Harry Potter looked around with an angry scowl etched on his face. He had woken up on a lumpy bed in a small room. He found this situation to be odd, seeing that he had fallen asleep in his grand bed (complete with silk sheets dyed a red that reminded him of the spilt blood of his enemies) in the cavernous master suite of his impressive mansion. But what had annoyed Harry the most was that he had woken up alone! He had not done that since he had left the King's service. And that had been nearly a year previous.
Pushing his irritation of not waking up with his face wedged between at least one set of supple breasts, he surveyed his surroundings. His glasses were on a rickety desk, and next to that was his wand. After snatching both items up, he began to walk around the small room. He scoffed to himself; he wouldn't even consider this a cupboard; it was so tiny. All the furniture was scuffed, dented, and obviously had been used and abused for years. Such things were an insult to him.
'This had to be a ploy by the King,' he thought to himself. Obviously, the King's agents had infiltrated Harry's base, kidnapped him, and brought him to this place. This room must be some sort of odd cell.
But then, if this were a cell and he was a prisoner, why did they give him his wand? Perhaps this was done to give him false hope or to lull him into an artificial sense of security. Yes, he came to the conclusion that the wand had some sort of trap on it. He eyed the wand, using Ward Sight, a technique the King himself had taught him, to find any magical traces on it.
After close examination, he came to realize two things. First, there were no traps on the wand, only some sort of tracking and recording charm. Second, this wasn't his wand. It was close to his, it had a phoenix tail feather for the core like his, but the wood was different. It wasn't oak. The wand felt natural enough in his hand, and he could use it. Although he'd prefer his own wand, he was in a pinch, and he'd have to settle.
A tracking charm wasn't like the King of Europe. The King was a brutal and vindictive man. It was more his style to send in Shock Wizards and kill everybody in the house, the neighbors to the North of the house, the cousins of the neighbors to the West, and so on. And the King had a personal vendetta against Harry ever since he left the service, which meant that Harry was as good as dead if the King ever caught him. There had to be more to the plan than just this.
Harry looked at the door. Using the Ward Sight again, he found that there was no magic around the door; no locking charms, no repelling hexes, no alarm wards, or any traps. Why, with a simple kick, Harry could knock the door off its hinges and escape. It was too easy.
Perhaps that is what the King wanted. Harry speculated that the King wanted him to escape this simple prison and then track his movements through the charms placed on the wand.
This was perplexing to Harry. What would be the reason for the King to waste his time on such a scenario? Harry was the King's hated enemy, and therefore, the King would've just killed him, not set up such an overly elaborate plan. There was more going on than Harry knew, and he needed to find out what that was.
He dressed in the only clothes available in the small room: a drab, overly large pullover, colorless jeans that would fall to his ankles if he didn't wear a belt, and a pair of worn and ratty trainers. Harry looked at his outfit in disgust. The first moment he got, he would buy proper clothes.
Once again, Harry looked at the door. Because of the tracing and recording charms on the wand, he couldn't just blow it to smithereens. Magic, for the time being, was out of the question. He smiled; he liked to break things every once in a while without the aid of magic. It was cleansing in a way. Good for the soul.
Harry ran to the door and stomped his heel next to the bolt lock. With a thundering crash, the door flew open, sending splinters from the doorframe scattering in the hall.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?" someone hollered.
Exiting the small room and stepping into the hall, Harry was quickly joined by three people in pajamas. One look told him that if they were his prison guards, they were poor ones. Not one of them had a wand, and they were no match for him physically. The woman was so thin she looked like she might snap in a strong breeze. The two others, one man and a boy, were the polar opposite of the woman. To call them morbidly obese would be a stinging insult to the morbidly obese. The older one looked like he got winded just by breathing, while the younger one probably had never seen his cock because of the flap of fat that covered his groin, obscuring his view.
"That's it, you freak!" the fat man bellowed in what he obviously assumed was a threatening manner. Harry snickered while the man turned a nasty shade that reminded him of an eggplant. With his walrus-like mustache bristling, the fat man threatened, "I don't care what those other freaks said at the train station. You'll pay for what you did to my home. You'll pay dearly!"
"What are you going to do?" Harry asked, not even bothering to conceal his laughter. "Sit on me and suffocate me with your acres of blubber?"
The long-necked woman and rotund boy had gasped at the insult, and the fat man sputtered, "Wha – You – foul – unnatural!"
"That is, if you can actually walk over here and sit on me without giving yourself a heart attack," Harry said with a grin.
"YOU FREAK!" the fat man shouted and threw his immense girth at Harry. With a look of boredom on his face, Harry casually stepped to the side. As the fat man sailed through the air with all the grace of a plummeting lead blimp, he looked at Harry with a surprised look, as if the thought of Harry stepping to the side was an alien concept that had not entered the fat man's mind. With a resounding crash that seemed to shake the entire house to its foundation, the fat man fell to the floor next to Harry's feet. The man groaned pitifully in pain while the floor still trembled from the impact.
"VERNON!" the woman screeched, her scream pierced Harry's ears. She flung herself down on his immense back and sobbed into the rolls of flesh that surrounded his neck.
"I wish I had a camera," Harry said idly. The image of the twig-like woman lying on top of the whale-like man was priceless. It looked like an asparagus stick on top of a beach ball.
Chuckling to himself, Harry walked away from the humorous image, passed the rotund boy, and went down the stairs. He used the Ward Sight once more on the door. Like the door to the small room he had just left, this had no wards or traps. This was easy, too easy, and it set Harry on edge.
