Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor
Chapter Eleven: Shhh be Vewy Vewy Quiet
Disclamer: Not mine, I own nothing. I’m not making any money
WARNING: Harsh Language, adult themes, sexual situations (i.e. smut), bad spelling and grammar.
Author’s Notes: This story is a broad farce with over the top humor (a good deal of it is crude and sexual) and OOC actions (that’s Out Of Character if you don’t know). Also, this is my first smut-ish fic. If you don’t like sex and sex-based humor, do NOT read this!
Chapter Eleven Summary: We’re hunting howcwuxes
Harry and Hermione didn’t speak for nearly two and a half days, well, at least not with each other. Hermione was mad because Harry was being a child concerning her comments regarding adults and love. Harry was mad at Hermione because of her comments about parents and sex, as well as her off-color joke about Lily experimenting with Harry’s father’s animagus form. To Hermione, their conversation was about the happiness one should feel if adults, including those that were parents, were madly in love and willing to act upon their feelings. To Harry, it was a heated debate about unnatural and disturbing activities that some people shouldn’t do because had kids, and even worse, they were old. And that comment about his mum and Prongs made Harry feel a confusing combination of anger and revulsion.
It didn’t help Harry’s mood that the house-elves were still following Hermione’s orders and wouldn’t allow him cheese or any sweets. He even convinced Ron to sneak into the kitchen and fetch him some milk on the sly. Ron had no trouble in retrieving the milk, but as his friend went to hand the glass to him, an anonymous house-elf popped out of nowhere and snatched the cool beverage from Harry’s hands and disappeared.
For the first day, Harry did a very good job of ignoring Hermione. Whenever she entered a room that he was in, Harry would pretend to find something in the opposite direction of Hermione intensely interesting. For example, when he was in the Common Room and she entered through the Portrait Hole, Harry busied himself by inspecting the recently repaired hearth.
For that same day, Hermione did her best to break through Harry’s mood. She attempted to talk some sense into him, but he would either walk away from her or whistle loudly in hopes of drowning her out. When conventional methods of communication had failed, Hermione tried a more… primal approach. Later while Harry was trying to engage Ron in a game of Wizards Chess (the poor man was nearly comatose due to his own recent mental trauma), Hermione decided to read a book while sitting on the couch near Harry. Of course the book was Harry’s “special book”. And in an attempt to better break through Harry’s resolve, Hermione wasn’t wearing her normal clothes. She wore a two sizes too small pullover that hugged her skin; in fact, it hugged her so much that one could easily tell that Hermione wasn’t wearing a bra. The pullover had a very interesting design on the front. If anyone besides Harry or the House-Elves of Hogwarts saw the design, they would simply assume that Hermione liked cute Japanese cartoons. But as all of the House-Elves and Harry knew, Hermione had a bit of a naughty side. Due to the fact that the pullover hugged her so combined with her braless condition, the outline of Hermione’s nipples and areolas could easily be seen through “Hello Kitty’s” eyes. She didn’t stop there with her subtle assault against Harry’s stubbornness. To say that she was wearing a short plaid skirt was a bit of an understatement. It would be more accurate to say that she had tied a small plaid handkerchief around her shapely hips. Of course, when Hermione sat down near Harry, she made it a point to position herself so that her plaid handkerchief rose up slightly so that if Harry looked over he would’ve gotten a vice view of her bum. She wondered whether or not Harry realized that she wasn’t wearing her normal style knickers as added ammunition. She intentionally flashed him quite a bit of her unclothed bum.
But this was the first day and Harry was doing a very good job of ignoring Hermione. His stubbornness in his resolve to continue his childish anger made Hermione very mad. She had decided as she went to bed that night that if Harry wanted to hold a grudge, she would show him what a grudge truly was.
The next morning, Harry woke up feeling terrible. He had an unfamiliar pressure in his chest that was eating away at him. He couldn’t place what the painful sensation was. He sulked out of bed with his feet dragging behind him as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast alone (he had tried to wake Ron up, but his red-headed friend was mumbling in his sleep about something like “… trim that thing you nasty…”). As he was eating a bowl of cereal, Hermione came down to eat as well. The heavy sensation in Harry’s chest gnawed at him some more as she sat down at the Gryffindor table; mind you she made it a point to sit as far away from Harry as possible. Harry pushed his ponderings about the sensation in his chest to the side; he had a job to do. And that job was ignoring Hermione. He made of show of ignoring her by stomping his feet as he passed by her as he left the Great Hall. Harry was a little perplexed that Hermione seemed to be ignoring him right back.
Two hours later, Harry thought it was time to ignore Hermione some more. So he sought her out the Common Room where she was sitting on a squashy chair reading a book. He purposely threw himself down on the couch nearby with a thump, hoping to let her know that he was still ignoring her and as well as to agitate her. Apparently, his loud flop on the couch did not alert Hermione to his presence. She sat there on her chair, dutifully reading her book. Harry huffed loudly to indicate he was bored and had nothing to do, nothing besides ignore Hermione, that is. But how could Harry revel in his/ “ignoring Hermione”/ plan if she didn’t know that he was intentionally ignoring her?
The heaviness in Harry’s chest ate away a little more, while Hermione turned the page, completely oblivious to his presence. He huffed again, this time much louder and he accentuated his boredom by sighing heavily. Much to his chagrin, Hermione didn’t even bat an eyelash in his direction.
Suddenly, Harry found himself wanting to be just by her side while she read that book. He wanted her dainty frame pushed up against his body, as he sat there doing nothing but letting her pleasant scent wash over him, letting her warmth mingle with his. He was shocked to find himself desiring to turn the pages of her book for her as she rested her hands on his knees. He needed her to be by him.
Harry gulped as he realized that he was being an utter fool. Harry shot up and meekly called out her name, “Hermione?”
And Hermione turned the page. Again Harry tried to gain her attention, “Hermione?”
It seemed impossible, but Harry could have sworn that Hermione had redoubled her efforts to read the book. A thought dawned on Harry; he would show Hermione just how much he needed her by getting her a present, a flower perhaps!
Harry scurried out of the Common Room and headed toward the Green Houses, he was sure he’d be able to find a flower for Hermione there. Upon entering the Green House, Harry realized that his plan had one slight flaw; most of the flowers in the Hogwarts Green Houses could kill a person. Some would bite, others would spit venom, and still others would strangle their victims. It wouldn’t do for Harry to show Hermione how much he wanted and needed her by inadvertently killing her now would it? Thankfully, the gates leading to Hogsmeade were open and Harry trotted to the little village.
A few hours later, Harry returned to the castle with his prize. It was a lovely flower whose petals shone a different color depending on the angle of light. It would switch between shades of purple to red and to yellow, just by tilting it ever so slightly.
Harry found Hermione still in the Common Room, still reading, although Harry could tell it was a different book from earlier. He figured that it would be romantic if he would just saunter by and drop the flower on her open book. With such a perfect plan, Harry did just that. The flower’s stem landed in the seam of the book while the petals hung over the top of the binding. Harry reckoned that Hermione would be gushing (no, not that way – get your minds out of the gutter) over the flower in moments. However, Hermione’s reaction was somewhat different than Harry was expecting; Hermione quietly closed her book, trapping the stem in its pages. She then set the book aside, completely ignoring the beautiful flower sticking out of its pages, and retrieved another tome from her bag.
Harry’s heart plummeted to the floor. She ignored his thoughtful and beautiful gift. With his shoulders slumped, Harry sulked off to his room.
The next morning, Harry decided that because Hermione had cast aside his peace offering that he would continue to ignore his so-called girlfriend until she came to him. He decided that he would treat her the way she had him! He vowed anew that he would completely ignore her, even if she tried to make a similar, loving gesture. He decided that he would ignore her until she begged him for forgiveness. It was a matter of principle now.
Harry’s resolve lasted almost four full hours.
He walked into the Great Hall for lunch to find Hermione sitting across from a sullen looking Ron. Harry had intended to sit next to Ron, and do a wonderful job of ignoring Hermione. But the heaviness in his chest had become too much, and he found himself on his knees next to Hermione.
“Please, Hermione, please forgive me,” he pleaded. Harry’s pride was thrown to the four winds as he knelt next to the most beautiful witch in the world. He didn’t care if he was making an arse out of himself in front of her or Ron. He just wanted Hermione to hold his hand and smile at him while she said that all was forgiven.
But alas, Hermione’s resolve was much stronger than Harry’s. She continued to ignore him as she asked Ron to pass her the jam.
“I was wrong!” announced Harry. What he was wrong about he wasn’t sure, but something inside of him told him that it was the proper thing to say.
“Ah, that’s what I was waiting for,” stated Hermione and turned to Harry with a smile on her face. Of course it was an “I’m right and you’re wrong” smile but Harry didn’t care. All he cared about was that she was smiling and it was at him. The heaviness disappeared from his chest and warmth flowed through his veins. “I don’t understand why you reacted the way you did, Harry. I was only joking about your mother experimenting with your father’s animagus form.”
It was close enough for an apology to make Harry happy. He got up from the floor and took his place next to Hermione. With a smile on his face and one in his heart, Harry took her hand in his.
“I’m still right about you two being childish concerning parents and their sex lives,” added Hermione.
And the smile lessened in Harry’s heart and on his face.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Harry,” Hermione said softly, while caressing his cheek. “I don’t understand why you and Ron are reacting in such a way? It’s completely natural for Molly and Arthur to do such things. I think it’s wonderful that they still are going at it after so many years of marriage.”
“But they’re parents Hermione,” argued Harry, his hand going clammy at the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley doing /it/. “They’re not supposed to do such things.”
“Yeah, he’s right,” agreed Ron.
“Why?” asked Hermione. “Why aren’t they supposed to act on their love and be intimate?”
“Because they’re parents!” both Harry and Ron concluded. In their minds, the argument needed no further explanation. It was just the way it was, sort of like a Universal Rule of Parents. It was a clear-cut situation; parents kissed each other (and then only a light peck) and nothing more. Period. End of discussion. But Hermione didn’t understand that it needed no further discussion and pressed on.
“But why?” she asked.
“Because,” answered Harry stubbornly. If Hermione didn’t understand the Universal Rule of Parents, how was he going to teach her? He stood up and vented his frustration with his girlfriend’s unworldly-ness by pacing back and forth.
“Alright, let me ask you a hypothetical question, then,” began Hermione.
To which Ron asked, “/Hypo/-what?”
“Let’s say we get married,” Hermione said to Harry, tuning out Ron. “And we have kids.”
“Okay,” responded Harry immediately. He imagined the situation that Hermione proposed; he saw himself a few years down the line where he and Hermione had a couple of kids. Harry paused and reflected on this train of thought and his reaction, or lack there of. He wasn’t mortified at Hermione’s discussion of the two of them having kids in the least. Normally, when a teenaged male is in a discussion with his teenaged girlfriend and she starts talking about having kids, the male usually runs like hell; it’s the nature of things. But Harry was quite surprised to find that he wasn’t fearful of the thought of becoming the father to Hermione’s children. In fact, he found it pleasant. He felt his face heat up just at the thought of it.
“Ah, look, ikkle-Harry-kins is blushing,” Ron poked fun of his best mate. Apparently, his sour mood lifted slightly at the sight of his best mate blushing and more specifically, the opportunity to tease him about it.
Upon noticing Harry’s reaction to the thought of starting a family with her, Hermione started to blush as well. Harry assumed that she was just as happy as he was with the idea of becoming the mother of his children.
“Oh, wook,” Ron continued in a mock baby voice, “now ikkle-Hermione-kins is blushing too.”
The sight of his girlfriend’s cheeks turning red just made Harry happier. His imagination was now running rampant and started to create scenarios all on its own. Harry was now imaging bouncing their youngest child on his knee, while Hermione helped their oldest, home from Hogwarts for summer holiday, with her Transfiguration homework.
“Ah, now Harry-kins is glowing…” Ron started. “Um… Harry. You’re glowing. Really glowing!”
Harry couldn’t help but imaging what it would be like to read bedtime stories to his and Hermione’s kids. How proud he’d be when his son flew his first broom as he shouted, “Daddy, I’m doing it!” As Harry would beam with pride, he imagined Hermione would then walk up to him and tell him that she was pregnant again.
Ron was shielding his eyes to block out the golden rays that were emanating from his best mate’s body. He turned to Hermione to ask her what was going on, but was a little taken back to see her basking in the magical light. The look on her face was pure joy and love. The red haired wizard muttered a simple “wow” in awe.
“Don’t worry, Ron,” Hermione beamed as she relished Harry’s light. “Apparently Harry’s just inadvertently tapped into his love core.”
Finally noticing that he was throwing off light, Harry pushed the image of a family into the back of his mind and the glow slowly disappeared. In an embarrassed tone, Harry murmured, “Sorry ’bout that.”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione said, still blushing and looking like she was the happiest witch in the world. “I really liked it.”
“Whoa, this is weird,” commend Ron as he rubbed his chest. “I feel all warm and tingly… and happy. Why?”
“I think that’s Harry’s power,” explained Hermione. “I hadn’t consciously noticed it before, but in retrospect, whenever Harry taps into his love core and casts a spell, or in this case emits a magical light, the target feels a sense of deep, abiding love and happiness.”
