Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Harry Potter and the Midnight Sun.
I've Had To Ask You Twice
Voldemorts vacation, The woes of Miss Blue, the emerging Goddess,Jr and some cold November rain.
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Disclaimer. Walnuts wrapped in tin foil might be harmful if swallowed. Never mix writing and industrial-grade painkillers. If you think I own Harry Potter or anything in the Potter-verse, you must have been hitting those pills pretty hard. Cheers!
I've Had To Ask You Twice.
“Sure, Boss. I ain't not for nothing minding a bit of journeying if I can kick some righteous ass once I get there. They ain't focking hooman. 'T ain't right, marrying animals. Plowing them's a bit all right, but you don't bring a sheep to meet yer parents, right boss?”
Lord Voldemort was getting a headache. This was not the dumbest person he had interviewed today. The unwashed brute in a filthy vest and some kind of ridiculous denim trousers was a useless waste of space, unless you were planning on harvesting large amounts of methane, but he was a one. If you got a lot of ones together you had Numbers, and he really needed Numbers. His search for such Numbers in Europe had ended badly. Even the proudest of the pure bloods did their best to keep their names out of Kilchurn's sights, and he heard the phrase “Magical Heritage” more and more frequently rather than the “Wizarding Heritage” he had built his organization around. He had gone to the Colonies hoping to find good, reasonable Wizards who understood the meaning of inherited greatness, but if one more of these bastards showed him the text on a dollar coin, there would be green lights all over!
In the past few weeks he had come to realize that “You-Know-Who” was dead. It was quite ironic. His greatest weapon had always been his reputation, and in the minuscule, insular world that was the Wizarding one, he had been the next best thing to a superstar or a Royal. Now, however, the Kilchurn family owned the front pages, the centerfolds, and the Notices. He had been reduced in the public eye to little more than that annoying Fletcher, who still managed to make the news every now and then. The public had developed a craving for news about the small-time crook and all his various shady deals and failures. Thanks to that, there wasn't even a Villain role for the great Voldemort to play anymore, hence the need for Numbers --- stupid Numbers at that. Fortunately, there were so many stupid people in the American swamplands to recruit from, and he already had a hundred men and women under his command in the Colonies. The Oftalmo Insensita-charm had been dead useful though. He certainly didn't miss his nose.
After signing the unwashed man, the Dark Lord Voldemort, Scourge of Britain and an all out bastard, took a break. Potter was weaker now. His mentor had left; the boy was all alone. He picked up the copy of the Salem Inquisitor again, and re-read the article for the umpteenth time.
The Torch Is Passed!
John Evans (Wizarding Press International), November 19, 1996
Well-known and powerful Sorceror Caradoc Pritchard has departed from among us and no one knows if, or when, he shall return. Meanwhile, before his departure, he gifted all his powers, possessions, titles, and lands to Harry James Potter, who now steps into the role of Lord Kilchurn. Already known for surviving where others would not, Mr. Potter seems well able and trained to assume his new responsibilities and powers.
The first indication of something extraordinary about to occur came last night in the form of a notice from Kilchurn spokes-wizard Neville Longbottom to select members of the press, asking that they be broom-borne over Loch Awe at dawn the next morning and prepared to follow the party that would be departing Castle Kilchurn. Further information, we were told, would be available after the events we were to witness.
Early the next morning, those of the press who were privileged to receive invitations assembled in the cold morning light and flew over the far side of the loch from the castle. As the sun finally cleared the surrounding hills, the bell in Kilchurn’s highest tower sounded. As the deep peals rolled over the loch, three shapes took wing from the castle and flew south as we followed at a distance until the entire party arrived at Stonehenge and touched down. As we landed on our brooms, we could see Caradoc Pritchard dismounting from the dragon known as Hank while Harry Potter dismounted from a silver-hued dragon and Lady Elaine alighted from a firedrake which promptly resumed its human form as the Lady Ginevra.
The party moved to the center of Stonehenge, becoming skyclad as they did so, where the two sorcerers stood facing each other with one Lady standing second behind each. With simultaneous arm gestures, these sorcerers created a powerful shielding ward that prevented any closer approach by the press party as well as protected it. The two powerful men talked for a few minutes and then began a powerful ritual. A glowing nimbus surrounded the entire party, so bright that only shadowy outlines of the four individuals could be seen. The glow around the two sorcerers then intensified, blinding us. After first the glow, then the nimbus subsided, both men showed equally powerful auras which shrunk into them as they became fully aware after the ritual. Bowing to each other, the two powerful men led the party north-west to the burial mounds, effortlessly moving their ward with them. At the mounds, they embraced once again before Caradoc Pritchard appeared to sink into the ground atop one of the mounds. Mr. Potter dropped the ward and invited us to join them for the return to Castle Kilchurn via their transportation Arch, a far more comfortable means of travel than portkey or floo.
