in the hold of his magic, struggling but to no avail as a pair of very real, very masculine hands grip her ass cheeks and spread them open.
 
“N-No tha-aghhhguhuh!”
 
Her words are ultimately driven out of her as Harry Potter proceeds to impale her ass with his cock right then and there. Rita shrieks out in both agony and pleasure as he takes her practically unprepared hole, her virgin anus. While Hannah’s tongue had certainly done a little bit to loosen up her sphincter and wet her back door for Harry’s eventual intrusion, it hadn’t done nearly enough.
 
Especially not when the Head Auror was so quick to slam his entire length up her back door, ramming home into her derriere with all the anger and hatred and frustration he hadn’t shown her before now. Even as he takes all of that out on Rita’s ass, he’s chuckling darkly… and Rita is squirting uncontrollably. The pleasure quickly overwhelms the pain, turning her into cumming bitch of a woman in moments, the poison-pen journalist practically losing her mind in pleasure.
 
It gets much worse when he suddenly reaches around, grabbing hold of her by her throat and by her midriff. Yanking her back, Harry stands up and Rita finds herself in his arms, held aloft as he begins to bounce her up and down on his cock right then and there. His voice, so very silken and dangerous, whispers in her ear as he turns them towards the barn door.
 
“I did promise you an all-access interview, Rita. There’s so much more to show. We can’t have you leaving yet, not when you haven’t gotten the full… experience.”
 
Rita whimpers and tries to say that it’s alright, that she’s fine. Deep down, she knows she’s already fucked, that she’s already seen too much, but Rita is a selfish coward at heart and can’t help but try to weasel her way out of this entire situation. Unfortunately, the words never make it out of her mouth. Instead, right as she’s about to speak, Harry takes a step towards the door and Rita’s eyes roll up in her head all over again as she squirts all over the floor.
 
She continues to squirt with every purposeful step Harry takes as he walks out of Hannah and Susan’s pen with Rita anally impaled on his bitch breaker of a cock. Her eyes stay rolled up, her tongue lolls out of her mouth, and she can do nothing but moan and squeak and cream herself in ecstasy again and again and again.
 
“Hmm, where to next, I wonder? What would our star reporter like to see next?”
 
Needless to say, Rita is in no position to answer that, losing her mind with pleasure as she is, Harry’s cock bulging out her belly as he impales her bowels, meanwhile his magical presence is driving her absolutely wild. Not just her, either. As he begins to walk them both towards the house, Harry turns his head and smiles at the sight of a magically floating Quick-Quotes Quill and Notepad following alongside them.
 
The mad scribbling of the Quick-Quotes Quill can just barely be heard over the inhuman noises Rita’s mouth and body are making as Harry fucks her ass upon his cock. All the while, her quill is describing Rita Skeeter’s descent into depravity and debauchery perfectly. After all, with the simple arcane mind that the quill had, it was SURE its Mistress would want nothing more than for it to record her fall like it had recorded the fall of so many others.
 
That was it’s purpose to be fair, and it’d even gotten some practice writing the most sordid things down while Harry had been describing his conquest of both Susan and Hannah. Now, writing Rita Skeeter becoming the Head Auror’s cocksleeve was child’s play in comparison.
 
And so the three of them made their way back into the Potter Manor, Harry leading the way with Rita bouncing up and down on his dick and creaming herself with every step, while the quill and notepad follow after. The wanton noises coming from Rita’s mouth, the gushing of a wet quim, the squelching of a puckered anus around a bitch breaker of a cock… all of it vanishes in an instant as the door closes behind them and the backyard is left so very quiet.
 
Almost idyllic in a way.

-x-X-x-

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