Chapter 8 - Chapter 7

In the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, a nearly frantic and scantily clad Hermione demanded, "Where's the Headmaster?"

"Easy girl, just calm down," Moody grumbled. The old wizard had turned his back to the young witch, using his body to block the action of withdrawing his wand. Mind you, turning his body in plain view was not the best way to hide his growing erection that was caused by the nearly naked and extremely curvy sixteen-year-old. Thankfully, Hermione was too concerned about the whereabouts of Dumbledore to notice Moody's "back-up wand" trying to poke through his trousers. "You've gone through a lot of stress," Moody added in a soothing voice. Well, as soothing as one can get when their voice sounds like gravel being put through a grinder.

"I don't need to calm down," Hermione said and stomped her foot angrily. She jiggled even more when her foot hit the floor – much to the fascination of all of the men who were present. It was as if they were unwittingly holding the First Annual Grimmauld Place Erection Convention right there in the kitchen, and Hermione's scantily covered breasts were the main attraction of the event.

After shaking the wonderful image of Granger's chest, Moody returned to the task at gland – um, hand. He hid his wand under the crook of his off-arm and carefully aimed it at the buxom girl. In order not to alert her to his plan, the old Auror said in his uniquely "soothing" manner, "Don't worry, girl. Albus will be here shortly."

Hermione huffed in indignation and rolled her eyes. Moody took this as his cue and fired a Stun Hex at the brunette. He did this for her own safety – if she had been treated anything like the way the Lovegood girl had been, there was a very good chance that her mind was already broken by this evil-Potter. And there would be no telling what the girl could do in that case. As far as Moody knew, Potter could have brainwashed the buxom girl, conditioning her to assassinate Dumbledore. Moody, therefore, decided it was in everyone's best interest if the girl were knocked out.

With a thump, Hermione's unconscious body fell to the floor. And, as if to answer the unspoken prayers of all the wizards gathered in the kitchen, The Powers That Be (called TPTB by their close friends) seemingly used this action of the young witch's fall to make one of her boobs (the left one) pop out of its tight confines and be exposed for all to see.

For the men, it was as if a beautiful, angelic choir had descended from the heavens and was now singing in the background for this joyous, nearly rapturous occasion. First and foremost, a chance to see a sixteen-year-old witch's naked tit is a wonderful taboo that is both thrilling and fulfilling for any man. Added to the men's illicit joy of viewing underage titties, this one tit was unlike any breast they had ever seen before. It was as if the aforementioned TPTB decided that, since Hermione would be picked on and ostracized for her dazzling intelligence, they should give her a present for the pains she would suffer. So TPTB set out to make the perfect set of breasts (as mentioned previously, the wizards in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place had not seen Hermione's right boob, but they felt it was safe to assume that it was just as awe-inspiring as the other). The time and effort that TPTB put into creating Hermione's breasts were truly appreciated by all the men who now viewed her exposed glory. Words could not properly describe the pert, milky white mountain, peaked with a large, pink areola and eraser-sized nipple that just begged, nay – demanded to be gazed at for hours and hours. It was as if this tit was the benchmark to use to judge the beauty of everything in the world. Simply put, it held, in its soft, fleshy globe, the promise of paradise.

Most of the wizards who saw this perfection had tears of joy in their eyes. The sheer beauty of it touched their souls. Of course, all the men had tears of joy in the eye of their respective trouser snakes, but that should have been readily apparent.

The sight of Hermione's left knocker sent Ron over the proverbial edge. Even though he had duped Hermione into having sex with him several times, the dolt had not bothered to take her blouse off during these incredibly short and epically pathetic sessions. Which, as anyone would've told him, was completely stupid – he had passed up the opportunity to witness, arguably, the finest example of breasts that have ever graced this humble planet (if Homer were alive – and not blind – he would have composed an epic poem about Hermione's tit. And this poem's length and depth would've dwarfed both the Iliad and the Odyssey, combined). Ron's idiotic mistake just went on to further prove his foolish nature. The imbecile had missed his opportunity to not only look upon the glory that was both of Hermione's bare titties, but he idiotically passed up the chance to touch and even suckle them! If the other men in the kitchen knew that Ron had not taken the time to expose, touch, and suckle Hermione's bosom when he had the fortune to do so, they would've pummeled him. Even his father, who was seriously contemplating sawing off his right leg as an offering to TPTB in exchange for the opportunity of tweaking one of the teen witch's perky nipples just once, would've gladly and savagely beaten his son for such an asinine error. But of course, now that Ron saw half of what Hermione's breasts had to offer, he did not feel regret. No, in his ongoing deluded state (caused by the beating Hermione had given him), the red-haired wizard boldly declared, "Those glorious breasts belong to Ron the Magnificent!" Promptly following this fictitious and baseless statement, the red-haired wizard came and then, just as swiftly, passed out.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Molly as she stomped to the unconscious girl. She stood in front of Hermione, turned to face the awe-struck men, and scolded, "It's like you lot have never seen a breast before!"

As a unit, the wizards tried to reply honestly to Molly's statement with, "No, we've never seen a tit like that one!" But they were far too enamored by said sight that their brains weren't functioning properly. Only a handful of the men present could actually muster sounds. Most of these sounds were weak, soft moans. Remus alone was the only man to have enough cognitive power to utter a single word. However, that word was a high, squeaky "mother" followed by sounds of sucking, as if a babe at its mum's teat (which was pretty much what he, and all the other men, wanted to do with Hermione – and judging by the size of the young witch's boob, it was conceivable that, if she were lactating, she could feed all the men... easily).

Giving her practiced look of disappointment that she only used on her most disobedient children (used mostly on the twins, but as of late – since he donned the loincloth, to be precise – Molly had been using this look on Ron), Molly glared at the men for a full half minute, hoping that they would snap out of their silly state. Unfortunately for her, the men completely ignored her hateful gaze and used the time to continue to stare at the young witch's tit longingly, even though Molly's thick calf and "cankle" were blocking a portion of that wonderful boob. This, in their opinion, was a wonderful way to spend their time and would continue to do so until the Angel of Death claimed them, if given the option.

"You should all be ashamed!" the Weasley matron snapped. She pulled out her wand and waved it once, causing Hermione's corset to pop back up and cover her bare tit. The wizards were all too stunned to voice their valid protests. If they could have spoken at that moment, they would've shouted foul curses and vulgarities at Molly for such a heinous and evil deed. To them, covering up such a wonderful piece of art with clothes was a grievous and terrible crime against man and nature. Flicking her wand again, Molly levitated the unconscious girl and took her to one of the spare rooms.

Once in the safety and privacy of this room, Molly decided to change Hermione's clothes. Not to save the young girl from the embarrassment of having every man and boy ogle her (she was, after all, nothing more than a scarlet woman who toyed with Ron's affections before hopping in bed with Harry. The slattern, therefore, obviously enjoyed being treated as a sex object, thought Molly,) but rather to save the men from this harlot and her abnormal distractions. Molly twirled her wand at Hermione, and the leather outfit disappeared with a pop.

Now that Hermione was completely naked, and with both of her glorious breasts exposed, Molly was forced to admit to herself that the young witch did have a spectacular set. Even in Molly's own prime, before bearing seven children, her breasts wouldn't have been able to hold a candle to Hermione's glorious mounds. Furthermore, Molly was forced to assume that if Hermione had seven children as she had, the brunette's breasts would have fared much better than hers. The young witch's breasts would have laughed at the very notion of sagging caused by time and motherhood; unlike Molly's bosom, which had accepted defeat and surrendered a very long time ago. So, in a bitter and jealous act, Molly conjured a set of concealing and, more importantly, unflattering robes for the younger girl to wear. This robe was a pale blue and had hundreds of layers of lacy frills, dozens of pleats, and an overly large bustle. Not only did this effectively cover her ample bosom, but the overly large robe, with its stiff petticoats, also gave the impression that Hermione weighed a full two stones heavier than she actually did. Not satisfied with this corruption of Hermione's buxom beauty, Molly waved her wand once again and added another three layers of frills and foundations. Once Hermione looked as if she had gone on a four-month eating binge and raided a doddering, elderly witch's wardrobe for her attire, Molly nodded her head in approval. She knew that the men would no longer be distracted by the young witch's form (that and she, too, wouldn't have to see the young witch's beautiful curves and feel jealousy).

Meanwhile, down in the kitchen, the men were slowly coming out of their lustful daze. Each one of them grumbled, "Excuse me; I have something to do," and walked out of the kitchen. Some meandered to the loo or an empty bedroom. Two walked purposefully into a broom cupboard and the crawlspace where Kreacher slept. The rest Apparated back to their homes and flats; for the sight of Hermione's one boob had created a need in them. And to satisfy this need, they needed privacy – that or a circle wank, but they weren't into that... thankfully. Besides, an uncomfortable argument could have ensued if they were to participate in a circle wank: "No, no, you're supposed to grab the bloke to your left, not your right. Everyone knows this!"

