A/N: A new story. As the title suggests, this is an Original Character story, NOT a Self-Insert. It won't be like some of my other stories, given that someone else is dictating the plot and I'm just writing it. You can also find more of this story on Questionable Questing dot com and H*ntai-Foundry dot com if you want to read more!

Hope everyone enjoys!

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"I believe you."

The moment the words leave his lips, he wonders if they're the wrong ones. The look on Hella Potter's face as she whips her head around to stare at him is… heartbreaking, to say the least. His name is Treowe Morton, and he was a Sixth Year Slytherin. That alone should have precluded him from being allowed to speak with Gryffindor's Golden Girl, but at the end of the day, not a single one of her House still with her any longer, leaving them all alone in the corridor Treowe had chosen to confront Hella in.

Heh, Hella. It was still a little strange, that. After all, he was from a world where this entire fantastical existence was nothing but fiction. As far as he could tell, he'd been reincarnated into the Harry Potter Universe upon death, leaving him to grow up all over again, except this time he grew up in a family of purebloods, as the Scion and Heir of House Morton. They were nothing too special, known mostly for their Bicorn herds and their modest estate.

Potion Ingredients derived from parts of the Bicorn were needed enough that they were able to make a pretty good living off of raising and selling the creatures. Or more accurately, off of having others raise and butcher the creatures for them. As a Noble Family, the only time a Morton ever stooped to dirty their hands with Bicorn blood was on their fourteenth birthday, and that was only for the males. It was a coming of age ceremony, where their father or closest male relative walked them through harvesting one of the creatures.

Treowe assumed it was meant to teach them something about where House Morton had come from, their humble beginnings as farmers with barely anything to their name not so distant that they were completely disconnected from the work that had made them what they are. Heh, only mostly disconnected.

Regardless, he was allowing himself to get sidetracked, and in the midst of a breakdown, right before his eyes. Hella's gaze had fallen upon him as she processed his words, and then her own eyes had widened as she recognized him. Treowe wasn't too surprised by that. They hadn't known each other that well before this year, what with him being Slytherin and her being… well, the Girl-Who Lived.

But this was the Fourth Year, and regardless of the fact that there was no 'Harry Potter', the 'Harry Potter Universe' continued to hit the stations of canon like clockwork. Treowe had observed them from the outside looking in so far. He'd arrived at Hogwarts two years before Potter did, and then watched her and the others as they in turn arrived. So young, so… naïve and innocent.

The end of First Year put an end to Hella Potter's innocence when she was forced to kill Professor Quirrel in Self-Defense. Second year saw her murdering the Basilisk, just as her male counterpart did in the fiction Treowe remembered. Third year saw her faith in the system die as she found out about her godfather and the injustice done to him.

But now it was Fourth Year. Now it was time for the Triwizard Tournament, time for Hella to be entered against her will, and for all of her friends to abandon her. Hermione hadn't of course, not totally, but faced with the Gryffindor House turning its back on her, Hermione just wasn't enough. Treowe, meanwhile, had finally decided to step in the shitshow that Hella's misadventures. He'd spent his entire life working on being the most capable, most knowledgeable wizard he could be.

As far as he could tell, the Reincarnated American wasn't some massive magical talent like say, Dumbledore or Voldemort, or perhaps Hella herself. Magical cores were bullocks made up by fanfiction writers anyways, but there was definitely something about those two wizards that made it seem like magic favored them.

It didn't favor Treowe, but it also didn't seem to hate him. So, he'd made the most of what he had and spent every single moment of every single day these past sixteen years working towards being as capable of protecting himself and those he cared about as he could be. In the end, he liked to think he did a pretty good job of it. Of course, having the Goblet of Fire spit out HIS name for Hogwarts Champion rather than Cedric Diggory's had been an excellent way of confirming just how far he'd come.

One might think that having the actual Hogwarts Champion be a Slytherin would have seen the Gryffindor House rallying behind Hella, rather than turning on her as they had in canon. That was not the case, as far as Treowe could tell. While none of the Gryffindors were about to cheer him on, it seemed that they still weren't willing to believe Hella hadn't put her own name in the cup. They were all convinced that she'd managed to find a work-around, and angry that A) she'd kept it from them and B) she continued to keep it them.

It didn't matter that such a work-around didn't exist. No, Gryffindors were as small-minded as the grass was green or the sky blue. Regardless, Hella had recognized him because she'd seen him in that room that night, when she'd been pushed inside and announced as the Fourth Champion. He'd watched from afar, not speaking, not saying a word, even as Fleur and Viktor both spoke out against the idea of 'a little slip of a girl' competing with them.

