Tonks, in her guise as Luna, followed Hermione through the winding streets of Diagon Alley and into Knockturn Alley. The Auror's palms were sweating; she had no real idea of what she was getting into, and her nerves were getting to her. All she knew was that this Harry, not the teen she had met the previous summer, but one from an alternate reality, had claimed to have killed Fudge. If true, he was a murderer and was probably very dangerous; the thought of this risk made her wonder as to why she agreed to be the one to track him to his lair without a plan or any backup. On the other hand, Tonks knew that Hermione was intelligent and wouldn't be one to willingly align herself with a murderer. Meaning, this alternate version of Harry couldn't be the person who killed Fudge, and all of this was just a big misunderstanding. But then again, if Harry were evil, he wouldn't have any compunction about putting Hermione under the Imperius Curse, and therefore, she may not be with the murderer willingly. This meant that the situation could still be extremely dangerous for the Auror.
"I'm getting better at walking in these torturous things," Hermione said, lifting one of her feet to reveal a massively long stiletto-heeled red boot. "How's your bottom doing?"
"Uh, fine," Tonks replied, not knowing why Hermione had asked about Luna's bottom. Perhaps the young witch that Tonks was impersonating had recently fallen down and injured her backside.
"Are you sure you don't need some more of my healing touch?" the brunette said knowingly.
"No, not really," Tonks said. She was curious about Hermione's statement; were the kids performing underage magic? Had Hermione cast some sort of healing spell on Luna's injury? Did Harry remove the tracking and recording charms on the girls' wands as he had done to his own? If not, why hadn't the Improper Use of Magic office been alerted to the girls' use of magic?
Hermione was surprised and a touch disappointed by the blonde's response. Luna had seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed Hermione's use of her tongue, so much so that the brunette was almost certain Luna would be up for another go. Another part of the brunette's disappointment came from the fact that she was looking forward to using her tongue in Luna's dirty place again (after she cleaned it with Harry's Bum Mint Foaming Gel, of course).
Noticing Hermione's odd expression, Tonks became nervous. Should whatever spell Hermione had cast on Luna's bum need another casting? Was Tonks giving herself away by not agreeing to another session of Hermione's healing touch? In an attempt to cover herself, Tonks said in her best dreamy and detached Luna impression, "On second thought, perhaps I should have another treatment."
"Really? That's wonderful," Hermione said with a rosy glow gracing her smiling cheeks. "Look at me; I'm blushing. Who would've known that I had such a talent, much less a desire to do such a thing? I mean, if someone were to tell me about that a week ago, I would've told them 'no thank you.' But here I am, eager and excited to give it another try."
Tonks breathed a sigh of relief. Hermione's odd and pensive look had disappeared, replaced with a trusting smile. Any suspicion about "Luna's" identity that Hermione might have had was now gone.
"Do you think we should let Harry watch this time?" Hermione asked apprehensively. "It's such an odd thing, but you know how he is."
"Sure, why not?" Tonks replied, trying to mask her curiosity as to why Hermione would be nervous. It shouldn't be anything odd in asking Harry if he wanted to watch such an innocent thing as a casting of a healing spell.
Tonks' response only caused Hermione's blush to deepen.
Hermione turned and entered a building, making her way up to the top floor, with Tonks close behind.
"Don't we have to disarm the wards?" Tonks asked as dreamily as she could manage as she climbed the stairs behind Hermione.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. I would've thought that this version of Harry would've placed a few protections around the flat. But he didn't," answered the brunette. "I mean, he does make Mad-Eye look easy-going and overly trusting after all, doesn't he?"
Tonks made a mental note of the flat's address in addition to the fact that there were no protective wards, as the two entered an unfurnished flat.
Hermione placed the shopping bags on the counter and turned back to the witch that she thought was Luna.
"I know we'd agreed to flip a coin, but seeing that huge zucchini really got me going," Hermione said.
Before Tonks could ask what the brunette had meant, Hermione pounced on her. In an instant, Hermione had her arms wrapped around Tonks, with one hand on the back of the disguised Auror's head and the other firmly squeezing her bottom. And in that same moment, Hermione had her lips and tongue wrestling with Tonks'.
Now Tonks had snogged a girl once before (it was a challenge in a naughty game of "Truth or Dare" she played with her housemates back in her seventh year at Hogwarts), and she was no slouch when it came to kissing blokes, but Hermione's kiss had done far more than any other kiss Tonks had ever received in her life. Several things happened to the disguised Auror due to that wonderful kiss. They were (in no particular order): her complexion flushed, knees weakened, tummy tingled, heart fluttered, nipples hardened, and her naughty bits tightened.
Hermione pulled away and looked at the witch she had just kissed in confusion. It was a certainty to Hermione that this witch was not Luna; by this point, she had kissed the blonde enough to know how she kissed back, as well as how she tasted. More likely than not, this had to be Tonks, using her Metamorphmagus abilities in order to spy on, or find, Harry.
If Tonks had not been floored by Hermione's kiss, she would've noticed that her cover had been blown. But her various tingling, fluttering, and tightening bits had distracted her.
"Did you two start without me again?" Harry asked as he walked out of the bedroom.
"You're just in time, Harry," Hermione said. As the black-haired wizard approached, she tried to warn him with her eyes that this wasn't Luna.
Harry – who had never had an "eyes only" conversation with Hermione – thought that the intended warning gaze was rather an aroused look and that said, "Let's all shag." In response to Hermione's "knowing look," Harry nodded his head and gave his own look, saying, "I'm always up for a tussle in the sack." Unfortunately, Hermione, too, misunderstood Harry's look. She read it to mean "I've got a plan to reveal this fraud's motivation for being here. Follow my lead."
Tonks, who was just beginning to recover from Hermione's kiss, had missed this silent interchange (not that it would've mattered. If she hadn't been distracted, she probably would've thought that Harry and Hermione were involved in some odd staring contest). Before Tonks could fully recover from the kiss, Harry moved in and began to snog her. Now, the kiss that Hermione had given her was apparently just the tip of the iceberg when it came to fantastic kisses. Obviously, both Harry and Hermione were using the same wonderful technique, but the witch was only the apprentice while the wizard was the master of mind-blowing snogs. Her previous sensations increased; her complexion burned, knees buckled, tummy danced, heart thundered, nipples became like steel, and her naughty bits flowed.
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After dropping the Lovegood girl at Grimmauld Place (and removing her wand and locking her in one of the bedrooms for her safety), Moody apparated to the Granger and Lovegood homes to tell the Order members assigned to keep an eye out for the lost witches to abort and head back to headquarters. Not only did they not need to keep a watch on the homes any longer (because Tonks was trailing Granger and Lovegood was in custody), but Moody knew that all the Order members would be needed to bring in Potter for questioning.