As the men went off to wank themselves over the thought of Hermione's magnificent boob, Ginny was left in the kitchen with her slumbering brother (who had already spent his load if you've forgotten and was therefore comatose at this point). The red-haired witch walked over to Hermione's riding crop, which was dropped in all the confusion. Ginny tingled as she picked up the leather tool. Holding the crop up in front of her like a precious artifact, Ginny examined the tool with wide, sparkling eyes. Tentatively, Ginny placed the triangle piece of leather on the business end of the crop against the sore, red welt on the side of her face. A peculiar sensation washed over the young witch as the cold leather pressed against her injured cheek:

She was home!

Experimentally, she gently slapped the crop against her welt-covered face. The moment the leather crop slapped against her cheek, the young redhead came like a pack of rampaging dragons during mating season. In a matter of seconds (after thrashing about on the floor as if she was having a Grand Mal seizure), she joined her brother in blissful orgasm induced unconsciousness.

-- Line Break--

Using the Lovegood floo, Harry and Luna traveled to the Headmaster's office.

"Who are you?" demanded one of the magical paintings that hung on the walls of the office. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"We don't need an audience," Harry said and waved his wand. "Desero Abitio!"

One by one, the witches and wizards in the paintings all snapped their heads to the right and quickly marched out of frame. In a matter of seconds, every frame in the Headmaster's office was left empty.

"You don't want an audience?" Luna asked the black-haired wizard disbelievingly. "I would've assumed that you, of all people, wouldn't be opposed, if not eager, to being watched. I had you pegged to be similar to Howling Ice Worms in that aspect."

"Hell, I'll shag you and Hermione in Trafalgar Square during rush hour after inviting photographers from the Daily Prophet to snap some pictures," Harry said confidently. "It's just that if the paintings watched me shag you silly, they might warn Dumbledore. And the prank of getting our mess on his seat would be ruined."

"Good point," chirped Luna. "So, should we get to the screaming orgasms then?"

And that they did. First, Harry bent the blonde over and ate her out, next he took her as she leaned against the hearth, then on the stairs, the floor in front of one of the many bookcases, and finally on the desk. The sounds of Harry and Luna's cries drowned out the loud slapping sounds of skin on skin as the wizard pounded into her. When he came, Luna's shouts of "THAT'S IT! CUM INSIDE ME AND MAKE ME A FILTHY BLIBBERING HUMDINGER!" reverberated off the walls of the office.

With her legs wrapped around his waist and his still hard organ buried deep in her sopping core, Harry asked playfully, "So did you have any screaming orgasms?"

"Oh, just three or four... dozen," Luna commented breathily.

"Just three or four dozen, huh?" he challenged. Before his manhood could soften further, he pulled out a bit and rapidly shoved it back into Luna.

"NARGLES!" she cried out. "There's another one!"

"Okay, let's get Dumbledore's chair messy," Harry ordered. Deftly, he pulled out of Luna and placed his palm firmly over her still engorged and excessively wet cunny, in order to save as much of the viscous discharge as possible. With his one free arm, he easily scooped Luna up and effortlessly carried her to the ancient wizard's chair.

"My, you certainly are strong," the blonde commented.

"Shagging is a great way to exercise," he commented off-handedly.

Carefully, he set the petite witch on the squashy chair. Sliding his hand away from her wet warmth, Harry ordered, "Now, squeeze as much as you can out. I want it to be really messy."

Luna's face scrunched up as she complied with Harry's orders. "That's my girl, poppet; make sure you get all of it out," the wizard encouraged.

Redoubling her efforts, Luna squeezed even harder. The witch's face turned a bright red. Then, suddenly, her big blue eyes shot open in shock. "Oops, I think I just tinkled a bit."

"Even better!" cheered Harry. "Now rub your bum and fanny into the cushion. That way you'll spread it around."

The blonde wriggled and ground her bits on the seat cushion for a moment before Harry guided her out of the chair.

"Would you like to lick my bum now?" she asked hopefully.

Harry gave her a disappointed frown and then tossed her over so that she was lying on the desk. Before she could even move, Harry slapped her bare bottom hard.

"NARGLES!" the blonde cried out with the blow. "That's another orgasm!"

"I've already told you that I don't do that. It angers me when I have to repeat myself," he spoke calmly and delivered another hard spank to Luna's round backside.

"This is surprising!" she cheered loudly with the blow. "I'm an arse-girl apparently! First, I like anal sex! Then, I discovered I thoroughly enjoy a tongue up my bottom! And now, I find that a good, solid spanking is really cranking my gears! I feel it's very important for someone to find the things that please them in this life. And I'm an arse-girl! This is brilliant!"

"I'm happy for you," Harry said, squeezing her now-red bottom roughly. "Let's go find Hermione so that she can lick your dirty hole."

"Give me another whack first," requested Luna. The sound of Harry's hand colliding firmly with Luna's tender bum rang in her ears, as well as the sound of her own ecstasy. "I think I have more sticky juice to soil the Headmaster's chair with."

"Then straddle his armrest," offered Harry. "Once you're done with that, we'll go searching for Hermione."

Holding the witch's hand in his, Harry led Luna out of the office. Once they stepped out of the stairs and turned right, Luna dared to ask once again, "Can you lick my anus, Harry?"

"You realize that you're heading straight for a spanking?" he warned.

"Oh, yes, I do hope so. It's my intention to anger you once again by asking to lick my bottom repeatedly so that you'll feel compelled to spank me some more. I know you won't use your tongue on my dirty hole, but I am hoping that you give me a good spanking because of my persistent pleas of analingus," she replied and repeated optimistically, desiring to be punished, "Will you lick my bottom?"

- Line Break--

With a joyous smile on his face and a light bounce to his step, Albus Dumbledore strolled back to his office. He got this way every time he savored Pomona's unique honey. He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to recall the fresh memory of the pleasantly plump witch riding his aged cock.

If Dumbledore had not stopped or closed his eyes to revel in the memory of his recent lovemaking session, he might've seen Harry's nefarious duplicate, as well as Miss Lovegood, walk out of his office and head in the opposite direction, down the hall. Harry and Luna didn't notice the Headmaster either because the blonde witch was repeatedly asking Harry to lick her bottom in hopes of receiving a spanking. But alas, Dumbledore was too caught up reminiscing about how Pomona's numerous folds of succulent flesh would bounce and slap together with each thrust.

Sighing happily, Dumbledore continued to walk to his office. He absently uttered the password to the stone gargoyle that guarded the door and climbed the stairs. He was still basking in the afterglow of his lovemaking with Pomona. The warmth and aroma of her excessive flesh could still be felt and tasted on his tongue. The ancient wizard gladly basked in it.

Dumbledore noticed that none of the former Headmasters or Headmistresses were in their portraits. This wasn't particularly concerning to Dumbledore; every few decades or so, the magical paintings would wander off at the same time for one reason or another. So, pushing this idle thought into a corner of his brain, Dumbledore took his seat. He began to wonder curiously why the seat and armrest of the chair were warm and sticky when the flames in his fireplace turned green.

"Headmaster, I have important news," Snape announced after walking out of the floo.

"What is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring the odd glue-like residue on his chair.

"It seems that the Potter from another reality caused havoc and destruction at the Dark Lord's castle," Snape informed. "Bellatrix foolishly brought him into the castle as an offering, and he escaped her. Then, Potter brewed the Enola Gay Draught-"

"The Enola Gay Draught?" interrupted Dumbledore. "Are you certain?"

"Positive, sir; I ran into him as he escaped the castle. I smelled the various ingredients on him, and I went to investigate," the greasy potions master explained. "Approximately fifteen low-ranking Death Eaters were killed in the blast."

"Interesting," Dumbledore went on to stroke his beard thoughtfully. However, the unknown sticky substance on the arm of his chair acted as glue and held the sleeve of his robes in place, denying him the pleasure of beard stroking. While trying to free his arm, he asked Snape, "Does Tom know that Harry did this?"

"Yes, sir, Bellatrix admitted fault," he replied. "However, the Dark Lord is oblivious to the idea that this Potter is from an alternate reality. And sir, I have unfortunate news regarding the Dark Lord and the Summoning Ritual. Apparently, he was able to obtain at least two virgins and was able to call forth two duplicates."

"That is unfortunate," the ancient wizard said morosely. Finally able to pull his sleeve free, he successfully stroked his long beard. Now that he could run his fingers along his beard, Dumbledore could focus completely on the conversation: "How much of a threat do these two Voldemorts pose?"

"Little that I can see, sir," Snape answered. "Neither appears to be magical. One is some sort of cowboy, and the other is a masked wrestler."

"And what does Tom plan on doing with Harry?"

"I attempted to throw doubt on Bellatrix and suggested that it wasn't Potter who destroyed the castle. I told them that Potter did not have the skill to brew the Enola Gay Draught. The Dark Lord has charged Bellatrix and me to investigate this lead."