"Dudley, stop him," the woman ordered shrilly. Thunderous footsteps announced the boy charging down the stairs.
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY DAD!" the boy screamed with buckets of sweat cascading down his red face (the short run down the stairs was obviously very straining for him). As the boy rushed at Harry, the latter wondered if, if he did hit the boy, would the boy be able to feel it through the layers of fat, or would it act like a cushion.
Before Harry could happily test out this theory, the front door flew open, and a disheveled man rushed in. The man, who looked and smelled like a drunken vagrant, brandished a wand.
The fat boy's small eyes widened in fear at the sight of the wand in the vagrant's hand. Clutching his backside, the boy quickly turned and waddled up the stairs.
"Good thing I was here," the wizard said with pride. "Who knows what might've happened if I wasn't, huh?"
The wizard pocketed his wand and smiled toothlessly at Harry. "I learned my lesson last year. You won't catch me wandering off while on guard duty again."
"Give me your wand," Harry ordered.
"What was that, Harry?" the wretched wizard asked.
Like a coiled snake striking, Harry's foot flew and slammed into the wizard's belly. With a loud grunt, the wizard doubled over, and the force of the blow caused the bum to empty the contents of his stomach on the floor. Before the wizard could even take a breath, Harry reached down and hooked the tips of his fore and middle fingers into the bum's nostrils. Harry yanked up, forcibly pulling the man back up by his nose.
"Did I stutter? I told you to give me your wand," Harry commanded. His voice warned the unknown wizard that he was not to be trifled with.
--Line Break--
At that exact moment in the Burrow, Hermione gazed down at the slumbering form of Ron Weasley while muttering to herself, "What have I gotten myself into?"
It was sad and pathetic. That is what it was, no bones about it.
She had come to the Burrow three days previously to discuss with Ron how they should help Harry with the loss of his godfather. She, being who she was, arrived at the Weasley home with a thoroughly thought-out and meticulously planned notebook. Her notes included such segments as how to approach Harry (just walking up to Harry, due to his volatile nature, and asking how he was coping was a bad idea). So, Hermione had listed possible topics (such as "How do you like the weather?" and "Do you think the Cannons have a prayer next season?"), followed by practical ways to slowly and subtly divert these conversations to Harry and his godfather.
However, when she arrived on Ron's doorstep, ready and willing to try and find a way to help their mutual friend, Harry, Ron began to sob hysterically.
After guiding him up to his room, Ron balled, "After the mess at the Ministry, I came to a realization."
"And what's that?" she had asked patiently.
With red and puffy eyes, he admitted: "We could die at any moment."
She rubbed his back in a comforting gesture. The brunette couldn't bring herself to lie and say that dying wasn't a possibility. Voldemort was back and waging a war. What Ron had said was true; everyone was in mortal danger.
"And then," he paused and sniffled pathetically. "I also came to realize something else; I'm still a virgin."
He looked at Hermione with wide, pitiful eyes. Pleading with her desperately.
"Oh, no," she said automatically. Hermione stood and walked a few feet away from him. She felt it would be for the best to put some distance between the two of them.
"P-please," Ron blubbered and slid off his bed. He knelt on the floor and begged, "Look at me, I'm a wreck! I'll die a virgin!"
"Once you get a hold of yourself, you'll find someone, Ron, don't worry," Hermione said, half contemplating making a run for it.
"No, I'm not talking about crying," he whimpered, and the tears continued to rain from his puffy eyes. "I'm such a loser. No one would ever touch me."
"Ron, you're being melodramatic," Hermione said as she inched to the door.
"No, I'm not," he wailed. "Name one witch who'd even talk to me."
Hermione opened her mouth to say a name, but found that she couldn't name one.
"I'm a berk, a louse, and I'm constantly shoving my foot in my mouth," Ron continued to sob. Hermione fought the urge to nod her head in agreement with Ron's assessment of his personal traits. He fell to the floor and pulled at his hair frantically. "No one will talk to me, much less ever touch me."
"Ron, don't worry," Hermione said and stood next to him. She knelt and placed an arm around his shoulders. "You'll find someone special. Just wait, and you'll see."
"We don't have time," he said, looking up at her with a tearstained face. "You got hit with a hex that could've cut you in half for all we know, and I was attacked by brain monsters. I can't wait around for someone who might not even exist." With his lip trembling like a leaf in the wind, he uttered: "I'll die not knowing the touch of a woman."
"I'm going to regret this in the morning," Hermione muttered to herself. And regret it she did. She regretted it with the fury of a thousand burning suns.
'It could have been worse,' she told herself. Mercifully, it was done in a short matter of time, she added kindly. Then Hermione corrected herself by pointing out that describing it as "a short matter of time" wasn't an act of kindness; it was a downright lie. Ron had only given her one sloppy kiss before he pushed into her and began pumping away madly. Hermione was barely given enough time to say "Ron, please slow down," before the redhead grunted and promptly fell asleep, snoring into the nape of her neck.
When Hermione had freed herself of the sleeping form of Ron, she had sworn that she would not do such a thing with him again. It was wrong (and not very good either). But the tearstained post Hermione got the next day forced her to return to the Burrow.
"I'm sorry I put you through that, Hermione. It wasn't fair of me to do that to you," Ron said through the tears as he led her up to his room. Once in the privacy of his room, Ron threw his arms around Hermione and sobbed into her hair. "You're my friend, and I used you."
