Harry and the Six Virgins


Story Summary:
The summer after OotP, Harry spends time with six of his attractive classmates as he goes on a quest through time for the one warlock who has the power to help him defeat Voldemort. Will Harry find love, or at least have a good time? Featuring Ginny, Daphne, Susan, Eloise, Hermione, and Luna in a very unserious tale.

Chapter 06

Chapter Summary:
The summer after OotP, Harry spends time with six of his attractive classmates as he goes on a quest through time for the one warlock who has the power to help him defeat Voldemort. Will Harry find love, or at least have a good time? Featuring Ginny, Daphne, Susan, Eloise, Hermione, and Luna in a (mostly) very unserious tale.
Author's Note:
Rites of Passage

Chapter VI

"Good afternoon, Daphne."

Daphne looked at the ex-druid. "Why are you playing games with us?"

Casey's mouth almost formed a smile. "Why not? Perhaps because I can and I enjoy it. That's supposed to be an answer a Slytherin would understand."

"Don't give me 'the Slytherin talk'. I've heard it for years, and I don't buy it. I understand the motivations of the other girls, more or less. Convince me I should go along with this game."

"No," he said simply. "You have the option of playing. No real penalty, except the absence of experience. No real reward, except the experience. Either you want the experience, or you don't. In reality, you would have to give up two months of your life, and have to face up to any physical changes. Here, you lose the same amount of real time, just a few hours, no matter what."

As Daphne considered that, Casey materialized her future form. It looked much as Daphne did at sixteen. Perhaps half an inch taller, perhaps a just a bit bustier. Tall, leggy, firm-busted, with light brown wavy hair and greenish-hazel eyes. "I see I've lost my tan-lines, or rather my tan."

"Where you're going, this is a more appropriate complexion. Assuming you wish to go?"

"I really have a choice?"

"I remind you, this is not totally real. You will have the memories, but your bodies will be just as they are now. You are a virgin. You will remain one, except in your memories, assuming you and Harry decide to make love. Do you want the adventure, or not?"

"Of course," Daphne said with a small smile. "Ambition means taking a chance."

"Where am I," Daphne asked. She looked down. "And why am I dressed like this?"

"It was a bit abrupt," Harry added, making Daphne look around. He was also dressed up.

"You are in Paris. It is Monday afternoon, the Seventh of April, 1913. Daphne here is an afficionado of classical music, especially the ballet . . . very un-Slytherin interests, I might add."

Daphne had been looking puzzled, and now smiled. "The premier of 'The Rite of Spring'!"

"Well done, Daphne," Casey replied, a bit impressed. "Harry is Henry Porter, although you may call him Harry. If he's been practicing, his French should be up to the mark, and I know your's is. You are newlyweds, your name was Daphne Green. You are privately-educated Canadians, from British Columbia. If you search your minds, you will find the necessary information."

"Now as you both should have noticed, your clothes here will need a great deal of work, especially Daphne's." Casey smiled. "Be glad it's 1913. Until the last few years, you'd be trapped in whale-bone and steel corsets, bustles, and at least one more layer of clothing."

"Thank Merlin for small favors," Daphne said drily.

"Now, I shall be with you parts of each day. The manners here are very formal, and very different than either of you are accustomed to. Harry and I will be going to get him some formal training in dueling, both wizard and various swords, every morning except Sundays. With me so far?"

They both nodded.

"Now, we are in a wizarding hotel in an old quarter of Paris." He picked up a small bell and rang it. Two house elves appeared. "These are Fifi and Moko," Casey told them in French, "hotel employees. Fifi will stay here and show Mistress Daphne the current fashions, for Muggles and witches, and how to dress properly in them. Her customs are different," he added to the elf.

"Yes, Master Causey," the elf intoned.

"It is currently a little after Four. Please have Mistress Daphne dressed for dinner in the dining hall by Six forty-five." He looked at Harry and Daphne. "We'll brave Muggle Paris tomorrow afternoon."

They nodded their agreement.

"Come along, Harry, Moko," Casey said. He led them through a connecting door into a smaller room. "You have a suite here. WC and bathroom, two dressing rooms, bedroom, and sitting room. I have a suite of rooms next door. Moko will shave you every morning. How is your French?"

"So far, I have understood everything you have said."