After thinking for a moment (and a goodly amount of bread stroking), Dumbledore announced, "This might work in our favor. Severus, go tell Tom a story about how Harry tried to perform a power-boosting ritual and succeeded. Now, Harry is immensely powerful – use the phrase 'near God-like' and make biblical references. However, not only did this ritual increase his power beyond imagination, but it also caused the boy's young mind to snap. And now, a deranged and powerful Harry has lofty aspirations of being the new Dark Lord and is obsessed with killing Voldemort himself. Tell Tom that I even tried to stop Harry, but I was beaten easily and was severely injured by the boy in a duel. I shall lie low, so to speak, to help give the impression that I'm injured and trying to mend my wounds from this battle. The thought that I, the only person that Tom fears, was bested by Harry should give Tom something to think about."

"Pardon me, Headmaster, but I fail to see how this would help us?"

"Simple, if Tom fears Harry, he will focus his energies on removing that threat by any means necessary," Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile. "While Tom and his forces are busy tracking Harry down, we can devote our time to undermining the Dark Lord's efforts. Not only will Voldemort be distracted, which we will use to our benefit, but this version of Harry will be so frightened by the threat that Tom and his followers pose that the boy will undoubtedly come running to us for help. We can use this predicament to hurt Tom and his plans, and Harry will come to us; we won't have to waste time searching for him."

"Brilliant, sir," Snape said earnestly.

The flames in Dumbledore's fireplace turned green once more, and Moody limped out of the magical fire. Seeing the look of concern and disappointment on the old Auror's face, Dumbledore asked, "What's wrong, Alastor?"

"I really humped the kneazle this time, Albus," Moody said repentantly.

"What happened?" Dumbledore pressed.

Moody spent the next five minutes explaining to both Dumbledore and Snape what had happened. Moody summarized how he and Tonks stumbled upon Lovegood and Granger, nabbed the former, and had Tonks replace her, then, after Tonks found the location of Potter's hiding place, he and the majority of the Order went to arrest Potter. Unfortunately, Potter had slipped through their fingers. But, things were not lost; when the Order returned to Grimmauld Place, they found Granger, which meant that at that time, they believed that both young witches were out of harm's way.

"We have both Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood in our protection?" asked Dumbledore. It was true that losing the amoral version of Harry was a disappointment, but if the two young witches were safe, then there was no reason in his mind that Moody had to describe the situation as having inappropriate relations with an animal.

"Actually, the Lovegood girl is gone," Moody admitted shamefully. "After I dealt with my wood – err," Moody froze. He had not intended to admit that he had to masturbate after gazing upon Granger's wonderful tit. So, he desperately tried to cover his tracks. "The wood... of my peg leg... that's it. Yes, when we went to arrest Potter, my... um... leg got damaged... the wooden one that is."

"Alastor, you have an erection," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Do I? Oh, damn," the old Auror cursed upon noticing the bulge in the front of his trousers. Clearly, just having passing thoughts about Granger's naked glory was enough to arouse the old Auror. Having no reason to cover the truth, Moody explained, "There was a scuffle, I stunned Granger for her own good, and one of her tits got exposed."

"It did?" asked Snape, a tad jealous. Yes, Granger was nothing more than an insufferable know-it-all mudblood. But Snape wasn't stupid – Granger was an insufferable know-it-all mudblood with a body that brazenly and willfully defied the concealing nature of school robes. With the thought of Granger's exposed breast, Snape made a note to relieve himself later that night. Perhaps the thought of the know-it-all's naked bosom would help quell the disturbing and shameful memory of what Snape had to do in order to save those two Muggle-trekkies. He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the male's breath on the back of his neck.

Moody's normal eye glassed over as his mind wandered back to the splendid sight of Granger's tit. The old Auror vowed to make a shrine to that boob the first moment he got. And, each day, he'd make an offering of sticky Moody goo in worship to this shrine. In all likelihood, the shrine will be coated by week's end.

While his companions obviously mentally undressed and molested Miss Granger in various ways, Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle. The young witch was attractive, but she was far too skinny for the Headmaster's taste. Besides, from what he knew about Miss Granger, the girl was frigid and a prude. So even if she had a more substantial and pleasing girth, Dumbledore wouldn't even entertain thoughts about fantasizing over the sexually repressed girl.

"Alastor, if you don't mind, could you please continue?" asked the Headmaster.

"Oh, it was glorious! I've seen many a tit in my day, but none had prepared me for what I saw today," Moody waxed poetic. "It was as if my entire being was caught up in-"

"About the witches' safety, Alastor," corrected Dumbledore.

"Oh, yes," Moody said, shaking the image of that wondrous boob from his mind. "After I... err... came," he said with a knowing grin and continued, "to my senses, I checked on Lovegood and found her missing."

"Missing? What happened?" the ancient wizard asked.

"We don't know," Moody said. "She must've slipped out while we were trying to nab Potter. I should've left someone behind to watch her; she kept going on about wanting to go back to Potter."

This was the only possibility that anyone could come up with. The house was under the Fidelius Charm, and since the alternate version of Harry was never told the secret, it was impossible for the young wizard to have known of the location of Grimmauld Place.

"Miss Lovegood is by no means foolish –a bit odd, yes. But we all have our peculiar intricacies. Some would argue that I have an unnatural love of lemon drops, for example. That being said, I find it highly doubtful that Miss Lovegood would go back to Harry willingly," speculated Dumbledore.

"I don't think she did it willingly," Moody said with a hint of rage.

"Are you saying Harry has the witches under the Imperius?"

"No, something far, far more sinister," the old Auror said. A sad warble, caused by empathy over the pain Granger and Lovegood had suffered, surfaced in his voice. "This Potter is some sort of sick artist with the Cruciatus Curse. He's broken them and torn down their minds and somehow built them back up as mockeries of their former selves. They now enjoy being tortured. You should've seen the way Lovegood talked about it; she looked like she was practically in love! To keep Granger safe, I had Molly stay with her, just so the girl can't slip out as Lovegood did."

"Oh, this is horrible," Dumbledore said gravely. Then a moment later, his eyes twinkled with promise, and he spoke. "However, there might be a way we can still help these poor souls. When Frank and Alice Longbottom were attacked years ago, I had developed an experimental process to reverse the effects of long-term exposure to the Cruciatus. Unfortunately, their minds were too far gone, and I was unable to help them. However, I'm hopeful that this process will help Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood, as they, unlike Frank and Alice, are not in a vegetative state. Not only may I be able to cure the damage to their minds, but for the sake of their sanity, I'll erase the memory of their dreadful experience as well. Severus, please bring me several dosages of Praestigiae and Pax Pacis potions before you start the mission we discussed."

"Headmaster, you plan on using a hallucinogenic and a sedative to counter the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse?" asked Snape.

"The potions are only one part of my plan," Dumbledore said with excitement. "If my theory is right, we'll be able to fix Miss Granger by supper tonight!"

-- Line Break--

In the elegant parlor of the opulent guest house behind Parkinson Place, nine disgruntled witches were holding a meeting. At the head of the table sat Pansy Parkinson, flanked on either side by Daphne and Astoria Greengrass and Tracy Davis. Millicent Bulstrode and the four Pritchard girls – Violet, Bergamot, Carnation, and Marigold – took up the remaining seats around the table (Carnation's vast bottom actually took up two of these seats, but that would be rude to point out).

Using a polished stone paperweight as an improvised gavel, Pansy made three rapid raps on the table. "I call to order the first Meeting of The Draco Haters Club!"

"'The Draco Haters Club'?" asked Tracy with disappointment. "Is that really the name of our group? It's so… well, so simple."

"Yeah, shouldn't we call it something like 'Draconis Abomino Circulor'?" offered Daphne. "It's a more civilized and cultured name."

"Look at them," Pansy said, indicating Millicent and the four Pritchards. She spoke loudly, so that everyone at the table could hear – including the witches in question. "Do you think any of them could even correctly pronounce 'Draconis Abomino Circulor', much less remember it?"

"True," agreed Tracy, looking at the five dim-witted witches.

"The Draco Haters Club it is, then," Daphne concurred.

"I like that name," grumbled Millicent with a happy grin. "It's easy to say."

The four Pritchards nodded their heads in agreement – making their pronounced jowls and chins shake and jiggle wildly.

"First order of business is to elect a leader for the club," Pansy announced.

"Since we're meeting at Parkinson Place, I say we nominate Pansy Parkinson as our Minister," suggested Daphne.

"I second," Tracy stated.

"Fine then, I shall be Minister Parkinson of the Draco Haters Club from now on," Pansy said.

"But we didn't get to vote," Marigold pointed out. Or at least that is what everyone thought she said – her gaping under-bite (which held the world record for under-bites), in fact, she easily trumped her competition, which included examples of genetics gone awry and horrible lab accidents) made it difficult to understand anything she attempted to say.

"Now for the Chairwoman," Pansy continued, ignoring Marigold.

"Madame Minister, I would like to nominate Tracy Davis," offered Daphne.