Once back at his home, Harry James Potter held a short press conference where he explained that Caradoc Pritchard’s role here was finished and that all of his powers, possessions, titles, and lands had been transferred to Mr. Potter, who gave an impromptu demonstration that he could indeed do the same magical acts that his mentor had. With this, we were dismissed to file our stories.
Yet, this story cannot be filed without asking, again, “Who is Caradoc Pritchard and why did he show up now?” One hint to this answer lies in the old legends that Merlin rests in the mounds, where Caradoc Pritchard disappeared, until such time as he is needed to protect England. We have to ask if he did indeed return to properly train Harry James Potter, as he once trained another young man, in order to properly protect England? In any case, we can be very thankful that a powerful and well-trained sorcerer still resides at Kilchurn Castle, ready to defend the Light and repel the Dark.
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Neville Longbottom was reading the same article for the umpteenth time. It hadn’t been easy to set up, and they had actually held a dress rehearsal of the whole thing. It was loads of fun for those involved, as no one outside of their little circuit knew how it was done. After all, Harry had supposedly been in three places at once, and Stina in two. When he had made an oath that not one of the present people had been under a glamour, the speculation inside the Kilchurn circle just got wilder, as Elaine and Caradoc couldn’t be Polyjuiced, being fake forms from the start.
Some days he loved his job, and on other days he just adored it. He had been very worried that their public image would be horribly damaged if they accepted the Dementors. He couldn’t have been more wrong, and as a side effect he found out how the news about Kilchurn was actually spread. Just about everybody in the magical world had some kind of connection to some House-elf, and as the public was incredibly curious, they asked the elves, and the elves made small and select leaks of interesting but meaningless details. Neville made a note to have some kind of coordinating meeting with the Chamberlain as soon as possible. So far, nothing sensitive had been leaked, but better safe than sorry.
His Aunt-in-law had been most tolerant to some minor violations to this point, and had been instrumental in some of the necessary legal manoeuvres he had undertaken, but he really didn’t want to try her patience. Especially as he and Susan weren’t married yet. His parents had been over the moon about it all, once they started to get up to speed on the modern history of the magical world.
His father hadn’t been very sorry to lose the Lordship, and was now gunning for a peacekeeping job in Otherton. Frank was taking it very seriously, and was currently studying everything he could on the history and culture of all the various races, and even the languages. He already spoke a passable Gobbledegook, decent Norse for the Wolf- and Bear-runners, and indecent Norse for the Huldr. He had already been fluent in French, German, and Spanish, as well as, for some reason, Swedish and Norwegian. In his dealings with the citizens of Otherton, he even used a different surname, and people was slowly gaining respect for Frank Croaker as a man who listened and understood, even if he didn’t agree.
Alice was working with her husband and Hermione on writing better books, where Alice added special sections for an Auror edition for Hermione’s Guide to the Sentients, listing the pros and cons of all the species from a law-enforcement point of view. It was, after all, possible to sexually assault a Huldr, and such a rape shouldn’t be judged more leniently just because the victim was a sexual being. Without consent, it’s non-consensual, after all. It took her 10,000 words to explain that properly but it had to be done. The chapter on Lake Wardens ended with a simple urging: “If at all possible, Recruit!” Neville had sniggered at that. Shapeshifting, invulnerable aurors. There’s a thought.
He shuffled his papers a bit and found the To-do-list for Christmas. It was going to be grand. Invites was being sent out to all magical families with children in all of Great Britain, and Otherton would be transformed to a great Christmas theme park. There were enough abilities on weather magic in the town to guarantee snow, and there would be Santa Claus galore everywhere. With real elves to boot. The waitresses would be gallivanting around giving out eggnog and hot spiced wine to everybody, there would be living theatre and all kinds of things that Neville had never heard of.
The Huldr were already making sure that there was enough willow planted in pots to make grow into gifts. After all, it would only take four Huldr, four potted willows and twenty minutes to make a whole dining table in one piece of carefully grown wood. Willow was a fast-growing tree naturally, but when the Huldr bent their wills to the task, it was incredible. He had a rocking chair made that way in his private chambers in the Castle himself. The only bad thing with it all was that it hadn’t been his idea.