"No, you didn't, Ron," Hermione said, patting his back. Part of her wanted to say, "Damn right you did!" But to do so with Ron in this state would be in bad form.
"It's just that I've been so scared since the trap at the Ministry," he whimpered. "I wake up in the middle of the night screaming, thinking that there are Death Eaters in the shadows."
"It's okay, Ron," she said, trying to soothe his nerves. "Everything will be all right."
"Could you just hold me?" Ron asked with a sad quiver to his voice. "Just for a bit. I slept the best I've had for days after yesterday, and I think it's because you were with me."
"Just holding right?" Hermione said.
"Yeah, I won't use you like that again," Ron promised.
Ron's vow lasted a whole twenty minutes. In those twenty minutes, he did nothing but whine and cry about death and pain and that Hermione was the only one who could drive those thoughts from his mind. Finally, Hermione requested in a huff, "Fine, just go slower."
Ron had nodded his head before pushing into Hermione for a second time in as many days; this time, he didn't even bother to kiss her. Like before, Ron moved rapidly.
"For Heaven's sake, slow down. I'm getting dizzy," complained Hermione the instant before Ron grunted and fell asleep on top of her.
The next night, Hermione tried to break it off. At first, Ron took it rather well. He said that it would be for the best, and he returned to his room. A few minutes later, Hermione found Ron sobbing once more on his bed.
"I'm a bad lover, that's why you're leaving me," he sniveled.
Again, Hermione fought the urge to agree with him wholeheartedly. Instead, she decided to let him down easy because he was her friend. "No, Ron, I'm just not the right person for you. It would never work out."
"Really?" he paused in his incessant wailing. "You're not just saying that to let me down easy because I have a small willy?"
Hermione wanted to correct Ron. He didn't have a "small willy," he was stunted (one might even argue "stubby"). The brunette had read some books on human sexuality, and Ron fell well below the average. She thought bitterly about how the old saying "big hands and big feet" meant nothing regarding Ron. He was barely the length and girth of her first two fingers. And just to prove how bad this comparison was, Hermione had small girly hands!
But to point this fact out to Ron would be too harsh. It would be like kicking him while he was down.
"Could we do it just one more time?" he pleaded pathetically. "So you can show me how to properly love a woman?"
"Will you slow down and promise to listen to me?" she asked in a demoralized fashion. He nodded emphatically.
Of course, Ron was like a jackhammer (a small jackhammer, mind you, one that might just have enough power and size to break up peanut brittle, but definitely not concrete).
"Ron, slow down. No, no, too fast, too fast," she said the instant he entered her and hammered away. Mind you, just like the two times before, Ron was finished by the time Hermione said her first "fast" (he added a new definition for the term "quickie").
"Ga-aaahh," he grunted and collapsed on top of her. "Zzz-z-zz."
So, after she wriggled out from underneath him once more, she looked down at him mournfully. The whole thing was sad and pathetic. She had sex out of sympathy for Ron because he was sad and pathetic. And to top it off, the sex was utterly sad and pathetic as well.
As she dressed (which didn't take very long, seeing as she never even had the chance to remove her blouse or bra), she swore to herself she would never do this again. Feeling down and a little used, Hermione decided she needed and deserved a pick-me-up. And some books from Flourish and Blotts would do just that. She walked out of the Burrow and held up her wand. Once the Knight Bus showed up, Hermione declared, "Leaky Cauldron, please."
--Line Break--
"Ah, good morning, Severus," Dumbledore said happily as he padded around his office in his blue fuzzy slippers. "What news do you bring?"
"Troubling, I'm afraid," Snape answered morosely. "The Dark Lord has attempted to bring his duplicate from an alternate dimension here."
"That is troubling," Dumbledore said while stroking his beard. After a moment, he asked, "I take it Lord Voldemort has the Summoning Sapphire?"
"Yes, Headmaster."
"But he was unable to perform the ritual correctly?"
"Yes, sir. It seems that he had charged one of his less capable minions to find a virgin. He failed and used a sacrifice that wasn't pure," Snape said.
"Hmm, this is interesting," Dumbledore thought aloud. "An impure sacrifice can have some nasty side effects."
"Such as?" asked Snape.
"Well, this is pure speculation, but for example, instead of bringing forth his duplicate, Lord Voldemort could have ended up with two heads on his shoulders, one from each dimension," the ancient wizard said. "Or something far worse could have happened."
"Like what, sir?"
"I can hardly bear to think about it, but lemon sherbets might change into raspberry sherbets," Dumbledore said gravely. "Dreadful."
"Yes, truly horrific, sir," Snape said while surreptitiously rolling his eyes.
"Obviously, Lord Voldemort will attempt the ritual again," the Headmaster said after getting over the shocking thought of sherbets. "We must stop him from succeeding. Having two versions of Lord Voldemort in one universe would be devastating."
"How do you suggest I proceed, sir?" Snape asked. "The Dark Lord keeps the Summoning Sapphire on his person at all times. I cannot steal it when he watches it so closely."
"True, you must stop the ritual another way," Dumbledore answered. "You must make sure he can't get a virgin as a sacrifice at any cost. This is for the greater good."
"Yes, Headmaster," Snape said before walking out of the office with his robes billowing behind him.