He returned to headquarters and went into the bedroom where he had dropped the Lovegood girl off. He used the Rennervate Charm to wake her up.
"Don't worry, girl, you're safe now," Moody said as the girl looked around the room.
"That's good to know, Mr. Moody," Luna said, unfazed by the fact that she was clearly abducted.
"You and Granger are in a heap of trouble," Moody began. "That person you've been hanging around with isn't Potter."
"Technically, he is Harry. He just happens to be a Harry from a different reality," the blonde countered in a sing-song voice.
"You know that already, do you? Well then, what else do you know about him?"
"Oodles," the odd witch replied.
"All right then, tell me everything you know about him," Mad-Eye ordered.
"Everything?"
"Yes, everything, down to the smallest detail," Moody said. He was a firm believer in finding out as much as possible about his target ("The more you know, the less likely the chance that everything will go down the crapper" was the phrase he often liked to quote).
"Very well," Luna said and demurely folded her hands on her lap. She said a number which was a double-digit (in the low to mid teens if you must know), followed promptly by the word "inches."
"Are you telling me about his wand?" Moody asked.
"In a manner of speaking, yes, I am."
"Well, what's its core?" he asked. In his long experience, he knew some cores were susceptible to certain hexes; finding out what core Potter had could be useful.
"I could tell you the technical name, but I like to think of it as… love," she said dreamily, and her eyelids fluttered, as if recalling a particularly enthralling moment (the blonde witch was happily reminiscing about the time Harry stuffed his monument up her bum).
"Love?" the old wizard asked.
"Yes, love," Luna repeated, and her cheeks turned red.
Moody pondered over what she had meant. Lovegood was an odd girl, to say the least. Perhaps she meant a unicorn's hair? Unicorns were the symbol of innocence after all, and love is innocent. Moody deduced that Lovegood had told him that Potter's wand had a unicorn tail hair as its core in her own peculiar manner. He'd have to do some research on what flaws were inherent with that particular core.
"What type of skills does he have?" Moody asked.
"Oh, he's really good at making me scream," she said dreamily (of course, she was referring to screaming orgasms and was under the impression that this was understood by Moody). "He can elicit hours of screams out of me. Harry's very, very talented, you see."
The scarred wizard frowned woefully. Clearly, this Potter was skilled with the Unforgivable Curses. He had used the Killing Curse on Fudge. And now, the evidence pointed that he used the Cruciatus Curse so much that the poor Lovegood girl's mind snapped. It was obvious to the retired Auror that she had been tortured so much that she now liked the pain, judging by the rosy bloom to her face when she mentioned the screaming. When this was all over, and he had Potter chucked in Azkaban, Moody swore that he'd make sure Lovegood would get the help she needed to heal.
"Mister Moody, can we wrap this up?" requested Luna politely. "I must go back to Harry's. Hermione and I need to have a coin toss. The winner of the toss gets to scream under Harry's ministrations. You can see that it's dreadfully important for me to get back. I so do want to win."
Moody's previous assessment of Potter and his skill with the Cruciatus was cemented by Lovegood's obviously insane request. The bastard Potter had warped the poor girls so much that they're now playing games to see which one got tortured.
"Can you tell me where Potter is?" he asked, feeling pity for the girl and anger at the fiend who had hurt her so deeply.
"Probably at the flat," she answered simply.
"Where's the flat?" Moody asked patiently, knowing that the suffering the girl had endured had seriously muddled her brain.
"In Knockturn Alley."
"Do you remember where exactly in Knockturn Alley?"
"No, not really," she replied while lazily playing with a strand of her long hair. "The first time we went there, we traveled by Portkey. Then, when we went to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry carried me most of the way because of the pain I was suffering. And on the way back, that same soreness distracted me."
Moody gripped his wand in anger and itched to use it on the vile fiend who had hurt this poor, innocent girl. Potter had used the Cruciatus Curse so much on Lovegood that not only had her mind snapped, but she had difficulty walking. Potter would pay dearly for this transgression, Moody swore.
"Besides those times, we never left the flat," she continued with a pleasant smile. "We just stayed in while Harry made me and Hermione scream and scream for hours on end."
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"What the hell happened?" Lucius asked as he climbed over the debris of the destroyed castle to the group of people standing on the North side of the rubble.
A very large, muscular, and nearly naked man shouted, "IT WENT BOOM, BROTHER!"
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Lucius.
"I'M THE FLYING DEATH!! WOOOO!!" the man in the white mask shouted and began to flex theatrically. Hundreds of thick veins bulged all over his body, arms, legs, and neck as he did so.
"Who the hell is that?" Lucius asked while pointing to the large, overly muscular man. If the mystery man wouldn't tell Lucius his identity, perhaps someone else could.
"He said his name is Flying Death," a man in a cowboy hat said gravelly out of the side of his clenched mouth. "Are you deaf?"
"Who the hell are you?" Lucius demanded, pointing at the weathered cowboy.
"Calm yourself, Lucius," Lord Voldemort said as he surveyed the destruction of his castle. "They are my brothers from different realities."
Voldemort turned his attention to his Death Eaters. When he had left to perform the Summoning Rituals, there were fifty of his followers in the castle. Now he was surrounded by only twenty-three. Some of them could've escaped and had not yet returned, but Voldemort was certain that most had perished in the blast.
"What happened here?" the Dark Lord demanded of his followers in his cold girly voice. "And if someone says 'it went boom' as Flying Death did, I'll have him rip your head off."
"WOOOO!!"
"Sire, I discovered when I entered the potions' lab that someone had made the Enola Gay Draught. However, I don't know who could have brewed it," Snape said. He would tell the Dark Lord the truth of Potter's involvement only if Dumbledore instructed him to do so.
"Did one of you do it?" Voldemort demanded. "Did one of you imbeciles make the Enola Gay Draught?"
"No, sire," a feminine voice replied. Slowly and shamefully, Bellatrix approached her master and threw herself at his feet. She looked up at him with pleading eyes and begged, "Please forgive me. I brought the one responsible into your castle."
"What the hell is wrong with your head?" Voldemort asked in shock and revulsion as he looked upon the witch.
Bellatrix hid her head behind her hands in shame. The witch's entire head was now one-third its normal size, as were her face, nose, eyes, ears, and mouth. Due to their new miniature size, Bellatrix could hide her face and head behind her hands completely and effortlessly.
"Err, that's my doing, Master," Wormtail admitted nervously. "It's called the Tiny Head Curse. James Potter and Sirius Black created it and used to cast it on me all the time back when we were in school."
"Change her back," the Dark Lord commanded. "She's disturbing to look at."
The tiny-headed Bellatrix whimpered pathetically behind her hands.