"I agree," Pansy turned to Tracy and congratulated, "Welcome aboard, Chairwoman Davis."

Millicent made to object, but Pansy cut her off. "And of course we need a Treasurer."

"Too right," cheered Tracy. "I say it should be Daphne!"

"Wonderful idea, Chairwoman Davis," Pansy said. The newly appointed Minister of The Draco Haters Club made a show of shaking Daphne's hand. "How are you, Treasurer Greengrass?"

"I'm very well, Madame Minister, thank you," Daphne returned.

"And we'll make Astoria our secretary," announced Pansy.

"Wait a tic, none of us got a say," Millicent argued, indicating herself and the Pritchard girls.

"This organization is a democracy," Pansy began to explain.

"A dem-rock-ore-see?" Millicent asked dumbly.

"Yes, that's right," Pansy said patronizingly to Millicent and the Pritchard girls. "And that means you lot don't get a say."

"That's rotten," Millicent grumbled. "I don't like this dem-rock-ore-see."

"On to business," Pansy said. "Obviously, judging by our group's name, we hate Draco. In fact, I would say that we loathe him, but I don't want to waste time teaching vocabulary to our slower members. It is our mission to cause him pain, to ruin and mock his name, and to make his life miserable for the unforgivable crime of giving us sexually transmitted diseases!"

"By simply telling everyone that he's this generation's Chauncey Oldridge or Typhoid Mary, we can ensure that Draco will never get laid again," Daphne said with vengeance.

"That's a start," Pansy said, "but it's not enough. I want that ponce Draco to weep himself to sleep every night for what he did to us. If it wasn't for the potions that cured us, we'd all be suffering with severe and disgusting cases of Dragon Clap and Troll Crabs right now. We need to do far more than make his life merely inconvenient. We need to make him suffer. He has to suffer unlike anyone has suffered before!"

"I heard that he still has to take the potions that we took. And they have some nasty side-effects for wizards," Tracy stated. "But even then, I agree with Minister Parkinson; we need to make that blighter suffer!"

"We can send him mayonnaise," suggested Bergamot Prichard.

"W-wh-what?" stammered Pansy, who was floored by such a stupid idea.

"Yeah, everybody hates mayonnaise," continued Bergamot, whose left eye (which happened to be significantly larger than her right) began to twitch excitedly with the thought of sweet, sweet retribution. "We can sign him up for a Mayonnaise of the Month Club, one where they send him a big, honking jar of the yucky white stuff every month. And Draco would be forced to eat it because if he didn't, it'd just sit around and go sour. Then it would stink up the place."

"I vote to never allow Bergamot to speak again," volunteered Daphne.

"I agree," Pansy said and hammered her gavel on the table. "The democracy has spoken; Bergamot is no longer allowed to speak in our meetings."

"I don't like dem-rock-ore-sees either," Bergamot mumbled.

"We have to dig deep here, ladies," Pansy urged. "We had to hit Draco where it'll hurt the most."

"Potter!" declared Tracy. "He absolutely loathes Potter! 'Loathes' means more than hate," she explained to the dimmer members of their club.

"I thought we weren't going to waste time teaching the imbeciles new words," Pansy said to Tracy.

"I'm sorry, Minister," the witch apologized.

"No harm done," Pansy said. "Now, please explain your plan; how do you think we could use Potter to hurt that disgusting ponce, Draco?"

"If we do something to either support or help Potter, it will really chafe Draco's hide."

"That's a good point. However, there's someone else who hates Potter; the Dark Lord," countered Pansy. "If we try to help Potter, You Know Who would be upset, and that wouldn't be good for us. At all"

Tracy's face paled in fear. "I didn't think about that."

"It's a good start, though, Chairwoman Davis," Pansy said supportively.

"I know! Draco hates that blood traitor Weasley almost as much as he hates Potter," Daphne offered, picking up on Tracy's idea.

"Which Weasley, though?" asked Astoria. "There are so many of them."

"The one in our year," Daphne said, pointing between herself, Pansy, and Tracy. "I think his name is Rupert."

"Don't be stupid, Treasurer Greengrass," Pansy sneered. "It's Rod! How could someone mistake a one-syllable name for a two-syllable name?"

"Actually, I don't think Rod's right either, Madame Minister," Tracy interjected.

"Then what's his name?"

"I don't know," admitted Tracy. "I've only ever heard of him being referred to as 'Potter's ginger friend.'"

"Well, I guess it's not vital that we know his name," concluded Pansy. "It's not like he's of any importance to anyone."

"What should we do with Weasley to get Draco's ire up, then?" asked Daphne.

"Draco's always going on about how the Weasleys have no money," mused Pansy.

"I don't want to give Weasley money," objected Astoria.

"It's more than just money; it's his social status," clarified Tracy. "If we elevate Weasley's social bearing, and then rub Draco's nose in it, he'll go mad with the idea of a Weasley being greater than him."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Pansy asked, sincerely interested in the notion of making Weasley superior to Draco.

"I don't know. Maybe we could spend weeks training him how to act, speak, and think like a proper wizard and then take him to the Pygmalion Ball?" Daphne said, doubting that it could even be possible. It would be a simpler task to train a Mountain Troll to be a ballroom dancer than to teach a Weasley the correct social skills.

"Well, he could have a harem," offered Astoria, "whatever that means."

"Astoria Asteria Greengrass! Where in the world did you hear about harems?" demanded her sister.

"The boys in my year talk about it all the time. It's always 'I'd love to have a harem' this and 'wouldn't it be so cool to have a harem' that," the younger Greengrass explained innocently. "I don't even know what 'harem' means."

"Once we get home, I'm having mum put a soap charm in your mouth, young lady," threatened Daphne.

"What for?" protested Astoria, "I didn't do anything."

A coy smile crept across Pansy's face. She turned to face Tracy and said, "That's actually a good idea."

"What? I'm not sleeping with Weasley!" Tracy practically screeched in indignation.

"Sleep?" asked Astoria naively. "You mean like a slumber party?"

"Yes, like a slumber party," Daphne returned. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, those are so fun! I want to be part of a harem, then!" Astoria cheered, missing her sister's irony. Obviously, the child was thinking that a harem consisted of innocent "Truth or Dare" games and hairstyling in the middle of the night.

"That's it! I'm taking you home!" shouted Daphne. She grabbed her sister by the arm and forcibly dragged her out of the guest house.

"I'm not sleeping with a Weasley," Tracy restated firmly. "No way is a ginger ever going to touch me. I swear to you they won't. It would be infinitely worse than Troll Crabs and Dragon Clap."

"Oh, good Lord, no," agreed Pansy – the thought of all that red hair made her queasy. To her, it would be like having sex with an orangutan. "That's why we have these five," she said, pointing to Millicent and the Pritchards.

"You lot know what a harem is?" Tracy asked.

"Yes, Daddy tried to sell us to the Emir of Kabaladesh," Carnation answered.

"We went through special classes on the Kama Sutra," added Violet.

"But when the Emir saw us for the first time, he had a heart attack and died," stated Marigold. "Daddy said that the Emir was so excited by having us in his harem that his body couldn't handle the thrill and he passed away."

"But that didn't explain the Emir's dying words," said Violet. "You remember, he was repeating, 'The horror... the horror...'"

"You could've just said you knew a harem included sex and wasn't a slumber party. If we wanted your life stories, we would've asked. There was no reason to bore us with your dull tales," Pansy said peevishly. She hammered the gavel on the table once more. "As Minister of The Draco Haters Club, I now decree that none of the Pritchard girls is allowed to speak.

"Furthermore, I order you five to go and form a harem for Rod – or whatever that damned ginger kid's name is – Weasley," Pansy said before striking the gavel again.

"Do you really think that Draco would be upset if Weasley bangs this lot?" Tracy asked, hooking a thumb at the five wretched witches.

"We don't show Draco who Weasley sleeps with," Pansy said. "We just tell him that his second most hated enemy has a harem. And then we make him believe that this harem is made up exclusively of pretty witches."

"But what if we don't wanna?" protested Millicent. Unlike the Pritchard girls, Millicent knew she wasn't a catch. But even she had standards, and these standards didn't include a blood traitor who looked very much like a clown, save for a red-rubber nose. "I refuse to be part of Weasley's harem."

"That's too bad, because when you walked through the door today, you inadvertently activated a ward that made you agree upon your magic that you'd do exactly what the Minister of The Draco Haters Club tells you to do," Tracy informed them with a snicker in her voice. "If you don't, all of your magic will be taken away, and you'll be turned into a lowly squib."

This was a complete and total fabrication (and a poor one at that). There was no such ward present, nor could one work without the agreement of both parties. But if Millicent and the other girls were half as stupid as they were ugly, Tracy knew they'd fall for this obvious lie.

Millicent grunted. "Damn, looks like there's nothing we can do, then."

The four Pritchard girls nodded their heads in somber agreement. They would've given voice to their sorrow over being forced to sleep with a Weasley, but Minister Parkinson had taken away their right to speak.