--Line Break--
Harry Potter stood on a hill in the Highlands of Scotland. To say that he was angry was an understatement. After he used the vagrant wizard's wand to remove the tracking and recording charms on his wand, Harry Apparated to his hideout only to find it missing. Nothing was there, no jewel-encrusted swimming pool, no elegant dining room, and no master's suite with a sex swing. The King had gone too far this time. He could kidnap Harry, but he could not take his hideout... especially since he had just broken into the sex swing.
Harry. Was. Upset.
After firing off a dozen Blasting Hexes in random directions to blow off steam, Harry called for his House Elf.
"DOBBY!" Harry shouted.
The House Elf Harry had acquired as a ransom payment in his second year appeared before him with a pop.
"Yes, Harry Potter, sir, what can Dobby be doing for you?" the House Elf asked.
"Where is my hideout?" Harry asked.
"Hideout, sir?" Dobby asked nervously. He looked around, thinking that Harry had asked Dobby to find his hideout as a test. But there was no hideout to be seen. With worried trepidation, Dobby asked, "Does Harry Potter want a hideout?"
"Yes, I want a hideout," he snapped angrily. "Just like the one before!"
"The one before?" asked Dobby.
"Yes, a grand hideout."
"How grand, sir?"
"Very."
"How very, sir?"
"Big, grandiose rooms, sparkling chandeliers, swimming pools, and a master suite with a bed big enough for six people," Harry said, recalling his previous hideout.
"Yes, sir," Dobby said. His nervousness disappeared and was replaced with the joy of doing something for Harry Potter, the greatest wizard of all time.
"And a sex swing," added Harry. After a moment, he adjusted, "Make that two swings."
"Yes, sir," replied Dobby with tears of joy bubbling up in his bulbous eyes.
"How long will that take?"
With his lip quivering happily, Dobby speculated, "Dobby will be done with Harry Potter's grandiose hideout with two sex swings in three or four weeks, sir."
"That means I'll have to find a place to live in the meantime," Harry said. "We shall go to Gringotts to get you money so that you can build my hideout and I can find a suitable flat."
--Line Break--
In Little Whinging, Surrey, Kingsley Shacklebolt walked up to Potter's relatives' home. Before he was able to reach the perimeter of the home, Mundungus Fletcher stumbled out of the house, clutching his face.
"He took me bleeding wand," Dung cursed through his hands.
--Line Break--
There were benefits to being a wizard, thought Wormtail as he sat at a table in a Muggle coffee shop and cast a Notice Me Not and Muggle Repelling Ward around himself.
He had stumbled on this coffee shop after he had escaped Sirius and Remus a few years back. While in his rat form, he watched the silly Muggles type away at the dozen computers supplied by the shop. By watching, he learned how to use the strange Muggle device. After a few days, he grew curious, and he reverted to his human form and played with one of the computers. He quickly came upon something called a "chat room."
In this "chat room" (username: super-rat1959), Wormtail could be anyone he wanted. He wasn't a short, plump wizard with small watery eyes. No, he was a dashing and debonair man with large muscles and a chiseled chin.
But on this day, Wormtail wasn't logging onto his favorite "chat room" to speak with his online friends about trivial topics. Today, he had the brilliant idea to fulfill his Master's wish by using the chat room.
super-rat1959: greetings, friends!!1!
smuuthtalker: Hey, rat-man, long time no chat.
super-rat1959: I've been tied up with work
flowergir-r-rl: missed u luv 3
long-johson: welcome back, m-8
super-rat1959: good to be back. Listen, everyone, I need to find someone special.
ladykillarz: What type of someone?
super-rat1959: I need to find a virgin
Wormtail's eyes lit up as dozens and dozens of offers appeared on the computer monitor. Propositions from users such as "shygirltonelegs" and "goodhoneyfortune" lit up the screen.
--Line Break--
"Good day, Mr. Potter," a goblin greeted Harry as he and Dobby walked into the Gringotts lobby. "I am Griphook. If you remember, I was the one who first-"
Harry cut him off, "If I cared to know your name, goblin, I would've asked for it."
"Forgive me, Mr. Potter, I was under the impression that all of your kind liked to talk about the past," the goblin bared his teeth in a smile. "Reminisce and the like.
"You should know I'm not like most wizards," Harry said curtly. "Now take my House Elf to my vault so that he can retrieve some gold."
Dobby nearly wet himself out of pure happiness when Harry referred to him as his House-Elf.
"May I assume you would like to give him access to your godfather's vault as well?" the goblin asked, knowing that the wizard had just inherited the vast Black estate from his recently departed godfather.
"Of course I do," snapped Harry. He didn't understand why this goblin had asked such a stupid question. Harry had gained access to the Black vaults when he killed his useless godfather in a duel five years previously.
The black-haired wizard turned to Dobby and commanded, "Take as much gold as you need. Drain the Black vaults if you like, but make my hideout grand."
Dobby trotted after the goblin, and Harry walked out of the bank. Harry was concerned as he walked through Diagon Alley. Not once had someone tried to bow to him or even attempted to kill him like they normally did. The situation was strange. He needed to find something familiar.
Then he found what he was looking for.
"Granger," he called out.
The bushy-haired witch who had just left the bookstore turned to face Harry with a surprised and annoyed expression. Her surprise came from the fact that she had not expected to see Harry in Diagon Alley. Her annoyance came from how he had called to her; never had Harry referred to her by her surname. She returned the greeting in an annoyed fashion, "Potter."
"What did you do to your hair, and why are you wearing that?" Harry asked while he walked up to her.