"I-I c-can't, sire," moaned Wormtail. "Black and Potter made it a point to never allow me to know the counter-curse. They kept the incantation for the counter-curse nonverbal, and either Potter or Black would distract me while the other corrected the size of my head, so I never even saw the wand movements. They found it funny that I could never change my head back to normal."
"How long will it last?" asked Voldemort.
"As far as I know, indefinitely," the rat-like wizard said. "Once, I had a tiny head for four weeks before Sirius fixed me."
Voldemort groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll deal with this later. Now, Bellatrix, tell me what happened."
"I thought it would be a present for you, sire," she said with fear in her eyes. "He was walking alone in Diagon Alley and-"
"This is too unsettling," Voldemort interrupted. "Looking at your little head and face is making my eyes water. It's like you're a bad Rob Liefeld drawing."
"Is there such a thing as a good Liefeld drawing?" Soaring Spade, Voldemort's cowboy duplicate, muttered.
"I'm sorry, Master," she wailed, and tears fell from her button-sized eyes.
"Just cover up and continue," he commanded while looking in another direction in order to avert his gaze from her minuscule features.
After pulling her hood up (and seeing that her head was so small, the front of the hood flopped over her face and dropped down past her chin), Bellatrix forged ahead. "I found Potter, sire, and brought him here."
"Potter? Are you saying that Potter blew up my castle?" the Dark Lord demanded.
"Yes, Master, he escaped my clutches and threatened that he would blow up the castle," she explained.
"How did he escape you?"
"Err, I had my back turned," she lied.
"She was naked, sweaty, and had her head stuck between the bars when I found her, Master," informed Wormtail, happy to see someone other than himself suffer.
"Oh, Bellatrix, you had sex with him?" Voldemort asked in a truly disappointed manner.
"I'm sorry sire. I was going to bring him to you to use as a virgin sacrifice, but I... I..." she paused. Bellatrix didn't want to admit that she was so impressed and enamored by Potter's monstrous manhood that she willingly took his virginity, so she lied again: "I'm a whore, and I can't help myself." (Ironically, this wasn't a lie.)
"That's it! You're no longer on virgin detail. You can't seem to help yourself from taking their innocence or finding the only two non-virgins in a Star Trek Fan Convention," Voldemort ordered. "For the time being, we shall need a place for our base of operations." The Dark Lord paused for a second before saying, "Why, Lucius, that's so generous of you to offer your home."
"Sire?" asked Lucius in surprise.
"Does everyone know where Malfoy Manor is?" Voldemort asked his followers.
"Master, there is… a problem," Lucius began nervously. He was frightened that Draco, because of the side effects of the potions he was on, might say or do something to offend the Dark Lord.
"The only problem would be if you said we couldn't use your home, Lucius," Voldemort said, plainly hinting at a threat of bodily harm.
"Err, the problem is that I'll have to stop and pick up some food for everyone," Lucius said quickly. "Our cupboards are a little sparse right now."
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Dobby wiped the sweat from his brow. He had just successfully laid the foundation for Harry Potter's grand hideout. It had taken hours and hours of hard, strenuous work, but it was well worth it. He had dug thirty feet down in an eighty by one-hundred foot wide rectangle and then poured a cement floor and put up cinderblock walls. Soon, he'd start on building two underground floors that Harry Potter could use as storage rooms, potions lab, and holding cells (Harry Potter did have nasty people trying to hurt him all the time, so it was prudent to have a prison in his hideout, thought Dobby).
The hyper House-Elf was elated over the thought that he was now working for the greatest wizard in the world. Never before had he known such joy. Every moment of the work that he did was pure joy for Dobby.
After a short rest (including a few hours of sleep where the House Elf would dream of the praises Harry Potter would shower him with), Dobby would start building the underground levels and then begin to erect the first part of Harry Potter's grand hideout.
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After kissing the hell out of Tonks, Harry led the two witches into the bedroom. He was forced to carry the witch he thought was Luna because, with the aforementioned snog, Tonks was nothing more than a puddle of boneless limbs who couldn't walk on her own. Harry had Hermione lie on the bed naked (save for the leather corset, which did a wonderful job of pushing up her already perky mounds) and made Tonks bend over so that her face was in the brunette's muff. Then Harry ate Tonks out (whom he still believed was Luna) while Tonks ate Hermione out (mind you, Hermione knew that it was Tonks' tongue in her bits and was under the impression that Harry knew as well, but he was hatching a plan).
Tonks hadn't performed oral sex on a witch in years (that same game of "Truth or Dare" in her seventh year had rapidly progressed from being naughty to downright raunchy), so needless to say, she was a bit rusty.
In Tonks' defense, she had not gotten a chance to see Harry's monument yet, so it was perfectly understandable that she screamed into Hermione's cunny when he forced that big, fat thing in her. Also, it would've been perfectly understandable for the disguised Auror to be under the impression that a centaur had somehow snuck in and mounted her while she was distracted. The poor Auror moaned and groaned continuously deep in Hermione's womanhood as Harry drove his large slab of man-meat in and out of her cunny.
Without warning, the riding crop, which was part of Hermione's ensemble, came whacking down on Tonks' bare Luna-shaped bottom. Hermione swatted Tonks' bum for two reasons; first, she thought that Harry's plan to reveal Tonks' identity was to "pump" and "beat" the truth out of her, so to speak (of course, he was using his massive organ to accomplish this). So, the brunette felt that smacking Tonks' arse would aid in the "beating" aspect. The second reason was far more selfish on Hermione's part. The vibrations caused by Tonks' moans and groans were very pleasurable to Hermione, but it really wasn't doing much else for the brunette witch, and she was getting rather frustrated. So Hermione decided to give Tonks some pointers on how to properly perform cunnilingus. And the brunette had decided to use the riding crop to get Tonks' attention since it was obvious that the Auror in disguise was lost in the moment. Hermione knew she had to do something to get her attention.
"USE YOUR TONGUE, YOU TWAT!" hollered Hermione, whose frustration had gotten the better of her. She whacked Tonks' arse once again and barked, "MOVE YOUR TONGUE TO THE RIGHT!"
Tonks did as she was commanded. Or so she thought. The moment her tongue moved, Hermione viciously slapped the leather tool against her bottom again. Hermione yelled, "I SAID TO THE RIGHT, YOU USELESS IDIOT! I NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR RIGHT!" Hermione savaged Tonks' bottom again. "YOU ARE DOING THIS FOR MY PLEASURE, CUNT! AT THIS MOMENT, YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A TOY TO ME! NOW, MOVE YOUR TONGUE TO MY RIGHT, BITCH!"
