Harry Potter: Amoral and Amorous
The soul in Harry's head ends out giving him ideas of a decidedly perverse nature after the events in the Chamber of Secrets
Chapter 1: Petunia
Harry Potter was not what one could call a stable person.
While his relatives did not abuse him physically, beyond Dudley roughing him up when the mood struck, the sheer emotional abuse he was put through alone would be enough to have a strict watch be placed on him.
Unfortunately for the world, Harry was a powerful young magical being – a wizard to be specific. While most would see this as a boon, and indeed for most it would be, in Harry's case it was most disastrous for everyone else. Had Harry been a muggle or non-magical, eventually people would have noticed how 'not quite right' he was. Due to malnutrition and an ingrained sense that defiance will be punished, he would be no danger to anyone but himself.
Magic represented something to Harry, something that he had never possessed before.
Power. And with power, the ability to exert his will upon the world. And with the inclusion of magic, Harry was certainly a willful child. But more than that he was a lonely one. He based his actions and moral choices off of those around him, and on the few cartoons he'd seen while unnoticed by the Dursley's. They were not instinctive responses but rather calculated moves. Foolish, but calculated.
After all, his greatest fear was that this amazing gift he'd had access to for two years could and would be taken from him, should he be less than good.
Alas, his greatest fear was proven to be false. When he stabbed the Basilisk fang into a leather-bound diary, something happened. A soul, even a fragment of one, is a powerful thing. Its why sacrifice can power such unbelievably powerful spells. When Harry stabbed the diary, for a brief moment he was connected to yet another fragment of the soul of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. The fang being magical in nature allowed a channel to open between them for a brief moment, before its destruction. And that channel woke the piece attached to Harry himself.
And then the deadly venom of the Basilisk began its work. A soul is a powerful thing, even a fragment of one. The death of a soul even more so. The sudden feeling of itself dying and yet living at the same time, was too much for the fragment in Harry's head. It suffered through a mystical equivalent to brain-death. It could no longer leech off of Harry's magic or the ambient magic in the air to keep itself alive. It rapidly began to decay, things it once kept separate from its host, being given to him without cost.
While Harry slept in the Hogwarts infirmary, a steady trickle of knowledge flowed into his mind. Spells, potions recipes, knowledge of all sorts from a brilliant man, without the emotional inflections. He could have become the greatest duelist of his age group. A potions master not seen since Severus Snape himself. A political dynamo, convincing the masses to follow his views. He could have been the brightest light ever seen, or the darkest miasma to every destroy.
Fortunately for the world, Harry was largely apathetic to all of that. All that the majority of the memories gave to Harry was an appreciation of power and actually using it for his own whims and desires.
Unfortunately for the women, he was a hormone ridden teenager who had just had the memories of some really mind-blowing sex with hot women shoved into his skull. Whoever this Bellatrix chick was, she was a screamer.
Combined with a certain disregard to little things called laws and rules and social norms, and the knowledge that nobody could truly take away his magic, what came to pass was rather inevitable really.
Biting his lip nervously, Harry stared uncertainly at the cauldron filled with bubbling blue fluid.
After saving Ginny from the Basilisk, he had woken up day after day, disorientated and half-expecting to awaken in the same orphanage of Tom, or rather, Voldemort. It was only on the final train-ride back from Hogwarts that he realized that the dreams and dazed spells when confronted with the familiar and yet unfamiliar, that Harry realized what he had received.
He had told no one – not even Ron and Hermione. They were both great friends, and people he trusted, but they had never been in the position of utter helplessness that he had. Hermione may have been bullied and been without close friends – but she had a loving family and her parents doted on her. Ron may have been poor and without material possession – but his family was rich in the ways that truly mattered.
They were his first friends, and more precious to him than his blood relatives could ever be. But for once Harry had something that gave him power. Knowledge.
Checking his watch – painstakingly tuned to be exactly right – Harry lifted diced chicken heart from a small wooden bowl and added it to the cauldron. Voldemort's memories had made it clear that while the trace was a major obstacle to underage magic, it was still easily bypassed. He stirred the potion clockwise three times and then a further four times in the opposite direction.
One such bypass was Alchemy. It was essentially a derivative of potion-making or rather, it was the use of ritualistic magic to bring out the innate mystical properties of materials both magical in origin and mundane. The salt circle the cauldron rested in the center of, with runic symbols spiraling outward was one such example.