"There's nothing wrong with my hair, and I always wear these robes when I'm not in school," she said with a touch of anger. Harry had never paid much attention to what she wore, much less made snide comments about it. Then an odd question came to her lips as she looked at her black-haired friend. "Have you been working out?"
Harry gripped her arm above the elbow and ordered, "Help me find someplace to live for a month."
"What are you on about?" Hermione demanded as Harry began to drag her toward Knockturn Alley.
"My House-Elf is building my new hideout, but it'll take him some time," Harry said.
"Can't you go live at your relatives' home?" she asked, stumbling, trying to keep up with him.
"Ha, is that what you call that place?" Harry scoffed at the description of the tiny building he had woken up in that morning.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, was it that bad?" Hermione asked, thinking that Harry's troubled home life had finally reached the breaking point and that he had run away.
"I won't miss it," he said dismissively.
--Line Break--
Dumbledore's fireplace erupted in bright green flames. The flames flickered and formed into the face of Kingsley.
"Albus, Harry's gone mad!" Kingsley shouted through the floo connection. "He pummeled his uncle and thrashed Fletcher before stealing his wand, and he disappeared."
The only sound in the Headmaster's office was the fire crackling.
"Hello, Albus?" Kingsley called out.
--Line Break--
In Greenhouse number nine on the Hogwarts grounds, Dumbledore was standing behind Professor Sprout. Gently, the wizard put his wrinkled hands on her plump shoulders.
"It's time for your 'review,' Pomona," he whispered knowingly in her ear.
"Albus, I can't," the Herbology professor said with her hands rooting around in a pot of soil. "I must tend to these Mucus Hydrangeas."
"Those can wait," he said, his voice deep and husky. "I can't."
He pressed his thin hips against her round backside and wriggled into her, basking in the warmth of her posterior.
"My, we are frisky today, Albus," Pomona said with a girlish giggle.
"Call me 'Daddy,'" the ancient wizard requested.
--Line Break--
"This will do nicely," Harry said, nodding his head in appreciation of the flat. It was a little cramped for his tastes, but it'd do for a month until his hideout was completed.
"I'm glad you like it," the blonde-haired witch who was letting the flat said. "That'll be eighty gallons a month."
"That's too much," Harry said with his back to the witch.
"Well, that's the going rate," the witch said firmly.
"Harry, it's just for a month," Hermione pointed out. "It isn't that bad."
"Do you know who I am?" Harry asked the blonde menacingly.
"Yes, I do," the witch replied.
"And do you know that you are forcing me to pass on this flat because of the price?" Harry said and leveled his eyes at the witch. "And do you know what will happen then?"
"Yes."
"So will you lower the price?" he asked with a mean smile.
"Damn," she grunted. "Have it for forty."
"Good," Harry shook the witch's hand. "I'll have a goblin give you the gold."
When Harry had been negotiating, he was coyly telling the blonde witch that if she would not lower the price, he'd gut her like a trout, burn down the building, and piss in her mother's mouth. However, the witch in question had thought that Harry was suggesting that she turn the flat into a lucrative tourist attraction after his lease was up; she could lead people through the flat for a galleon a piece and say, "This is where the Boy Who Lived slept!"
After the witch left, Harry pulled out his wand and flicked it in the direction of Hermione. To her, it felt as if a breeze blew by her neck.
"What did you just do?" she demanded.
"Your hair was too long," he answered and pocketed his wand.
"WHAT?" Hermione screeched and felt her hair. She groaned while her hands ran all over her head. Her frizzy hair was now cut just a few inches above her shoulders, whereas before it reached down just past her shoulder blades. "Why'd you do that?"
"I like your hair shorter, frames your face better," he said casually. He then commanded, "Take off your clothes."
"What?" asked the brunette.
"I'm randy," he answered and stalked to her. "Now take off your clothes."
"Oh, this is just brilliant," complained Hermione. "Both my friends think I'm just a sexual object to use when-"
Without warning, Harry crushed his lips to hers. Her face immediately began to heat up. Her heart fluttered and pounded in a strong tattoo. His lips played with hers, pushing and shoving them around. When he wrapped his arms around her, Hermione opened her mouth to take a breath. Harry seized this opportunity and slid his tongue into her mouth. Hermione moaned, and her toes curled involuntarily.
After a few minutes of kissing (and tongue wrestling), Harry pulled back and repeated: "Take off your clothes."
Hermione, whose eyes were so dark and heavy-lidded that the witch looked like she had been hit with a powerful Confundus Charm, asked throatily, "Why?"
"Because it'll be easier for me to use this if you're naked," he said and pulled his organ out of his oversized trousers.
Hermione snapped out of her daze and exclaimed, "HO-LEEFUCK!!!"
As stated before, Hermione was not completely naive; she had read several books on male anatomy. But nothing she had seen had prepared her for this. It was as if someone had made a clay model of an average-sized penis and had decided that they couldn't give the model enough detail, so they made it larger. And significantly larger at that, they added another two clay models of the same-sized penis, mashed them together, and then formed this monument, this shrine to the male organ that was jutting out of Harry's trousers.
While she still stared at his member, completely dumbstruck, Harry murmured peevishly, "Do I have to do everything myself?"
In one deft motion, Harry pulled Hermione's robe open. Another well-practiced move, and her robe was tossed across the empty room. Twenty seconds later, the robe was joined by Hermione's blouse, bra, skirt, knickers, and one of her shoes.