A new and odd tingling sensation began to grow in Hermione's loins as she continued to berate the disguised Auror. It was different, yet strangely similar in parts, to the sexual pleasure she received from Tonks' tongue working on her sensitive bits. This sensation increased with each whack of the riding crop and every barked command that Hermione gave. It made her toes curl and her sex quiver. Curious as to this peculiar development, Hermione experimented by smacking Tonks' bottom viciously. Suddenly, the orgasm that had been slowly building leapt in intensity. Testing this sensation further, Hermione ordered harshly, "YOU'RE PATHETIC! RUB MY FUCKING CLIT! YOU WORTHLESS CUNT! DON'T YOU EVEN KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING PROPERLY? I'LL NEVER GET OFF IF I'M LEFT TO JUST YOUR INEPT TONGUE!" This long-winded command caused the brunette's orgasm to explode. Even before Tonks complied and began massaging Hermione's engorged clitoris, the brunette was screaming in ecstasy.
Over the course of the shag, Hermione would often whack Tonks' bottom while giving commands and insults such as "USE YOUR FINGERS, YOU STUPID BINT!" and "ARE YOU SHELLACKING MY TWAT, BITCH? TWIRL YOUR TONGUE AROUND A BIT, YOU DIM-WITTED CUNT!" With Hermione's not-so-gentle coaching, it didn't take long for copious amounts of Tonks' drool and Hermione's juices to flow from the Auror's chin.
Unlike Hermione, who had lost count of how many orgasms she had during her first time with Harry, Tonks knew exactly how many climaxes she had: one. Yes, just one orgasm. Of course, the orgasm was ridiculously long and incredibly intense. It started when Harry pushed his length and girth into her for the tenth time. It then reached the crescendo about twenty-five minutes later and ended a little over twelve minutes after that.
After Harry came (and he did so deep inside Tonks), he crawled up into the bed and lay down next to Hermione. Tonks seized this opportunity to make her getaway... or at least try.
In the histories of getaways, Tonks' was not the fastest by far, nor was it the most graceful. It took her a whole five minutes to catch her breath (which was understandable because she had just experienced a thirty-seven-minute-long orgasm combined with a fairly severe thrashing). Another minute spent trying to stand up (during which time she collapsed on the bed no less than ten times). And another four minutes wobbling to the door (it took a lot of effort to get her legs to follow commands – that and her hips seemed a little further apart than they used to be, but that could've been her imagination).
As she teetered away at speeds that would have made a snail dizzy, Hermione asked, "Where are you off to?"
"Oh, just going to get a spot of fresh air," Tonks offered lamely while lurching, stumbling, and lumbering to the door.
Once Tonks had left the room, Harry turned to Hermione and announced, "That wasn't Luna."
"Of course, that wasn't Luna. I told you that," snapped Hermione.
"When did you do that?"
"Right before you kissed her," stated Hermione. "I thought you understood me and had a plan."
"You didn't say anything then," he countered.
"I told you with my eyes," she argued.
"Well, your eyes didn't tell me she wasn't Luna."
"Fine," Hermione said in a huff. "When did you realize that she wasn't Luna?"
"When she started eating you out," Harry said. "She didn't slurp as Luna does."
"Wait, you figured that it wasn't Luna at the beginning, and you still went ahead and shagged her?"
"Yes, we were all naked, and I was randy. What's the point of stopping?" he asked in a matter-of-fact way. Changing the subject, he asked, "Do you know who it was?"
"It had to be Tonks. She's a metamorphmagus and is in the Order of the Phoenix," she replied. "They probably stumbled on Luna and me shopping and nabbed her while we were separated. They would've taken Luna to the Order headquarters, more likely than not."
"Well then, I guess I'll just have to go and rescue Luna," Harry said and hopped out of bed. "I'm really eager to see you tongue her arse-hole."
"But the headquarters is protected by the Fidelius Charm," stated Hermione. "I know the location, but I'm not the Secret Keeper, so I can't tell it to you."
"The Fidelius won't be a problem for me, as long as Tonks enters this place. I'll be able to follow her thanks to my swimmers in her cunny."
"So you did shag her for a reason," Hermione said and smiled, impressed at his cunning when it came to his cumming. "You came in here so that you could follow her to wherever she went."
"True, but I mostly did it because I was randy and she was bent over in front of me," he said without shame. "The fact that I can follow her and rescue Luna is a nice benefit, though. Oh, by the way, I like the new dominatrix you."
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione demanded and shot up.
"When you were whacking Tonks' arse," he explained. "You were so turned on by it, I reckon that you must've been gushing."
"I wasn't into it!" she protested (which was a lie; she really was into it.) "And I certainly didn't gush!" (She did – several times.)
"Oh, please," Harry said with a bemused chuckle. "You just don't want to admit that I'm rubbing off on you."
"Rubbing off on me?"
"Yeah, before you met me, you were just a meek little bookworm. But now, after a short while with me, your true side has started to show. Thanks to my influence on your inner self, you're no longer that meek kitten. Instead, you've embraced your true nature, that of a sexually charged dominatrix," Harry said with a proud smile.
"That's not what happened!"
"Ri-i-i-ight," he dismissed. "You just won't acknowledge that you got off on controlling that witch, because you've convinced yourself that controlling people is wrong."
"It is wrong," she said defiantly.
"Bullshit. The fact that you had Tonks doing everything you told her to do was turning your crank. And you know it," he said, smiling from ear to ear. "You didn't cum from her piss-poor skills at eating snatch. You came simply from the sense of power of being in charge of another human being – the same thing that you've accused me of doing and being immoral and evil."
A chill went up Hermione's spine. Perhaps Harry was right: maybe his influence was affecting her, turning her into some sort of dominatrix that got off on control. The witch gulped and realized that she needed help.
Harry grabbed his wand and tapped one of Hermione's boots, incanting, "Portus."
"What's that for? I thought you could apparate?" Hermione asked.
"This is for you," he said. "This Order is probably going to storm in here in hopes of capturing me."
"Why?"
"Because I bragged about killing Fudge in front of those two inbred gingers back in that shack," he responded, referring to the Weasleys.
Hermione held her tongue. She wanted to say that perhaps it was a good idea to turn himself in, so that Dumbledore could help Harry see the error of his ways. After the Headmaster helped Harry, the black-haired wizard's nefarious influence would no longer affect Hermione, and she could stem this new dark desire that Harry had created (or so she told herself) in her. But she knew that Harry wouldn't listen to reason. She had to seek the Headmaster's help without Harry's knowledge.
"This Portkey will take you to Luna's home," he said, and put his shoes on. "I'll go fetch Luna and meet you there. Then we'll find someplace new to live until Dobby finishes my hideout."
"Good idea," she agreed, while formulating her own plan of contacting Professor Dumbledore so that the venerable wizard could aid her in altering Harry's evil tendencies.
"It'll probably take me ten or twenty minutes to get Luna," he said. "Half an hour tops."
"Okay, I'll see you then," Hermione said. She got dressed quickly and touched her finger to the Portkey.