"Good! Your accent is a little off, but it is not too bad. There are a pair of guidebooks over there. Moko here will also show you the current Parisian Muggle and wizard fashions. You may be idiosyncratic if you wish and wear the Muggle drawers under your robes. I suggest you knock on Daphne's door at Six forty-five. I shall knock on the suite door at Six fifty." He bowed to Harry and left by one of the other doors.

"May Moko show Master. . . ?"


"Master Harry the wardrobe Master Causey had brought for you?"

"Of course, why not?" Harry said, again remembering that reading French fluently was one thing, speaking it another. At least the elf seemed to understand him.

Harry had been a bit worried his dress robes might look something (anything!) like Ron's dress robes for the Yule Ball. Instead, his looked a bit like Draco Malfoy's had. Much to the elf's dismay, Harry indeed insisted on wearing the short drawers he was already wearing. Over that, he put on a buttonless dark emerald silk shirt. The robe was fairly form-fitting black velvet on the top and open at the collar to show off the shirt. The bottom of the robe was more like satin, falling just past Harry's knees. Highly polished black dragonhide boots ended just below the knee, and felt amazingly good to Harry. He slipped his wand into his forearm holster.

He noted his wedding ring remained the same. "Master Causey told me to give Master Harry this." Moko handed Harry a box. Inside was a heavy red gold signet ring; the device was a stag. Harry slipped that on his right hand.

He rapped on Daphne's dressing room door. Harry had a rough idea of what the Muggle fashion of the period should be like (Aunt Petunia certainly watched enough costume drama on the telly), but his own dress was very different than the Muggle clothing of the period. He was curious to see what Daphne would be wearing.

Daphne was stunning. She was dressed in what looked like a cut-down version of a kimono. It was made from heavy silk, cream in color. Only magic made it decent, as it scooped into a deep neckline that then continued to plunge, the edges an inch apart, well past Daphne's naval. The back and sides were missing, but the edges clung to her skin. Her entire ensemble consisted of the robe (which like Harry's was tight on the top and flowing below, although going to just above Daphne's ankles), a silk belt that cinched below her naval and was tied in a bow on her left hip, and a pair of golden sandals. That was all she wore, except a string of black pearls with matching earrings and a gold tiara with black peals and diamonds that held her slightly auburn brown hair up.


"I feel . . . naked and sexy," Daphne said in English. She switched to French. "I hope you are pleased with your wife, my handsome wizard."

"I am so pleased, if Casey, err Causey were not coming for us, I would see if they provided room service!"

Casey knocked on the door. He was dressed much the same as Harry, although his silk shirt was dark Prussian blue. "Who are you here?" Harry asked as they moved down the corridor.

"I am known here as Charles Causey," he answered.

"Will not your being someplace where you are known cause problems?" Daphne asked.

"No," he said simply. "And no, I shall not explain."

They came to a slowly moving stairway. Harry went first while Casey helped Daphne.

The stairs deposited them in a wide stone corridor. "We are three storeys under ground level," Casey told them quietly. "The Parisian version of New York's van Buren Close or London's Diagon Alley is the Rue des Gauls. Unlike those two, there are three entrances here. One is a public house, the other two are hotels, including this one. They are simply called the Hotels Left and Right. This one, on the right side, is the slightly more exclusive. Still, wizards from the magical area and visitors are likely to be here for dinner."

A turn brought them to the large dining room. A uniformed goblin stood guard. "Master," he said, bowing low.

"Grencoe," Casey replied. "You have our table?"

"Yes, Master." The goblin hesitated. "The Count was not pleased; he has a number of guests."

"Were you able to partially accommodate him?" Casey asked, unconcerned.

"Yes, Master."

"Very well."

The goblin led them into the room. Harry, looking back, saw another goblin take this one's place. They were led to a far corner. They passed a long table, and gathered several dirty looks.

"They did not look happy, did they, Harry?" Daphne said.

"No," Harry agreed, "but I also noticed one other thing."

"What's that?"

"Even though most of the younger witches are dressed like you, none comes close to how you look. That style was made for you."

Daphne blushed for the first time in her life. Casey smiled; Harry had managed to acquire a tinge of flirtatious talent. Looking around, however, Casey slightly changed his mind. There were perhaps a dozen attractive witches dressed in the same general style, and none were close to having Daphne's stunning good looks.

