Well Harry needs to clean up, and Pansy and Cass are more than willing

Harry eased from Narcissa's embrace, his body still humming with the afterglow, skin slick and spent as he rolled to the bed's edge. She murmured a soft protest, her fingers trailing one last possessive stroke down his arm, but her eyes held only sated warmth, already drifting toward dreams laced with his command. The linens tangled around her like a lover's knot, her form a pale curve against the dark sheets, chest rising slow and deep.

Before he could catch his breath fully, Cassiopeia was there, slipping from the chaise with a grace that belied the flush staining her neck and cheeks. Her hand found his, cool fingers lacing through his warmer ones, tugging him upright with a pull that brooked no argument. "Come on," she whispered, voice thick and edged with something raw, her blue eyes dark as midnight ink, fixed on him like a spell unbroken. Pansy rose too, setting her goblet aside with a clink that cut the quiet, her shorter frame pressing close to his other side, a hand skimming his hip in silent claim as they guided him across the chamber's marble expanse.

The bathroom adjoined her mother's quarters through a discreet archway, concealed behind heavy velvet drapes that Cassiopeia swept aside with her free hand.

Steam already curled in lazy wisps from the enchanted tub—a vast porcelain basin carved like a lily pond, fed by golden spigots that gushed hot water at a murmured "Aguamenti calida."

Bubbles frothed up in pearlescent heaps, scented with lavender and something sharper, like crushed mint, the air blooming thick and humid, mirrors fogging at the edges to grant a veil of privacy.

Cassiopeia released him only to shrug out of her robes, the fabric whispering to the floor in a pool of emerald silk, revealing the lithe lines of her body—curves honed by Quidditch drills and Slytherin stealth, skin glowing pale in the lantern light. Pansy followed suit, quicker, her darker frame unfolding with a predator's ease, freckles dusting her shoulders like stars against cream.

They stepped into the steaming water after him, the surface parting with soft ripples as Cassiopeia sank in behind Harry, her knees bracketing his hips from the rear, breasts pressing warm and slick against his spine.

Pansy waded in from the front, the heat rising to lap at her waist before she closed the distance, straddling his thighs with a splash that sent bubbles scattering, her body aligning flush against his chest, the soapy froth clinging to their joined skin like a second layer of temptation.

"Can't have you sticky from... that," Pansy teased, her voice a low purr as she scooped handfuls of the pearlescent bubbles, lathering them between her palms before pressing her soapy hands to his shoulders, sliding them down in broad, deliberate strokes that smeared the suds across his collarbone.

The sight of him buried in her friend's mother had ignited something fierce in Pansy—jealousy twisted into fuel, her breaths coming quicker now, nipples tight and grazing his chest with every shift, sending jolts through them both.

She arched forward, using the curve of her breasts to 'clean' him next, dipping them into the froth before rubbing them slowly against his pecs, the slick glide of skin on skin turning the ritual into pure indulgence, her hardened nipples tracing wet paths that made Harry’s pulse hammer.

Cassiopeia joined the game from behind, her laughter a soft vibration rumbling through her chest into his back as she gathered more bubbles, coating her own body until it gleamed under the humid glow.

She pressed closer, her soapy stomach sliding against his spine in lazy circles, hips grinding subtly to work the lather into every inch, while her hands reached around to lather his chest in tandem with Pansy's efforts—fingers circling his nipples with feather-light pinches that twisted into firmer tugs, drawing a stuttered breath from him that echoed off the tiled walls.

"Let us take care of you," Cassiopeia murmured hot against his ear, her thighs squeezing his sides as she shifted, using the flat of her belly and the swell of her hips to scrub lower, the friction building heat beneath the water's surface.

The bath dissolved into a haze of wandering touches and shared slickness, their bodies the tools for this twisted cleaning—Pansy rising slightly to press her breasts fully against his torso, rolling her chest in slow, grinding arcs that smeared suds from his ribs to his navel, her core brushing his hardening length with teasing proximity, the water sloshing in rhythmic waves that lapped at the basin's edges.

Cassiopeia countered from the rear, her legs tangling with his as she hooked one ankle over his calf, pulling him back against her while her soapy hands mapped downward, one cupping his balls in gentle rolls, the other wrapping around his cock in a firm, twisting glide that coaxed it to full rigidity beneath the bubbles.

"Watched you claim her," Pansy breathed, her words a hot gust against his jaw as she leaned in close, the steam curling around them like a conspirator's veil.

Her lips crashed into his without preamble—plump and insistent, parting his mouth with a fierce tilt of her head, the initial press sloppy and urgent, smearing the damp from his chin to hers in a gloss of shared saliva.