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With a crack, Lucius apparated directly into his parlor and frantically dashed into the kitchen. He desperately needed to put his house in order before the Dark Lord showed up. In the kitchen, Lucius found his wife with one empty bottle of firewhiskey in one hand and a two-finger salute directed at him with the other.
"Ah, such is the lovely greeting I've learned to expect from you," he said dryly.
Narcissa attempted to quip, "Well, if you were a better husband, perhaps I would give you a proper greeting." Unfortunately, since she was completely pissed out of her gourd, all she could muster was a slurred, "Bugger off, you nancy."
"We are about to have a very important guest. I won't have to worry about you making a scene since I suspect that you're about to black out shortly. I must see to Draco," Lucius rambled, his nerves over having the Dark Lord in his home rattling him.
Again, Narcissa tried to deliver a scathing comment to her husband regarding his parenting skills: "Just because your father never showed pride in you or love doesn't mean that you have to do the same with our son." Again, because of her drunken state, the only words that came out of her mouth were "Ah-h, fuck off."
"I'll just check his room then," Lucius said, leaving his wife to her stupor.
Draco was quietly reading a book in his bedroom when his father entered.
"Son, the Dark Lord will be staying here for a while," Lucius told the boy. "Because of those unseemly side effects of your treatment, I think it would be for the best if you stay in your room."
"I understand, Father," Draco said earnestly. He then added in a howling scream, "TOAD FUCKER!"
"And perhaps I should cast a Silencing Charm around your room as well," Lucius said casually.
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"Ginny! Come down here this instant!" Molly hollered up the stairs.
"What is it?" Ginny cried out from her room. She was still irate over the fact that she was being prohibited from finding her magnificent Harry. And until Ginny was allowed to find the man she was destined to be with, and had gotten swatted around by said man, she had no intentions of leaving her room.
Molly huffed; she had to leave straight away and couldn't deal with her daughter's temper tantrums. "I have to go for an emergency Order meeting. I need you to look after your brother."
Ginny ran down the stairs as if she were being chased by a Hungarian Horntail. She leapt over the last five steps and dashed up to her mother.
"Is it about Harry?" the girl asked frantically. "I can go with you and help."
"No, you have to stay here and look after your brother," Molly insisted. "He still isn't well."
"He can come, too," pleaded Ginny.
"No, this is official Order business," her mother said firmly. Molly had not yet told her children that their Harry had been replaced with another Harry from an alternate universe, and that this version of Harry had actually killed Fudge. "And I can't have the two of you milling about while we discuss important issues."
"Mum, ever since I was a little girl, you've told me to go after my dreams," Ginny said with tears shimmering in her eyes. "And my dream is Harry."
"Sweetie, there's something you don't know about Harry," Molly said. She was touched by her daughter's conviction, but this wasn't the Harry that her daughter had dreamed about. "He's different. He's not the sweet boy you remember; he's grown quite cruel."
"Well, it's no wonder. If I were raised by those awful Muggles and hunted by every dark wizard in the country, I'd become mean, too," Ginny said as the tears fell. "What Harry needs now is love and tenderness. And I am the one to give him that."
Molly was bowled over by what her daughter had said. Ginny was right, even though this Harry wasn't the sweet boy they knew, he still needed love and compassion to guide him, to help him see the light. Molly came to the conclusion that Ginny was indeed the one destined to show Harry that love and compassion. After all, Ginny was a beautiful witch (note: as stated before, mothers tend to pad the truth when it comes to their children, yet Molly was just outright lying to herself at this point).
Ginny had to fight the smile that was threatening to break her mask of false sorrow. The things she had said about showing Harry love and compassion so that he would see the errors of his way were utter twaddle. Ginny wanted, no needed, Harry to turn his bad little self on her. The young witch wanted him to drape her over his knee and spank her viciously while calling her such lovely names as "cunt," "whore," and "fire crotch." Ginny was just playing to her mother's silly compassion. The moment her mum had said that Harry was "cruel," Ginny gave her that foolish tripe about "love and tenderness."
"All right, you can come, but you'll have to convince your brother to put on some clothes before we leave," Molly said, hoping that her daughter's dream-match would come true.
"Oh, thank you, Mummy," squealed Ginny. She hugged her mother and quickly dashed up the stairs to Ron's room.
"Quick, put on some clothes," Ginny ordered.
"As Ron the Magnificent told you before, Ron the Magnificent is above simple clothes, dear sister," Ron said while majestically gesturing to the wash rag he was using as a loincloth.
"Yes, that's true. But we're taking you to see your adoring public," Ginny lied.
"Ron the Magnificent's adoring public has seen Ron the Magnificent in Ron the Magnificent's regal attire before," he said while posing. "Why should Ron the Magnificent bother to wear something different?"
"Have you ever heard of nudists?" she asked.
"Aren't they those silly people who run around naked? Such lowly people," he said in a disapproving way.
Ginny was about to point out that Ron could be considered nude by most people, but having Ron come along with her and their Mum was imperative so that she could find her Harry, have him call her foul names, have him toss her around a bit, and have scores of green-eyed babies. So Ginny continued to lie. "Well, we're meeting a group of people who are the exact opposite of nudists, they're called... err... clothists," she said and cursed her intelligence. No one would fall for such a lame ploy. Ginny had blown her chance.
"'Clothists,' you say," Ron said while rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Ron the Magnificent has never heard of these clothists. Please, dear sister, tell Ron the Magnificent more about these clothists."
"Well, um, they hate the sight of bare flesh," she said, stunned that Ron had bought it. "They call the condition um… nudeness and ah… get nauseous if any... uh anything is showing."
"Fine then, if these clothists want to meet Ron the Magnificent, Ron the Magnificent shall don lowly clothes for them," he said and threw a long cloak over his body.
"Brilliant; meet Mum and me downstairs," Ginny cheered.
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The Portkey delivered Hermione just outside the Lovegood home. Hermione hopped up and headed for the door. She needed to get to Dumbledore and get him to help her sway Harry from his nefarious attitudes and save her from his evil influence. She decided to use the Lovegood floo to travel to Hogwarts.
Unfortunately, the door was locked. Seeing that it was illegal for her to use magic, she had to resort to a physical route. Hermione picked up a rock and flung it at a large window (normally, she would never dare such a thing, but she was desperate – and besides, Mr. Lovegood could easily repair the smashed window with a simple repairing charm).
After carefully crawling through the broken window, the witch headed directly for the fireplace. There, tacked to the hearth, was a handwritten note from Mr. Lovegood addressed to his daughter:
"Dearest, moon-kissed daughter,
Even though I allowed you to stay home, I couldn't stop the order to temporarily cut our lovely home from the floo connection. You know how slow the Ministry is – like a snow-fire bat on Christmas morning if you needed a helpful analogy.