--Line Break--
Out of all the virgins that had answered Wormtail's call, he selected "mary1138heart." Wormtail had chosen her because she seemed the most adamant of the group of virgins (her constant use of "smiley faces" also led Wormtail to believe her claims of being a virgin). Also, she had used the phrase "very open-minded and willing to give anything a try" to describe herself. She said she was a thirteen-year-old girl (her young age only seemed to cement her virginity to him) who would love to meet him.
So Wormtail waited in the coffee shop for Mary1138heart to join him. He kept eyeing the door as people continued to pour in, waiting for his sacrifice to arrive. Idly, he commented to himself at how busy the shop had gotten; he had never seen so many people in there. He also noticed that many of these people had a piece of opaque plastic jutting out of their ears, and connected to that piece of plastic was a curly string that disappeared into their tops or blouses. Wormtail paid this no heed; it was probably just some silly Muggle trend.
At exactly twelve noon, a small Muggle girl with a red cap strolled in. Hesitantly, she approached Wormtail.
"Are you super-rat1959?" she asked with a cute smile that accentuated her crow's feet.
"Are you Mary1138heart?" Wormtail asked while eyeing her tiny wrinkles. He hadn't known a thirteen-year-old who had wrinkles. But then again, Muggles had a much shorter life expectancy than magical folk, so he just assumed that they tended to show their age earlier in life.
"Hi, it's great to meet you," she said in a high, almost forced voice.
"Likewise," Wormtail returned. The wizard gestured with a trembling hand that the girl should take a seat. He was so excited about proving himself to the Dark Lord that he was shaking.
"I'm so nervous," the girl said as she sat. "I've never met a stranger like this before."
"But I'm not a stranger," he said, trying not to squeak in excitement. "We talked so much already in the chat room."
"So, what do we do now?" she asked with a shy grin.
"First of all, are you sure you're a virgin?" Wormtail asked.
"Yes," she answered and added, "but hopefully not for much longer."
"Fantastic," cheered the rat-like wizard.
"Could you tell me what we're going to do?" she asked.
"Well, first, I' m going-"
"Speak up, please," she interrupted. "I can't really hear you."
"Uh, sure, well I'm going to take-"
"Could you speak more clearly?" she requested and leaned closer to him (if Wormtail had not been so keen on the notion of pleasing his Master, he might have noticed that mary1138heart had the same piece of opaque plastic in her ear too).
"Ah, yes, well, we're going to go to a castle," Wormtail said eagerly.
"What are you going to do to me there?"
"I'll tie you up and-"
She interrupted once again, "Thanks, that's all I need." She pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open, showing an official looking id. With a much deeper, yet still feminine voice, she shouted: "West Bridgford Police, you're under arrest!"
"W-w-wh-what?" sputtered Wormtail.
Suddenly, all the Muggles with the pieces of plastic in their ears rushed at Wormtail. Before he could turn into a rat and run away or Apparate out of the coffee shop, the girl whom Wormtail had thought was a thirteen-year-old whipped a telescoping baton out of her jacket and swung it, hitting him hard above the temple.
After crashing to the floor and just before he blacked out, Mary1138heart stood over Wormtail and said: "We don't take too kindly to pedophiles in West Bridgford."
--Line Break--
"My nose is still out of whack," complained Mundungus Fletcher as he followed Kingsley down the halls of Hogwarts. He had trailed behind the Auror through Arabella Figg's floo. "I want compensation."
"Would you stop whining?" barked Shacklebolt.
"Oi, you didn't get hoisted up by your nostrils, now did you?" Dung grumbled, and he squashed his nose against his face. "I think Potter stretched it out."
"Listen, we need to find Dumbledore and tell him what happened," Kingsley said.
"Fine, you go find the old coot, and I'll head to the Hospital Ward," Dung began walking away. "I'm gonna go see if someone can fix my conk."
Kingsley huffed angrily and headed off to find Dumbledore.
--Line Break--
"There isn't a single part of me that isn't extremely happy right now," Hermione said lazily through a slack jaw (she wondered idly about that fascinating charm that Harry had taught her, allowing her to temporarily unhinge her jaw – the use of this charm gave her the necessary ability for an exciting activity that she found fun and arousing – and apparently, Harry thoroughly enjoyed himself when she performed that activity). She was completely naked (save for the one shoe Harry never bothered to take off) and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, lying on her belly on a bed that Harry had conjured. "If they could, I think my toes would be singing they're so happy."
"Glad I could please you," Harry said nonchalantly while slipping his trousers on.
"I'm tingly all over."
Harry had a honking big willy (unlike Ron), he took his time (unlike Ron), and he knew how to please her (unlike Ron). His kiss alone got her knickers sopping wet, and when his tongue and lips played with her nipples, the witch's knees almost gave out. Not to mention the sensations Hermione got when Harry used his aforementioned lips and tongue on her wet bits. Then the witch went cross-eyed and saw stars when he finally stuffed his stiff monument in her. She had stopped counting her orgasms after she reached a baker's dozen (four of which were delivered by Harry's tremendously talented tongue dancing on, around, and in her sex). It was like the Powers That Be had decided to compensate Hermione's dreadful experience with stunted-Ron by giving her trouser-Basilisk-and-knows-how-to-use-it-and-a-talented-tongue-to-boot-Harry.
When she had intercourse with Ron (if one could be ignorant enough to call it intercourse), she had barely felt a tickle. But with Harry, it was as if a two-pound summer sausage was pushed into her; a big, hot, throbbing summer sausage. And added to Hermione's ecstasy, Harry didn't just rely on his immense size to pleasure her. He knew, almost instinctively, when to speed up, to slow down, to change the angles of his thrusts, how to rub and caress, how to kiss, and the proper times to pull his meat out of her and give her hot cunny a good, hard smack with his heavy cock.