Lavender had gone from ‘the girl with the boobs’ to a veritable dynamo of social and economic power. The people had made her the Mayor, and she made sure that they didn’t regret it. She was everywhere, and Neville realised that he wouldn’t be able to get as much done as he did without her. Her Boutique had become a place for the rich and famous, but where there was ordinary clothing for ordinary folks as well, and even the cheapest clothes looked really good. There was some Acromantula silk in all the clothing that left the Boutique, and it had proven to be very resistant to magic, unless it was added while the silk was still wet. Practically no first-year hexes or jinxes would work through it, and one of the cornerstones of the business was the summon-proof silk knickers.
There was also the line of underwear that could only be removed by the person who put them on, and turned to steel at the first hint of violence. He had heard of married men who worked around the Huldr who bought undies like that and had their wives dress them in the morning. He wondered briefly how they went about their visits to the bathroom, but concluded that he didn’t really need to know.
He leant back for a second. There was so much to do, so he decided to dilute it all. He quickly launched his Patronus with a humble request for lunch with his Fiancé. She always made him feel better in minutes, and her skills in organising came very handy at times. He could also use another go at talking her out of participation in that calendar thing. She had agreed to take a more covered approach than the Huldr, but really, that didn't say much. Perhaps he should change his own stance? Odd as it may seem at times, he knew the value of the changed mind in dealing with his future wife. She always got a bit suspicious and changed her own stance in response to his. It was odd, but it worked. All in all, he was having a good time, and he really liked everything did. Life was good. Busy, but good.
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Istvan paused, and wiped the sweat from his brow with the bedspread he used for handkerchief. The construction of Sunny Street, the Dementor settlement, was a fairly large project, as they apparently preferred a kind of low, square stone hut as personal dwellings, meaning that the entire construction was in his hands. Mayor Brown had just been there and complimented the crews on the work done, and that girl had a way of getting the best out of everybody, and the improvised fashion show, where she modelled the Boutique's new colourful Dementor line had been great fun.
Amusingly enough, the giants were often called upon as translators for the Dementors, as the poor things couldn't speak, and barely hold a pen, much less a quill. They could beat a drum though, and they had all quickly learned the drumspeech of the Giants. Not the stripped and simplified one, made popular by the man Morse, but the full, rich and poetic language. This way, the monstrous Dementors had revealed themselves as a sophisticated race with an incredible oral, or drummed, tradition and to the Dementors collective surprise, they were much sought after by the children of Otherton. The children had learned at least some of the Drumspeech in a matter of days, just to hear the stories the frightening beings could tell. Some were familiar, like the Cinderella story, but the way the Dementors told it, the girl was called Rhodopis, and the shoe was pink, and when the little boys and girls heard about the girl with eyes green as the Nile, hair feathery as Papyrus and skin as pink as a Lotus flower, the Dementors could have their fill of happy thoughts, without the children even noticing the slight chill. That, and the constant supply of chocolate that the strange beings carried at all times made the former prison guards a real hit with the kids.
Istvan shook his head. Who would have thought? Not him anyway. He was of course fully aware of the fact that he was thick as a brick, but he didn't mind. He liked bricks. They were crunchy. He grasped his huge rasp, made from Vaulundersteel and black diamonds, and put the finishing touches on the closing stone for the mastaba. Giants, making houses for Dementors who were busy telling stories to Veela, Huldr and Goblin young. This was an amazing place. After work, he had an appointment with a little squirrel tailed girl called Vigdis, who had promised him that she would find a way to take him inside.
Yup. Amazing.
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Sippa was smiling. She wasn't very good at it, but practice made perfect and as her Veela heritage had been recognized, she had been accepted as a permanent citizen of Otherton and even gotten herself a job. She was getting a lot of practice. After years of watching waiters and waitresses, man servants and all kinds of domestic workers rather than her husband, she had picked up more than she originally thought. Thanks to that, she had started to make money on teaching young House-elves and goblins the social codes of the so-called upper class. Even the saucy little Huldr wenches from the Inn paid her to teach them how to fold napkins and how to figure out the proper titles of people without asking.
When the late autumn party season came rolling in, she was asked for advice on party organization often enough to start her own business. One morning, there was a sign above her door saying “The Wizard's Staff”, and in smaller letters below, “Maid to Please.” Somewhat crude, she thought, but appropriate as the maids she found herself coordinating were Huldr and Veela after all, and pleasing was in their blood. She no longer dyed her hair blond, so the natural silvery colour dominated, and as she let her hair grow out she found that none of her old “friends” recognized her anymore. In fact, one of them had even asked her if she knew where Narcissa Malfoy was these days. It took some serious self control to keep from giggling as she answered that no such person could be found in Britain these days. After all, her name in the Otherton Floo book was Sippa White. Narcissa Malfoy was a distant, unhappy memory, like the fortunately fading memories of her husband. She would never forget Draco's conception, though. She had been dressed up like a boy and taken anally from behind until Lucius was almost done. Then, he had pushed himself inside her vagina and barely managed to unload before going limp. She would never marry a poufter again, that was for sure. The ill begotten son was dead now, and her so-called husband had simply vanished.