“Really?” asked Harry. He was stunned at Hermione’s revelation concerning his magic.
“Yes, I realize it now that when you hit me with the super-charged Cheering Charm, not only did I feel ridiculously happy, but I also felt so much love,” answered Hermione. She added in an undertone, obviously hoping Ron wouldn’t hear; “And I felt it as well when you added your love to your Parselmouth magic.”
“You did?” Harry asked, in an awed undertone.
“Well, yes in hindsight I noticed it,” breathed Hermione. “Of course at the time, I was kind of overwhelmed with other feelings.”
“Why would it matter if Harry added his love energy to his Parselmouth abilities?” Ron interrupted. Apparently, his hearing was much better that Harry and Hermione had given him credit for.
“Never mind!” both Harry and Hermione commanded.
“Alright,” Ron said looking confused. Harry and Hermione both breathed a sigh of relief.
“Anyway, back to what I was saying,” Hermione changed subjects, away from Harry’s talented tongue. “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that we have children.” Harry fought the joyous thoughts of starting a family with Hermione very hard as she continued. “And let’s say, after we’ve had two children, that I’m feeling a little amorous….”
“/Amo/-what-/us?/” interrupted Ron.
“Randy, Ron,” explained Hermione. Ron muttered an ‘oh’ in comprehension and Hermione continued. “Well, as I said, I’m amorous and I would like to perhaps give you another ‘birthday present’. Would you allow me to do that?” she asked, putting extra emphasis on the phrase “birthday present.”
A naughtily little grin appeared on Harry’s face at the recollection of the last ‘birthday present’ that he had received from Hermione. Even though his grin told Hermione his answer, Harry blurted out an overzealous, “YES!”
“Why wouldn’t you give him a birthday present, especially if you were married?” asked Ron, oblivious to the meaning of the phrase ‘birthday present’ when it came to his two friends. “It would be expected, I’d think.”
“That’s my point,” Hermione agreed, a knowing smile on her lips. Those luscious lips that made Harry and ‘Harry, Jr.’ so very happy.
Harry realized that Mrs. Weasley’s advice was moot concerning his aim when he considered Hermione’s version of a ‘birthday present.’ If Hermione swallowed, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting anything in her eyes.
“And what about Christmas presents?” asked Ron, still being Ron and not catching on.
“Oh well, Christmas is a very special occasion isn’t it?” Hermione asked. Her knowing smile abruptly changed into a naughty one. “Being his wife, I’d have to give him an extra special ‘gift’, wouldn’t I?” She emphasized her point by tossing her hands up into the air in a/ “why not?”/ gesture but then brought them back down rapidly on her own bum, causing a smacking noise.
To Ron, Hermione’s actions were completely innocent. But to Harry, it was less innocent and much more reminiscent of the “Smack my bottom” side of Hermione.
“And if he’s your husband,” Ron added, “he should give you birthday presents as well.”
“Of course,” Hermione agreed by subtly gesturing toward her groin. Of course, Ron didn’t catch the reference, but Harry did. Harry’s eyes glossed over at the memory of his lips on her flower.
“And don’t forget about his Christmas presents to you,” concluded Ron.
In a form of agreement, Hermione copied the same “why not?” gesture she had performed earlier and smacked her bottom again. She added, “I’d go as far to say that he wouldn’t need a special occasion to give me ‘presents.'”
A pressure in his boxers drew Harry’s attention. His fear about ‘Harry, Jr.’ not wanting to ever play again due to Mrs. Weasley’s advice and the accompanying visions was just proven wrong. Apparently, all the innuendos and imagery that Hermione was throwing out caught/ ‘Harry, Jr.’s/ proverbial eye. The organ woke up slowly as if from a deep and troubled sleep and began to look around. At first Harry was overjoyed because this minor action proved he wasn’t permanently scarred by Mrs. Weasley’s words, or even Hermione’s joke about his mum and stags. But Harry’s joy quickly turned to dread; he hadn’t worn his robes today, and ‘Harry, Jr.’ was starting to stand up causing a bulge to rapidly appear in his jeans. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a bad thing, but Ron was standing just a few feet away. And best mates shouldn’t see each other’s bits. Yes, Ron had unfortunately seen Harry’s bits, but Ron had not seen them… happy and ready for playtime/./
“But, I don’t get it,” started Ron, a confused look in his eyes. “I thought we were talking about our parents and sex, not presents. I mean…” Ron paused and his confused look was quickly replaced by disgust.
You see, Harry was in such fear of Ron seeing ‘Harry, Jr.’ at half-mast that he was too petrified to cover up.
“FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, MAN!” shouted Ron and his hand shot up in front of his eyes in a vain attempt to block the sight of a partially aroused /’Harry, Jr.’/. “You’re a perverted bugger, aren’t you? All we were talking about was presents, and you go and get a hard-” Ron halted his tirade and looked at Hermione who was practically in hysterics. Tears of laughter streamed down her bright read cheeks and she was biting her fingers, trying to stop herself from laughing out loud. “You were talking about sex weren’t you?”
“YES!” Hermione proudly declared and slapped the table with her hand. Her riotous laughter echoed off the walls of the Great Hall.
“Well at least I know Harry’s-” Ron began in a dejected tone.
“Yeah, yeah I know,” interrupted Harry, “I’m a true Gryffindor because I ‘dress right.'”
“I was gonna say that ‘at least you weren’t permanently scarred by my mum,'” corrected Ron. “Unlike me. I’ll die a virgin simply because, every time I’m with a woman I’ll either think about seeing my sister’s ‘/Wizard’s Sleeve/’ or my dad’s stuff all over my mum’s face.”
And with that, Harry’s erection vanished. He wasn’t sure if it was the mention of a cum-covered Mrs. Weasley or the mere thought of Gin-Gin, the Erection Killer that caused the sudden deflation.
“But I guess it’s good that you’re a ‘TrueGryffindor,'” added a sullen faced Ron. He pushed his plate away from him in disgust.
“Don’t worry, Ron,” Hermione attempted to comfort her friend. “I’m sure once you find the right girl, you’ll be a raging Hungarian Horntail.”
“I doubt that,” pouted Ron. He showed just how much he doubted that he would ever be able to “rise” to the occasion by poking his groin as if to check if it was alive.
“Trust me, with the right girl…” Hermione paused and shared a knowing look with Harry. “You’ll be so astonished by your virility that you’ll wonder if it’ll ever go down.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” mumbled Ron.
“How about you go back to the tower and take a kip?” suggested Hermione. “You’ll feel better after one.”
Ron nodded his head dejectedly, and sulked off to the Common Room. Ron muttered as he walked off; “I hope I don’t dream about my sister’s thing…”
“Poor Ron,” moaned Hermione. Harry nodded his head; he himself was nearly traumatized by seeing Ginny thrashing about on the floor naked, let alone Mrs. Weasley’s comments. Even though Harry tended to look at Mrs. Weasley as a mother-figure, and Ginny had a physical resemblance to his actual mother, Harry was not actually related to them. Ron was however, and Harry could only imagine what his friend was going through right now. Upon noticing Harry’s concerned look, Hermione said “Don’t worry, Harry. Once we set Ron up with Luna, he’ll forget about what his mother said and even about seeing Ginny’s bits.”
“I don’t know, Hermione,” said Harry worriedly. “I can’t see Luna’s feminine wiles chasing Ron’s demons away.” Harry liked Luna and he thought that she was rather pretty; it was just that Harry couldn’t see the petite Ravenclaw curing Ron’s mental state.
“I have a plan,” Hermione countered cryptically.
Still dubious of using Luna to boost Ron’s feelings, Harry offered, “Maybe we should consider the Patil twins for Ron after all?”
“Which one; Padma or Parvati?” asked Hermione.
“The twins – both of them,” Harry knew that it would be doubtful to bag both witches at the same time, but he also believed that they would be the only way to alleviate Ron’s predicament. Harry knew, just as every man knows, the sun seems to shine a little brighter when twins are involved. “Once Ron sees them play for a bit, he’ll forget all of his worries and join in.”
“Wait a minute,” began Hermione. Harry could tell by the look in her eye and the tone of her voice that she was about to enter “lecture mode.” “Ginny looks like your mother to the point that just the thought of figurative incest makes you run in fear. But you’re suggesting that two sisters stimulate each other for Ron’s pleasure. And you’re not bothered by the idea?”
“Course not.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they’re twins,” Harry answered a touch perturbed. Even though she was the brightest witch in their generation, sometimes Hermione’s simplicity could astonish Harry. Didn’t she even know the world-famous “it’s always better with twins” theory?
“You’re telling me that you would find an act of incest exciting? The mere thought of Padma… going down on Parvati is sexy to you?” Hermione asked, which was a mistake. It was a mistake because the image that she had described had entered Harry’s mind.
His eyes glossed over and he felt a pressure build up once more in his boxers as ‘Harry, Jr.’ started to wake up. At first Hermione didn’t notice Harry’s reaction and she continued to rant. “I mean, could you imagine Parvati sticking her finger in Padma’s quim?” And that is just what Harry did, and he imagined it quite well, thank you. Hermione finally noticed Harry’s state.
“For heaven’s sake, Harry!” she scolded.
But Harry didn’t hear his girlfriend. He was preoccupied with the very intriguing image of a twin getting a sticky finger from her sister.
“Harry, they’re sisters!” hissed Hermione. But her arguments fell on deaf ears, Harry was lost in his thoughts and judging by his bulge in his shorts, they were happy thoughts. There were two ways that Hermione knew would bring Harry back to reality. The first was to hit him with a Cold Water Charm, aimed directly at his groin. The sudden jet of frigid water to the crotch would probably enrage Harry, but it would end his perverted thoughts. The second way was one that Hermione knew to be much more insidious. Seeing how much of a prat he was being, she opted for the second.
Hermione walked up to Harry and whispered in his ear, “What was it like to have Ginny’s lips wrapped around your balls?”
The wonderful image of the Patil twins frolicking was destroyed by the image of Gin-Gin, the Erection Killer joining in on the fun. Harry groaned pitifully while ‘Harry, Jr.’ ran in fear.
“Incest is bad,” Hermione said in a patronizing way. “We’re not pure-blood bigots.”
She alleviated his quickly developing sour mood – a perfectly good fantasy dealing with the Patil twins and a jar of peanut butter was ruined forever thanks to Hermione mentioning Ginny – by kissing his lips. Harry’s bitterness evaporated completely as Hermione kissed him. Who could care about twins when someone as perfect as Hermione was around. Harry decided to change his fantasy so that, instead of the twins, it would feature him alone with Hermione and the jar of peanut butter. Yes, that’d do quite nicely.
“Let’s go write a letter to Luna,” breathed Hermione. “We need to ask her if she’d be willing to go on a date with Ron.”
After writing the letter which asked Luna to meet with Harry and Hermione, the pair walked to the Owlery and found Hedwig. After Hedwig showed her anger for being so unused in recent days, the snowy owl took the post and flew off.
**
The next day, Hermione decided to begin the hunt for the Horcruxes in earnest.
“Well, we definitely know the location of one Horcrux: Number Twelve,” Hermione stated as Ron and Harry listened. “And we can be fairly certain that it won’t have any traps surrounding it.”
“Okay,” Ron said glumly. He apparently was still in a deep depression because of his recent traumatic experiences. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Harry felt bad for his friend and hoped that Hermione’s plan would pull him from his stupor.
“Alright, let’s go,” announced Hermione. “Harry, go fetch the Sword.”
“Sword? What sword?” asked Harry.
“Don’t you remember, the Sword of Gryffindor?” reminded Hermione. “We need it to destroy the Horcrux.”
“Oh yeah, that,” Harry said, finally remembering the ancient weapon currently stashed in his trunk. “I’d forgotten about it.”
After fetching his sword, Harry met up with Hermione and Ron as they were making their way to the Headmistress’ office.
“About yesterday,” began Ron as the climbed the stairs to McGonagall’s office. “When Harry tapped into his love magic… well you said that you felt love when he hit with the Cheering Charm.”
“Yes, I didn’t notice it at first, but in retrospect, I do believe that I felt love,” explained Hermione.
“Okay then,” Ron continued. “So did Harry use his love magic when he used that super Stunner to knock out all those Death Eaters at Godric’s Hollow?”
“Yes,” replied Harry while Hermione began to open the door.
“Well, doesn’t that mean they would’ve felt Harry’s love when they were knocked out?” asked Ron.
Both Harry and Hermione froze as that question filled their minds. ‘Did the Death Eaters have a sense of love as they were stunned?’ Harry’s ponderings were abruptly ended when a pink haired witch greeted them.
“Wotcher, kids,” Tonks heralded with a wicked grin on her face. If Harry had not been so preoccupied about Ron’s question about the effect of his love magic on the Death Eaters, he would’ve been concerned about her grin. “Where’re you three off to?”
“Oh, just a little adventure,” Hermione responded a touch cryptically. Both Harry and Hermione knew that they could trust Tonks with the secret of the Horcruxes, but they also realized that the fewer the people who knew, the less trouble there’d be. “What brings you here?”
“Actually, I need to ask you lot a question,” Tonks began, her normally chipper mood suddenly became serious. “We were able to rennervate the Death Eaters Harry stunned….” Harry found it oddly coincidental that Tonks had mentioned the Death Eaters right when he and his friends were doing the same. “But we can’t revive my bitch of an aunt, Bellatrix.” Harry, Hermione, and Ron all shuddered at the mention of the unnaturally hairy witch. “She isn’t unconscious, but she isn’t responsive either.”