A small puff of blue vapor escaped from the cauldron before being carried away out the kitchen window by the wind. Harry winced and stared at the now clear potion and felt thankful that he'd thought to make this away from Privet Drive. When Voldemort had been in Hogwarts, he'd gained the odd talent of discerning which homes would be empty for a fair amount of time in the Summer, usually due to the residents being on holiday.
The home Harry was currently using as a makeshift potions lab was one such place three streets away from Privet Drive, on Gray Street.
Putting on a set of oven mitts, Harry grabbed the metal handles of the cauldron and lifted it off the fire. He paid no mind to the disturbance in the lines of salt for their purpose was no longer required. After three days of brewing, the potion was finally done.
Harry knew that of all the potions that he now knew how to brew, this one was perhaps the most...immature. However the memories of Voldemort's various exploits in the bedroom before he'd 'evolved past such crude pleasures' made Harry eager to try it for himself. Opening the old backpack (formerly Dudley's school bag), Harry pulled out several crystal vials with corks that automatically tightened to air-tightness once a potion was contained.
He'd managed to convince the Dursley's to drop him off in London before heading back to Privet Drive with his trunk with the promise to keep his 'freakishness' to an all new low and volunteering a hundred pounds for Dudley's use. The miniature whale had been on his side after that. When Vernon had suspiciously asked where he could possibly get a hundred quid, all it had taken was mention of his fame in the magical world. His only purchase had been a professional brewers set along with the vials.
Working carefully, Harry filled ten vials with the clear solution before pouring a prepared cup of water into the now practically empty cauldron. It had the nifty feature of automatically cleaning itself when water with lemon juice was poured into it.
Packing the unbreakable vials into his appropriated backpack along with the cauldron, which resized to fit itself into the bag, Harry began to clean up the kitchen, starting by sweeping up the salt. Combined with another potion he'd brewed and tested on himself earlier, Harry could feel the nervous thrill of anticipation and excitement thrum through his body. Before he could use the just-brewed potion on just anyone, he had to thoroughly test it.
Should it fail, the subject would simply experience mild stomach pain for a few hours. If it succeeded...they'd be knocked unconscious for four hours and then when they awoke they'd be mildly confunded and invent a story for what they'd been doing for the time they'd been unconscious. When potion used from the same batch was used on multiple people, their stories would corroborate. Hell, the memory created even stood up to analysis to everyone but an absolute Master Legillimens.
Tom Riddle did not take rejection well. That the person who rejected him was a worker at his orphanage and as such was right to reject him didn't even enter his mind and as such he'd created the potion Harry had just brewed and used it on the worker. The then boy had discovered a taste for absolute control, a concept that fascinated Harry.
If Harry had Tom's face, then he wouldn't feel such an urgent need to use this potion. Tom was handsome. Harry was all sharp angles even with his puppy fat, due to a poor diet. Rather than looking fit, he simply looked oddly defined for his body type, manual labor forcing muscle to grow but without fat to soften the way they looked. Tom could talk a woman out of her clothes in five minutes, on an off-day. Just because Harry had his memories, it didn't mean he'd inherited his charisma.
He had to test the potion before he went back to Hogwarts, lest it actually fail. If a student went to Madam Pomfrey then there would be a manhunt for whoever attempted to use a potion on another student without consent. If this potion failed, he sincerely doubted that any anti-detection spells – things vastly more complicated than this potion – would keep him safe.
Swinging the backpack onto his shoulders, Harry carefully scanned the room to make sure there was no evidence of his use. Satisfied, he turned and left through the back door, making sure to lock it and place the families emergency key back under its gnome. Clambering over the fence into a gap between the two houses was a little more difficult but his cousins games of Harry hunting helped him out. Pulling up the hood of his hand-me-down sweater, Harry walked out onto the main road and began walking back to Privet Drive, at 3 o'clock in the morning.
The sudden pounding on his door, startled Harry awake from his sleeping.
“Wake up boy, its past noon! I won't have you lazing around and free-loading like its your God-given right!” Vernon shouted through the door. Where there had formerly been a series of locks on the outside of the door, it now only had the one with the purpose of keeping the Dursley's out, rather than them keeping him in.