"All right then, here's the plan," Pansy began. "First, you go to the Weasley home..."

--Line Break--

Still extremely sore, as if she had been simultaneously shagged by a hippogriff and a midget while a Troll had beaten her backside, Tonks gingerly walked out of the room she had fallen asleep in. She saw Moody limp up the stairs and head directly for her.

"How are you feeling, girl?" Moody asked guiltily, still under the false impression that Tonks had been tortured.

"I'm a bit shaky," the pink-haired Auror admitted. It was rare that she got sympathy, especially from someone as "tough-as-nails" as Moody. So she decided to let the old wizard believe his incorrect assumptions. That, and if Moody ever did find out Tonks' soreness was caused by a wicked shag and not magical torture, he'd give her the riot act, if not have her drummed out of the Auror Department for having sex with not just one underage person, but two. "Did you catch the evil-Harry?"

"No, the blighter got away," he grumbled. "And while we were out trying to get him, the Lovegood girl gave us the slip."

"Oh, crap," she said.

"On the bright side, we got Granger."

"What? Hermione's here?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah, just down the hall," Moody informed. "Albus is going to try a new procedure to see if he can correct the damage she received from the Cruciatus."

"Yeah, the Cruciatus," Tonks said. Fear gripped her. Hermione was just down the hall. The person who knew for a fact that Tonks was not tortured because that said person had Tonks' face buried in her muff and watched as Harry bonked the Auror silly. And of course, it was Hermione who whipped her raw, while 'imparting' the proper technique on how to orally please a witch. If Hermione told anyone what happened between her, Tonks, and Harry, the pink-haired Auror would be in a world of hurt.

"Hopefully, this procedure Albus created will help her," Moody said, oblivious to Tonks' concern. "He says it should make her right again. Take away the memories of the horrible things that happened to her."

"Really?" asked Tonks optimistically. "She'll forget?"

"Let's hope she does, for her sake," Moody said. "Listen, if this works, do you want Albus to help you out?"

"Oh, no, it's no big deal," Tonks said dismissively. "I was only there for a bit. I'll be able to handle it."

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm just going to pop over to my flat and have a shower," Tonks said. Her nerves were starting to get to her, and the Auror was frightened that she might let something slip. So, she decided to end the conversation and leave Grimmauld Place as soon as she could. "You know, they say cleaning oneself is therapeutic."

"If you need anything, anything at all, just call me," Moody said and gave Tonks a supportive squeeze on her shoulder.

Tonks smiled at him before she left Grimmalud Place. She apparated to her flat and, before hopping into the shower, inspected her bits and pieces to see if Harry's monster cock had knocked anything out of place or if Hermione's crop had left any lasting marks. Her bottom was still a touch swollen and red, but appeared to be fine. And since her labium was not dropping to her knees, Tonks was satisfied that Harry's organ had not knocked anything loose – she had feared that she would be forced to do some major "tucking" after the shag she had received. Tonks stepped into the shower to try to refresh herself and forget her immoral experiences.

--Line Break--

Groaning, Hermione slowly opened her eyes. After a few moments, her vision became focused, and Hermione was able to see clearly. She found that she was in one of the guest rooms of Grimmauld Place. She saw that Molly Weasley was sitting on a small stool by the door – clearly keeping guard.

"Did Moody stun me?" the young witch groaned out.

"It was for your own good," Mrs. Weasley replied.

Hermione looked down and was surprised, and to be honest, disappointed to see that her dominatrix-style outfit had been removed. The brunette had to admit that she had grown comfortable with the confining, yet overly revealing, leather outfit. Even more, she had begun to love the sense of empowerment the naughty wear had given her.

The brunette witch was now wearing a blue circus tent. Upon further inspection, Hermione realized that it wasn't a tent, but in fact a dress. A dress that looked like the person who made it wanted to use a Time Turner to go back to the late nineteenth century and travel to Wisconsin just so that they could harshly reprimand Laura Ingalls for dressing like a common street whore by comparison.

"Why am I wearing… this?" the brunette asked, looking at her clothes in surprise mixed with just a hint of revulsion. A part of Hermione already missed looking down and seeing her own expansive cleavage nearly popping out of her dominatrix ensemble.

"Again, it's for your own good," Molly said. The bitter old witch had a difficult time not finishing her statement by calling the scarlet woman a tramp, hussy, or even a slut. The girl used Molly's Ron for her own pleasure before dumping – and beating – him, and immediately hopped in the sack with Harry. It was uncivilized to have had sex with more than one person in one's life. Arthur was the only man she ever slept with. And Hermione should've done the same. Such loose morals need to be punished.

Before Hermione could ask any more questions, Dumbledore walked into the room.

"Professor, I need to speak to you," exclaimed Hermione, trying to fight the urge to pop open the hideous blouse so that she could see her own boobs. Getting Dumbledore to help Harry was more important than letting her tits get some lovely fresh air.

"Yes, and I need to speak to you, Miss Granger," the old wizard said with a pleasant smile. At first, the Headmaster was taken aback by the young witch's appearance. Miss Granger had apparently gained some attractive weight since the last time he saw her – a good thirty pounds or so. She still wasn't up to Dumbledore's standards, but the young witch was certainly on her way to delicious rotundness. Perhaps he could fantasize over the brunette witch after all. Of course, Dumbledore didn't realize that Hermione's apparent weight gain was caused by the ridiculous set of robes that Molly had conjured out of spite.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Dumbledore pulled out his wand and waved it in the air, conjuring a wooden easel with a three-foot-wide disk attached to it. This disk was white with several colorful swirls.

"Sir, I need your help with Harry," began Hermione, curious as to what the Headmaster was doing.

"First, I'd like to help you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with his ever-present twinkle in his eyes. Eager to heal the young witch's wounds and also to test out his experimental treatment, Dumbledore pulled out the vials of Praestigiae and Pax Pacis potions that Severus had given him. Holding a vial in each of his wrinkly hands, the old wizard presented them to Hermione. "Do you trust me, Miss Granger?"

"Of course I do."

"Very good," he said and smiled. "I must ask that you take both of these potions."

"Why, sir?" Hermione asked.

"I assure you that they will be quite necessary and neither will harm you," he answered cryptically.

"Okay, Professor," Hermione said and took the potions from his hands. She did trust the elderly wizard after all, and she was there for his help. The moment after she took a small drink from each of the two vials, strange sensations overcame Hermione. She felt as if a slight pressure had descended over her entire body, as if she were deep under water. Also, her vision became blurred and unfocused. But the oddest thing was that she was not bothered by this in the slightest. The young witch was perfectly calm and content, as if this were a normal, everyday experience to her.

"Can you hear me, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked.

"Wow," Hermione responded. To her, it sounded as if Dumbledore's voice had penetrated her head and was reverberating inside her skull, bouncing around in her brain. As the old wizard's words continued to ricochet around in her head, Hermione admitted, "I feel kind of funny, sir."

"Don't worry, my dear, you'll be back to your normal self in no time," he said. Dumbledore tapped his wand on the disk on the easel, and it began to slowly turn on its axis.

Suddenly and inexplicably, Hermione's attention snapped to the slowly rotating disk. It seemed to her that the disk grew and grew in size, swallowing up the room. The bright colors painted on the disk became more intense and powerful. And these colors began to move on their own, independent from the other colors. In a matter of seconds, the only thing she could see was the colors of the swirls as they danced and spun.

Molly looked between the turning disk and Hermione. The young witch was clearly entranced and mesmerized by the disk. Molly asked, "What are you doing, Albus?"

"It is an experiment I devised several years ago to heal the mental damages caused by long exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. I've theorized that the mind of the victim, in order to deal with the pain of the Cruciatus, will try to defend itself. The mind does this by hiding itself. Essentially, it takes everything – memories, thoughts, and emotions – and buries it in the subconscious, leaving only a near comatose person, much like the Longbottoms. Unfortunately, a simple Memory Charm cannot heal these mental wounds. But using the theory that the real person is buried deep within the subconscious, I devised this ingenious procedure," explained Dumbledore. "The potions I had her take will make her mind more susceptible and pliable, while this rotating disk will help me delve into her subconscious. Once there, I will coax the subconscious to release its hold, and hopefully, the damage Hermione received from the Cruciatus will be healed."

"What about adjusting any personality flaws?" asked Molly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It is possible to alter someone's personality with this device. Perhaps, if this proves successful, I should test it as a rehabilitation device. Think of the good I can do. I could wipe evil from this earth with my invention!"

Turning his attention back to Hermione, Dumbledore began his task of helping the poor, broken girl. "What Harry did to you was bad, but you must face it."

"It was bad," repeated Hermione in a flat monotone. The old man's word sank into her very soul. "I must face it."

"Harry is evil. He influenced and reshaped you through words, actions, and magic. You have to fight against the changes he made in you."