“Oh,” Harry replied nervously.
“That what Bellatrix says. A lot,” Tonks continued. “She just stares off into space and every once in a while she mutters an ‘oh’ and shivers.”
Harry looked over at Hermione who looked back at him. Whereas Harry’s look told Hermione that he was nervous and worried that Tonks would find out that he didn’t hit Bellatrix with a Stunner but actually made her have a mind blowing – literally- orgasm, Hermione’s look clearly told Harry that he was never allowed to use that specific ‘Pleasure Point’ technique on her; the repercussions were obviously too much.
“The Healers at St Mungo’s have been trying to revive her, but can’t seem to find a way,” Tonks explained. “She isn’t stunned. She isn’t unconscious; she’s just there, totally unresponsive to the world. As I said, the only thing she does is say /’oh’ /every now. And then her whole body just… shivers. Right after that, she gets the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on a person. Every time. It’s weird. Did you hit her with something other than a Stunner?” she asked Harry.
“NO!” Harry replied, a little too vehemently.
“Oh, well then, I’ll just head back and give the Healers an update,” Tonks stated and made her way to the fireplace. “I was hoping that maybe you might have an idea as to what was wrong with her. Not really a big loss, if you ask me.” She threw in a pinch of floo and said in a clear voice “St. Mungo’s!”
Before she disappeared, Harry could’ve sworn Tonks smiled wickedly and winked at him. Whatever the reason for this, Harry had no idea.
“Might I ask where this adventure of yours will take you?” asked McGonagall who was sitting behind her desk shuffling through some parchments.
“Oh, we’re going to Grimmaud Place,” Hermione replied.
“Why in heaven’s name are you going there?” inquired McGonagall.
“Um… we…. Ah…” Hermione stuttered trying to find a plausible excuse that would mask their real intentions for going to number twelve.
“We’re going to find… Kreacher…?” Harry offered very weakly. It wasn’t the truth, but he couldn’t tell McGonagall that the three of them were going on a mystical scavenger hunt, now could he?
“Kreacher is missing?” the Headmistress screeched and shot out of her chair. “How did that happen?”
“I kinda… told him he could…leave,” Harry admitted even more weakly. “And then he… kinda… told those Death Eaters to attack us at Godric’s Hollow.”
“That house-elf is too much of a loose cannon to be left wandering around,” McGonagall said. “Summon him here right now.”
“How can I do that?” asked Harry.
“That house-elf is your property, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall explained. “He is bound to you. All you have to do is call for him”
In that moment, Harry felt very slow witted; he had completely forgotten that he could call for his house-elf and that Kreacher would be compelled to obey. But in Harry’s defense, he had forgotten about the traitorous creature shortly after he had realized that it was Kreacher who had told Bellatrix to attack. Of course, the reason that Harry had forgotten was that was the time that a fairly nude Gin-Gin, the Erection Killer had molested him. Any thoughts he had regarding the house-elf had been quickly pushed to the back of his mind.
“Kreacher!” Harry called out in a clear voice. With a small pop, the dirty little house-elf stood in front of him.
“No! No! No! Master Harry Potter brat is supposed to be not living!” Kreacher cried out. “Mistress Bella said you’s be as good as not alive!”
“Where have you been?” asked Harry.
“Kreacher has been preparing the most noble house of Black for its proper owners,” answered Kreacher. Harry could tell that each word that the house-elf spoke was agony; it was obvious that Kreacher didn’t want to respond, but the bond forced him.
The vile house-elf threw himself to the floor wailing, “No! No! No! No!” as Hermione directed her attention to Harry.
“I hate to say this, but I agree with Professor McGonagall; he’s too dangerous to be allowed to roam around,” she said, ashamed to admit that this house-elf couldn’t be saved. “A simple slip of the tongue, and he’ll interpret it as a command to run back to his favored masters.”
“We could tell him that you are the Great One,” offered Harry. “And that he has to…”
Harry paused his line of thought because of the icy glare his girlfriend was giving him. It told Harry without words that she was very uncomfortable with being the prophesized savior of the house-elves and didn’t want to use any power that came with it. The glare also told him that if he ever wanted her to touch ‘Harry, Jr.’ again that he should shut up.
Added to Harry’s fear from Hermione’s expression was a little resentment. Hermione wasn’t opposed to using her status of the Great One to make sure Harry didn’t eat the foods he’d like, but she wouldn’t use them to control Kreacher.
As Harry shrunk from Hermione’s cold stare, Kreacher decided to show how displeased he was that Harry was still alive by biting Ron’s shin.
“You lousy little…” Ron screamed while trying to kick the offending vermin off of his leg. “Call him off Harry!” pleaded Ron.
But Harry had to carefully word his command because, knowing Kreacher, the little shite would take it as an order to leave. If only Kreacher was like Dobby; Harry never had to worry that any order that he gave Dobby would be misinterpreted as “go to the Death Eaters and tell them that they can kill me or someone I care about.” Of course, Dobby tended to be a little overzealous at times, taking the order to extremes much like he had when Harry had asked him to trail Draco last year. Harry’s mind wondered to a very disturbing thought in concern to his “overzealous” nature; Dobby admitted to “finishing off” his former mistress, Narcissa, when his former master, Lucius, had fallen asleep after sex. He imagined poor Dobby being yelled at by Narcissa for his lack of style and talent in the sack.
Then a clever, devious, and very nasty thought came to mind.
“Kreacher, come here,” Harry commanded. The house-elf did try to follow his master’s order, however, his master had not told him to let go of the red haired one and he attempted to drag the screaming wizard by his mouth.
“MAKE HIM STOP!” hollered Ron as the wrinkly house-elf tugged at his leg.
“Let him go and come here,” Harry ordered calmly. With a cross between a whimper and a growl, Kreacher released Ron and crawled over to Harry. “Now, Kreacher , I have something very important for you to do…”
“Be careful, Harry,” implored Hermione.
“Now, Narcissa Malfoy’s husband has been in Azkaban for over a year now,” Harry began.
“Master Luci only there because Master Harry Potter brat put him there,” interrupted Kreacher.
“Yes, I know it’s my fault,” agreed Harry. Ron, McGonagall, and Hermione looked at Harry as if he had lost his mind. “So I want to make it up to Narcissa. She has been very lonely these past few months and I want you to keep her company. But you have to keep her company in a very special way.”
“What kind of way would Kreacher have to keep mistress Narci company?” the house-elf asked dubiously.
Harry paused for dramatic effect before replying; “Amorous company.”
“What?” everyone in the Headmistress’ office screeched (including every single magical painting).
“Yes, amorous,” repeated Harry. “I know for a fact that Narcissa likes the touch of an elf.”
Kreacher shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. Everyone in the office could tell that the house-elf wasn’t keen on the idea of bedding a witch, but he liked it over the idea of being at the castle with blood traitors, the unclean witch, and his half-blood master.
“There are a few rules, though,” added Harry. “First; you must not communicate with anyone in any way. No speaking, no making sounds what-so-ever, no hand gestures, no writing, nothing. Second; you must be affectionate and amorous to Narcissa every waking moment – that’s your waking moments, not necessarily hers. Third, you can only be affectionate and amorous to Narcissa’s lower part of her right leg, her shin or calf only.
“Do you understand?” concluded Harry to which Kreacher nodded his head pitifully. “Repeat my orders.”
“Kreacher mustn’t be talking or nothing to anybody…” the house-elf gulp nervously before continuing. “And Kreacher must be making fun-time with Mistress Narci’s leg.”
“The lower part of her right leg,” corrected Harry.
“Yes, Kreacher must be making fun-time with Mistress Narci’s lower right leg all the time,” the surly elf repeated angrily.
“Fine then, go and do your duty” Harry commanded. Kreacher frowned and disappeared with a crack.
After staring dumbly at Harry for a good minute; Hermione asked, “Let me get this straight,” she began. “You ordered Kreacher to hump Narcissa Malfoy’s leg?”
“The lower part of her right leg,” Harry corrected.
“Constantly?” questioned Hermione.
“Yes, constantly,” answered Harry with a devilish smile.
All at the same time, Ron, McGonagall, and Hermione shuddered. Harry assumed that they were quite disturbed by the image of the wrinkly old house-elf rubbing his bits on Draco’s mother’s calf while kissing her knee.
“Alright,” Harry said, drawing everyone out of their disturbing images. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Wait a second,” interrupted McGonagall. “Why are you still going to Grimmauld Place if you’ve already taken care of Kreacher?”
“Um…” Harry began. He was all out of ideas so he turned his left to Hermione.
“Err…” Hermione muttered and turned to Ron on her left, because, apparently, she was out of ideas as well.
Ron didn’t even try to hem or haw, he just immediately looked to his left. Unfortunately, no one was to Ron’s left, which left him in a pickle.
Now, it was very unfair for Harry and Hermione to do this to Ron. When he was under pressure, Ron tended to either lock up, babble incoherently, or sometimes scream much like he did when he asked Fleur out to the Yule Ball. This time, he managed to do all three at the same time.
At first, he spent a good ten seconds staring at McGonagall in shock. The Headmistress watched Ron with a calm demeanor for the first five seconds of silence, but then her appearance became quite stern because she was obviously upset that Ron wasn’t answering. This caused Ron to become even more nervous and made his blood pressure spike – mind you; Harry and Hermione were looking at him expectantly as well, which just increased his blood pressure even more. Ron’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red and sweat poured off of his body.
Then, he finally forced himself to speak. Which was a mistake.
“I like kittens,” he mumbled at such a low voice that his audience of McGonagall, Harry, and Hermione leaned in very close to Ron. Which was unfortunate on their part seeing that Ron was about to enter his shouting phase. “I HAVEN’T GOTTEN WOOD IN DAYS”
All three of the listeners recoiled and began rubbing their ears in an attempt to ease the pain – that and vainly try to physically remove the sad image that Ron just gave them.
“Aw, that’s too bad, boy,” a gruff voice sounded from somewhere in the shadows. “Might I suggest a good ol’ fashioned ‘Hogwarts Express Pleasure Train’? Granger can be the engine, Potter the coal cart. Minerva can be the passenger compartment, Weasley the luggage compartment. And I’ll be the caboose!”
“Don’t you bother anyone else?” Hermione hissed irritable as the ghost of Gryffindor stepped out of the darkness.
“I bother a number of people, love,” Gryffindor said proudly. “You lot are my favorite, though.”
“Did he… did he just offer to bugger me?” asked a now very white face Ron. You see, it wasn’t everyday that a ghost stated that he wanted to bum-shag him. In fact, no one ever had; living or dead.
“Any port in a storm, boy,” Gryffindor confirmed with a very scary smile causing Ron to shudder.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Harry. He hadn’t realized when had moved, but he found himself standing in front of Hermione, shielding her from the lecherous spirit.
“I’m a ghost, I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, I get bored,” explained Gryffindor.
“We’d like to stay and chat,” began Hermione. Harry turned to see her throw some floo powder into the fireplace. “But we have to leave.”
Once the flames turned green, Hermione stepped in and announced her destination in a loud and clear voice, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.” And she disappeared.
Harry tried to follow directly after Hermione but Ron halted him. “Let me go first,” Ron offered nervously. “That way I can catch you when you fall through the floo.”
Harry could tell that wasn’t Ron’s real intention by the fearful look in his eyes. Even though Harry wanted to put as much distance between Gryffindor’s ghost and himself as soon as possible, he allowed Ron to go first. Harry reckoned that with all the troubling images that Ron had suffered lately he deserved to get away from the ghost who wanted to part of a McGonagall/Ron/Gryffindor sandwich.
After Harry nodded, Ron hopped into the floo and shouted, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!” and disappeared.
Harry grabbed a pinch of powder and stepped into the green fire. He looked apologetically at McGonagall whose face was a mask of dread. He could tell that the Headmistress was pleading with her eyes; saying something along the lines of “Don’t leave me alone with Gryffindor!” Harry hated to abandon McGonagall with the perverted specter, but he had to go and destroy the Horcrux. “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he declared and began spinning.
Ron was true to his word and caught Harry when he came flinging out of the floo. However, this only caused both wizards to go crashing into the kitchen table causing a very loud racket which woke up the magical painting of Mrs. Black.
“WHAT GOING ON?” the painting screeched. “WHO’S THERE?
“I hate that thing,” said Hermione as she covered her ears to protect herself from Mrs. Black’s unnaturally loud voice.
“WHO DARES TO ENTER MY HOUSE?” shouted Mrs. Black.
“Let’s shut her up before we find the Horcrux,” said Harry.
“ANSWER ME OR FACE MY WRATH!”
“I agree,” replied Hermione.
“KREACHER! KREACHER, MY FAITHFUL SERVANT, WHERE ARE YOU?” the painting called out. “IF THEY ARE OF GOOD STOCK, WELCOME THEM! BUT IF THEY ARE BLOOD TRAITORS, OR WORSE, THROW THE FILTH OUT!”
The trio scampered out of the kitchen and into the hall. Harry had hoped to draw the heavy curtains to muffle Mrs. Black, but he was surprised to see them missing.