If you have to use the floo, just pop over to the Weasleys'. I'm certain they'll let you use their connection.
There's plenty of food in the icebox. And I left you my books on Cliff-Dwelling Dragon-Mongooses and Webbed-toed Spider-Frogs.
Love you always,
Daddy-kins."
Despite the dread of running into Ron (only because of the amount of time she would waste with the beating she would have to give him), she had to use the Weasleys' floo to contact Professor Dumbledore. It wasn't an option; Hermione had to return to the Burrow.
She was about to leave the Lovegood home when she remembered that Harry would be able to track her down due to his seed still in her from this morning's shag. The witch dashed into the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. She stripped off the perverted "Little Red Riding Hood" outfit and hopped under the shower head, not caring that the water was still cold. As quickly as she could, Hermione cleaned herself, inside and out, with the chilly water.
Hermione didn't even bother to towel herself dry; she just threw on the outfit over wet skin. Once she was presentable – or at least as presentable as the revealing outfit would allow her to be- she ran out of the Lovegood home (this time she used the front door and not the smashed window), making her way toward the Burrow to use the floo. She had to get Dumbledore.
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Tonks staggered into number twelve and limped into the kitchen. Every step was a struggle for her (not only because she was exhausted beyond belief, but because her entire body was sore from the epic shag she had just gotten).
"What the hell took you so long?" demanded Moody. Every single member of the Order except Dumbledore and Snape flanked the retired Auror. "I couldn't get any useful information out of the Lovegood girl. We've been waiting for you to report."
"They... he... I..." rambled Tonks disconnectedly. She didn't want to say that she was late because she had just gotten the best shag she had ever had (she had even been with two blokes at once before, and even their combined talents didn't hold a candle to this Harry from another reality). Not only was Harry an excellent kisser (and Hermione was superb as well), but he was also hung like a baby (meaning six pounds, ten ounces).
"Ah, hell, did Potter use the Cruciatus on you as well?" Moody asked, his voice showing a surprising amount of compassion. "He used the Unforgivable so much on Lovegood that the girl has cracked."
"Oh, you poor dear," Molly cried and hugged Tonks, thinking the young Auror had just suffered unbearable torture instead of a rapturous climax. "Why don't you take a rest? We'll take care of this."
"That'd be brilliant," groaned Tonks. She uttered the address of the flat in Knockturn Alley, adding that it had no magical protection, before slowly trudging up the stairs. Each step was excruciating thanks to Hermione's crop and the damage it had caused to her bum. Tonks had not seen the after-effects, but she was positive that her bottom must be swollen to twice its normal size and a flaming red (although, thanks to Hermione's cruel coaching, Tonks was positive that she could easily pleasure another witch if she ever decided to give up on men). She staggered into one of the guest rooms and flopped onto the bed. She fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
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"Oh, 'daddy,' you certainly know how to please a girl," giggled Pomona.
"That's right, baby," Dumbledore whispered huskily before running his tongue over Sprout's ample acreage of flesh.
Moody had tried to contact him a few minutes earlier. But Dumbledore had an urgent need for the Rubenesque beauty of Pomona. Whatever Moody wanted would have to wait. The Pecker-Up Potion (as he liked to call the helpful potion he took to allow him to please his plump lover) had started to kick in, and it would've been a deplorable waste of a good erection if he had responded to Moody's call.
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"Welcome to my home, my Lord," Lucius greeted Voldemort as he walked into Malfoy Manor. Close behind the Dark Lord were the rest of his inner circle, as well as his two strange duplicates from different realities.
Voldemort eyed the parlor appraisingly. He walked into the library and then the dining room. Occasionally, he ran his finger along surfaces, checking for dust.
"This will do for the time being," Voldemort said with a hint of disappointment after a few minutes of inspection. "However, this place is far too small for my tastes."
"I shall begin looking for a proper castle for you, Master, straight away," Lucius said with a bow.
"No, Lucius, you have a terrible sense of style. Get your wife to do it," the Dark Lord ordered.
"'Course I have better style," hiccupped Narcissa as she stumbled into the dining room. She leaned against the wall and took a long swig straight from a new bottle of whisky.
"Oh, bugger," moaned Lucius. He had hoped that his wife would have blacked out and therefore save him from embarrassment.
"Are you feeling well, sister?" asked Bellatrix.
Narcissa's eyes grew wide, and she snorted in laughter at the sight of Bellatrix's small head.
"Oi, Rodolphus, you always said you wanted a little head from your wife, and now you've got it," Narcissa laughed uproariously at her own joke before collapsing to the floor with a loud thud and passing out.
"Now that the issue of finding a new castle is out of the way, let's discuss Potter," Voldemort said, ignoring the unconscious blonde and her actions.
"Lord, if I may," Snape began. "Potter was a pathetic student. The Enola Gay Draught is far beyond his capabilities. I doubt that the person Bellatrix brought in, and then seduced, was the boy."
"Could he have been someone else under polyjuice?" offered Rabastan.
"No, he didn't drink any potion while..." began Bellatrix, but she suddenly stopped.
"Are you telling me you and Potter had sex for longer than an hour?" Voldemort demanded.
"Yes," she replied meekly.
"Sire, this seems doubtful," Snape spoke up. "My observations on the boy would suggest that he is a 'two-minute man' tops."
"Wait, just what type of observations were you making on Potter to come to that conclusion?" asked Lucius. An image of Snape lurking in the shadows of the Gryffindor boys' shower entered his mind.
"Nothing nefarious, I assure you," Snape drawled. "But the boy severely lacks patience. I assumed, by watching in other various activities, that he would be the type to charge ahead and climax as quickly as he could."
"Severus, you and tiny head over there," Voldemort said, jabbing his thumb at Bellatrix, "work on this mystery. Find out exactly what happened."
"I live to serve," Snape said reverently.
"Master, there is the issue of the new Minister," began Rabastan.
"What new Minister?" demanded Voldemort. He had been so busy trying to call forth his duplicates that no one had yet told him the news.
"Fudge was executed," Snape replied.
"Who did it?" the Dark Lord asked.
"We don't know, my liege," the Potions Master answered.
"Then, while you're investigating Potter, find out who killed Fudge," Voldemort ordered Snape.
"Yes, sire," he replied, knowing that both mysteries assigned to him were one and the same.
"Back to the new Minister, we need to get whoever it will be under our control," Voldemort said.
"Excellent plan, Master," cheered Lucius. Even though he and Rodolphus had come up with the idea already, he knew that if he were to take credit, the Dark Lord would punish him. "Might I suggest Percy Weasley?"
"Why not Jamie Wildsmith?" offered Rodolphus, naming the low-ranking Death Eater he had in mind.
"Can this Weasley be corrupted?" asked Voldemort.