She had half a mind to vow never to marry or have children again, but she had had enough of limits and boundaries. Besides, at the moment she didn't miss anything. The fact that men still turned to look at her went a long way, and the little girl-cubs, Ylva and Hilde, visited every day. She had become a friend to their family, and little by little, the life she wanted was forming around her. She had opted not to have any significant other, but for a well formed and kept woman, getting someone to scratch her occasional itches was not really a problem. Narcissa Malfoy, a miserable woman, was gone, and in her place, Sippa White was learning to be happy.
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Katie Bell was not quite that happy. Every time she had gotten close to Harry, something had happened to make him run off. In school he was never alone, and while she didn't mind the company, she had a reputation to care for. If she just launched herself at him, her reputation would go down the drains, not to mention the small, annoying detail that just about all the young witches in the castle were doing it, so she needed something different if she wanted to stand out from the crowd. She played with the thought of pulling away and playing the hard-to-get game, but then, she realized that he probably wouldn't even notice, what with him making at least three witches walk around funny, with silly grins, every single day. She was sitting at her usual place by the table in the great hall, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to meet the understanding eyes of her Head of House.
“He's not easy to get close to these days, Miss Bell.”
The girl sighed and looked down at the table.
“It's bloody impossible, oh sorry Professor. I need to speak with him in private, but he's never alone.”
The girl blushed, but while Minerva McGonagall might be upset about a bit of coarse language, Minnie McGee was quite understanding. At least one girl in her house wasn't just shoving her knickers in Mr Potters pocket, believing herself to be original. Besides, the Professor knew a thing or two, and decided to help.
“Yes he is, Miss Bell. May I inquire of your reasons? There are too many girls around who want nothing but inches from him, but you do seem to have a different purpose in mind.”
Katie shook herself, and met the Professor's eyes.
“I'm looking out for my Family. I trust Harry, but the rest of my folks are still too scared to come out in the open like all the others. I'm supposed to get some kind of personal guarantee.”
“You do understand that any person with ties to Kilchurn could give you those, right?”
She shrugged.
“He's the Lord. It's a family thing. He's the one anointed by the Goddess. He's the one I need to talk to, if I can figure it out. I thought of sending him a gift, but he has everything already.”
Minerva smiled. He did, and he wouldn't be very impressed by a new broom, or even a strange girl in bed. He had begun to chase them away now, but there was one thing within her area of expertise that the young Sorcerer might appreciate.
“I understand, and while Mr Longbottom might get annoyed with me, I will assist you. You're from Orkney, and I believe your family has ties to Highland Park?”
Katie was confused, and let it show.
“Yes, my grandfather is the Master Blender there. Why?”
Minnie McGee lowered her voice and posture, mumbling in the girl's ear.
“Mr Potter may be more or less impervious to alcohol, but he has become quite the connoisseur of single malts, and his collection is extensive. I had the opportunity to peruse his collections, as well as hear about his favourites, a while back, and though Highland Park was missing I do believe that the heather peat would be well received. Not to mention how much he has embraced his Norse connections.”
Katie's smile lit up the immediate area, until she clamped down on the Charm. It was so obvious.
“I can't believe I didn't think of that. All Orcadians know that we're really Norse, posing as Brits. I'll call home for the latest, and give it to him.”
“The latest?”
Katie's face shone as she dove into the Family business.
“Yes. It's a 40-year-old Single Malt. Jason --- Jason Craig, the manager --- just cleared it, and Grandfather loves it. He says it's a balance of toffee, dark chocolate, orange zest and heather peat smokiness; the whisky will be packaged in an oak stained wooden box complete with a 28-page leather booklet. Would he like that?”
“You get some of that, and I'll set up a meeting for you. Did you intend to work in their marketing department by any chance? You sold it nicely.”
The younger woman blushed as she realised that she had gone on a small rant, but then again, she was proud to be who she was.
“I'm Orcadian. We all pick it up by osmosis.”
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Luna stepped out of the stone group in Lambohov. The very first thing she did was send a mental message to her own Frej, Harry. She asked her Brother/lover to tend to her pets, now that she knew just how badly they would react to her prolonged absence. She knew that she didn’t put much of a strain on Harry by asking this. He just had to fuck them a little, and most guys didn’t mind that. She wanted him to last once it was her turn, after all. She had been a bit worried when she learned about how potent that crackling effect really was, and how severe the addiction could become, and she was very happy that she hadn’t hurt anyone who mattered to her. Her treatment of her pets was nothing but revenge, after all.