"Where's Luna?" Harry asked, tugging on his pullover.
"Don't rightly care just about now," Hermione groaned happily. She snuggled into the pillow, remembering the wonderful sensations she felt when he had kissed every inch of her breasts. She asked absentmindedly, "Why do you ask?"
"Go find her," he commanded, ignoring her question. He pulled off Hermione's remaining shoe and tapped it while incanting"Portus." As the shoe was being transformed into a Portkey, he continued, "She's probably visiting her barmy father in Ottery St. Catchpole."
"Why don't you go fetch her?" moaned Hermione. "I'm tired."
"Because I'll be busy running my own errand," he said.
"Like what?"
"The King has messed with me too much already," Harry said venomously. "I am going to show him that I'm not to be trifled with by killing one of his peons."
Without another word, Harry silently Apparated away.
Hermione shot up and screeched, "Harry's going to kill someone?" in disbelief.
Had the death of Sirius affected him that much? Had he snapped? She had noted that he was surprisingly aggressive (not that Hermione was complaining about his aggressive behavior when she had been shouting "YES! MORE! YES!").
Worried that he might follow through with his threat, Hermione quickly dressed (minus her shoes because one was now a Portkey, meaning that she couldn't touch it without activating it), and she had to warn someone in the Order of the Phoenix, preferably Dumbledore himself. She couldn't go to the Ministry; they were too corrupt, and she didn't trust them. Unfortunately, she couldn't Apparate yet (she was curious, however, how Harry had learned it). Thankfully, Harry had made a Portkey for her that would take her to Ottery St. Catchpole, which not only was where the Lovegood home was located, but so were the Weasleys. She could go there and run to the Burrow and use their floo to contact Dumbledore.
--Line Break--
"Good afternoon, Ginny. How are you?" Luna Lovegood asked in a sing-song voice as she walked up to the Burrow.
"I'm fine," Ginny replied as she looked at the petite blonde. "Aren't you supposed to be Snorkack hunting?"
"Yes," Luna answered. Satisfied that she had answered Ginny's question, the blonde didn't elaborate further.
"So what brings you here?" Ginny asked, hoping for something more than a one-word response.
"I had a dream that Harry would meet me here," Luna said with a sweet smile.
"Harry's not here," Ginny pointed out. "He hasn't been here since the summer before last."
"Oh, but he will be here, just you wait. My dream told me he'd be coming, and dreams never lie."
"Well, I dreamed that I was smart, popular, and so beautiful that all the girls envied me and the boys wanted me," Ginny stated with a blush to her cheeks.
"Oh," Luna said and cupped the red head's face lovingly. "Your dreams do lie to you. That must be awful."
Ginny stared at Luna with her mouth open in shock.
"Look, here comes Hermione," Luna said happily as she saw the brunette running toward the Burrow. "Hello Hermione!"
"I need to use the floo," shouted Hermione as she ran, barefoot, to the Weasley home.
"What's wrong?" Ginny asked.
Finally reaching the doorstep, Hermione answered between pants and holding a stitch in her side. "Harry's lost it; threatened to kill someone."
"Who?" asked Ginny.
"I love your hair," commented Luna.
"I don't know-" began Hermione. She paused and touched her hair. Looking at Luna, she asked, "Really, you like it?"
"Yes, definitely," Luna said with a nod. "It frames your face well."
"Thanks. I was afraid that it was too short-"
"Who's Harry going to kill?" Ginny shouted. The wizard of her dreams was about to kill someone; she couldn't marry him and have scores of green-eyed babies if he was locked up in Azkaban.
"I don't know," breathed Hermione. "He mentioned something about a King and said he was going to kill one of his underlings."
"That isn't good," Luna said.
"We have to alert Dumbledore," Hermione announced and pushed her way into the kitchen.
"I hate to say this, but I hope Ronald isn't here," Luna said, following Hermione into the house. "I can't stand it when he cries," she said with annoyance.
"Tell me about it," Hermione muttered.
"Even after I took his virginity, he kept crying," added Luna.
"Wait – what?" Hermione demanded, stopping dead in her tracks.
"I just can't handle his crying," Luna stated.
"No, what about the virginity part?" clarified Hermione. Luna's off-handed comment had pushed Hermione's plan to alert Dumbledore out of her head.
"Two weeks ago, when we got back from school, he called me over and began sobbing," explained Luna. "He told me that he was frightened that he'd die a virgin. He wouldn't stop crying, so I offered myself to him. It was sad, really."
"The sex or Ron's crying?" Ginny asked.
"Both," the blonde replied.
"He pulled that same trick with me," Hermione admitted. She was so angry that her blood was boiling.
"Oh," Ginny muttered, worrying that she was about to lose a brother.
"And when he called me over yesterday afternoon, he kept crying that he was lousy at sex and needed help so that he could move on. I relented, and we had sex again," Luna said with shame. "Most boring twenty-one seconds of my life."
"He did that with me, too," Hermione hissed. "Although he never came close to lasting even that long with me."
"When did this happen?" Luna asked.
"Three times over the last three nights," the brunette answered through clenched teeth.
"But that means he had sex with me just a few short hours before he had sex with you," Luna pointed out.
"Yes, I do realize that," Hermione said angrily.