Pansy’s tongue plunged forward, bold and unapologetic, sweeping past his teeth to tangle with his in a wet, twisting duel that clicked teeth and sucked air from the kiss, the faint copper tang of his earlier exertion mixing with the lingering sweetness of Narcissa's wine on his breath. Pansy's free hand fisted in his wet hair, yanking just hard enough to angle him deeper, her mouth devouring his with hungry laps and nips—lower lip caught between her teeth for a stinging pull, then soothed with a broad, dragging swipe that left his lips swollen and slick.

She moaned into the fray, the vibration humming down his throat, her body undulating against him like a wave cresting, every curve— the press of her breasts sliding soap-slick over his chest, the grind of her hips rolling her core along his thigh—dedicated to erasing the traces of before with fresh, possessive marks of their own.

Cassiopeia nipped at his shoulder. The vibration of her moan hummed through him. She ground her breasts harder against his back, nipples dragging fiery lines down to the base of his spine. Her free hand slipped between her thighs. But it paused to tease his entrance with a soapy finger—circling the tight ring before pressing just the tip inside. That drew a groan from him, mingling with Pansy's rising whimpers.

Water surged with their motions. Waves crested higher. Pansy shifted to guide his mouth to her core mid-straddle. She ground slow against his lips and tongue. All the while, Cassiopeia's strokes quickened. Her thumb smeared pre-cum into the froth at his head.

He lapped at Pansy eagerly. The tang of her arousal hit sharp on his taste buds. Her moans pitched higher. His hands gripped her arse, pulling her closer into the slick press.

"Your turn to watch us break next time," Cassiopeia whispered hot against his neck. Her body arched to use her thigh against his hip in a soapy slide. "But gods, Harry, seeing you like that... I need you everywhere."

The steam rose thicker, cloaking their gasps and splashes. The bath became a tangle of limbs and heat. 'Cleaning' dissolved into a fervent chase for release. Their horniness pulled them under like a living current.

Pansy's grind faltered first, her thighs quivering around Harry's face as she pulled back with a sharp inhale, the steam breaking against her flushed skin like a cold slap. "Merlin's tits," she gasped, voice ragged but laced with a laugh that cut the haze, her hands bracing on his shoulders to steady herself.

The water lapped at her waist, bubbles popping in erratic bursts that mirrored the sudden clarity snapping through her.

She glanced toward the arched doorway, where the manor's shadows stretched long and accusing, then back to him—eyes wide, pupils blown but sharpening with sense. "As much as I'd kill to finish this... we're pushing curfew into disaster territory."

Harry's tongue stilled mid-lap, the sharp tang of her fading on his lips as he lifted his head, water sluicing down his chin in rivulets that cooled the fire in his veins. Cassiopeia's hand paused on his length, her strokes halting with a squeeze that bordered on cruel tease, her body going rigid against his back—the press of her breasts suddenly a anchor rather than ignition.

He felt the shift in her too, that post-Narcissa glow twisting into something practical, her breath hot but even against his neck.

"She's right," Cassiopeia murmured, though **** threaded her words like a half-cast spell, her finger withdrawing from him with a slick pop that echoed too loud in the tiled hush.

"Filch's patrols, the prefect rounds—someone's bound to clock our empty beds by now. One more minute, and it's detentions or worse."

The three of them disentangled in a flurry of splashes and shared glances, the bath's heat turning cloying now, a reminder of lines they'd toed but not crossed. Pansy slid off the rim first, water sheeting from her curves as she stood, gooseflesh rising in the sudden draft from the cooling spigots.

Cassiopeia eased back, her legs unfolding from around him with a lingering brush of her calves against his, before she rose too, offering a hand to pull him up. Harry accepted, the water draining from his body in heavy cascades, his arousal a persistent throb that he willed down with gritted teeth—practicality winning over pulse for once.

They towelled off in hurried swipes, the soft linens rasping against sensitized skin, robes conjured back with flicks of wands that felt almost comical in the after-hum.

Dressed once more in the chamber's anteroom, the trio paused at the threshold, the weight of the night settling like dew—Narcissa's distant snores a faint lullaby through the wall, the manor's clocks ticking toward dawn.

"Apparate from the edge of the grounds?" Pansy suggested, voice low, her fingers brushing Harry's in a promise deferred. Cassiopeia nodded, linking arms with them both, her free hand sketching the boundary ward in the air. "Room of Requirement on the other side. Safer that way." With a crack that split the quiet, they vanished, the Malfoy estate folding back into silence behind them.