She had learned a lot about herself on her odd little voyage. She had entered through Sjögestad at first, but apparently that place was not very well suited for women and Daniel, the Guardian of the Gateways in the Östergötland province, had driven her to the larger group of stones at Lambohov instead. This added the complication of civilisation. These days, the stone circle was in a field surrounded by houses, and there was a popular football field right next to the stones. The guardian of the divine bus-stops solved this with a small tarp tent, some machinery and the orange and white strips used to indicate a working area stretched between the largish stones. Her body spent the time inside the tent, and her mind was in Vanaheim.
At first it had been really nice. There had been an invisible man there who had shagged her repeatedly. She decided to make a game of it, to see how fast she could get him off. A combination of a handjob with his crown inside her arse had managed it in just under two minutes, and some dirty talking with his cock between her boobs had made a similar time. She had tried some slow, teasing varieties as well, and once managed to keep him on the edge for three hours before allowing him to come. She was very proud of that. After a while, though, even her healing magic couldn't keep the soreness at bay, and as the man was quite good, she was getting more than a little sated and not quite as eager for his semen as she had been at the start. When she had almost had enough, she found herself, without any soreness in a comfortable room being introduced to Frej. He was pretty cool, wasn't thrown even for a second by her odd observations, and applauded her lovemaking skills.
She had then gone on to receive the sorcerer education. She had spent long hours talking to Fafner, and she even got the advanced Potions instruction from the old sweetheart Oden. The first time he had attempted to rape her, she had raped him right back. He hadn’t been quite so pushy after that, and Luna believed that the wise, perverted god of death and destruction genuinely cared for her. The Norse Pantheon was very straightforward, so Luna's bluntness was something new, but that fit right in the gang. Once, Loke had attempted to snare her into some fairly shady deal, and she had simply told him that he was being silly and, on the whole, not very nice. She had also pointed out that even Gods could do with deodorant. The roaring laughter that shook the hall had made Luna into a very popular resident, and no doors were locked to her. She was tutored in the Seidsong by Freja's handmaiden Gullveig, and in the art of advanced and exhausting copulation by the Goddess herself. Heimdall and Mimer's severed head taught her how to use her latent Sight and Balder tried valiantly to make her make sense. Frej's price for admitting her was very cheap, and she had an idea that Loke might have put him up to it. It was fun, though.
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“Ronald, I don't think it can get more ready than it is. The amount of power you've put into the repair charms won't even let the ledge we forgot to sand get sanded. Every time I try to polish the blasted thing, it repairs itself right back to rough.”
Miss Blue, who preferred her code name to her real one, looked at the fidgeting redhead in exasperation. The Ship was ready, and it had been loads of fun to make. Ronald was a very interesting individual, and his plans were a strange mix of genius and silliness. She and the other Unspeakables had been assigned to investigate the consequences of Cognivore-induced dissociative personality disorder in a highly magical mind. She usually sighed when she considered the impact their report would have on the daily lives of witches and wizards everywhere. Not that she cared, after all. She was getting premium, high-risk pay for a job that consisted of helping a seriously hunky redhead build a magnificent ship and outfit it properly. His condition made things even more fun, as he adapted his entire personality to match the current demand. When calculations were needed, he became absolutely logical, solving the problems and cracking the calculations with instinctive ease; As a ship-builder, his personality became that of a pirate, waiting to rove the seas; In Engineering mode he became scarily bright; And his Artist self was overly emotional, but incredibly talented and romantic. Miss Blue, or Eupathia Bottock, frequently found herself wondering what he would be like in Lover mode, and she promised herself --- again --- to find out. Right now, though, she had another problem. Everything was done and fully kitted up, but the delicious boy wouldn't even dream of taking off. He had been making lame excuses for half an hour already. He delivered another one.
“Well, that's something I really should look into. It wouldn't take me more than a few days, and I'm not too sure about the medical charms in the sickbay. I don't understand why the headache remedy conjures acid.”
He nodded very seriously as he spoke, and Miss Blue resisted the urge to lift the hem of her robe to avoid the stream of bullshit. Instead she chose to take his words seriously.
“It's because some kinds of headaches are cured with a special kind of acid. Come on now, Captain Ronald. Let's set sails.”
“No, not yet. There's something I haven't thought of.”
“What?”
He mumbled something that was completely impossible to hear.
“I didn't catch that.”
He mumbled again, slightly louder.
“One more time, please?”