“I'm up Uncle Vernon!” he hollered back as he fought free of his tangled bedsheets. Hearing the bipedal manatee, lumber down the stairs grumbling all the while, Harry picked some fresh clothes out of his closet and crossed the hall to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
Freshly groomed, he headed back into his room and picked up a single vial from their new resting place in his desk drawer. Licking his lips, he put it in his pocket for later that day. If the Dursley's held true to their usual behavior, he'd have his test subjects that evening.
“You'll be cleaning the garage, and you'll be grateful for it you freakish brat.” Vernon informed him brusquely from his chair in the living room, while Petunia placed a cup of tea on the side-table next to him.
“Don't you dare track any filth into this house.” Petunia warned him with a venomous look before she returned to the kitchen.
Barely withholding a sigh, Harry mentally prepared himself for the aching muscles he'd suffer through. Though at least it wont be as bad as the first time, Harry tried to cheer himself mentally. When he'd first been made to clean the garage, it had been a mess that most men would've bought a skip for. Of course Vernon was far too cheap. Thankfully after that massive job, Harry had to do it at least once every Summer since. Due to the constant care, at most he'd be shifting some boxes around while he swept and polished.
“And be done before six, so you can give your poor aunt a break from the stove!” Vernon called after him as he walked to the backdoor with cleaning supplies in hand. While Harry normally would've started to curse and grumble, wondering why the whale didn't give his wife a break by doing the cooking himself, this time he smiled.
Test subjects acquired.
“Hurry up freak.” Dudley whined from his place at the dinner table, situated between Vernon and Petunia, who sat opposite one another.
Ignoring his cousin, Harry distributed equal portions of chips, egg and bacon onto three separate plates, supper that evening having been decided by Dudley. Picking up the plates, he deposited them on the table, actually fearing for his hands safety because of the voracious greed in Dudley's gaze. He didn't even need to hear Vernon's commands as he returned to the kitchen with empty cups and glasses, knowing that he'd demand a refill.
Standing over the two cups of tea and glass of coke, Harry glanced back at the doorway to make sure none of the Dursley's had vacated their seat in the dining room to follow him to the kitchen. Taking a deep breath to fortify his nerves, Harry fished the crystal vial out of his trouser pocket and carefully pulled out the cork. He then poured a teaspoons worth into each drink and stirred them quickly, to distribute the solution throughout the drink.
Placing the drinks at the table, Harry retreated upstairs to his room, knowing that the potion took time to kick in. While he waited he made a start on his summer Transfiguration essay, the words he needed coming easier than ever. He checked his watch periodically, and once half an hour had passed, he decided to bite the bullet and check.
Creeping down the stairs slowly, ready to bolt if he heard Vernon muttering about 'the freak trying to poison' them. Hearing nothing, he glanced through the open door of the kitchen and saw it empty. Wiping a sweaty palm on his trousers, he gripped the door handle for the living room and swung it open slowly. What his eyes saw sent triumph roaring through his veins.
Dudley and Vernon were both sat on the couch, both at a far-end so as to have their own arm rest. Vernon had both hands folded and resting on his stomach while his head leaned back into his headrest. Dudley was the same, only one hand was in the middle seat next to a now overturned bowl of crisps. He couldn't help but stare incredulously at the boy. He knew that he had eaten his own large plate, and more than likely finished off half his mothers as well. The large portions were just an excuse for him to have more food, when Petunia couldn't finish hers.
Speaking of Petunia, he looked across the room and spotted her collapsed onto the chair Vernon usually occupied when he wasn't watching the telly. Turning back to the Dursley males, Harry looked past them and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that the blinds and curtains were shut. The last thing he needed was the muggle police busting down the door because some nosy neighbor saw the Dursley's pass out simultaneously.
A wicked grin crossed his face as he snatched the TV remote from Dudley's other hand, before slowly shoving the other boy off of his seat and took his place. Snickering, he then put his feet up on the lumps back and relaxed while channel surfing. He didn't even have to worry about when they started to stir. The first ten minutes after they woke, they wouldn't really take what was happening in. He'd just have to tell Dudley to get up and sit down before he left and he'd be home free.