Now though, now he could say something. Now that they were alone, away from prying ears, Treowe spoke up. And it seemed he might not have said the right thing at all.

Three little words. In three words, Treowe Morton had managed to accomplish what Malfoy and Snape had been trying and failing to do for the past few years. He'd broken Hella Potter. She all but collapses forward into his robes, her sobs and wails muffled by the high-quality fabric, but he could most definitely feel the trembling of her body as he wrapped his arms around her.

With the practiced ease that came from having six sisters (none of which would ever or had ever attended Hogwarts, on his recommendation) Treowe gets to work on calming down the 'Savior of the Wizarding World'. Rubbing circles into the small girl's back with one hand, Treowe strokes the other through her tangled mess of… blinking, the young wizard looks down to confirm what his hand was currently feeling.

In the midst of her utter despair, the untamable mess that was Hella Potter's hair had gone utterly limp and turned completely straight. Letting out a quiet, derisive snort, Treowe mentally checks off the box for Potter being a Metamorphmagus, wondering just how many more fanfic clichés he would end up encountering now that he'd placed himself in the 'main plot'.

Regardless, Treowe couldn't find it in himself to be surprised at the confirmation of what he'd long suspected. Her mental trauma when compared to the male version of Hella Potter was obviously far worse and far more acute at that. Being a girl had undoubtedly done her no favors, especially since she didn't even truly look like her mother. While she had the bright green eyes that Lily and Harry had both had, she was closer to a female version of Harry Potter and James Potter than what Treowe remembered of some of the 'Fem!Harry' fanfics he'd read back in the day.

That had undoubtedly earned her no favors with her aunt, and the likelihood of her uncle and her cousin doing things to her as she grew up that a man would be more likely to do to a woman than another man was… high. Higher than Treowe liked to truly think about. Even just the verbal abuse was probably more weighted and heavier on Hella's soul then anything Harry had had to handle.

Fuck. He was going to have to actually step in, wasn't he? The longer he held the still-crying witch to his chest, the longer he contemplated all she had been through and all that had probably happened to her when he wasn't even around to witness it… Treowe realized he was going to have to save this girl. He'd never been a particularly mean person to begin with. He had ambitions and plans, sure, and that had put him in Slytherin… but growing up surrounded by sisters hadn't led to a complex, it'd simply led to him being more compassionate.

And to think, everything had been going so well with his new life. He'd done his damnedest to avoid being drawn into the plot of the books. But no, he just had to give it a try. He just had to see if he was the worthiest student at Hogwarts, didn't he? And now the Goblet of Fire had spit out his name and Treowe's original plan of sandbagging the tasks so that he didn't end up getting Cedric Diggory'd at the end of the year was becoming more and more moot.

Perhaps whatever had brought him to this universe had gotten tired of him sitting on the sidelines, quietly learning more and more about magic. It was dragging his ass directly into the currents of destiny now, and there was nothing Treowe could do but go along with it. With a grunt, the young man reaches down and scoops up Hella Potter, just like that.

The smaller witch lets out a quiet eep, but rather than wiggle free as he shifts her into a bridal carry, she simply wraps her arms around his neck and then buries her face in the crook of it. She was far too light… or perhaps he was just too strong. It was actually quite easy to find the time in the day to get a workout in here at Hogwarts. Likely the only reason anyone at this school remained fat was that every meal was a damn feast made up of the heaviest foods known to man. Because just getting around to all of their classes beat the shit out of a Stairmaster alone.

As he held Hella Potter's too-small body close and began to carry her along, he spoke up, knowing from his experiences with his sisters that she'd likely appreciate him breaking the silence.

"Heiress Potter… Samhain really isn't a good day of the year for you, now is it?"

Her grip on him tightens, and she shakes her head into his shoulder, even as her sobs lighten up a bit, her focus turning towards hearing him speak rather than her own current, overwhelming issues.

"First you lost your parents to the Dark Lord…"

Bah, Grindelwald had been a true Dark Lord. Tom Riddle was a terrorist at best, a middling cult leader at worst. Still, he certainly had magic in spades, for all the good it did him when combined with the serious lack of brains. Treowe wonders briefly if the popular fan theory of Voldemort losing his ability to think rationally because of him splitting his soul so many times was right or not. Then he shakes his head, returning to the one-sided conversation at hand.

"Then, your first year here, you end up facing a Troll of all things. Safest place in all of Magical Britain my arse."