"Why was the goblin so respectful?" Harry asked in a low voice as they looked over the menus.

"I own Gringotts, and I own the land the Rue des Gauls, Diagon Alley, and many other similar areas, are situated on," Casey replied. "All the goblins know is that I am a major agent of Cassiwallan, but that is enough."

"Who is 'the Count'?" Daphne asked. "I take it he is part of that sullen group at the long table we passed."

"A very rich and Pure-Blooded wizard, with a title so old it appears in no Muggle reference book and who likes having his back to the wall where he can keep an eye on everyone."

Harry glanced over and scowled.

"What is wrong?" Daphne asked.

"Look five wizards down from the Count's left."

Daphne sniffed. "Looks like a Malfoy."

Casey shrugged, and asked them what they were going to order, so he could order the wine.

The trio enjoyed most of their dinner, but as they were having a cheese plate with the remains of their wine, the Count, backed by four others, came over to their table.

They stood, and simply looked at Casey.

Casey, wine glass in hand, leaned back in his chair. "Is there some problem that causes you to act so impolitely?"

"I am the Count of the Somme. I am curious as to whom displaced me and my table from its usual spot."

"I do not believe this restaurant sells tables," Casey replied in a nonchalant voice.

"I do not know you, or your guests, and I know every important wizard in western Europe!"

"Since you do not know me, you are not as well informed as you think," Casey said dismissively.

"You are . . . no, you can not be Henry Porter!" the oldest wizard suddenly stated.

"I am. How do you know me, sir?" Harry asked.

"But . . . but it is impossible!"

"Perhaps you knew Henry's father. He and his wife, Eloise, honeymooned in Vienna, much like Henry and Daphne are in Paris," Casey supplied.

"And you! You are. . . ."

"I am a black agent of the Cartel of Magic," Casey stated. "Perhaps you met one of my brethren. We all look similar." That seemed to sober the group.

"May I ask you to remember me to your parents," the older wizard said to Harry.

"I regret to say they were murdered shortly after I was born, Monsieur. . . ?" Harry answered.

"Noir; Theseus Noir," the man said with a bow.

"I am always pleased to meet those who knew my parents," Harry said.

"Are you as fine a dueler as your father?" Noir asked.

"With a wand? Nearly so," Harry answered.

"I thought I knew all the Pure-Blooded wizards and witches in Britain," the Malfoy look-alike said, "right down to the scum like the Weasleys, Shunpikes, Prangs, and such."

Harry glared, but refrained from standing up or hexing the arrogant young man. "Since I'm from an old community in western Canada, that might explain your ignorance, Mister. . . ?" Harry retorted in English.

"Gaius Malfoy. You've heard of us?"

"No, not really," Harry said with a straight face.

"Will you be staying in Paris long?" the Count asked, ignoring the conversation in English, although his question nearly came out as a demand.

"Some two months," Casey answered.

"I see. I bid you all good evening."

"That was fun," Daphne said brightly. She turned to Harry. "Henry, my dear, I find myself become chilled."

Harry caught himself from asking why Daphne didn't cast a warming charm. There was no place in her outfit for a wand. "Would you care for a warming charm, or shall we retire?"

"It has been a rather fatiguing day. Perhaps it would be best to retire early tonight."

Harry stood, as did Daphne. Casey smiled up at them, and then stood. "Do you know the way back to your room?"

Harry and Daphne looked at each other, abashed.

Casey smiled and signaled. A goblin appeared. "Please have Fifi or Moko meet my guests at the up-stairs." The goblin bowed and shuffled off. "The up-stairs are a bit further along the corridor from the ones we came down on. Good evening, children."

Harry bowed and Daphne managed a fair curtsy. Daphne linked her arm into Harry's, and they swept through the now-half-empty restaurant. Daphne drew the eyes of most of the men remaining. Casey smiled to himself as he sat. "Lucky bastard," he muttered in ancient Briton.

Harry enjoyed having Daphne on his arm. She was closer to his height than to Ginny's. Each movement made it appear as some essential part of Daphne's anatomy would show itself, although none did.