Seeing nothing on that he particularly wanted to watch, Harry used the remote to access the on demand function of the cable box and then selected a film he'd wanted to watch for a long time. Return of the Jedi. He'd managed to watch both Episode 4 and 5 by being as small as possible and hiding in the corner, but when Vernon figured out what he was doing, the man made sure to check the room whenever they were watching the TV.
Having seen the opening scenes several times by now, in past attempts to watch the film, Harry quickly fast forwarded and was soon cursing himself when he came across the iconic metal bikini.
Feeling his member stir at the sight, he rolled his eyes in aggravation as his boxers slowly became more uncomfortable. Dealing with the problem was something he enjoyed but he actually had wanted to watch the film. Combined with his absent pondering on the potion of Voldemort's creation, he found his mind wandering to the orphanage worker who the potion had been developed for. An older brunette, tired looking but with a pretty face and a body that was fit through exercise rather than nature, giving it a deliciously toned look.
Harry closed his eyes and groaned as memories of fantastic velvet heat wrapping around him echoed in his mind. How the hell could Voldemort give that up? He may have had access to it for years, but who the hell gets bored of that? If he had a woman right that minute...
Harry started when he realized that his eyes had come to rest on the insensate form of his aunt. Harry's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment as he realized what had just crossed his mind. That is sick, Harry decided before turning back to Star Wars. However now that the thought had slipped into his mind, it was insidiously making itself sound more and more doable.
His previous view of her as being ugly was being systematically destroyed by the inclusion of Voldemort's memories. It was rather simple to see the childish exaggerations of his younger self that turned Petunia from average to hideous through odd caricatures of her features. Her neck was long but it was slender, her blonde hair was actually rather well cared for, and while she wouldn't win any beauty contests she wasn't ugly either.
She was slender, but Harry knew she actually did yoga three days a week and her breasts were actually just about a handful. His cock twitched as the memory being inside a woman surfaced once more.
She's my aunt, he thought desperately. She's family! Then it was like he'd been hit with a hammer, shocking and disorientating as it was.
Has she ever treated you like a nephew? Like family? She evidently doesn't treat you as such, why should you extend that courtesy to her? His mind whispered back to him, ruthlessly.
Both her son and husband are in the room. His protests were starting to sound dull and weak even in his own head. He'd already stood up from his seat, stepping over Dudley as he approached the pig in a wig's mother.
Both unconscious, and will be for at least two hours. Vernon could wake up and see you inside his wife and you'd still have ten minutes to pull out and cover your tracks. Harry paused in front of her and glanced behind him nervously, to once more check that the curtains were drawn. In the back of his mind, he knew that nobody would be seeing in, Petunia valued her privacy far more than that of the neighbors, but part of him that feared getting caught was inducing paranoia.
Pressing down on the tent in his pants, Harry groaned as his erection continued to present itself. His last line of thought was stuck in his head. It wasn't the action itself he feared, but getting caught. If Vernon found out they'd probably fish his body out of the Thames a week later. Harry steeled his nerves and reached down to begin undoing his jeans. He was actually going to do this.
Letting the denim pool around his ankles before stepping out of them, Harry schooled his thoughts and meticulously avoided the fact that Dudley and Vernon were unconscious behind him, and then let his boxers drop to the floor. The air was warm enough that Summer that he didn't shiver. Wrapping his hand about his cock and pumping it a few times, Harry stared at Petunia and wondered just how to start.
Looking back on Tom's memories with the orphanage worker, he winced – Sally or something starting with an S – Harry knew that he'd have to get Petunia wet. Tom hadn't cared and had caused the woman damage until her body had started to facilitate the teens intrusion. Bending over to reach under the skirt of Petunia's house dress, he couldn't help but scowl as he realized how awkward actually doing the deed would be in her current position. As such, he gripped her by the hips and tugged her down slightly, before turning her over so that she was on her knees with her body resting on the seat of the chair. Briefly checking that Petunia was in a position that let her breathe Harry lifted up the skirt of her dress and the pulled down her plain white cotton panties, exposing her pale white ass and her nether regions.