He looked at her and said, testily.
“I'm scared of heights, okay? And flying insects.”
She closed her eyes. Apparently, today's personality had other phobias than the usual spiders. Luckily, the ones with phobias usually had a great carnal imagination.
“I have a really skimpy sailor outfit, and I expect to be your First Mate on board...”
The young man straightened up and grinned.
“Well then, Matey, let's see where we can find a northbound wind.”
“Northbound?”
“Yup. That’s what the cuckoo says, and I think it means business.”
“Well then, let’s not leave the poor bird waiting.”
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Marietta Edgecombe was having the worst time of her life. She was shaking and sweating, and the only time she didn't feel bad or terminally horny was during orgasm, but even they were losing their spark as well. Cho was doing better, but not by much. Their Goddess had abandoned them, and she couldn't really put any blame on Lord Harry for not taking her place.
She was scurrying down the halls on her way to the Hospital wing to get some Dreamless Sleep potion when someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her through what she had thought was a solid wall. When she noticed that someone was grabbing for her skirt, she tore it off with a single jerk and pushed back towards her assailant.
Potter.
It had to be Potter. No one else could have a member that large. She pushed herself against it when she felt a finger doing something magical to her arse, which made her even hornier than before.
She also felt the huge member starting to shrink, but the carnal beast formerly known as Marietta would have none of it. She swiftly positioned the log of a penis at her rear entrance, and slammed her body backwards against the wall, driving the monstrous member inside of her like a battering ram.
On the outskirts of her consciousness was some awareness of severe pain, but she was just too horny to pay it any mind. That was when the orgasm began. As it tore through her body, she continued to push back until she had taken the whole foot-long member inside her guts, and the pleasure was intense and immense. She lost all track of time, riding on the wave of the continuous orgasm until the huge member was yanked out of her. Before she could even whine in disappointment, it was shoved down her throat, and her belly filled with lovely, thick semen.
The man left, before Marietta's abused digestive tract revolted and she vomited on the floor before she collapsed. She was sated. She was all right again. It had been wonderful and glorious and she felt so loved. Lying on the floor in the secret room, with a pool of cooling regurgitated semen beside her and bloodstains on her clothes, she fell asleep.
Harry, on the other hand, was fleeing. She must have been insane, pushing herself onto him like that before he had time to morph himself down. The pleasure she had felt was his frantic attempts to heal her as she willingly tore herself apart on his flesh. She had torn just about all the soft tissue inside her, and the bleeding had been massive even before he had managed to stitch her together again. When he had fixed her insides and managed to avoid any further injuries, he had tried to use his mental abilities to check to see if there was any more injured areas, and instead, his mind had been inflamed by her deranged desire. If this was what his passionfire could create, he would never, ever use it again. Once he had dealt with Cho, of course. He had promised his … colleague? Sister? Luna, anyway, that he would tend the most urgent needs of her pets. The plan had been to briefly shag her, flash her and be done with it. That plan did not survive the proverbial first encounter. Cho would be different. If he had to, he would truss her up like a Christmas turkey before basting her. He would not do anything like that again. His consorts could take it, but they were stronger than humans in that respect. He suddenly felt Jorunn in the Bond.
Master? Don’t worry about it. She’s fine, and no lasting harm was done, but you’re right about one thing. We were made for you. Get back to your own castle now and get some real shagging done. I’m waiting, and Gabrielle is too horny for us to keep up with her. She needs you, I need you and we really need to discuss Christmas.
Thanks Love. I have some things to settle here first, but then I’ll come over. Have I been neglecting you?
Just a little. I’m beginning to feel a little feral, and you know how I hate that.
I’m sorry. See you in just a little while.
Suddenly in a much better mood, he strode purposefully downstairs, towards his smithy and the Arching chamber.
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He chose to Arch to Otherton first. The little town square was quiet, as it was quite late, and a soft rain drizzled over the area. The street lights were lit, spreading a shimmering golden light over the wet cobblestones, and he noticed that the light sources behind the glass of the lamps were moving a little. He put it down as an interesting thing, rather than something that warranted investigation. He didn't know half of what was being done in the little town, but according to Neville, it was blooming and growing and the people was happy. He sat down on one of the polished granite benches in the square, revelling in his momentary solitude.
He was being watched of course. Sippa was standing in her window, looking out at the glowing blue figure in the street. The one Veela trait that she had cultivated was the empathic ability, ad she smiled as she sensed that he wasn't even aware of the glow, or that the rain and cold of the November night didn't touch his bare arms. As she watched him sit down, she poured two cups of tea and two Glencairns of A'bunadh. For some reason, even the people of Otherton who never drank alcohol had some finer whisky at home, just in case the Lord would show up. Putting the cups and glasses on a tray, she walked out to greet her Lord.