“Where the hell are the curtains?” Ron asked, apparently he had the same idea as Harry.
“VILE COMTEMPTUOUS VERMIN!” Mrs. Black screamed even louder upon noticing Harry and his friends. “YOU FILTH ARE NOT WELCOMED HERE!”
Hermione whipped out her wand and began to wave it in front of the painting as Mrs. Black continued to scream and holler. A curtain made out of some kind of thin fabric appeared in front of the bellowing Mrs. Black. Unfortunately, it did little to stop the dead woman’s screams. In fact, her screams tore the curtain to threads.
“She’s distracting me too much,” admitted Hermione. “I can’t concentrate properly to make a strong enough fabric!”
“THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE A MUDBLOOD AND A HARLOT!” called out Mrs. Black.
“I am not!” defended Hermione.
“ARE TOO!” retorted the painting.
“AM NOT!” counted Hermione.
“ARE TOO!”
Hermione took a step back and a calming breath. “I cannot believe I’m having such a childish argument with a painting of a dead person!” She turned to Harry and simply said, “Make her stop.”
“How?” asked Harry.
“I don’t know,” stated Hermione. “You’re the most powerful one here. Just tap into your love core and cast a spell on her.”
“I’ll try,” Harry said dubiously. He leveled his wand at the painting.
“DO YOUR WORST, BOY!” Mrs. Black taunted. “BETTER WIZARDS THAN YOU HAVE TRIED AND FAILED! AND YOU”RE NOTHING MORE THAN A HALF-BLOOD!”
Harry tried to focus on his love, but it proved rather difficult. The mad witch in the painting did a good job of pissing him off, and therefore he had too much trouble focusing on loving thoughts or memories. Hermione must have realized that her boyfriend was having difficulty because she placed her hand in his. Harry turned and looked into her lovely hazel eyes. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips and Harry felt a tingle wash over his body. He turned back to the portrait and pushed that tingling sensation through his wand. A flash of white light erupted from Harry’s wand and Mrs. Black’s eyes glazed over.
“What was that?” Hermione asked as she looked at the still form of Mrs. Black. “What spell did you use?”
“I dunno,” muttered Harry. He turned his attention to his girlfriend and tried to explain. “I just focused on my power is all.”
“Oh, Harry,” a sing-song voice called softly from the portrait. The trio of friends all turned back to the painting and gasped at what they saw. The overall picture had not changed; it was still an elderly Mrs. Black sitting in front of a bookcase. But what had changed was her demeanor and expression. Her cheeks were flushed and she had a twinkle in her eyes; one might even argue that it was a loving twinkle. “Hullo, my dear, dear Harry,” Mrs. Black greeted with a cute little wave. Harry cringed. “It’s been so long since my husband passed away. I’m in need of a good rogering!”
Harry felt very dizzy. Here was a painting of an old woman asking him to shag her.
“I know I’m just a painting,” Mrs. Black continued. “But you can rub your willy against the canvas and we can pretend.”
Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione for help. But both of them were staring, open mouthed and in shock at the painting.
“Here, let me give you something that will stimulate you, my beautiful Half-Blood,” Mrs. Black offered and began to pull down her blouse. Harry ran like a bat out of hell before Mrs. Black could reveal even an inch of pasty flesh! He tore around the corner and was up the stairs before he heard Ron and Hermione scream. Thunderous footfalls announced that his friends had finally come to their senses and ran. Hermione dove at Harry and wrapped her trembling arms around his chest. Ron slumped against the wall and muttered, “So saggy… so very saggy…”
“Did you see the tattoo?” Hermione murmured with fear evident in her voice.
“Tattoo? I thought that was a birthmark,” replied Ron in a dead, lifeless voice.
“No, it was a tattoo of the Black Family crest,” corrected Hermione. She buried her face into Harry’s chest and cried softly. “Why would anyone do that to their own tit?”
Harry gently ran his fingers through his girlfriend’s hair in an attempt to sooth her troubled mind. Of course, while he was doing that, he was valiantly trying not to imagine the Black Family Crest tattooed on any part of Mrs. Black’s body much less her so very saggy boobs.
The three friends sat in silence for a good long time… well mostly in silence. Every once in a while, Mrs. Black would call out things like “Harry, I’m waiting for you,” “I know what a wizard really likes,” and Harry’s personal mind scarring favorite; “I’m so wet I need a mop!”
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Harry stated with just a sight tremble in his voice. The trio came up with the ingenious plan to sneak by Mrs. Black’s painting with their eyes shut (so they wouldn’t see the wrinkly hag) with Harry in the lead. Harry bolted by Mrs. Black (who was shouting “Harry, my heart of hearts; look what I can do with my fist!) with his eyes firmly shut. He was hoping that his memory would lead him to the kitchen. This, as many things in Harry’s life, didn’t go as planed. He ran into a wall twice (Harry was fairly certain it was the same wall), tripped over Ron’s feet when he had tried to backtrack (he knew that it was Ron’s feet because of their size), and bumped up against Hermione a grand total of three times (the first two times were accidents — the third time, however, was a blatant boob squeeze moment; Harry couldn’t help it, he really did like her boobs and he was a teenager after all). The trio finally came crashing into the kitchen with Mrs. Black still calling out; “Oh, Harry, my wondrous love, imagine your trouser basilisk in here instead of my fist!”
Hermione slammed the door and cast several Silencing Charms on it, finally blocking out the wretched old witch’s cries of passion.
“Why didn’t you just do that before?” asked Ron as Hermione put the finishing touches on her charms. “Why did we go up there and try to quiet her when we could’ve just Silenced the door?”
“I didn’t see you offer to do it!” Hermione shot back.
“I’m not the brains of-” countered Ron.
“That’s obvious-”
“Stop it!” shouted Harry. He knew that Hermione and Ron were a little on edge because of Mrs. Black’s antics and that they were just venting their frustrations on each other, but they had a mission. “Let’s do this.” Harry finished by pulling Gryffindor’s sword out of his robes.
At first, it seemed that Harry had lost control and was slashing the sword about madly. It swung in Harry’s hands this way and that; it was if the sword had a will of its own.
“Watch where you swing that thing,” Ron warned as he dodged behind the kitchen table.
After a brief moment of panic, Harry remembered that Gryffindor had told him that the sword would act like a divining rod when it was near one of the Horcuxes. “Don’t worry,” announced Harry. “It’s just searching for the Horcrux.”
Just as Harry finished his statement, the sword stopped swinging and pointed at the cupboard. Hermione stepped in front of Harry and opened the door. There, on the floor on top of a pile of rags, sat the golden cup of Hufflepuff.
“What do we do now?” Ron asked after the left the protection of the table and stood next to Harry.
“We destroy it,” answered Hermione as she too took her place next to Harry as well.
“Yeah, but how?” Ron wondered.
Harry was baffled. Gryffindor told him that the sword was supposed to be used to destroy the Horcruxes, but he didn’t say how to do it.
“Maybe it’s like a wand,” offered Hermione. “Try using a Blasting Hex using the sword as a wand.”
Willing to try anything at that moment, Harry pointed the sword at the cup and incanted; “Reducto!” and squinted his eyes. Harry was prepared for just about anything to happen. But nothing happened all. No destruction of the cup; no blasting hex; the sword didn’t even twitch or move in the slightest.
The cup sat unmoved and unscathed on top of the pile of rags, oblivious to Harry’s actions.
“It didn’t work,” Hermione stated aloud.
“Of course that didn’t work,” a gruff voice sounded from behind them. Harry groaned as he recognized the voice of the ghost of Gryffindor. “It’s not a wand. It’s a sword for Merlin’s sake.”
“He followed us?” Ron asked when the trio turned to face the perverted specter. “How’d he get here so quick?”
“I used the floo,” answered Gryffindor.
“But ghosts can’t do that,” Ron said frantically. “It’s impossible!”
“You’ll find that this ghost can do a number of things other ghost can’t do. Unfortunately,” Hermione informed. And as if to prove Hermione’s point, Gryffindor tweaked Ron’s nipple.
Harry ignored Ron’s yelp and demanded; “Well then, how the bloody hell do I use it?”
“It’s a sword,” Gryffindor said in a perturbed manner. “Its got a point: you stab with that end,” the ghost continued, speaking in a slow cadence to underscore his sarcasm. “It also has a cutting edge along the length of the blade: you can cut things that way.”
“Oh,” Harry, Hermione, and Ron all muttered at the same time. Of course, Ron had his hands pressed firmly over his nipples in order to protect them from the nasty ghost.
“‘Oh’ they say,” Gryffindor mocked. “Don’t they teach common sense at that school anymore? Thinking that a sword is more than a sword. Why would I create a sword if I was going to use magic through it? That’s what a wand is for.”
Harry tuned Gryffindor’s insults out and concentrated on the golden cup. His heart was beating like a drum as he held the blade hung over the Horcrux. ‘What will happen?’ Harry wondered to himself. ‘/Will it explode in fire and sparks? Will thick black smoke billow out of it?’ / Resolving himself to find out, Harry shut his eyes and let the sword fall toward the Hufflepuff relic. The edge of the blade tapped the cup gently and it broke apart with a barely audible “clink.”
That was it.
There was no explosion, no fire, no smoke, nor any bright lights; nothing. The Horcrux just laid there on the pile of rags, cut cleanly in two. Harry stared at it dumbly, waiting for something spectacular to happen, to confirm in a way that it had worked and more importantly that the fragment of Voldemort’s soul was destroyed. But nothing happen.
“Well, that’s a bit anti-climatic,” Ron stated, ending the silence, “wasn’t it?”
“Shouldn’t there have been an explosion or something?” asked Hermione.
“That’s what I was thinking,” answered Harry while still looking at the broken Horcrux, expecting it to do something… anything really.
Then it happened. At first it was a quiet sound, something that Harry had to strain his ears to hear, but slowly it grew. It was a scream full of agony and misery. It was pitiful to hear and Harry turned away from the horrible thing that was emanating the sound. Only to find that the scream wasn’t coming from the ruined Horcrux, but rather from the ghost of Godric Gryffindor. Apparently, the list of annoying talents the ghost possessed included the ability to throw his voice.
Even though the ghost was screaming pitifully, Harry could tell that Gryffindor was on the edge of a fit of laughter.
“Would you please stop that?” asked Harry mirthlessly.
Gryffindor abruptly stopped screaming and started laughing. Silvery tears of joy streamed down his face as Hermione spun around with a stunned look on her face. “That was you?” Hermione asked, scandalized. “We thought it was coming from the Horcrux!”
“Why would an inanimate object scream?” Gryffindor asked in-between peals of laughter.
“Because…. Because it’s a Horcrux!” Harry answered passionately.
“Big deal,” retorted Gryffindor. “What were you expecting? Something like the fragment of Voldemort’s soul taking shape and begin to jump around? Or even a flash of lightning? Why think small: why not have the walls come tumbling down around you?”
“Well… yes,” Harry replied sullenly. He had in fact, expected something along those lines to happen.
“Even if Voldemort had put a curse or hex to protect his soul fragment, my sword would’ve protected you from it,” informed the ghost. “Remember, I told you that already.”
“That’s no excuse to make fun of us,” Ron stated.
“Yes, it is!” Gryffindor replied, before another bout of laughter hit him.
Harry shook his head and signaled for Hermione and Ron to follow. As the trio made their way to the kitchen fire-place, Gryffindor asked, “Wait a tick, where are you lot going?”
“Back to Hogwarts,” answered Harry.
“All right, let me tag along,” Gryffindor said and fell in line behind Ron.
Harry and Hermione sighed while Ron gulped. None of them wanted the perverted ghost to follow them, they had had enough of his antics for a while. Then Harry got an idea; one that would hopefully entertain Gryffindor for a while and leave them alone.
“Oi, Gryffindor, there’s a magical painting of an old bird out there,” Harry started.
“So? There’s plenty of those paintings back home,” Gryffindor replied, dismissing Harry’s statement.
“This is different. She’s randy,” Harry said.
“Really!” Gryffindor said gleefully, reversing his stance on returning to Hogwarts. “Where’s this lovely lass?”
Harry pointed to the door and the ghost – somehow – threw the door open and scurried out. As Hermione disappeared in the fireplace; Harry could hear Gryffindor greet Mrs. Black. “Well, hello there, luv. NICE TATTOO!”
“Who are you?” Mrs. Black screeched. Ron practically jumped into the green flames and couldn’t say “Hogwarts” fast enough. “Where’s my beautiful half-blood, my prince of princes, Harry?”
“Oh, he’s a bit busy, poppet,” Gryffindor said silkily. “But he told me to entertain you for a bit.”
“Really?” Mrs. Black asked and Harry stepped into the flames and grabbed a pinch of floo powder. “Well I guess that’s fine then.”
“Hogwarts; Headmistress’ office!” announced Harry. But before he left Grimmauld Place, he heard Mrs. Black moan lustily and Gryffindor exclaim, “WOW! I’ve never seen anyone do that with their own fist before!”
To Be Continued

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Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Christmas Shopping, Returns, and Other Headaches
Disclaimer: Not mine, I own nothing. I’m not making any money.
WARNING: Harsh Language, adult themes, sexual situations (i.e. smut), bad spelling and grammar.