"I must fight the changes he made in me." In Hermione's mind, Dumbledore was no longer speaking. Instead, the voice was coming from the swirling colors. The blue, green, and yellow spoke in a soothing baritone.

"You are a good and decent young witch. And you must forget about the horrible things Harry did to you. You must forget the things he made you enjoy. You must forget the acts you did. You must move on with your life."

"I'm a good witch. A decent witch," Hermione echoed as the potions addled her thoughts. The colors weren't just a visual stimulus; now they caressed her cheeks and filled her nose with the sweet smell of lavender and lilacs. "I must get on with my life."

"And once you are whole again, you must help me show Harry the errors of his ways," Dumbledore continued. "You and I will help him overcome his evil tendencies."

"We will help him become good," Hermione stated lifelessly.

"This is a positive sign, I believe," Dumbledore said to Molly. "The fact that she's summarizing my statements and making them her own tells me that my process is taking hold. Hopefully, she's been healed. I'll return tomorrow and check on her progress. Then, I'll decide if she needs another treatment. Goodnight, Molly."

Once the Headmaster had left, Molly decided to correct another problem with Hermione. She was going to wipe away the young girl's nasty behavior.

While the disk still spun, Molly spoke, "Hermione, you will no longer be a scarlet woman."

"I will not be a scarlet woman," Hermione repeated. Then she asked in a dead monotone while the colors danced and sang to her, "What does 'scarlet woman' mean exactly?"

Feeling bitter that this girl had seduced her son before sullying Harry in the same manner, Molly decided to make sure Hermione was never tempted by sex and would not corrupt herself again. "It means that sex is a necessary evil, and since you've had sex for pleasure, you're a bad girl!"

"I'm a bad girl."

"Yes, but you don't want to be a bad girl."

"I don't want to be a bad girl."

"That means you can have sex only after you're married. And you can only have sex when you want to have children. Sex is never to be enjoyed."

"Sex is only to make babies. Sex is an unwanted task."

"That's right," Molly said. She smiled, knowing that since Hermione was paraphrasing, the process was taking hold. But still being bitter, Molly pressed. "And when you do have sex, and only with your husband and only when you want to have a baby, you'll just lie there on your back. You can never enjoy the act, or even the thought of sex. It's a foul and dirty deed!'

"Sex is wrong, and foul, and dirty," repeated Hermione. "Sex is a necessary evil."

Molly smiled triumphantly. She had saved the young witch from her immoral ways.

--Line Break--

"This doesn't look good for my bottom," Luna bemoaned as she and Harry continued their seemingly fruitless search of Hogwarts for Hermione. They had checked all four House dormitories, the dungeons, the library twice, and most of the classrooms. There was neither hide nor hair to be found of Hermione. This meant that Luna's bottom was no closer to being licked. And this condition was beginning to wear on her patience.

"It's clear she isn't here," Harry said a few minutes later.

"Maybe she went to that house you fetched me from," Luna offered. "She did know the secret and could travel there after all."

"That could be a possibility," he said. "Once we get past the school's wards, I'll activate my Semen Tracking Charm and see if I can follow Tonks again."

Harry led Luna to the grounds of the castle. As they walked toward the gates, Luna asked, "If you are able to find Hermione – which my bottom really hopes you do – where will we spend the night? We can't go back to the flat because the Order members are probably keeping an eye on it. Obviously, my home can't be used for the same reason. And the castle isn't a possibility either; the ghosts and paintings might alert Professor Dumbledore."

"Don't worry, I have a plan," Harry said.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No, it'll be a surprise."

"Oh, I love surprises! And chocolates, I love chocolates, too. And having a tongue in my dirty hole as well."

Once they passed the school gates, Harry closed his eyes and attempted to trigger his Semen Tracking Charm. After a moment, he sighed and said to Luna, "It looks like Tonks took a shower and washed my swimmers down the drain. I can't follow her. And since the house was under the Fidelius Charm, I won't be able to find it on my own either."

"That's a shame," Luna pouted. "Now my bottom won't have a tongue in it."

"Is that the only reason you want Hermione back?"

"Oh, no; she's very talented at playing with my breasts," Luna said earnestly. "And she is a good conversationalist to boot. I like talking with her. The fantastic sex is a good plus, though."

"Good to hear," Harry said. "We'll have to come up with a plan for rescuing her."

"I still think that your Semen Tracking Charm is the way to go," Luna said.

"It is a brilliant little charm I made, isn't it?" he said, brimming with confidence... well, more confidence than he normally showed. "Unfortunately, Tonks has apparently washed my spunk away. I can't follow her anymore."

"That's easy, all you need to do is cum in her again," the blonde said simply.

"What a fantastic plan: you want me to walk around England and eventually, maybe in as little as a few years, I'll run into Tonks again, shag her, and then follow her?" Harry asked with just a tiny dose of sarcasm.

"No, silly, that would be like waiting for the legendary Dancing Gravedrill Thoth to return," Luna giggled. "No, we just sent Tonks a post with a Compulsion Charm on it designed to force her to meet you. Then you shag her and follow her."

"That's a good plan, actually. I just hope you're good at Compulsion Charms because I'm bollocks at it."

"The Great and Powerful Harry Potter admits he's not perfect at something?" Luna said with mock awe.

"Hey, I've never needed to master the Compulsion Charm," Harry returned. "If I needed something, I would just use my natural charm and good looks-"

"Don't forget about your honking big willy," added Luna.

"That goes without saying," he said. "But I'd just use my inborn skills and talents to get what I wanted. I didn't need tricks like Compulsion Charms to get anything. But I should point out that I am perfect in all other aspects of life, as you should know by now."

"I'm no good at Compulsion Charms either, but I do know someone who is," Luna said. "And she's a girl, so that means you can use your charm and good looks-"

"And my willy," added Harry.

"Hopefully," Luna said. "I do so enjoy watching you plow Hermione. I assume that I'll enjoy watching your throbbing summer sausage pounding into another girl. As I was saying, with your charm, looks, and manhood, you can easily get her to help us out."

"Great, first thing tomorrow we'll go meet this girl, and I'll meat her if you catch my drift. Then we can send the post to Tonks, shag her again, and find Hermione. And I'll finally be able to watch her lick your bottom, poppet," concluded Harry.

"And as I said, I enjoy watching, so I'll get to observe you shagging both Eloise and Tonks!" Luna said with a rosy bloom to her face.

"I take it the girl who's good at Compulsion Charms is this Eloise?"

"Yes, Eloise Midgen."

"All right then, let's hit the sack and get an early start in the morning," Harry announced. He bent over and tapped his wand on a rock and incanted "Portus."

"Where are we going to spend the night?" Luna asked.

"Someplace they'll never bother to look," Harry said with a cocky smile.

--Line Break--

Sandra Toothmen and Laurel Rogers-Fury walked to the flat of their client, or more commonly referred to as a "john". Even though the two witches of the evening looked nothing alike naturally, thanks to the joys of polyjuice and a few well-placed charms, they now looked like identical twins. Identical twins with long, curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and large breasts that seemed to scoff at the laws of gravity.

In a practiced act, the two prostitutes knocked on their client's door in unison. This was done to heighten the whole "twins experience" – they do everything together, even knock on the door. Little details like this helped seal the deal.

A tall, bespectacled, red-haired man of about twenty answered the door. Upon seeing the identical twins and their matching pair of (barely) covered breasts, the client gulped noisily and turned white as a sheet.

"Are you Percy Weasley?" the prostitutes asked simultaneously.

"Oh God, I hope so," Percy squeaked, his eyes bouncing between the four tits.

Sandra and Laurel pushed past the wizard and entered his flat. They turned and faced him.

"We're here..." began Sandra.

"To make sure..." continued Laurel.

"That the future..."

"Minister for Magic..."

"Is bursting with..."

"Confidence!" the two finished in unison.

Because of his lifelong experience with his brothers, Fred and George, Percy was quite accustomed to a set of twins continuing and completing each other's sentences. But whereas he thought this ploy was annoying when his brothers did it, Percy found it very pleasing when the girls did it.

"So, Minister Weasley..." Laurel spoke.

"What would you..." said Sandra.

"Like to do?" they both asked.

"Would you like to do me first?" asked Sandra.

"Or will I be the one to first taste the future Minister's love?" Laurel teased.

Like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, all Percy could do was open and close his mouth repeatedly. His higher brain functions were too busy ogling the gorgeous twins to do their job properly. Pesky things like talking or breathing correctly were trivial and inconsequential in comparison to twins.

Then, as a practiced motion, both Sandra and Laurel threw open their flimsy blouses in unison, exposing their magically altered breasts. Percy, being a man, did the only thing that men do when shown four identical tits; he had a spontaneous erection. Unlike his brother Ron, who was stricken with tiny genitals, Percy had an average set, and the two prostitutes were given visual proof as to the reaction of their action of exposing their boobs.

Now that an erection had occurred, Laurel and Sandra moved on to the next part of their planned play. They turned to face each other while they had their eyes fixed on Percy, and spoke.