“My Lord? Some tea? It's a cold night.”
The young Lord made a small start, then smiled at her and made the rain avoid the bench with a gesture.
“Thank you. I hadn't really noticed .... Mrs Malfoy?”
She smiled briefly at his astonished face, and the trace of wariness, before correcting him.
“Sippa White, these days. I owe you more than you can ever understand, and I bear you no ill will at all.”
She held the tray suspended in the air with a little charm, and expanded it into a table. The young man sampled the whisky with care.
“Thank you. Hmm. Cask strength, Speyside .. Aberlour A'bunadh?”
“Very good, My Lord. This is an amazing place. Do you even know how loved you are in these parts?”
He sipped the tea and seemed to consider her question very carefully.
“No. Not really. It's not like I have some kind of Master plan. I just do things, one after another. It seems to be working. You make me curious, however. I remember quite clearly how you used to be, and this is a remarkable change.”
“Actually, not so much. You're married to a Veela, so you should know how we conform to be ideal wives?”
He grinned at her, and she found herself wondering just what his ideals would be, before he answered.
“Somewhat. I think the rules are different for me for some reason.”
She felt her body respond to his thoughts, even though he hadn't exactly been thinking about her. He had an incredibly dominating presence, and she found herself wishing he would just take her right there, even though she knew she was old enough to be his mother --- literally, as his mother had been two years behind her in school. She forced herself to focus again and continue a civilised conversation.
“Quite. Now, while your wife conforms with her whole being, my limited heritage forced me to conform outwardly, but Lucius' demands on me never changed the core of my being. I don't think you can understand the self-loathing it created, knowing that I was acting in a way so completely contradictory to my inner self. When Lucius lost his magic --- well, most of it --- his influence was almost eliminated. I was still caught, however, by the image that my offspring had of me. When your servants arranged his death, I was set free.”
“But ... don't you resent the death of your offspring?”
“I did at the time, of course. Now that Freedom has descended upon me, I shed no tears for that load that really should have stayed in my backside ... Oh, I'm sorry.”
She blushed profusely. It had not been her intention to use such crude language in front of her Lord, but he had somehow made her think with less decency than she usually employed, and he didn't seem to mind the rudeness, either.
“Don't be. I've said similar things about him myself. Not about you, though.”
“Thank you. I would have deserved it, though.”
“No one deserved Draco, and he deserved no one. He died without my direct influence, or even knowledge, but the responsible parties did act according to the standing instructions. I'm sorry, but your husband and son were counter-productive to progress and happiness, and were very unlikely to ever change. They would have had to be removed sooner or later.”
“Are those your goals? Most worthy, and had it come from someone else, I would have suspected some interesting herbology behind the notions. Don't be sorry about them; I'm not. I'm living and contributing in the most amazing town in the world. I'm running a business, managing myself, and I haven't even touched the Malfoy fortune other than to freeze the contributions to the Pureblood agenda. If I were to turn the mansion into a Muggle Hotel, could I do it under your protection?”
She smiled impishly, and Harry grinned widely.
“You know, I really like that idea. Talk to Neville about that. I'll let him know you're coming, and that I'm positive to it, but he has all the details.”
Now was the time. She steeled herself, but knew that he noticed her clasped hands and general tension.
“My Lord? I have two uncomfortable questions. My sister did deserve to die. She conformed completely, and could never have broken free even if she had wanted to. She was a mad dog, and I would have put her down myself if I had had the power, but she inherited the enhanced core, and I wouldn't have had a chance. I still need to know how she died.”
He was quiet for a second. When he answered, it was with a very low voice.
“Are you sure? It's not pretty, and I'm a bit ashamed of it.”
She didn't hesitate.
“She killed Cousin Sirius. She deserved whatever you did.”
She had been around enough politicians to notice his vague tone. She assumed that he was taking the blame for someone else, but it didn't matter. She didn't know why, but she needed to know how her sister had died.
“My passionfire is addictive. If I zap you a few times, nothing else will do and I really overdid my zapping on her. She died of internal bleeding, having torn her own insides apart on a really huge penis, and she still begged for more. I'm sorry.”
There it was. He had more or less told her that he didn't do it himself, but that he was still responsible, and he took the responsibility willingly even if he wasn't too thrilled about it. He was a good leader. It must have been Longbottom, and he did have reason, the poor boy. All things considered, it was exactly the kind of punishment her sister had deserved, and delivered by the most appropriate person as well.