Author’s Notes: This story is a broad farce with over the top humor (a good deal of it is crude and sexual) and OOC actions (that’s Out Of Character if you don’t know). Also, this is my first smut-ish fic. If you don’t like sex and sex-based humor, do NOT read this!
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Christmas Shopping, Returns, and Other Headaches… and pains in the arse.
The next morning, after a good long rest, thirteen naked, sweaty, and fairly sticky people fumbled around in blindness.
“No one remove your blindfolds,” one Hermione commanded. “We don’t want to risk aparadox.”
“It’s funny that we’re worried about a paradox when this whole thing was created by aparadox,” another version of the witch commented.
“Good point,” the first agreed. “We don’t want to create further paradoxes so no one remove their blindfolds.”
“So, what do we do now?” asked one Harry.
“Hhmm, let’s see; we’re all nude… lying on top of each other… what should we do?”another Harry asked mockingly.
“Hey now, you back off,” a Hermione commanded a Harry. “I had two of you at the same time last night. I could use a bit of rest.”
“I’m the Hermione from a few days from now. I could use two Harrys,” another Hermione offered.
“You know, it would be terribly rude not to grant her wish,” a Harry stated.
“True,”another agreed.
“Watch where you step,” a different Harry protested as some of his counterparts began to move about. “I don’t want a knee in my groin as you blokes crawl around.”
“Sorry about that,” a Harry apologized. “Where’s the Hermione who wants to be double teamed?”
“Over here,” a witch answered. “Just follow my voice.”
“Gotcha.”
“Let’s see… one penis,” the eager Hermione began counting. “Two penises… three penises. I only agreed to being double teamed, boys. The owner of this third penis, go find another me.”
“Ooh, I’ll take your extra one,” another Hermione offered.
“Okay, let’s all start… again, except for the current time’s Harry and Hermione,” a Hermione said over the squelches and moans. “You two need to go back in time.”
“Um, Ialready started,” one Harry admitted.
“Well then hurry up. We’ve got a tight schedule to keep.”
~*~
Odd but incredibly fun was the best way for Harry to describe using the Time Turner to re-participate in the Morgy Ritual. It was odd tapping the past version of himself and suggesting to double-team Hermione, but it was definitely fun doubling up on her.
By his seventh and final pass at the Morgy Ritual, Harry had memorized the sporadic conversations his past selves and the various Hermiones had. For example, when one Hermione complained about her mouth going numb, Harry knew that in a few seconds the version of himself that had not used the Time Turner yet would freak-out when the third time through’s Harry’s discharge landed on the former Harry’s foot.
“EW!EW! GET IT OFF!”
~*~
It was a very hectic period over the next few days. Hermione would stop what she was doing every eight hours (and seeing that it was Hermione, it was precisely eight hours; not seven hours and fifty-four minutes or eight hours and six minutes, but eight hours) and head back to their shared bedroom to utilize the Time Turner. Harry on the other hand, was not as punctual as his girlfriend. At seemingly random points, sometimes after five hours, others after ten, and any length in between, Harry would stop whatever he was doing and used the Time Turner.
And during this time, our heroes’ peers would get very confused. They would pass either Harry or Hermione several times while they walked down the halls. And that wasn’t the half of it. Take for example the morning where Ron was enjoying a chess match with Harry in the Head Students Chamber only to hear peculiar sounds coming from the spare bedroom.
“Don’t pay that any heed,” suggested Harry as he moved his bishop. “It’s nothing.”
“It sounds like you and Hermione going at it,” Ron said while staring at the closed door. “And I can swear that I hear two birds in there who both sound like Hermione.”
“It’s nothing,” Harry countered with a bemused smile, “just the wind blowing and the old castle creaking and whatnot.”
Then, as if to challenge Harry’s explanation, Hermione’s voice filtered through the door, saying quite clearly “That’s it Harry, cum on her titties!”
“See, just the wind,” a smiling Harry stated.
“This castle sure does make weird noises,” Ron said with a shrug.
~*~
The Morgy Ritual was a resounding success. The morning after they performed the aforementioned ritual, the Daily Prophet’s headline read in great bold letters:
“MASSIVE BLOW TO DEATH EATERS!
/ /St. Mungo’s, which was just sacked yesterday, was overrun once again by the minions of He Who Must Not Be Named. Nearly one hundred and ten Death Eaters rushed the hospital late last night. This time, however, the Death Eaters did not come to raid the hospital, but rather begging and pleading for help.
The scores of evil doers were screaming in agony. Initial diagnostic charms couldn’t reveal the source of the suffering. Many Death Eaters claimed the pain was worst than You Know Who’s dreaded Cruciatus Curse. Some were even bleeding from various orifices.
Ministry Aurors were quick to sweep up the scores of Death Eaters, many who were wanted and dozens more who were not known to the Ministry as members of the Death Eaters. Several of these previously unsuspected Death Eaters, including Hilbert Rogers and Lantana Smyth-Billings, were actually spies for He Who Must Not Be Named, working deep undercover within key position in the Ministry. These spies, according to an anonymous informant in the Magical Law Enforcement Department, could have done ‘great harm to the Ministry and its people.’
The Ministry is unsure how or why the Death Eaters were in such immense pain. Some believe that these hundred plus Death Eaters offended their master and he punished them (although this theory is not without its debunkers; such a loss of manpower has surely hurt You Know Who and therefore punishment on this large scale could only cripple himself and his aims). Some have speculated that aritual, intended to raise their power, backfired in some way. Still others believe that it was an attack against all marked Death Eaters.
~*~
The last Harry was charged with taking the Time Turner back to the Ministry.
“Now you have to go back to the day I fetched it,” Hermione said.
“Right, so I’ll meet the past you in the Department of Mysteries and once you take the Time Turner, I’ll put the future version in its place,” Harry summarized. “That way, no one will miss it.”
“Take some migraine relief potion with you,” Hermione added in a serious tone, clearly telling her lover that he should do as she suggested. “You’ll need it.”
Shrugging in acceptance, Harry took both the Time Turner and the potion. After placing the chain of the Time Turner around his neck, Harry spun the hourglass several time. The world dissolved away and he felt as her was flying backwards. Moments later, Harry found himself standing in the Head Students’ quarters alone. Harry glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall to confirm that he had traveled far enough back.
Knowing that since not being seen was imperative, Harry fetched his Invisibility Cloak and threw it over his head and shoulders. Harry then crept out of his room and down to the entrance of the castle. He passed the Great Hall where the past version of himself and Hermione were reading the Daily Prophet article about the Death Eater raid on St. Mungo’s which had originally inspire Hermione to fetch the Time Turner and perform the Morgy Ritual. Quickly and quietly, Harry made his way out of the castle and out onto the grounds. Walking briskly for several minutes, he finally passed the outer gates of the school and its protective wards.
Wrapping the Cloak around him tightly so it would not get lost while in transport, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the Ministry building. Harry tried to ignore the unpleasant squeezing sensation as he Apparated.
He opened his eyes and found himself exactly where he wanted; in the alley just ashort distance away from the payphone that hid the lift to the Ministry Building. While still safely covered by his precious invisibility cloak, Harry took the lift down into the Ministry. The lobby was packed full of witches and wizards bustling back and forth. Harry was taken back slightly at the lack of noise in the overcrowded room. Normally, he assumed, with that many people milling about, there would be much more noise. Most of the witches and wizards had their heads down, as if they dare not look each other in the face. Only ahandful of people were speaking, and their sparse and soft conversations consisted of “excuse me,” and “pardon me,” as they bumped into each other.
Pushing his ponderings to the back of his mind, Harry moved through the lobby to the lifts. He had to get to the Department of Mysteries in order to replace the Time Turner as Hermione picked up the past version of it.
It took a good long while for Harry to find an appropriate lift, well over half an hour. Each time the doors would open, Ministry employees rushed the small compartment, jamming it full with their bodies. Harry realized that he’d have to wait for a less crowded car. He knew that if he entered the lift when it was so full, people would bump into him and realize that he was there. So he waited while lift after lift filled up.
Finally, an empty lift dinged open and there was no one there to enter it. Harry rushed into the compartment and mashed the button. With no one else in the lift, Harry didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone. Unfortunately, before the doors closed someone entered. And sadly, Harry didn’t need to worry about bumping into this person, because this wizard could easily see Harry under the Invisibility Cloak.
“Potter,”Mad Eye Moody grumbled and hobbled up to the invisible-to-everyone-else Harry. The scarred wizard’s magical blue eye pointed directly at Harry’s face and Moody demanded, “Just what are you doing here, boy?”
“Um… I’m… uh… Just out for a stroll,” Harry lied. He didn’t need Hermione telling him that it would’ve been a bad idea to tell Moody that he was planning to go into the Department of Mysteries.
“Out for a stroll, huh?” Mad Eye asked disbelievingly. “In the Ministry? Under your Invisibility Cloak?”
Harry answered weakly, “Yes. Good for the constitution.”
With his normal eye still fixed firmly on where Harry stood, the electric blue eye swiveled in Moody’s head and back, apparently, at the buttons on the wall behind him. The magical eye snapped back to Harry and Mad Eye asked, “You’re not planning on making a trip to the Department of Mysteries by any chance, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“Because that would be stupid,” Mad Eye continued. “Ever since the war restarted, the Ministry has beefed up security around the Department; loads of wards and traps. Besides the traps that’ll turn you into dust, there are sensor wards that’ll spot you the moment you approach the Department. You’d need some sort of Legendary-Super-Invisibility Cloak that no one could see through to pass by them. And since you don’t have one of those,” he said and patted /’invisible-to-everyone-but-Moody-and-Dumbledore’/Harry on his shoulder, “you shouldn’t go mucking about in there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why don’t you head back to Hogwarts boy,” the old wizard more ordered than suggested.
Nodding his head in defeat, Harry walked out of the still opened lift. Harry meandered through the lobby, lost in thought. How was he supposed to get into the Department of Mysteries with all the added security? Obviously, Hermione was able to pass these wards somehow because she was able to retrieve the Time Turner. Harry came to the conclusion that he’d have to wait for Hermione to show up. That way she’d be able to figure out a way into the Department. She was, after all, the smartest witch in their generation. With this new plan, Harry headed to the lift that would take him to Muggle London.
Without using his cloak to hide within, Harry waited for Hermione; he stood just a few feet away from the payphone that hid the lift to the Ministry lobby. Shortly after twelve noon, he saw Hermione trot toward the lift.
“Hermione,”he called out.
“Harry, what are you doing here?” she asked while walking up to him. His girlfriend seemed quite surprised to find Harry waiting for her. “I thought we agreed that I’d do this on my own?”
“I’m here to bring back the Time Turner so no one will realize we took it,” he said.
“So it worked?”
“Brilliantly,”he said with a smile. / ‘Harry, Jr.’ /began to stir at the thoughts that swarmed in Harry’s mind; so many breasts, so many flowers, and those bums…
“So let’s go fetch it,” suggested Hermione.
“Hm?”asked Harry who was still deliciously distracted.
“The Time Turner,” Hermione pointed out. “Let’s go get it so you can put it back.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, trying to push the wonderful images out of his mind. “We may have a problem.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“I ran into Moody. He told me that the Department has loads of wards around it,” he answered. “Really tough ones.”
“Well, obviously we were able to bypass them because you have the Time Turner,”Hermione said aloud.
“Yes, I’ve got it right here,” he said and pulled the golden device from his pocket, holding it in front of himself.
“Well, then, clearly we were able to figure out what the wards were and how to slip by them,” she said. Hermione worried her lip and went into one of her ‘deep thought modes.’ “What kind of wards are we dealing with? Clearly a number of Major Repelling and Detection Wards along with Defensive and Offensive ones.”
As Hermione tried to work out a plan, Harry eyed the Time Turner dangling from his fist. Hermione was right, they had somehow gotten the Turner, but how did they do it? He held the evidence that proved that whatever they did had worked. They were able to face anything the wards threw at them and they had not been captured. But what had they done?
Hermione’s face began to grow pale. “We’re dealing with top ward casters, the best the Ministry has to offer. That means we have a major problem. It’ll take hours, maybe even days, to try to figure out what types of wards they have, much less bypass them. Obviously, time isn’t an issue. Since we got the Time Turner, we can always go back in time. But it still can take us days.
“And then there’s the normal security,” she added nervously. “We’ll have to deal with patrols of witches and wizards so we’ll have to remain under your Cloak the entire time. And what if Moody is one of the ones patrolling? I mean, he has no trouble at all in seeing through your Cloak. Oh, goodness, how will we ever get the Time Turner?”
“Here, take it,” Harry said offering the Turner. Hermione looked at him suspiciously. “Listen, I already have it. We don’t have to risk ourselves trying to nick it. This is the safest way.”
“Your right,” she agreed and took the Time Turner.
Then, an odd thought came to Harry.
“Wait, I just gave you the Time Turner,” he said and Hermione nodded. “But that was the Time Turner you gave me, or will give me, to return…”
“Yes,”said Hermione.
“But where did it come from?” he asked. “I mean, it turns out I gave you the Time Turner that you gave me so that I could give to you.”
Pressure and pain started to form behind Harry’s eyes as he continued on this train of thought.
“The only reason you have the Time Turner is because I gave it to you. You never took it from the Department because I gave you one instead. But the one I just gave you is the one I got from you, I mean; you’ll give to me so I could give it to you.”