"I know what the future Minister wants..."

"He wants us..."

"To make love...

"To kiss, fondle, and lick each other to orgasm after orgasm..."

"While he watches."

Then, Sandra leaned toward her doppelganger and ran her tongue along Laurel's full, rosy lips. They, being prostitutes and having played twins many times before, knew that it was a law of nature, a primal, inborn instinct, that men loved to watch hot twins doing inappropriate things with one another. The action of twins kissing passionately always got positive reactions from the client. Some would weep with joy and thank TPTB, others would get lightheaded and need to sit down, some would even cum.

Percy had a heightened and intense reaction. He didn't cum in his trousers when he saw one twin kiss the other, well, at least not once. Nor did he ejaculate twice. No, Percy, upon seeing who he thought were twins, began a sexy and naughty tongue-play, climaxing three times in rapid succession. This was an understandable reaction for the young wizard; he had not even kissed a girl since he and Penelope broke up some time ago. That and he'd been far too busy with his duties at the Ministry and the work he took home with him every night to wank. Because of this lack of masturbation over the last few weeks, a great amount of pressure had built up in his loins. And when he saw the glorious sight of beautiful topless twins kissing, his body couldn't help but release... three times.

And since he climaxed multiple times in less than five seconds, Percy's body was understandably exhausted. He bonelessly slumped to the floor like a rag doll.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Sandra commented after Percy began to snore like a contented baby who had just finished a large, very satisfying meal. "I really didn't want to shag a ginger."

"What's your problem with gingers?" demanded Laurel.

"You've never had to go down on one of 'em," Sandra countered. "All that red hair, right in your eyes, and it's angry at you for some reason. It's like it's mad for sucking him off or something."

"We have to wake him up," Laurel said. "We've got a job to do, even if he is a ginger."

"Why do we have to wake him up?"

"Because we were given strict orders to bolster his confidence," Laurel pointed out. "That means we have to wake him up, shag him, and pretend to have several earth-shattering orgasms. Saying such drivel as 'Oh, Minister Weasley, you're so much better than any man I've been with before' and 'I'm cumming, Minister, I'm cumming!'"

"I have a better idea," Sandra said and pulled out her wand. "How 'bout we just adjust his memory. Make him think he gave us loads of orgasms? We can even make him remember our praises of his manliness."

Laurel pondered over this for a moment. Her face changed from doubt to acceptance to excitement in a short matter of time. "That would be brilliant, actually." Then Laurel's eyes sparkled with more excitement, and she exclaimed, "Oh, wait! I have an even better idea. Change his memory so that he believes he shagged both of us beyond exhaustion and we had to call in two – no, three more girls just to keep up with his astonishing virility!"

"Now you're thinking!" cheered Sandra. "Tell you what, while I'm adjusting his memories, you conjure up five sets of knickers. We'll make him believe that the three imaginary girls and I were so impressed by his prowess in the sack that we all gave him our knickers as a present! Oh, oh, make sure they have the proper stains and whatnot!"

"This will be the easiest trick we've ever performed!" Laurel said ecstatically.

"I think this will have to become standard procedure for us from now on," suggested Sandra. "We take some bloke's gold, knock him out, adjust his memory so that he thinks he's gotten his money's worth, and we won't have to lie on our backs!"

"This will revolutionize our industry, Sandra!"

"We'll be making gold hand over fist, and we'll never have to spread our legs for anyone we don't want to anymore!"

With this thrilling and revolutionary idea racing through their heads, the two prostitutes set about conjuring frilly knickers and adjusting Percy's memories. Thoughts of five gorgeous witches screaming out his name passionately were being planted in the young wizard's mind.

--Line Break--

Before Snape could even close the door to Malfoy Manor as he entered, a frantic and bloodied Wormtail scurried to the potions master. Wormtail desperately clutched at Snape's robes and pleaded in a hushed tone, "Help me, Severus!"

"What is your problem, oaf?" Snape demanded while forcibly prying the small wizard's hands off his robes.

"P-p-please –" began Wormtail. However, the rat-like man's voice vanished, and his face turned deathly pale the moment he heard an all too familiar battle cry.

"WHOOO-O-O-O-O!!"

Snapping his head to find the location of this cry, Snape saw Voldemort's muscle-bound counterpart, the Flying Death, plummeting like a quarter-ton rock from the second-floor landing. With a resounding crash, the Flying Death landed a handful of feet away from Snape and Wormtail. The impact of the massive masked man caused the floorboards to break and splinter in an eight-foot radius. All the paintings in the foyer were knocked from the walls, vases tumbled from their perches and shattered, one elegant urn was smashed, and the ashes it contained were thrown across the floor. Snape lost his footing and fell onto his backside. The moment Wormtail hit the ground, he transformed into his rat-form and scampered away like a shot, disappearing through one of the cracks that formed in the wall from Flying Death's impact.

"WHERE'S LITTLE SILVER-FISTED RAT-MAN?" bellowed Flying Death while looking around for his prey. "THE FLYING DEATH THOUGHT HE HAD THE DROP ON HIS OPPONENT THIS TIME! BUT, THE FLYING DEATH DID NOT ANTICIPATE HIS FOE'S SPEED!"

"Perhaps you shouldn't shout at the top of your lungs next time you try to launch a surprise attack," offered Snape drolly as he dusted off his robes.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?" a shocked Lucius Malfoy demanded after bolting into the now ruined foyer.

Narcissa, who was directly behind her husband, looked with horror-filled eyes upon the smashed urn and muttered pathetically, "Daddy?"

"LITTLE SILVER-FISTED RAT MAN GOT AWAY FROM THE FLYING DEATH!" the overly muscular man explained in a booming shout.

"You? You did this?" Lucius demanded. "You ruined my magnificent house?"

"Daddy?" whimpered Narcissa again; her tearful eyes still fixed on the ashes that were spread across the floor.

"YES!" the Flying Death answered Lucius' question, then added for effect: "WHOOO!"

"I'LL KILL –" Lucius began to threaten.

"Calm yourself, Lucius," Lord Voldemort drawled out as he walked into the foyer and stepped over the cremated remains of Narcissa's father. "The Flying Death is just entertaining himself."

"But, sire, he destroyed my –" the blonde wizard started to argue.

"Remember that the Flying Death is my duplicate from another reality; to deny him would be the same as to deny me," Voldemort stated.

"Oh," uttered Lucius, knowing full well that the Dark Lord had just threatened him.

"Please, my brother, carry on," Voldemort told the Flying Death. "I believe I saw Wormtail crawl through the crack in that wall."

"OH, YEAH!!" the masked man cried out and ran, full bore, through the wall that Voldemort indicated. The Flying Death's body effectively pulverized the plaster and wood of the wall to dust and splinters as he charged through it like it was nothing more than paper. Over the sounds of the destruction, a loud rat-ish squeak of fear and dread could be heard coming from the adjacent room. "WHOOOO!!"

Narcissa pulled her eyes away from the dispersed remains of her father, looked at the gaping hole in the wall of the foyer, turned around, and, without saying a word, calmly walked into the kitchen. There, she removed the cork from a fresh bottle of fire-whiskey, and in three long gulps, drank half of its contents. After she let out a highly uncivilized belch, Narcissa gulped down the remainder of the bottle in short order. She had every intention of continuing to drown her sorrows in another bottle of fire-whiskey, but the 750 milliliters of alcohol she downed in less than fifteen seconds kicked in, and the blonde witch blacked out while reaching for the second bottle.

Back in the foyer, where Lucius was still staring at the damage to his house, Voldemort turned his attention to Snape.

"Have you any news on either the identity of Fudge's assassin or who it was that disguised themselves as Potter, destroyed my castle, and killed my followers, Severus?"

"Yes, my Lord, I do," Snape said. "Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix have done the work for us."

"That was nice of them," Voldemort said sarcastically.

"They found evidence that Potter performed The Epic Phan Phixshun Ritual," Snape stated.

"What? The Epic Phan Phixshun Ritual? He's mad! No one in history has ever completed The Epic Phan Phixshun. Many have attempted, but they always fail and abandon their Epic Phan Phixshun! It is madness to even try to start! It can't be done!" exclaimed Voldemort.

"Dumbledore found a Time Turner among Potter's possessions," Snape explained. "We believe that Potter used the Time Turner to relive the same day, over and over again, in order to complete the Epic Phan Phixshun. But completing it had its costs. Potter's mind snapped."

"Well then, this is good news," Voldemort said cheerfully. "I don't have to worry about that little pest now that he's lost his mind."

"Pardon me, sire, but that isn't the case," Snape said with a serious tone. "His mind did snap, but he now has aspirations of taking over the world."

"This still works in our favor," Voldemort said. "Not only will Dumbledore and his precious Order try to stop me, but they'll have to split their forces to deal with Potter."

"Dumbledore did try to stop Potter. It did not go very well for the old Muggle lover," Snape added with a frown. "Madam Pomfrey almost lost him."