"Oh," again, Ginny muttered, this time knowing for a fact that she was about to lose a brother.
"Where is Ron?" Hermione asked Ginny.
"He's at Fred and George's shop," the redhead answered. "He said he had to pick up some supplies."
Hermione pushed past Ginny and marched up the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Luna asked as she fell in behind Hermione.
"Ron's room," she said. "He's a lousy actor – he's a worse liar than I am, which means he couldn't have faked those tears on his own. I'm going to see how he did it."
It only took one look in Ron's trash bin to find out where the tears came from. Hermione held up an empty vial with a brilliant label that read:
"Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes Sob Story!
Do you have a test you haven't studied for? Don't worry, Triple W's new Lesson Skiving Potion, the Sob Story, is just the thing you need. Just two drops and you'll be blubbering like Cho Chang on Valentine's. All you need to do is tell the instructor that an Aunt died, and the tears flowing freely from your eyes will do the rest!"
"Look at what I found under his bed," Luna said and handed a book to Hermione.
The book, entitled "12 Easy Charms to Bewitch Your Witch," had a page marked. Hermione opened the book to that page and read:
Hook, Line, and Sinker, Ward!
This is a simple ward that will make your witch easier to fleece. You have a little fib you want to tell your special witch, but you're afraid she won't buy it? Just set up this ward around a small space (for example, your bedroom or shed) and bring your witch in. The ward will magically lessen the witch's reticence (Hermione noted with a little awe that Ron had written a definition of the word "reticence" in the margin of the text; the awe came from the idea that Ron knew how to use a dictionary), as well as impair her judgment, making her extremely gullible. Yes, she'll believe most anything you say!
Warning! This ward will make your witch gullible, but not stupid. The author suggests that you only use little lies (i.e., "I was late to dinner with your folks because the Knight Bus broke down" or "I wasn't looking at that other witch's bum, I was looking at her handbag and thinking that it would be a lovely present for you."). This author does not recommend you use this ward for larger lies (i.e., "I only slept with your sister because you two look so alike and I got confused" or "I swear I don't know how you got Dragon Clap, it wasn't from me. What? No, this rash isn't Dragon Clap; it's just a little bit of sunburn on my bits and pieces.").
Also, if you happen to be a piss-poor liar, this ward won't help too much. The author suggests that you take some acting lessons or use some other charm or potion in addition to this ward to help you out of your jam.
"I guess this means we have to kill Ronald now, doesn't it?" Luna asked evenly, after reading the passage over Hermione's shoulder.
"Oh, yes. Yes, it does," Hermione said.
--Line Break--
Harry approached the Ministry Building. He knew the truth, that the Ministry was nothing more than a front for the real power. And that power was the King. In fact, all of the Ministries and other forms of government all over Europe were nothing but puppets for the King.
As Harry rode the lift down to the lobby, he knew the best way to deliver a message to the King was to leave a present. A cold, lifeless present.
--Line Break--
Minister Fudge surveyed the stacks of gold in front of him. His newest scheme to line his pockets had worked wonderfully. When he had first announced the idea of the "War Orphan Fund," he remembered how he led the reporters on.
"Wait, the war just started, and yet you've already started a War Orphan Fund. Is the Ministry planning on having a lot of orphans in the near future?" one reporter had asked.
"Listen, we all know You Know Who likes to kill people; it's how he gets his jollies," Fudge had replied. "There's no point in pretending there won't be a number of orphans when this is all said and done. So it's best to be prepared."
The War Orphan Fund was nothing more than a plot devised by Fudge to earn some last-minute gold for himself. He wasn't completely dense; he knew his time in office was coming to an end. And he planned on getting his hands on as much gold as possible before he got the sack.
"Fudge," a voice grumbled from the shadows behind him. "Make your peace with whatever god you pray to."
The Minister felt the tip of a wand press against the back of his head.
"Avada-" the voice began.
"Wait, I haven't made my peace yet," protested Fudge.
"It's just a saying," the voice argued. "A killer doesn't expect his victims to actually make their peace. We just say it to mess with people."
"Wait, I recognize that voice," Fudge said. "You're Harry Potter."
"Congratulations," Harry said mirthlessly.
"Do you work with You Know Who now?" Fudge asked, trying desperately to buy time.
"You know I work alone, Cornelius," Harry said, not really knowing or even caring who Fudge was referring to. "Avada Kedavra!"
--Line Break--
"Albus, thank God I've found you," Kingsley cheered as he trotted up to the old wizard. "We have a major problem on our hands."
"What's wrong?" Dumbledore asked.
"Harry Potter's gone mad!" shouted Kingsley. "He attacked his uncle and Fletcher. And now he's gone!"
"Oh, dear, this is troublesome," Dumbledore uttered. "Let's activate the tracking charm on Harry's wand and locate the boy."
"We can't do that," Kingsley said. "Harry used Fletcher's wand to remove the tracking charm."
"Oh my, this is worse than losing all the lemon sherbets," bemoaned the Headmaster.
--Line Break--
Harry silently slinked through the shadows in the lobby. He had done so many kills like this before that it was now as simple as child's play to him. As he worked his way through the lobby, unseen by the scores of witches and wizards around him, he noticed a wizard reading a newspaper. The headline of the paper made Harry stop.
"The Ministry asks Dumbledore for assistance in the War with He Who Must Not Be Named!"
'Dumbledore?' Harry asked himself. 'But he's dead! The King killed him over fifty years ago!'
To Be Continued...