He did not know her at all. He did recall that only she, and Blaise Zabini and his long-term girlfriend Tracy Davis, had not made a big deal about Malfoy's 'Potter Stink's' badges. They had worn them, at Malfoy's insistence, but at least had never flashed them at him, and she had been the first to forget to wear them.

Somehow, she had always seemed sympathetic, interesting, and at least slightly interested.

"What is wrong, Harry?" Daphne said softly.

"I was just thinking . . . how little we know each other." They came to the stair, and saw Moko.

"Master, Mistress," he asked with a bow. "We are on the fifth floor." He hopped onto the stairs, and Harry and Daphne followed. Going up, they didn't see anything except the walls. "Only exit seen is the only one guests may exit," Moko said. They saw it coming, and had no trouble getting off. There were four doors on the corridor. Moko took them to the last door on the right.

"Which is Monsieur Causey's?" Harry asked. Moko pointed across the hall.

"Is there a pitcher of iced water available?" Harry asked.

Moko bowed. "Yes, Master."

"I shall leave everything in a dressing room," Harry said. He looked at Daphne. "I should not need anything else; do you, Daphne?"

"No; no I can clean up myself."

"Did Monsieur mention when he wanted to meet with me?" Harry asked the elf.

"Master Causey said to serve you breakfast at Seven thirty. Fifi is to wake you at Seven, and Master Harry is to dress in a work robe. Moko has the robe already hung out, Master Harry."

"Thank you, Moko, that will be all," Daphne said. "Come with me, Harry." She took Harry into her dressing room. "Do you know what an arranged marriage is?" she asked, switching to English.

"Yes, of course I do."

"Well, we're a lot better off than most arranged marriages," she said, sitting down and taking off a sandal. She used it to gesture for Harry to sit in the other chair. "We've known each other slightly for five years. I know you're shy, heroic, and a good friend to those who treat you well. You hate most of what life has done to you, but you don't seem to hate in general, just in particular." Daphne grimaced and started massaging the marks the sandals left.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, taking off his boots.

"You hate Malfoy, not Pure-Bloods, or even Slytherins, in general," she replied, taking the other sandal off.

Harry stood and shrugged off his robe and then pulled off his shirt. Daphne's eyes went wide, but she relaxed when she saw Harry had drawers on. To her shock, Harry sat in front of her and started massaging her feet.

"What makes you think I don't hate Slytherins?"

"Harry, you wouldn't have asked for me, let along be sitting there massaging my feet -- which feels wonderful, I might add -- if you hated Slytherins. I understand those Muggle relatives abused you, but you're friends with Muggle-borns. Merlin, Harry, you're good at that!" Harry had moved to her lower calves.


"I take it you haven't been to Vienna with Eloise yet?"

"No, not yet. You're the second. I spent two months in Muggle America during the 1960s."

"So I'm here because you're an attractive, nice, powerful, wealthy wizard. Why did you ask for me? Please, be honest."

"Dumbledore said I should write down the names of at least fifteen witches I would want to date. Well, who should I write down? Millicent? Pansy?"

Daphne giggled at the thought.

"I could only come up with about twenty names of girls I was at all attracted to, and some I crossed off."

"Like Chang?"

Harry grimaced. "Does EVERYONE know what a mess that was?"

"Probably. Go on."

"You know more about me than I do about you," Harry admitted. "I know you're smart, attractive, and you are either nice for a Slytherin, or at least knew enough not to back the Inquisitorial Squad."

"The Pro-Death Eaters allowed their hatred for Dumbledore to cloud their tiny minds," Daphne said. "So I'm smart and attractive. What else?"

"You cried when we toasted Cedric when most of the people around you looked glad he was dead," Harry said. "That stuck in my mind. It reminded me that you Slytherins weren't all bad. Hermione and I talked about asking you, Tracy, and Blaise to join the DA, but we decided it would cause too many problems, for you and for us."

"It probably would have," Daphne agreed. She stood. "Say the ending spell."

Harry took his wand and said the two words. The robe gaped open, and in two quick moves, it fell to Daphne's feet. Harry looked up at her in awe -- 5 foot 7, 38D-23-35. "Wow!"

"I know how you feel," Daphne said. "We all said the same thing when we saw you." She held out her elegant hand. "Shall we go . . . snuggle, my partner?"

Harry took her hand, stood, and dropped his drawers. "Snuggling sounds like a great place to start."