Hella shakes in his arms a little. Is she laughing, perhaps? Or more likely, she's laughing and crying at the same time. Treowe smiles slightly, even as he considers his own current big dilemma. Where was he going? He couldn't take her to the Slytherin dorms for incredibly obvious reasons. Nor was he going to take her to the Gryffindor dorms. Not only was he not intending on leaving her in her current state, he wouldn't likely get a word out before he was hexed for the mere crime of touching a crying Gryffindor, much less the Girl-Who-Lived, despite everyone in that House currently shunning her.

In the end, there was no choice but to use the Room of Requirement, so with that decided, Treowe started making his way up to the Seventh Floor, taking the long way around to avoid running into people.

"You took that Troll down, Heiress Potter. That was the first time I knew the stories weren't all completely shit. You might not have had all those crazy adventures they made up about you while you were growing up, but you do have the heart of a lion beating within your breast, now don't you?"

He's speaking conversationally, but Treowe would have to be a fool not to feel her reactions, given he's currently holding her quite close to him. She's hanging off his every word, even as he pauses for a moment, watching the staircase before him shift about until its connected to the landing he wants to go to. Most puzzle video games weren't as complicated as Hogwarts had fucking turned out to be.

"… Then came second year, and the Heir of Slytherin. Obviously, it was never you. People can be so… small-minded. Especially in large groups. Still, being able to speak parseltongue is nothing to be ashamed of. It might have garnered a bad reputation here in the United Kingdom, but it is greatly valued in places such as Egypt, India, Africa, and elsewhere around the world. You could probably make a lucrative and exciting career out of nothing but translating what magical serpents across the globe are saying, given how rare the ability is."

By the time he's done speaking, Hella isn't hiding her face in his shoulder anymore. Instead, teary emerald eyes are staring up at him in honest curiosity and even a small amount of wonder. Treowe smiles down at her, even as he continues his journey to the Seventh Floor.

"It's no mark against you that you don't know about all of this. You would need to order books from outside of Britain to find any of this sort of stuff out. I can lend you a few later, so long as you promise not to let Granger set her eyes on any of them. She'd likely get them confiscated, like I heard she did with your broom last year."

Treowe lets out a sigh, even as Hella's eyes spark and harden at the reminder.

"Last year… last year was the Dementors. Let's not even get into that mess. No, let's talk about this stupid tournament instead."

"… Stupid?"

For the first time, Hella speaks up, her voice quiet but very notably surprised. Treowe grins down at her at that.

"Very stupid. Don't think I don't know that, and don't let anyone else try to convince you otherwise. The Triwizard Tournament was discontinued for a reason, Heiress Potter, and the fact that its been brought back without even a single attempt at revamping the rules and working more safeguards into the entire thing is a travesty of the highest order. Oh, but wizards do seem to love to look back on the past with rose-colored goggles several inches thick, don't they?"

He'd finally reached the painting of Barnabas the Barmy. As Hella considers and processes his words, Treowe paces back and forth before it, all while focusing his hardest on what he would need for the night to take care of the small slip of a girl in his arms. A bed, certainly. A bath as well. Clothes and various hygiene products were also a must. Anything else, Treowe knew he could call upon the House Elves for. He had an entire stable of elf names that he used whenever he needed their assistance, never making sure to call on the same one too many times in a row.

He had a great relationship with the House Elves of Hogwarts, a relationship he'd used his prior knowledge of this universe to forge and strengthen starting all the way back in his first year. That didn't mean he wanted the Professors or god forbid the Headmaster to catch onto how often he used Hogwarts' house elves for his personal issues though. He might just get banned from doing so. Or more likely, the House Elves would be ordered not to respond to his calls anymore.

The door to the Room of Requirement has appeared, and Treowe feels Hella stiffen in his arms as he reaches out and opens it, pushing his way inside. Whatever she might have said about the door not being there before catches in her throat when she sees the beautiful interior of the room. Even Treowe is impressed by what his imagination has wrought and left to wonder if perhaps the Room of Requirement had some sort of mind of its own that was inclined to spruce things up a bit.

Regardless, he doesn't let his own surprise give him pause like Hella does with hers. Instead, he makes a beeline towards the extravagantly large bed that takes up the center of the room, laying her down there and beginning to undress her. There's not an ounce of resistance in the small girl as he comments idly.

"You know, before you started coming here, it was rather nice and quiet. The worst that happened was the Weasley Twins' latest experiments, or particularly vicious Quidditch Matches between Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Treowe chuckles lightly at that, shaking his head as he continues.

"But every single year since you've arrived, its been one thing after another. Something you need to learn now is this; once is happenstance, twice is coincidence… but three times is enemy action. Someone is trying to kill you, Heiress Potter, and they've thrown all subtlety out the window with this latest attempt on your life. Why anyone can think you would have willingly put your name in the Goblet… well, it just goes to show how STUPID most of Hogwarts' residents truly are. Thing is, I-."