“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Hermione tried to comfort him.
“But where did this Time Turner come from?” he asked as the pain in his head grew rapidly. “It didn’t come from the Department. It came from me… but I got it from you… and you got it from me.”
“It’s okay, Harry.”
The headache began to pound wildly, almost rattling his skull. The perplexing question of how the Time Turner came to be racked his mind. When he started out on this little trip into the past, he assumed that he would be standing next to Hermione in the Department of Mysteries, then, the moment after she would’ve picked up the past version of the device, Harry was going to place the future version in its place. He had reckoned that there’d be two copies of the Time Turner, one that Hermione picked up and the one Harry replaced. But now, he was realizing that there was only one Time Turner: the one Harry took in the past and gave to Hermione… the same device that Hermione gave to Harry so that he could go back in time to give to her… to give to him… so that he could give to her…
“How was it made? Did someone make the Time Turner? You didn’t make it and Ididn’t. No, but it’s still here, as if it just popped into existence. But that’s not possible. So it can’t exist. But there you are, holding it in your hand.” Harry babbled.
“It was created by a time paradox,” Hermione explained while she tucked the Time Turner into her pocket. “A fluke in time caused the Time Turner to exist; our actions created this item.”
“But if you’re right, we couldn’t have done the things we did to create the Turner if we didn’t have the Time Turner in the first place,” he argued. He felt as if his eyes were about to melt because of the massive headache. “How could we have used the Time Turner if it wasn’t real when we used it because we created it?” Harry was suddenly reminded of the old puzzle about the chicken and the egg but to an extreme level.
“I know it’s very confusing, but just accept the knowledge that the Time Turner was created by a paradox.” Hermione tried to explain.
“That’s right, you, and a few other versions of you, said something about it all happened from a paradox,” Harry said and he rubbed the sides of his head. “ow.”
“Go back to Hogwarts, see Pomfrey and get a headache potion,” commanded Hermione.
“No, Ihave one,” he said and pulled the glass vial from his robes. “You made one for me because you knew this would happened.”
After downing it in one gulp, Hermione asked “Do you feel any better?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, now let’s head back to the castle,” she said and took his arm in hers. “Once we get there, I’ll go back in time an hour so no one will miss me and you hide in the spare room until we’re all done. And try not to think about the how the Time Turner came to be.”
~*~
Several days later, Harry was enjoying dinner in the Great Hall with Hermione, Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville.
“So, Harry what are your plans for Christmas?” Ron asked, again, with his mouth full of partially masticated food. “We’re going to have a big one. Charlie and Bill will be there, along with Fleur and her folks, Luna and her dad’ll be there too.”
“Well, I think he should come with me to my folks this year,” Hermione offered.
“Hey, you and your folks can come to the Burrow, too,” suggested Ron. To which Hermione just rolled her eyes. Oblivious to many things including Hermione’s disapproval, Ron turned to Neville and suggested “Why don’t you and your Gran come to our place?”
“NO!”Ginny blurted out a response. Trying to recover, the red haired witch quickly added, “I mean, no, it’s too soon in our relationship to have our three families over for Christmas dinner.”
“What do you mean/ ‘our three families’/?” Luna asked. Ginny balked, realizing that she had just hinted that she was carrying Neville’s baby and that she had referred to her family, herself, Neville, and the baby, along with the Weasleys and Longbottoms. Luna pressed “Did you mean the Weasleys, Longbottoms, and my family? But Fleur’s family would make four.”
“YES! That’s it exactly!” cheered Ginny, thinking that Luna had provided a way out of her faux pas. “I’m just a dunderhead for forgetting Fleur.”
While their friends continued to talk amongst themselves, Hermione asked Harry, “So, I can take it that you’ll be coming to my parents’ home this holiday?”
Remembering the horrific time he had during dinner with Hermione’s parents, where both her mum and dad disapproved of their relationship, Harry tried to find a gentle way of telling his girlfriend that he had no intention of voluntarily going though that again. But before he could voice his protest, Professor McGonagall stood and made an announcement.
“Attention everyone,” she called out. “I know there have been a number of rumors flying around about a student returning. Many of you are concerned, but let me assure you that this young wizard has changed.”
Harry gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t think McGonagall truly understood what she was doing. Despite her reassurance that Malfoy had changed, Harry didn’t agree. Malfoy was a Death Eater; he helped kill Dumbledore and nothing could change that in Harry’s mind.
“I ask that you all give him a chance,” continued McGonagall. “And I know his reintroduction into the castle will be… unconventional. But he requested it and I felt obligated to fulfill his wish,” McGonagall paused to look over the crowd, and gave her saucy wink directly at Harry. The young wizard shivered over the notion of what that wink could mean.
“Let’s all welcome Draco Malfoy back to Hogwarts!” announced McGonagall.
Suddenly, red, green, yellow, and blue lights flashed from the ceiling in rhythm to athundering low bass beat and rapid high screeching beeps. The doors to the Great Hall flew open and smoke billowed in. All the flashing lights pivoted and pointed at the now open door. Then Draco walked in. Well, danced into the Great Hall in tune to the music, more correctly.
The blond wizard shook and swayed his hips as he hopped and spun down the center of the Hall. Throwing his arms up in theatrical triumph, Draco beamed a glorious smile. The flashing lights reflected and sparkled off of the jewels stitched into the fabric of his shimmering pink robes.
“Goodness,”muttered Hermione. “When’d he become gay?”
Harry looked at Draco in disbelief. Malfoy wasn’t gay. Why would Hermione think such a thing? Then the blond Slytherin turned, looked directly at Harry, winked at the raven haired wizard and blew him a kiss. Harry thought it was some sort of elaborate joke, that Malfoy was mocking Harry. But then Harry recalled McGonagall’s statement that Draco had changed. And her saucy wink. At that moment, Harry realized that Draco was not joking nor was his wink and blown kiss done out of mockery.
“Holy shit,” he muttered in fear.
“HELL-O-O-O-O EVERY ONE!” Draco shouted with a lisp, which was odd considering there were no”s” sounds in his greeting. “I’M BACK!” To emphasize this point, the former Prince of Slytherin shoved out his bottom. Of course, his buttocks were pointing straight at Harry.
“Holy shit,” repeated Harry.
“I’m inviting everyone,” Draco said flamboyantly and eyeing Harry, “to stay over the Winter Holiday here at Hogwarts. I’ve planned a welcome back party. We’ll have games and punch!”
Somehow, Harry knew that Draco’s ideas of games involved getting Harry alone in acupboard with some body-oil and introducing ‘Draco, Jr.’ to Harry’s /’no-go-hole’/’.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Harry said to Hermione. “Let’s go to your folks for the break.”
Harry suddenly realized that he’d rather face the ire of his potential future in-laws than spend a night in the same castle as Draco.
~*~
Over the next week, Harry kept busy by staying away from Draco. Whenever Harry passed Draco, the brave Gryffindor would duck behind something (a statue or tapestry) or someone (usually Hermione) in order to hide his courageous self. Thankfully, Malfoy had not joined the other seventh years in class yet; he was busy trying to catch up on the lessons he had missed. If he had shared lessons with his peers, Harry had a plan in order to avoid any unnecessary or uncomfortable contact. Our hero planned to bravely arrive five minutes late to each lesson that he shared with the Slytherin so that he wouldn’t bump shoulders with Malfoy as they entered. Harry would also leave class early, sneaking out under his Cloak, for the same reason.
At first Hermione had criticized Harry for his irrational fear of Draco. “Just because he’s come out of the closet doesn’t mean he’s going to violate you,”she had argued. Then she saw the love letters that Draco had been slipping under the door of the Head Students quarters. She had gotten as far as “… I want you to pull back my foreskin and…” before she realized that Harry’s irrational fear was actually quite rational.
One day, as Draco pranced down the corridor and Harry hid behind Hermione, the brunette witch asked, “Draco’s a marked Death Eater, how’d you suppose he was able to overcome the pain of the Morgy Ritual? I mean, we sent over a hundred running for help. Why didn’t he end up at St Mungo’s like the others?”
“Don’t know,” Harry whispered, dreading that Draco might hear him.
“Oh hell,” cursed Hermione. “I just remembered. Snape’s on our side.”
“And?”
“And he’s a marked Death Eater. That means he suffered from the Morgy Ritual as well.”
“Good.”
“Harry, we should have warned him,” protested Hermione.
“Why?”
“Because he’s working for us,” she explained. “He’s helping us hunt Horcruxes. We should have warned him that we were planning an attack against all of the Death Eaters.”
“And just how were we supposed to do that?” asked Harry. “I can’t just send him apost now can I?
“‘Dear Snape,
We’re planning on hurting the lot of you. Hope you don’t mind.
Yours truly,
Harry and Hermione.'” mocked Harry.
“We could have tried,” she persisted.
“No, we couldn’t,” Harry countered. “If someone had intercepted our note, Snape would be revealed and most likely killed.”
“Oh,”Hermione breathed.
“Is that Harry Potter?” an effeminate voice called out.
Harry and Hermione looked in horror as Draco skipped toward them, waving his arms about frantically.
“Run,”Harry ordered, dragging Hermione behind him as they bolted around the corner.
~*~
After Hermione placed a simple Glamour Charm on her eyes to change them back to their previous brown (Harry was still paranoid that Hermione’s parents would be furious over the “Sorry I shagged your eyes green” incident), the young couple began packing for their stay at her parents’ house.
“Do Ihave to go?” whimpered Harry. The thought of how upset her parents were when they had found out that Harry and Hermione were having a physical relationship made the young wizard second guess his decision to visit the Grangers.
“You can stay here,” she offered as she folded up several pairs of his socks. “Of course then you’d be risking your virtue with Draco milling about.”
“Let me help you with that,” offered Harry, and placed several of his pullovers into the suitcase.
~*~
The train ride to King’s Cross was uneventful; uneventful to everyone except for Ginny that is.
“Why is the damn train jostling so much,” the red haired witch said peevishly while her complexion turned a nasty green.
Ginny vomited four times in total. Three of those times, she had made it to the loo. Her fourth wasn’t so lucky. Neither was Ron, who was the proud owner of the lap that his sister got sick on.
“What’s your problem?” Ron demanded while he tried to clean the sick from his robes and trousers.
“It’s not me,” Ginny said, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “The bloody train’s bouncing too much.”
“Well, it’s not bouncing more than it normally does,” Ron pointed out.
One shared looked with Hermione told Harry that his girlfriend was thinking the same thing as he was/; “Ginny’s baby doesn’t like to travel.”/
~*~
If Harry was hoping that Hermione’s parents had grown more accepting of their relationship, his hopes were dashed when Richard, Hermione’s father, greeted the young wizard by asking “Have you enjoyed molesting my princess?”
The car ride to Hermione’s began politely, despite Richard’s greeting. For fifteen minutes, Hermione and her parents talked and talked. Harry, sagely, decided not to tempt the elder Grangers’ ire by attempting to join in on the conversation. Then without warning, Fiona asked her daughter flatly,”Hermione, are you using protection?”
“Of course I am, mother,” Hermione replied, clearly offended that her mother thought such a thing.
“Don’t give me attitude, young lady,” her mother snapped. “I don’t know what types of precautions you have in the magical world and how effective they are.”
“They’re very effective,” informed Hermione.
“Oh really? Tell me, does that red head girl you got off the train with use protection?” demanded Fiona.
“What do you mean?” asked Hermione.
“I can tell she’s pregnant,” Fiona said hotly. “Do you use the same protection she used?”
“How can you tell Ginny’s pregnant?” Hermione inquired. “She isn’t showing, is she?”
“I’m amum, I don’t need to see a bump to tell when someone’s with child.”
“It’s that particular shade of green she had about her,” Richard grumbled, obviously angry that he was forced to be in close proximity to the person responsible for deflowering his princess. “Your mother got that way whenever we would travel back when she had you.”
Harry felt very sorry for Ginny. If Fiona, who only had one child, could tell from adistance with one look that Ginny was pregnant, certainly Mrs. Weasley, who had seven children, would find out. Harry suspected that he would be able to hear Mrs. Weasley screaming at her daughter halfway across the country.
“So, answer the question, young lady. Do you and that girl use the same type of protection?” Fiona asked again.
“No, Iuse a better one. More reliable,” Hermione lied. Clearly she didn’t want to admit to her mother that she did use the same charm Ginny had used but the fact that Neville was so overly-endowed that he was able to physically bypass the seaman repellent charm by pushing through Ginny’s cervix. There are some things one cannot discus with one’s parents. That definitely includes “My friend’s boyfriend makes Hippogriffs feel inadequate.”
/ /When they got to the house, Richard sweetly said to his daughter “Your room’s just the way you left it, princess.” He then turned to Harry and pointed to the couch. “You’ll be sleeping there,” he ordered with a considerable decline in the sweetness factor.
“Dad, we share the same bed at school,” protested Hermione.
Richard turned white then flashed red in less than two seconds.
“Not in my house you don’t,” he said angrily.
“Hermione, dear, it would be irresponsible for us as your parents to allow you to fornicate under our roof. Especially while you two are just dating,” her mother explained. On the surface, her voice was calm and cool, but there was an angry and venomous edge hidden just bellow the calm. “Perhaps when, or if, you marry, we might allow it.”