Given what a neat freak that the woman was Harry was relatively unsurprised when he saw that her slit was topped with a small strip of well trimmed hair. Harry licked his lips as he felt his cock throb angrily at the sight. Right now the woman wasn't his aunt, or even the bitch who worked him to the bone every summer. She was just a future source of pleasure. Popping his fingers into his mouth to wet them with his spit, Harry then reached down and started to gently rub at her pussy. Whenever he heard a sigh or moan escape the sleeping woman he paid extra attention to whatever part of her pussy he was touching. When he saw that his potions effects were holding, he dared to go a bit further and slipped two of his fingers into her heat up to the knuckle.
Slowly pumping his digits in and out of her, Harry stared entranced as her pussy seemed to cling to his fingers every time her pulled them out of her, only to greedily swallow them back up when he pushed them in. His curious eyes then spotted a small pearl-like nub at the top of her pussy, a part called the clit if the memories he'd inherited were correct. Reaching up with his other hand Harry started to gently rub the little button, no longer merely seeking to get her wet, but simply indulging his curiosity.
Were Harry able to focus and see Tom's memories more clearly, he would have recognized the signs Petunia was giving as she started to squirm more intensely and her pussy started to grip his fingers more and more tightly with each contraction. As it was he was shocked when Petunia's muffled shriek into the chair was followed by her pussy shuddering around his fingers and expelling a deluge of her honey.
Now desperate to finish what he started, Harry adjusted himself so that he was on his knees and the crown of his cock was pressed against Petunia's soaking entrance. Grabbing the base of his cock, Harry slowly began to push himself into his aunt, groaning as tight, wet, heat slowly engulfed his cock. Petunia whimpered as she was filled by a man for the first time in over two years. Unbeknownst to Harry, Vernon's general poor physical health had led to him becoming impotent and as such Petunia had, had to make due with her fingers and toys ordered online to be posted discretely.
When he finally buried himself to the hilt, Harry just had to look down and stare as he drew his cock back, Petunia's pussy clinging to it desperately as he did so. When only his tip was still inside her, he slammed himself forward, reburying himself in one thrust causing her to squeal against the seat. As though this broke the dam, Harry began to rapidly pound into Petunia fill the living room with the slap of flesh on flesh.
Pulling Petunia toward him with each thrust to sink as deep as possible with each one, Harry gave into a niggling want and released one of her hips to lay a resounding smack on her ass. The noise echoed through the room with the sound of a gunshot. Petunia yelped loudly, causing Harry to cease his spanking lest someone outside heard something.
Instinctively speeding up as he felt himself come closer and closer to his finish, Harry reached beneath Petunia and once again started to lather attention on her clit, determined to make her finish before he did. His efforts were rewarded when Petunia once again seized up and moaned weakly as her sensitive snatch started to milk his cock with desperation, trying to entice him to finish inside.
With a supreme effort of will, Harry barely managed to pull himself out of his aunt as the coil in his abdomen tightened quickly. Working his shaft now slick with both his pre-cum and Petunia's juices, Harry groaned deeply as his rod twitched, each jerk heralded by a string of white shooting out to paint Petunia's buttocks.
Panting as though he'd just run a marathon, Harry dearly wanted to lie down and fall asleep. However he knew that he could not, lest he wanted to wake up with Vernon's belt tightened around his neck. Forcing himself to his feet, he grabbed the box of tissues Petunia kept on the coffee table and first cleaned his hand and his cock, before redressing. Now no longer sky-clad, he then proceeded to wipe his cream off of his aunts ass before pulling up her panties. Then with a grunt and a few moments of awkward handling, he had her right side up and sat down in the chair.
Turning around to the two others in the room he had spent the past while ignoring, Harry stared at Dudley and considered trying to put him back in his seat before wincing as his back twinged at him warningly. He didn't hate himself enough to try that.
Feeling the exhaustion in his bones, Harry simply turned around and headed for his room, ready to nap the rest of the day away.
Using Petunia to make himself feel good...he should have felt guilty and disgusting. All he could feel was a deep sense of satisfaction at finally getting one over on his relatives.
Now that he'd started, he knew he didn't want to stop.
Yeah that just happened. I wrote this over the course of an afternoon, trying to stay awake so I fell asleep at a reasonable time. Turns out Harry is quite...amoral in this, and yeah, I don't know where the whole sympathetic death Voldie's souls went through thing came from.
Drop a review on your way out! Though flames will just be used to warm my feet. Seriously, the heating in my flat is broken, I'm cold.