Whatever else he might have been planning to say dies on the Slytherin Sixth Year's lips as he finally manages to get Hella's robes over her head. He, like every other growing young wizard in Hogwarts walls knew full well that the voluminous robes could do quite a lot to hide the voluptuous figures of witches. He also knew that Hella Potter would have a skinny and small frame, her height rather public regardless of her robes, and her skinniness no doubt having to do with not getting enough food growing up.

But what he hadn't expected was for her to have the most spectacular pair of tits he's seen in his entire life. They honestly weren't all that large… but on Hella's small frame, they looked rather comical. Treowe couldn't help but stare, even as his mind slowly worked out the reasons behind the strange contradiction. She must have been eating quite a lot of Hogwarts, her body trying to make up for the three months of the year that she couldn't depend on reliable meals.

It seemed that had resulted in a sizable bust, barely contained by a rather unflattering beige bra which dug into her tits and was clearly pinching them. Without even thinking, Treowe's hands pulls down Hella's skirt to reveal a matching set of panties. Still staring, Treowe's trance-like gaze is only finally broken by Hella herself blushing and attempting to cover herself after she'd decided he'd stared too long.

Treowe catches her wrists and pulls them away, shaking his head as he finally looks into her eyes.

"No, none of that. There's no reason to hide your beauty, Heiress Potter. Though these garments do you no favor."

Wide green eyes stare up at him, even as Treowe realizes this is another way in which a female Savior of the Wizarding World would suffer more than a male. He could only imagine where Hella got her undergarments from, certainly not a place that catered to her… unique needs. Still, his words have the intended effect, and Hella offers no resistance yet again as he pulls off her bra and panties, tossing the beige underwear to the floor and pulling his wand for the first time since he spoke up. With a flick, he incinerates the unflattering garments, before clearing his throat.

"Binky!"

The House Elf that appears is not a Hogwarts House Elf. No, for this, Treowe has just summoned one of his House's personal elves across a great distance. Still, Binky came immediately, like a good elf should.

"Yes, Master?"

"Take Heiress Potter's measurements and borrow some of my sisters' underwear from the cleaned laundry that hasn't been put back yet. Close as you can get, if you please."

Binky bobs his head, looks at Hella for a moment, and then pops away, just like that. Hella stares after him, even as Treowe chuckles.

"Six sisters… he'll find something in your size, I hope."

Her gaze turns back to Treowe, just as the Reincarnated American is sitting down beside the naked young woman. Hella seems hesitant, unsure… but also curious and intrigued. She doesn't actually seem that upset about him having stripped her down, which is quite the interesting reaction, in his opinion. It brings unsettling thoughts to mind about just how she'd been treated by the men in her life… all her life.

Pursing his lips together, Treowe doesn't reach out for her. Rather, he places a hand out, palm up and actually leans back from her.

"Heiress Potter. I don't pretend to know your life. I only have the smallest inkling of all the things you've been through. I did not bring you here to do anything you did not want to do. I have no desire to harm you, not when you've already suffered so much."

Treowe pauses, choosing his next words carefully.

"That said… consider this your choice to make, perhaps one of the first anyone has ever given you. If you wish it of me, I will gladly leave the room. You may make use of it for however long you want, no one will disturb you here. Binky will return with better-fitted underwear for you, and we may continue on as passing acquaintances from here on out."

Another pause, and then Treowe lays out his true desires.

"… However, if you will allow me to try, I will make this a Samhain you will never forget, Heiress Potter. Please, take my hand… or send me away."

There's a long moment of silence that passes between them. Hella seems to be staring at him almost searchingly, and though its difficult given how long he's kept his secrets, Treowe endeavors to keep his face as open and honest as possible so that she can see his intentions are true. In the end, something must have worked, because Hella reaches out and takes his hand, as he bade her.

Smiling, Treowe finally does lean in. The wizard kisses Hella gently but firmly, his lips pressing against hers even as his hands run down to her thighs and open her legs. She offers no resistance, but she's definitely more responsive then when he was stripping her naked. Though its tentative and hesitant, Hella kisses him back, seeming to quite enjoy it.

Eventually though, he moves on, sliding his lips down off of hers and across her cheek, over her chin, towards the hollow of her neck. Treowe works his way down Hella's body, gently pushing her until she's laying back on the bed as he ghosts his lips over her pale, blemish-free flesh. Eventually, he reaches the groomed slit betwixt her thighs, and his tongue finally slips out from between his lips to push against her entrance.