“Over my dead body,” grumbled Richard while staring daggers at Harry.
“Until then, we will not allow you to do such things,” concluded Fiona.
~*~
The day before Christmas, Harry had to get out of the Granger house. He and Hermione had been there for three days and they hadn’t been left alone for even a second. Her mum and dad were watching the young couple like hungry vultures. If Harry attempted to kiss his girlfriend, one or both of her parents would make a noise (like a cough or a threat of bodily harm) and glower at them.
On the second night, Hermione tried to protest to her mother after the matriarch forced her daughter from giving Harry an innocent kiss.
“Mum, I’ve done a whole lot more than just kiss him,” the brunette witch had dared to say.
“Well, you shouldn’t have, and now you’re paying the price,” her mother said firmly.
“Mum,”Hermione started to argue.
“What you did was rash and foolish,” Fiona chastised. “You should’ve waited before you moved your relationship ahead like that.”
“But mum, you were involved in a three-”
“Don’t give me that! It was the seventies, things like that happened,” Fiona said, using the same excuse that Hermione had used when she had told Harry about the infamous “Tumbleweed Dance” incident.
Because of all the tension in the air and the fact that he hadn’t shopped for Hermione yet, Harry apparated to the Leaky Cauldron so that he could pick up some gifts at Diagon Alley.
As he walked through the dimly lit pub, Harry took notice of a group of wizards sitting at a nearby table. Most of them had their heads hanging low, but one wizard was beaming happily.
“Why so glum, fellows?” the happy wizard asked his peers.
“Why so chipper?” one asked bitterly in response.
Curious as to what these wizards were talking about and why most of them were so down, Harry slowed his pace so that he could overhear the conversation.
“Obviously, you didn’t catch the Prophet the other day and the great news it reported,” the happy wizard stated.
“Yeah, we did,” a sour looking wizard countered. “What’s to be happy about?”
“One hundred and ten Death Eaters captured, my boys,” the nearly euphoric wizard declared. “This war is about to end.”
“One hundred and ten out of how many? Two hundred? Four hundred? A thousand?” a wizard asked with a frighten frown. “No one knows how many followers You Know Who has. He may have so many that a hundred Death Eaters might mean nothing to him.”
“And don’t forget about the giants or werewolves,” another pale faced wizard added. “You Know Who’s still got loads of them following him.”
The formerly happy wizard suddenly turned pale with fright.
“It’s gotten so bad, I can’t concentrate on my work,” one wizard added.
“Work? Hell, I can’t concentrate on my life,” a wizard whose hands trembled stated. “Last night, while in bed with the missus, I couldn’t even sleep much less anything else but worry about Death Eaters or giants busting through my door to kill everyone.”
“You’re over exaggerating a bit aren’t you?” the formerly cheerful wizard asked. The tone of his voice told Harry that the wizard was hoping that his peers would say at any moment that they were joking and that the situation wasn’t so dire.
“My second-cousin, his wife, and two kids were slaughtered last week,” someone offered. “Ever since then, I haven’t slept a wink. I’m always looking out the window for some attacking force.”
As the conversation continued down into despair, Harry made his way to the entrance to Diagon Alley. As the bricks stretched out of the way, a bothersome thought entered his mind; by all rights, everyone should be happy if not elated that scores of Death Eaters were now in custody. Harry and Hermione had done agreat service to wizarding kind by performing the Morgy Ritual… and a great service to themselves because the sex was great, too. But for some reason, people were still frightened.
As Harry made his way to Gringott’s to pick up some money, he noticed that Diagon Alley wasn’t particularly full; only a handful of wizards and witches could be seen. He had expected that it would be jammed with people rushing to buy last minute gifts like he was doing. Sadly, Harry now knew why there weren’t many people about. Just like the wizards in the pub, people were still dreadfully afraid of the war. The fear of Voldemort and his Death Eaters and what they might do had seeped into and affected every aspect of their lives. This was so unlike his fellow students at Hogwarts; they were bright and chipper. The war had not affected them, not to the extent of the adults outside of the school.
The first place Harry stopped after fetching some gold was Flourish and Blotts to pick up a few books for Hermione (in that aspect, his girlfriend was very easy to shop for – any book would be a cherished gift). Then he paid a visit to alittle curio shop to buy something for the Grangers. He looked at statues, but stayed away from anything “Princess” related (he didn’t want to give Hermione’s father a chance to say something like; “Oh this statue of a beautiful princess hasn’t been violated by some hooligan.”). After buying a magical statue of a rose that would blossom every morning, Harry decided he’d buy something special for Hermione, something very personal that he’d give to her in private.
“Oh, hello Harry,” Alicia Spinnet greeted him as he entered the shop. “Welcome back to Franklin’s of Cardiff.”
“Hi, Alicia,” Harry said with a smile.
“Did Hermione like the lingerie you bought her?”she asked. “I always suspected that she had a ‘Hello Kitty’ fetish.”
Recalling that he had not been brave enough to give his girlfriend the bra and knickers that had the cartoon cat stitched in strategic places, Harry muttered, “I forgot about those.”
“So, you’re Christmas shopping for your witch today?” Alicia asked. “We have some very nice holiday themed knickers. They’re called/ ‘gift-wrapped boxes.’/”
“Actually, I was thinking about… uh… toys,” Harry said with a touch of embarrassment.
“It’s always the brainy ones,” Alicia said and her smile broadened.
“Tell me about it,” he said and felt his face heat up even more.
“Did you need some help or did you want to browse around a bit?”
“Um, browse,” he replied.
As Harry shuffled to the back of the shop to where the toys were kept, Alicia said “Just give me a shout if you need any help.”
After thirty minutes of shopping; placing several items back on the shelf only to pick them up again, Harry walked up to the counter and placed the dozen or so toys in front of Alicia.
“Wow, she really is kinky?” Alicia said, clearly impressed at the number of products Harry had selected.
“Yeah,” Harry said, unable to make eye contact.
Alicia rang the first three items up. Then she pointed to the fourth and asked “Have you used anything like that yet?”
“No, not yet,” Harry said while looking around the shop, hoping that no one could see what he was purchasing. Even though the shop was devoid of other customers, he was still nervous.
“You must tell me if it’s fun,” she said and placed the cardboard tube that contained the fourth item into a paper bag.
“Um, sure,” he said as politely as he could without blushing.
As Alicia continued to tally up the many toys, Harry took notice of a number of books behind the counter. Knowing that books were always welcomed for Hermione, Harry looked them over. Many of them had to do with beauty, make-up and hair, a few dealt with celebrities, but oddly, only three books covered sex and intimacy. Harry had assumed that a shop like this would be overflowing with books on such things.
“I see that you’re checking out our sex-book collection,” Alicia said following his gaze. “Don’t waste your time. One deals exclusively with/ ‘the joys of the missionary position.’ /It’s the most prudish sex-book I’ve ever heard about. The other two are more than fifty years-old and only cover a few simple positions, nothing fun.”
“I’m surprised,” Harry said and finally made eye-contact with the witch. “I would’ve reckoned a place like this would have loads of books.”
“No one’s written one in a while,” she said. “Not worth reading anyway.”
Harry pondered over the idea of copying his ‘special book’ and passing it out. It was old, like two of the books the shop had, but it was dead helpful – not just with sex either, the book had some useful spells and whatnot.
“Well, that’ll be thirty-five galleons, eight sickles, and twenty-seven knuts, please,” Alicia said and pushed the bag to Harry.
“Shouldn’t it be more?”
“I gave you the employee discount. You’re the first sale I’ve had in weeks let alone the only customer in days. No one’s even bothering to come in anymore. Everyone is so preoccupied that sex is the last thing on their mind,” Alicia said with a touch of disappointment. “Preoccupied isn’t the right way to describe it. Scared is more like it.”
“If I’m the only customer you’ve had in a while, you guys must be hurting financially,” Harry said, trying to steer the conversation away from the war. “I don’t want to take any money away from you, especially if nothing is coming in. Besides, I don’t like taking things I don’t think I’ve earned. And getting a discount just because I’m the only one here doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay then, let’s make a deal; you keep the discount but you have to do something in return, that way you will have earned it,” Alicia smiled sweetly at Harry and reached in the bag to pull out the mystery toy hidden in the tube. “But you must tell me how this works out, okay? I’ve been eyeing this for weeks but I’m a little curious to find out if it’s any good or not.”
If this had happened a few months previously, Harry would’ve been floored in embarrassment. The idea of someone asking him such a personal question would have left him flabbergasted. But now, after nearly every student and at least some of the teachers at Hogwarts had seen him and Hermione have sex (a lot), Harry was quite surprised to find that he wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, his previous shame over buying sex-toys disappeared as well.
With alopsided grin, Harry said, “I’ll owl you the first chance I get.”
He waved his wand over the bag, shrinking it and its contents to the size of amatchbox. Giving his former housemate and Quidditch partner a wave goodbye, Harry walked out of the shop.
~*~
That night, Harry, Hermione, and her parents had a special dinner made up of ham and all the trimmings. Like the last time he had visited the Grangers, Richard, Fiona, and Hermione had wine whereas Harry was only allowed milk.
Harry and Hermione were asked (okay, ordered) to sit at the opposite ends of the table. These spots, traditionally held by the parents, were given to the young lovers, clearly to put as much distance away from one another.
Throughout the dinner, Richard continuously glared threateningly at Harry while the older man stabbed and speared his food as if subconsciously trying to stab and spear Harry in effigy. Fiona did a bang up job of pretending that Harry wasn’t there much less even alive.
Remembering his mistake of not eating his meal the first time he visited and how upset Richard was, Harry forced himself to eat. As he ate his meal, Fiona (whose back was turned to Harry) was having a pleasant conversation with Hermione.
“Have you learned anything exciting, dear?” she asked her daughter. “I do so love some of the things you can do with magic.”
Hermione brightened. A smile graced her lips, one that her parents seemed to believe was sweet and innocent. However, Harry had come to realize that the particular smile Hermione had meant that was preparing to do something naughty. He gulped in fear.
Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket, waved it around almost theatrically, and incanted “/”Loninquitas Amorus!”/
“eep,”murmured Harry. Being the creator of the spell Hermione had just incanted, Harry knew what was about to happen and knew that he was about to enter a whole world of trouble.
“Nothing happened, dear,” Richard commented.
“Oh, silly me, I messed up the incantation,” she said and her not-so-innocent smile widened. She waved her wand again and said “Saltatus Candelabrum!”
The two candle-sticks that adorned the table jumped in the air and began to spin and dance two feet above Richard and Fiona’s heads.
“That’s simply lovely,” Fiona said in wide eyed wonder. Richard, was transfixed as well, nodded his head in agreement.
While her parents’ attention was on the flying candle-sticks, Hermione snatched a pad of butter with her left hand. Before she lowered her hand and hid it under the table, Harry could see her fingers flexing into and relaxing from a fist, spreading the smeared butter over her palm and fingers.
Harry shook his head and silently begged Hermione with a pleading look in his eyes not to continue with her plan. If her parents discovered what she was doing, they’d certainly be furious. The twinkle in her eyes told Harry that he was adead man.
Then, he felt it. Harry could feel Hermione’s greasy fingers stroke his flaccid organ. Thanks to the charm Harry himself had created (the Long Distance Love Charm)Hermione was beginning to give him a magical hand-job from six feet away. Despite his fear and dread of being discovered by the elder Grangers, Harry’s penis was more than eager for a romp. It didn’t matter to ‘Harry, Jr.’/what dire trouble was going on; the walls could be crumbling down around Harry’s ears and ‘Harry, Jr.’/ would be up for a go with Hermione. He could feel his member grow and swell, stretching down his trouser leg. Much like how a snake burrows in the earth.
Richard’s attentions snapped from the candles to Harry. At first Harry had feared that Hermione’s father had discovered that his daughter was using magic to stimulate Harry and that the young wizard had a raging hard on as he sat at the table. At any moment, Harry expected Richard’s hands around his throat.
“So, what are your intentions with my daughter?” he demanded.
“Sir?”asked Harry. Hermione took this awkward opportunity to give Harry a squeeze. In Response, Harry sat bolt straight in his chair.
Evidently, Richard took this motion that Harry was being polite and attentive, not that his daughter was magically playing with the boy’s cock. “I asked; what are your intentions with Hermione? Do you plan on dumping her now that you’ve gotten into her skirt?”
“Daddy,”chastised Hermione. Clearly, she wasn’t overly upset with her father’s attitude because at that moment, she gave Harry a long, firm stroke. All the way from the base, up to his crown, and back down again.
“No, Hermione, your father and I have the right to know,” Fiona insisted and finally turned to face Harry.
“Can you at least be gentle with him?” asked Hermione as she rolled her thumb over’Harry, Jr.’s head.
“Just for you, princess,” her father agreed. Obviously, he was still wrapped around his little girl’s pinky on some level.
Smiling, Hermione moved her other hand so that it too disappeared under the table. The next second, Harry could feel Hermione’s hand massaging his testicles while the other continued to slowly stroke him.
“Well, sir… and ma’am…” Harry fidgeted in his seat. Beads of sweat popped up all over his face. Luckily, the Grangers assumed that he was sweating because he was in the hot seat so to speak, not because Hermione was wanking him. “I intend to marry her.”