"Easily," Lucius replied with a smile. "He is a trusting oaf and slow-witted."
"Very well, let us focus our energies on this Percy," Voldemort stated. "I like the idea of having a member of the Weasley clan, a family so openly connected to the Light, under my thumb."
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Back at Grimmauld Place, Moody grumbled. He had fire-called Dumbledore to tell him about Potter, but the old wizard was not in. Moody knew that he couldn't wait for Dumbledore to join them. This version of Potter was a threat and needed to be brought down before he could hurt anyone else, like he had done to the poor Lovegood girl and now Tonks.
His gnarled hands clenched into fists over the thought of what Potter had done. The old Auror had seen plenty of victims of the Cruciatus Curse; victims left scarred and broken, he had even seen what happened to the Longbottoms. But he had never seen such aftereffects as what Lovegood had suffered. It was like this version of Potter used the Cruciatus Curse to surgically carve away at his victims; to break away pieces of their minds and then reshape them. Moody saw this in the way Lovegood talked passionately about screaming under the Cruciatus. It chilled him to the bone just to think of what Potter had done to Lovegood and what he almost did to Tonks. The old Auror truly regretted sending Tonks into such a dangerous situation without proper support.
"Arthur, conjure a length of rope long enough so everyone can touch it," commanded Moody. "Then turn it into a Portkey."
"Aren't we going to wait for Albus?" the red-haired wizard asked as he conjured a long rope.
"No time," Moody growled. "This Potter needs to be brought in, and there's no time to lose."
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After magically shrinking all of the clothes that Malkin made and placing them in his pocket, Harry lay on the bed, with his legs crossed at his ankles and his hands behind his head, waiting for the impending attack. He had expected it to have happened a few minutes ago and was growing bored.
Finally, he heard dozens of Apparition cracks emanating from the street below and then a number of feet rushing up the stairs. "About bloody time," he mumbled to himself.
The exact moment the door to the flat was blown off its hinges, a half dozen witches and wizards appeared a few feet away from Harry.
"Don't make a move, Potter, or it'll be your last," threatened Moody as the rest of the Order rushed into the flat.
Harry ignored the old and scarred wizard's warning and looked over the ragtag group. The only witch of the bunch was a short and plump middle-aged woman. Harry was certain that this wasn't Tonks, because he was positive that the witch would've still had difficulty walking (that and he actually prayed it wasn't Tonks. The idea of shagging the short, plump, old redheaded witch made him feel queasy).
With a polite yet mocking wave of his hand, Harry bid farewell to the people and Apparated away. He allowed his Semen Tracking Charm to guide him to his destination.
With a soft pop (akin to the sound of a mouse fart in another room), Harry appeared in an old and dusty bedroom. There, strewn out on the bed, was an unconscious witch with bright green hair.
If he had more time, Harry had considered writing a message on this witch's bottom ("Potter was here!" in bright, bold letters with an arrow pointing to her cum-filled sex). But he had to act quickly, and such a fun activity simply could not be indulged. Harry crept out of the room and into a shabby hallway. If he was right (which he would proudly state that he often was, if someone asked), Luna would be in a locked room. Therefore, all he had to do was find a room with a locked door.
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Down in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, Ron had abandoned his cloak and was strutting around in his makeshift loincloth. He turned, showing his bare arse to his sister, and commented, "Ron the Magnificent is appalled to be here in this mess. Ron the Magnificent is not pleased to be associated with people who live in such a filthy place."
Ginny was too lost in her own thoughts to hear Ron (or, thankfully, to register his nearly nude state). Her mind was fixated on her black-haired prince. Soon, the Order would bring him here. And once she got the chance, she would sneak into his room and let him ravish her. The young witch's knickers got damp at the thought of the foul names that Harry would call her as he roughly pinched her pink nipples and bruised her flesh.
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Hermione rushed over the hill and charged toward the Burrow as quickly as her legs could take her. Without even pausing, she ran through the open kitchen door and headed straight to the fireplace.
Panting heavily and resisting the urge to throw up due to the nausea caused by the mile-long sprint she had just made, Hermione grabbed a pinch of floo powder and tossed it into the fire. As the flames turned emerald, she tried to steady her breath as best as she could (she would need to speak the name of the destination as clearly as she could).
After a moment, she took another pinch of the floo powder and stepped into the magical green flames. In a loud, clear voice, the witch stated, "Hogwarts; Headmaster's office" and disappeared.
After spinning like a top through the floo connection, she arrived at her destination.
"Professor! I need to talk to you about Harry!" she called out the moment she stepped out of the fireplace.
"I'm sorry, dear," a painting of a kindly former Headmistress informed Hermione. "But Albus is not in. He had to run an important errand" (of course, that errand was to shag Sprout, but there was no reason to tell the young witch).
"He must've headed to the Order headquarters," Hermione speculated. She grabbed some more floo powder from the pot on the hearth and reentered the floo. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," she declared.
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"Damn it!" cursed Moody.
"I told you we should've put up Anti-Apparition wards before we came charging in here," Kingsley said. Moody had nixed Kingsley's idea, thinking it would be for the best just to get the drop on Potter.
"Everyone, head back to number twelve," the old Auror grumbled.
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"Hello, Harry," Luna greeted the black-haired wizard after he used an Unlocking Charm to open the door. "Did you kill anyone while we were apart?"
"Unfortunately, no," Harry grumbled.
"You sound disappointed," the blonde pointed out.
"Well, killing imbeciles and adversaries is a wonderful way to blow off steam," he returned. "You should try it out."
"I'll stick to mad sex for stress relief, thank you," she said dreamily. "How were you able to find me?"
"A witch named Tonks, who's apparently a metamorphmagus, disguised herself as you. Thinking she was you, I had her eat out Hermione. When she didn't slurp as you do, I knew she was an imposter. Seeing that I was already hard, I decided to shag her rotten. Then, after Hermione told me her identity, I used my Semen Tracking Charm to follow her here," he answered.
"Really, a metamorphmagus? Think of the possibilities; if you had known about her abilities, you could've had her change her appearance so that she looked like Hermione. That way it would've been like being with twins," offered Luna.
"Damn," Harry said in mourning at the loss of such an exciting possibility.
"Although that does give me a splendid idea; we can make several batches of polyjuice," the blonde began to speculate. "That way, Hermione and I could pretend to be twins. One night I could be her double while the next she could be mine."
"You make me happy, you know that?" Harry asked while the delicious image of what Luna described played out in his head.
"Or we could swap places for fun," added Luna. "She could be me, and I could be her. It goes without saying that we'd have to act like one another to stay in character. This means that Hermione would have to be buggered because she would look like me, and I would have to perform analingus on her for the same reason. Speaking of which, let's get out of here so you can watch Hermione tongue my bottom."