"Wait, what?" a stunned Voldemort asked. "Dumbledore almost died?"

"Because of the Epic Phan Phixshun ritual, Potter has near-god-like powers. One might say near-omnipotent cosmic powers," the greasy wizard explained. "Dumbledore tried to subdue the boy, but Potter easily smote him."

"He bested Dumbledore?" asked Voldemort with a touch of fear in his high, girly voice.

"If I may, my Lord, 'bested' is not the proper description of what Potter did to Dumbledore," Snape said politely. "It was as if the Hand of God came from the heavens and struck Dumbledore down."

"The Hand of God?" squeaked Voldemort.

"Yes, sire, in fact, Madam Pomfrey had mentioned that Dumbledore appeared to be turning into salt," added Snape.

"Salt?" the Dark Lord repeated.

"Yes, as in a pillar of salt. Much like Lot's wife," clarified Snape. "What's more, after he effortlessly trumped Dumbledore, Potter threatened you, my Lord."

"Me?"

"Yes, Master. After Potter defeated Dumbledore – with one blow, mind you – the boy said something along the lines of 'Soon that false Dark Lord'... and then he was brazen enough to say your fearful name aloud, sire... 'shall know pain and suffering! For I, the new dark lord, Harry Potter, will beat him like a little bitch!"

"He called the Dark Lord a bitch?" Lucius said in shocked wonder.

"Actually, a 'little bitch'," corrected Snape. "Furthermore, it was Potter who killed Fudge. And it was indeed Potter who blew up your castle. He is systematically taking out any opposition he may have."

"You must be exaggerating!" Voldemort grabbed Snape about the shoulders and looked deep into the greasy wizard's fathomless black eyes.

Unfortunately for Voldemort, Snape was a master Occlumens. And because of this skill, Voldemort believed that he saw only the truth in Snape when he used Legilimency on him. In fact, Snape was so skilled in Occlumency that he created a convincing image of Dumbledore looking as if various parts of his body had been turned into salt and showed it to Voldemort.

"Oh, crap," mumbled Voldemort. "This isn't good. I prefer it when I have an overwhelming advantage over my adversary."

"Sire, all is not lost," Snape said. The potion master had played his cards too well, and now Voldemort was overly intimidated. So Snape had to quickly rebuild the Dark Lord's confidence.

"Easy for you to say! You don't have a kid with near-omnipotent powers who happens to have a massive chip on his shoulder chasing after you!" snapped Voldemort. "It was so much better when the Potter boy was an underfed and undertrained kid. He didn't have near-omnipotent cosmic powers then."

"But Sire, you have something Dumbledore doesn't have," Snape said.

"And what's that?"

"Excuse my language, but you have balls," offered Snape confidently.

"Well, about that..." Voldemort began nervously.

"You are willing to do things Dumbledore is afraid of," continued Snape.

"Oh, figurative balls!" chuckled Voldemort. "Yes, I have those."

"Unlike Dumbledore, you're willing to do anything to win," Snape pointed out. "Even before Potter all but turned him into a pillar of salt, Dumbledore was holding back. But you, sire, wouldn't do such a foolish thing. You would hit the boy with everything you have."

"That's right!" Voldemort said with a click of his fingers. "Not only that, but I also have two versions of myself to aid me! Even with his incredible power, Potter isn't a match for me and my duplicates! And I still have the Summoning Stone. If things start to go bad, I can always summon more of my brothers.

"This is what we shall do," Voldemort began, his fear replaced by confidence. "We shall form three teams. Each team will track Potter down. Whoever finds him will contact the other two teams, and we will decimate him! God-like powers or not!"

"Brilliant plan, sire!" cheered Lucius like the proverbial Pavlovian dog.

"Obviously, my counterparts and I will be the team leaders," continued Voldemort. "Severus and Bellatrix will be on my team... no wait... that would mean I'd have to look at her tiny head all the time. On second thought, Severus and Rabastan will accompany me. Lucius and Bellatrix will be with Soaring Spade. And Thorfinn and Amycus will be with the Flying Death."

"Master, may I request to be put with the Flying Death?" asked Lucius, with his head bowed. "I wish to make amends for the errors that I committed against him when he was giving Wormtail chase."

Not only had Lucius lowered his head as a sign of respect for his Master, but also to avert his eyes. The blond wizard was formulating a plan of revenge where he'd trick the Flying Death into a duel with Potter alone, and he didn't want the Dark Lord to see this through his skill in Legilimency. Lucius knew that Potter, with his new phenomenal powers, would quickly lay waste to the brute that had destroyed Lucius' home, and the blond wizard would have his revenge.

"Very well, Lucius, you and Thorfinn will be with Flying Death," Voldemort said. "Also, Lucius, ask your boy if he has any knowledge of Potter. His insight into our target might prove invaluable."

--Line Break--

Vernon Dursley was enjoying a quiet evening of watching the telly (although it would be more accurate to say that he was enjoying an unquiet evening while his son, Dudley, watched the telly on the device's loudest setting). A peaceful and content feeling that Vernon had not felt in years had finally returned to him and his family. Now that the freak was gone, his life had returned to its perfect normalness.

As an added bonus, since the freak and the threat of his unnaturalness had gone, Vernon and his lovely wife ("beauty is in the eye of the beholder" and all that rot) had actually had "special relations." This activity, which Vernon and Petunia had not done since the boy was left on their doorstep, included the use of a frozen banana and a set of fur-lined shackles. And since they had not had this "special relations" in over fifteen years, Vernon and Petunia used two frozen bananas the previous night as a way of making up for lost time.

Just thinking about his "special relations" with Petunia got Vernon's pulse racing. Looking up from the telly, the whale-like man gazed at his wife with hungry eyes and asked: "Do we still have some frozen bananas, my dear?"

Blushing wildly, Petunia mouthed the words "Aren't you sore?" to her husband so that her son couldn't hear.

Knowing that his son was too engrossed in the program on the television (in other words, Dudley was lulled into a catatonic state by the telly and was oblivious to everything around him), Vernon boldly answered aloud, "For you, my love, I'd gladly take in three bananas."

"Ah, poppet, you may not want to make that banana milkshake like you wanted to," a voice that Vernon had hoped and prayed never to hear again came from behind him. Vernon turned his head back as far as his fat neck could take him, and he saw the freak, standing right in his living room.

"Are you sure, Harry?" a young woman's voice called out from the kitchen. "It's been so long since I've had a banana milkshake, and I'm so looking forward to it."

Without even acknowledging that the Dursleys were looking at him, Harry replied, "No, poppet, the fat man just admitted he had them up his bum."

The sounds of several frozen bananas hitting the kitchen floor could be heard. Clearly, these chilled fruits were dropped by Luna out of shock and revulsion.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE? I DEMAND THAT YOU LEAVE HERE THIS INSTANT, YOU FREAK!" roared Vernon as a petite blonde girl strolled out of the kitchen and stood next to the freak.

"Relax, Virgil," Harry said dismissively and waved his wand. The fat man's jaw clamped together as if it were glued shut, effectively rendering him silent.

"His name's 'Vernon' I believe," Luna corrected casually.

Petunia and Dudley were made to scream (or cry frightfully in the latter's case), but another wave of Harry's wand glued their jaws shut just as it had for Vernon.

"Now Luna and I will be spending the night in your house," Harry informed the Dursleys. "We'll be using the master bedroom – where I plan on buggering this pretty little thing until she collapses" (at this point, Luna began to clap excitedly) "While you, Vincent, Pauline, and Duncan, sleep down here."

"Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley," corrected Luna.

Not caring in the slightest as to what the names of his counterpart's relatives were, Harry forged ahead. "You can look at it like a camping trip! But instead of camping outside, you'll be sleeping on the floor in your own living room."

"That's exciting, isn't it?" Luna asked with a joyous smile.

Harry wrapped his arm around Luna's shoulder and led her up the stairs. Three steps up, the black-haired wizard paused and turned back to face the Dursleys. "Oh, I forgot, I can't have you lot running off and telling anyone we're here."

He waved his wand again, and three sets of ropes shot out of its tip. The ropes wrapped themselves around Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley, effectively tying them up.

"Ta ta," Luna gave the bound Muggles a wave as she and Harry continued up the stairs. Less than five minutes later, the Dursleys were "entertained" by Luna's shouts of "OH, GOD YES! SHOVE THAT BIG HUNK OF MEAT UP MY ARSE, YOU PERUVIAN MONKEY-HORSE STUD!"

Twenty-three and a half minutes later, Harry's voice could be heard to ask loudly: "DO YOU STILL WANT A BANANA MILKSHAKE? 'CUZ I'VE GOT MY VERY OWN VERSION OF A BANANA MILKSHAKE RIGHT HERE, POPPET!"

Luna happily and enthusiastically replied to this offer with, "GIVE ME MY SPECIAL, POTASSIUM-RICH TREAT!"

The following loud, wet, slurping sounds echoed throughout number four, Privet Drive.

To Be Continued...