“What? Now?” asked Richard while chuckling in a mocking way.
“You’re a bit young to get married,” added Fiona. “You’re not just saying that in hopes that we’ll accept your relationship are you?”
Harry bit his lip. He knew that Hermione was getting off on this, making him so uncomfortable. And the only way she’d stop was when he climaxed.
“Please cum,” Harry muttered softly, praying this would end soon.
“What was that?” Fiona asked.
“Um… err.. no, ma’am. I will marry her… just not now… come when we have things settled… jobs and whatnot,” Harry said, trying to recover from his slip of the tongue.
“Well, what would you say if we won’t accept that you want to marry Hermione?” Richard asked.
Harry was having difficulty not only speaking coherently, but also from not overtly fidgeting in his seat. Hermione was stroking him at a slow and agonizing rate. He felt almost compelled to thrust his hips forward, to urge her to pick up her pace.
“Not really your choice,” Harry said boldly. Well, it would’ve been bold if he had comprehended what he was saying. He was so focused on the hand-job and not alerting Hermione’s parents to it that he didn’t fully comprehend just what he was saying beyond not blurting out ‘Your daughter’s rubbing one out of me.’ “I’ll marry Hermione whether you like it or not.”
Both Richard and Fiona were visibly taken back. If Harry had not been so preoccupied with the magical hand-job, he would’ve wondered if the elder Grangers had done so because they were impressed with his bravery or if they had taken offense at his brashness. On the other hand, Hermione seemed to be impressed by Harry’s words because she began to rub him faster. If their attention had not been so fixed on Harry, Richard and Fiona would have been perplexed by Hermione; her hands were moving so fast that she was rocking her arms.
“She is my sunshine,” Harry muttered, still not comprehending what he was saying. “I live for her.”
Fiona’s expression suddenly softened whereas Richard demanded of Harry “Why are you glowing?”
“He does that when he thinks about pure love,” Hermione said with a rosy bloom to her cheeks. She was grinning from ear to ear, as if basking in the golden light. “Harry’s power comes from love and whenever he focuses or thinks about true love, he throws off light. It makes anyone in the light feel good and happy, even loved. I saw him turn a foul painting into a… well, she became nicer… well less of a bitch.”
“Oh,”Richard asked as his expression softened like his wife’s. For a few moments, Richard and Fiona shared an understanding look. Finally, Fiona offered; “Well, maybe we’ve been a little too rough on you.”
They may have come to this conclusion because they accepted Harry and Hermione’s love (on a very small scale, mind you, a scale that included no touching) or because the glow that Harry was throwing off made them feel happy and therefore a little more forgiving.
“OH THANK GOD!” cried Harry.
“Now don’t get ahead of yourself, young man,” Richard said sternly while wagging afinger at him. “We still aren’t giving you permission to fool around, especially under our roof.”
As his loving glow subsided, Harry nodded his head in acceptance. To be honest, he hadn’t cried out because of what Fiona had said. He had done so because he had finally climaxed and shot his load down his trouser leg. But Hermione’s parents didn’t need to know that.
“Let’s clear this up,” Fiona said while gesturing to the dinner plates, “so that we can move onto dessert.”
“I’ve got it, mum,” Hermione said and waved her wand. With a small whoosh sound, the plates took to the air and flew into the kitchen. Another flick of her wand and a chocolate cake floated out of the kitten and glided on the table.
“Oh, that looks wonderful,” Richard said in appreciation of the cake.
“Hermione made it,” Fiona said as she began to cut up the dessert.
Harry gave Hermione a questioning look. He knew for a fact (thanks to her failed attempts at making a cake for Ron) that Hermione could not cook. In response, Hermione gave Harry a look that told him that she cherished what he had said about how he felt for her and that she would show him this appreciation by shagging his brains out in a short matter of time. It really didn’t answer his question of whether or not she had made the cake, but he didn’t mind -especially since he was about to get his brains shagged out.
After giving out equal portions to all at the table, everyone began to dig in. The first bite told Harry that a House Elf had made it (it was far too moist and delicious for Hermione to have made), perhaps Dobby. Within a very short time, Hermione’s parents had started on their second helpings.
“I really shouldn’t,” Fiona said as she scooped up a forkful. “But it’s so delicious.”
Harry had to agree; it was a very good dessert. But under the chocolate, he could taste an odd flavor he didn’t normally associate with chocolate cake. It was by no means unpleasant, but it was unexpected.
With aclank, Hermione’s parents dropped their forks after they finished their second helping onto their empty plates. They looked at each other with dark and heavy lidded eyes.
“Well, I’m off to bed,” Fiona said breathily. Slowly, she rose up from her seat and sauntered to the hallway, swaying her hips as she went. As she walked away, Harry noticed where Hermione had inherited her wonderful bottom from. The older Granger woman turned and looked at her husband. “Care to join me, Richard?”
“Um, yes,” Hermione’s father nearly sputtered his response. He stood and Harry had to avert his eyes. Apparently, Richard had liked the cake so much that he had become aroused.
Richard began to follow his wife out of the dining room when he stopped and said to Hermione and Harry “We’re turning in early. This doesn’t mean you two are allowed-” he began to lecture when Fiona called out:
“RICHARD, GET UP HERE NOW!”
Completely forgetting what he had been planning on saying, Hermione’s father dashed out of the room and his footsteps thundered up the stairs. A second later, Harry heard a door slam shut.
“What the hell is up with them?” Harry asked. Then for some unknown reason, ‘Harry, Jr.’ started to wake up again. He was about to congratulate himself on his virility when he saw the knowing smile on Hermione’s lips.
“What did you do?” he asked, knowing that she was up to something.
Hermione took her time to answer. She ate another bite of the cake, working it slowly in her mouth. While she chewed, Harry felt himself rise to his full hardness.
“You spiked the cake?” he asked.
“No, Ihad Dobby spike it,” she corrected. “While you were shopping today, I popped over to Hogwarts and had Dobby whip up this dessert. Knowing that mum and dad were a little tense, I added something to help them relax.”
“What did you add?”
“A few dosages of Lust and Stamina Potions,” she said with sweet innocence. “They’ll be going at it like Ron and Luna on an all night sex romp.”
“Wait, we ate the cake too,” Harry pointed out.
“Well, I guess that means we’ll be going at it like Ron and Luna as well.”
“Good point,” agreed Harry. “Let’s head to your room.”
Walking up the stairs while/ ‘Harry, Jr.’ /was more than ready to play was alittle painful and downright uncomfortable. The organ kept getting pinched as he climbed the stairs. The loud moans coming from Hermione’s parents’ room told Harry that they weren’t about to stick their heads out to see who was coming up the stairs. So, to alleviate his discomfort, Harry paused and freed his friend.
“My, Ithink I may have used a little too much Lust Potion,” commented Hermione wryly as she looked at the organ jutting out of her boyfriend’s trousers.
As they passed the room where Richard and Fiona were making love like sex starved teens, Hermione magically locked their door. Once they were in Hermione’s room the brunette witch waved her wand again, casting a Silencing Charm.
“You were a bad witch down there,” Harry said. “Wanking me off in front of your parents and then spiking the desserts. Very bad.”
“How bad?” she asked. By the look in her eyes, Harry could tell that she was ready to pounce.
“Bad enough to be punished.”
“I had hoped so,” she said, smiling. “Will I be paddled?”
“No.”
“No?”she asked with a shocked expression. “I think I deserved to be spanked. In fact, I demand it.”
“Too bad,” Harry said flatly. “I have a different idea for punishment.”
Harry pulled his wand out and conjured a big squashy chair. As he sat down, Hermione asked “Is my punishment going to be in the form of a blow-job?”
“No, you will get on your bed and pleasure yourself,” Harry informed. “While Iwatch.”
“How about you masturbate while I do the same,” she offered. “That way I can see you pleasure yourself as I pleasure myself.”
“And if you hadn’t been a bad witch I’d happily agree to that,” Harry returned and crossed his legs. He was trying to look reserved and sophisticated, an added visual element to the whole scenario. But having his naked and erect organ jutting out of his lap somewhat ruined the effect. “You were naughty, and this is your punishment.”
“Have it your way,” Hermione shrugged.
She crawled onto her bed and slowly removed her top. Her skirt was next to be flung to the side after being removed. One glance and Harry was able to confirm the Lust Potion Hermione had spiked the cake with was affecting her as well; her nipples threatened to poke through her bra and a wet patch could easily be seen on her knickers. After discarding her bra, the brunette witch teased her nipples.
“I bet that you won’t be able to hold out; you’ll jump me in less than five minutes,”she dared while tracing circles around her hard nubs with her fingertips.
“You’re on,” he replied, taking the challenge. “If I win – and by win I mean I won’t wank myself or jump on you until after you cum – I get to do whatever I want to you for the rest of the night.”
“Within reason,” Hermione said, giving her nipples a pinch.
“What do you consider/ ‘within reason’/?” he asked, resisting the urge to help Hermione tweak her nipples.
“I don’t want to be hanging halfway out the window shouting ‘Fuck me harder Harry, fuck me harder!’ or anything like that.”
“Gotcha, no dangling out of windows,” Harry agreed. “What if you win?”
“I watch you masturbate,” she said and then added; “And if you win – which you won’t – you definitely can’t take me into the hall and bang me while I’m leaning up against my mum and dad’s door.”
“I think you’re stalling,” Harry stated. His girlfriend was about to protest, but he clicked his fingers and ordered, “Enough dawdling, start fingering ‘Miss Nibbles.'”
Her fingers hooked around the sides of her knickers and she tugged them down. In aslow and deliberate tease, Hermione dragged the tips of her fingers all over her lower half without touching any of the fun parts. She was smiling, knowing that it was driving Harry mad.
Sitting on his chair, Harry watched with a mask of bemusement; which was rather difficult for the young wizard. What he wanted to do was shout at Hermione”WOULD YOU STICK A FINGER IN ALREADY!” He knew, however, that if would do this, it would just egg his lover on and she would continue to tease him until he lost his cool and jumped her; thereby losing the bet. So he forced himself to sit there, watching in a false patient manner.
“Oh God,” Hermione breathed out when her fingers (/’finally’ /thought Harry)brushed against her clit. She began making circular motions with her forefinger on the bud. The wicked smile that had been adorning her face disappeared. It was now replaced with a slack mouth and half-shut eyes.
As he watched (which he was doing very intently), Harry saw that Hermione was very turned on. He pondered whether this was so because of the Lust Potion or if his girlfriend really liked being watched. As Hermione pinched her clit, he came to assume that it was the latter.
While Hermione slid a finger in, ‘Harry, Jr.’ /looked up at Harry with a tear in its eye. The organ was begging Harry to get up from the chair and give Hermione a hand… or better yet; a penis. Harry tried to console his member and say that he had a plan and if they played their cards right, they could have a lot of fun with Hermione. But ‘Harry, Jr.’ /was impatient and it wanted to have fun right then, Harry’s plans be damned. Harry almost caved when Hermione took her free hand and pushed her middle finger into her bottom. The happy squeal she made nearly shattered his resolve.
When Hermione asked, between rapid pants “Touch yourself, Harry,” the wizard slipped and he placed his hand on his member. His need for her had grown desperate. But he screwed up his courage and let go of ‘Harry, Jr.’. He wanted to be in win this bet.
Several agonizing long minutes later (well, agonizing for Harry because he felt like he was about to explode but Hermione enjoyed those minutes completely) Hermione reached ecstasy.
“I can’t believe you made it,” commented Hermione breathily.
“I won,” Harry said and stood. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the shrunken bag of goodies he had bought at Franklin’s. “I was going to give you these when we got back to the castle, but I figure why not now?”
He waved his wand over the bag, canceling the Shrinking Charm. From her seat on the bed, Hermione tried to peer into the bag. “What is it?” she asked.
Harry didn’t respond. However, he stuck his hand into the bag, fished around a bit, and pulled out a crimson-red ball-gag. He dangled it in midair, showing it off to Hermione. The witch’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “Toys!” she squealed.
Harry placed the still full bag on the ground and walked to his lover with the gag in his hands. As he started to bring the toy to Hermione face, she said “You know I won’t be able to suck you off with that in my mouth.”
“Oh, woe is me. I guess I’ll just have to suffer,” he said lightly and put the ball in her mouth. Harry fastened the strap behind her head and walked back to the bag.
“Mrph mrrmwgink?” Hermione attempted to ask through the gag.
“If you asked where am I going, you’ll see,” he replied and pulled the package that Alicia had been so interested in out of the bag.
Hermione cocked an eyebrow, as if to ask what the tube contained. Harry smiled and he popped the lid off. He reached in and slowly and theatrically pulled the toy out. His finger was hooked around a red ring. Dangling from that ring was along string. Five small rubber balls, each the size of a walnut, were separated by two inches on that string.
As Hermione flung herself over and stuck out her bottom, clearly giving Harry the go-ahead to use the toy, Harry recalled how he felt for his witch. Harry loved Hermione completely. He practically worshiped her. And he was going to show that love and devotion he felt for her by pushing this toy up her bottom, ball by ball, and shagging her senseless. As the wizard began to push the first ball into her bum, the room lit up from Harry’s special glow. Love is grand.

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