What follows is a lesson in pleasure for one Hella Potter, her gasps and her moans and her lilting mewling noises telling Treowe exactly what works for her and what doesn't. He plays her like an instrument, and she in turn responds to him beautifully, making the most exquisite music. His hands slide up under the young woman, and he gropes Hella's ass, all while eating her out.

It doesn't take long for her to cum. She squeals like she's never done so before, like it's the first orgasm she's ever experienced. Treowe honestly wouldn't be that surprised, though he does smirk a little when he pulls back and rises off the bed to get undressed as well, only to find Hella looking half-ready to pass out on the spot.

"Don't give up on me now darling… we're just getting started."

That brings her back into focus, and she stares at him with wide eyes, even as he pulls his boxers down, revealing a large cock and a nice set of churning balls. Good genes and a magical potion regime from his first day of puberty had done him well, that was for sure. As he climbs back onto the bed, now just as naked as her, Treowe is surprised when Hella reaches out, getting on her hands and knees and trying to return the favor.

She takes his cock in her hands and places the head of it in her mouth. Her inexperience is obvious, but her desire to reciprocate the pleasure he gave her overcomes that as she bobs up and down on his cock. In short order, Treowe is groaning, his fingers lacing through Hella's hair as he tilts his head back and simply enjoys the blowjob for what it is.

It's not long before he cums, filling her mouth with his seed. His first release is too much for her of course, overwhelming her a fair bit and leaving her with his spunk trailing down her chin and onto her breasts as she coughs and pulls back. But after a moment of recovery, Treowe watches as Hella Potter scoops up his seed and slurps it down, seemingly unable to get enough of it.

Rather than get discouraged by her partial failure, Hella suddenly grows demanding, and Treowe just as suddenly finds himself on his back, with her on top of him, seeming to instinctively know exactly what she wants as she rubs her cunt lips against the underside of his cock, which is now standing up straight before her. She takes hold of his cock and seems almost fascinated by it, by the heat coming off of it, by the sheer size of him.

Treowe in turn grabs Hella by the hips and slowly lifts her up, making his intentions to have her clear. However, he pauses when a wind begins to blow in a room that has no windows. He stops with his cockhead just slightly nestled inside of Hella's pussy lips when a heavy presence seems to fill the air around them. The words come to his lips without an ounce of prodding.

"… The Black Wind Howls, Heiress Potter…"

The Room of Requirement certainly does have a mind of its own, or there's something else controlling it right now, because the room changes in that instant from a place of opulence to a very clear ritual circle. Hella Potter's bright green eyes are positively glowing, and Treowe watches as she gazes off to the side, seeming to be listening to a voice only she can hear, seeing something only she can lay eyes on.

He's never put much stalk in the whole "Master of Death" thing himself, but he has always believed Harry Potter, and thus Hella Potter as well, to be favored or perhaps chosen by Death as its Champion. Given what had happened to her that Samhain night, given where her destiny would likely ultimately take her… Treowe's thought process cuts off as Hella abruptly begins to speak.

Not just speak though, the witch intones the following words, her voice reverberating through the room, and the ritual circle around them glowing bright with the magic of her words.

"I, Hella Lily Potter, demand of Magic this for the sacrifice of my virginity on Samhain Night! That I will be loved! That I will be free of those who would control me! That I will never again be fooled by those who do not truly care for me! So mote it be!"

And then she drops herself down on his cock, and Treowe grunts as Hella impales herself on his member, breaking right through her hymen and completing her end of the sacrifice. The wind whips into quite the frenzy, even as Hella herself falls forward, cupping Treowe's face in her hands and kissing him deeply. At the same time, something comes over the both of them. He can't even fully say what it is, only that he finds himself gripping Hella's hips quite harshly a moment later, his own hips thrusting up into her faster and faster and faster.

Not that the green-eyed witch is any less enthusiastic as she rides him harder than he could possibly have imagined her capable of. Her inner walls clench down and squeeze along Treowe's length, and he in turn fills her with his shaft over and over, pistoning upwards with all his might. Their bodies are as one, and he can feel it as Hella cums around his cock again and again and again.

Fucking Hella is like trying to hold onto a rocket in flight. But Treowe wouldn't take back a single one of his actions this night. It felt right, doing this. It felt completely and utterly RIGHT. Screw staying out of the main plot, screw trying to avoid getting drawn into things. Hella Potter needed him like no one else did, not even his sisters. He would have to be heartless to abandon her, so he simply wouldn't. At the same time, their tongues have long since intertwined and something passes between them that feels almost ethereal in nature as Treowe thinks all of this.

As he loses himself in the ritualistic fucking, the Reincarnated American's last coherent thought is one of amusement. Shitty cliched soul bonds better not be fucking real in this universe too.

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