"Hermione's at your dad's," he informed her. He then tapped a rickety chair with his wand and incanted "Portus."
"Fantastic, after Hermione laps up my dirty place, you can shag us on my father's bed," she said and stood next to the strapping wizard. "It's been a peculiar fantasy of mine for a while, to have sex on my dad's bed when he's away. It's very naughty of me, I know, but I like it."
A few seconds later, after the chair had successfully been turned into a Portkey, Harry and Luna vanished from Grimmauld Place.
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"Where is he?" Ginny demanded as the Order members returned to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
"Ronald, put on some clothes!" barked Molly.
"Where's Harry?" screeched Ginny. She had an awful itch; she needed her black-haired prince to pound and beat that itch away.
"He gave us the slip," Kingsley said with dissatisfaction.
"Don't just stand there; go out and find him!" ordered Ginny (the itch was bothering her to the point of anger, and she was losing her temper).
"We've got no leads," Kingsley said.
"I'll go talk to the Lovegood girl," Moody said, and he proceeded to limp out of the kitchen. "See if she can give us any clues."
Before Moody could leave, the fireplace erupted in green flames, and Hermione stumbled out. The halter top of her revealing outfit did a horrible job of concealing her jugs. This gave every male standing in the kitchen a wonderful view of her large breasts.
"What knockers," muttered Remus in near awe.
"Aye, they're a sight," commented Kingsley.
Nervously, Hermione tried to cover her cleavage. But since there was so much of it, she kept jostling her hands up and down. This action had the pleasing side-effect of making her womanly bits jiggle and shake.
"Damn, girl, it's like jelly," Moody complimented. "Two mounds of delectable jelly that my mum never made me."
"YOU SLUT!" screamed Ginny as she leapt for the brunette.
Reacting purely on instinct, Hermione swung her riding crop (she had kept it after her shower because the outfit didn't seem complete without it). The leather tool slapped Ginny hard across the face. The moment the crop struck the younger witch's face, the same lovely tingle Hermione got when whipping Tonks returned. The blow had also stopped the redhead's attack instantly.
With her fingertips grazing the rapidly growing red welt on her face, Ginny snarled with rage, fueling her voice; "YOU'LL PAY, CUNT!"
Again, she lunged at the witch who stole her black-haired and cruel prince. And again, Hermione instinctively used her crop to halt Ginny's attack. This time, the red welt was on Ginny's other cheek so that now both sides of her face matched. Also, the tingle that Hermione felt turned into a sharp twinge, and her sex clenched. Desperately, Hermione tried to ignore the exceedingly pleasant sensation.
"I'm going to kill you!" Ginny threatened. However, unlike before, when Ginny's voice was full of rage and hatred, her voice was breathy and husky.
With a twinkle in her eyes, Ginny threw herself on Hermione. Unfortunately for the brunette, she had no time to whack Ginny again (which was regrettable because a dark part of Hermione desperately wanted to whack Ginny again. It was also unfortunate for Ginny as well because she rather liked being on the receiving end of Hermione's incredible crop hand.) The two young witches fell to the floor (Ginny's greater weight easily toppling Hermione). As Ginny wrestled with Hermione, the brunette got the distinct impression that her attacker was trying her best to cop a feel. The younger witch's hands alternated between squashing Hermione's tits and bum and snaking between her thighs and cleavage.
While nearly every man in the room watched the wrestling witches in hopes of Hermione's top being pulled off and thereby exposing her glorious titties to them, Ron's deluded mind played out a far-fetched fantasy. In this hallucination, Hermione and Ginny weren't wrestling. Instead, the buxom brunette had thrown herself at Ron's feet and, ignoring the other people gathered in the room, immediately began to perform oral sex on him. Of course, this delusional daydream caused Ron to get an erection right there, in the crowded kitchen. Not that anyone in the kitchen could possibly notice the young redhead's arousal. His organ (if one could be as bold as to call it that) barely caused a bump to appear in his loincloth.
"Get off of me!" cried Hermione as Ginny moaned in her ear and continued to run her hands over the brunette's ample breasts.
Arthur pulled his daughter (who was kicking wildly while screaming "NO, I'M NOT DONE YET!" at the top of her lungs) off of Hermione. Of course, Arthur bent down more than necessary to pick up his daughter. He did this so that he could get a close-up view of Hermione's wondrous cleavage. Hoping that no one in the room could see the tent that had popped up in his trousers thanks to the wonderful image of Hermione's knockers, Arthur dragged Ginny to a corner. Unlike his youngest son, Arthur's erection could be seen easily. Thankfully for his sense of modesty, everyone in the room was transfixed with the same thing that caused Arthur to become aroused, and they hadn't noticed his bulge.
Hermione stood and, ignoring the ogling eyes fixed on her mounds, quickly stated, "I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore; it's urgent."
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"Where is she?" Luna asked after checking all the rooms of her and her father's house.
"I don't know," Harry said with a frown.
Luna huffed and flopped down on the couch. "I was so looking forward to getting my bum licked."
"She probably ran off to her precious Dumbledore," speculated Harry.
"I didn't see him at that place you took me from, so there's a good chance that Hermione headed to Hogwarts then."
Luna huffed again and asked in a sad pout, "Will you lick my bottom, Harry?"
"We have to go rescue her," he said, ignoring her request.
"Why? It isn't like they'll harm her," the blonde pointed out.
"Poppet, they had you under lock and key," he countered.
"True, Mr. Moody was under the impression that you had broken me. He said he was keeping me in that room for my own protection," Luna said.
"Besides, we have to get her back because I really want to see her tongue your dirty hole," Harry said flatly.
"Does that mean you won't lick my bum?" she asked, and her pout deepened.
"No," he replied. "I don't do that."
"It's fun. I promise you'll like it. I know I will," she protested. When Harry shook his head once again, Luna requested, "Well then, can you at least shag me on my dad's bed?"
"We really don't have time," Harry said regrettably. "Once they find that you're gone, this will be the first place they come looking for you."
"Oh, poop," Luna grunted and crossed her arms over her chest. "First, I missed out on the coin toss, Hermione, and I were going to have because I was kidnapped, then I missed a shag session with a metamorphmagus, and now my bottom isn't being licked, and I'm not getting shagged on my dad's bed! This is no fun at all."
"Let's head to Hogwarts and find Hermione," Harry said.
"The castle is very large; it will be hard to find her," stated Luna, still pouting over how much her bum wasn't being licked.
"Okay then, let's make a deal," offered Harry.
"Does this deal have anything to do with tongues and bottoms?" she asked hopefully.
"No, it does, however, deal with me fucking you silly in Dumbledore's office," he said. "Then, we'll sit you down on his chair so that it'll be sticky with our mess."
Luna's mood suddenly brightened. "Well, when you put it that way..."
To Be Continued...