“Don't be. It was somewhat ... fitting. She may have been in pain, but enjoying it. She destroyed herself, possibly knowing what she was doing and thus, she died as she lived. Now, the next uncomfortable question. I have heard that you are oath-bound to impregnate any female who asks. Is it true?”
He made a double take. Uncomfortably enough, the change of subject wasn't complete.
“Any appropriate female, yes. There may be preventing circumstances, though.”
She smiled, with care not to be seductive but supportive.
“How many are pregnant by you at this time?”
She almost laughed when the boy, so young and still quite innocent, frowned and started counting.
“Let's see. Six, I think. My wife, one of my consorts, and the Patil twins have just conceived again, having already transferred one set of fertilized eggs to two other mothers in India.”
She arched an eyebrow and decided to change the tone a bit. Adopting a slightly saucy tone, she responded.
“Poor girls. Being pregnant by you, without getting the fun part. That's a bum deal if I ever heard of one.”
He grinned in response to her wistful tone.
“I can't be everywhere.”
“Have you tried? Never mind. One day, I may ask for a child. Would I be appropriate?”
“Yes, you would. I ask you to wait a while, though.”
Amusingly enough, he didn't blush. She felt annoyed by that for a second. She had practically said that she wanted to have sex with him. That really shouldn't be treated like an everyday occurrence! Then she remembered that for this young man, such offers were.
“Certainly. I'm too busy right now. One day I might ask, that's all. Well, My Lord, It was nice to talk to you, but I believe you have other ladies waiting. I will take the hotel idea to Lord Neville, and do have a nice and strenuous night.”
She offered her hand, and to her amused surprise, he bowed and kissed it before he walked away, and the rain resumed its moisturising task. She smiled as she walked back to her house. Her loins had almost atrophied in the last years, but now, a most welcome burning sensation was reminding her of her gender. Perhaps she should see if her fingers remembered what to do. Life was better than it had been for a long time, and it looked like it was improving again.
Sometimes, she had been told, the sun could rise in the middle of the night, and the light of the Midnight Sun was supposed to be magical. She had believed that her personal sun had set a long time ago, but there it was, walking away through the cold November night, but warming her heart and giving back some wonder to the world. She giggled at her own overloaded imagination and washed up the tea set. Life was, indeed, quite survivable.
Author's notes.
Beta duties were carried out by pfeil, as usual, and this time I thought I needed a Gamma checking the story as well, and Cateagle stepped up and delivered. Having someone check the story for inconsistencies was great, and took a lot of the strain off.
The newspiece was also written by Cateagle. I wrote several articles myself with several cheesy titles before I handed it out on the group and Cateagle responded, looked at the concept and delivered everything I could ever have wished for. Now; stand up and give three cheers for Cateagle!
I just had a chance to try the Highland Park Whisky I mentioned, and it was a religious experience. A £899 religious experience. Okay, I moved it a bit in time, as it has just been released, but who cares? Jason Craig is really the manager, and he really is magical, but not in this sense. Arthur J.A. Bell is a connoisseur columnist on the subject, not a blender and not a Selkie, or even Orcadian but the connection was too good to pass up. Orcadians are Orkney people by the way, and not killer whale Animagi. The Sippa bit was the point of this chapter. I've made the same point before, but this time, it's a bit clearer, and will point you to the great adversary of this story.
Sorry about the lack of serious smut here. I've set things in motion for an upcoming smutfest, though. Don't expect much plot in the next chapter, and do forward your ideas as to how the Stonehenge play was done. No Glamours, no polyjuice. Who was who?
Read, enjoy and review. Next chapter will be along fairly soon.
Vanir
I've Had To Ask You Twice.
“Sure, Boss. I ain't not for nothing minding a bit of journeying if I can kick some righteous ass once I get there. They ain't focking hooman. 'T ain't right, marrying animals. Plowing them's a bit all right, but you don't bring a sheep to meet yer parents, right boss?”
Lord Voldemort was getting a headache. This was not the dumbest person he had interviewed today. The unwashed brute in a filthy vest and some kind of ridiculous denim trousers was a useless waste of space, unless you were planning on harvesting large amounts of methane, but he was a one. If you got a lot of ones together you had Numbers, and he really needed Numbers. His search for such Numbers in Europe had ended badly. Even the proudest of the pure bloods did their best to keep their names out of Kilchurn's sights, and he heard the phrase “Magical Heritage” more and more frequently rather than the “Wizarding Heritage” he had built his organization around. He had gone to the Colonies hoping to find good, reasonable Wizards who understood the meaning of inherited greatness, but if one more of these bastards showed him the text on a dollar coin, there would be green lights all over!
In the past few weeks he had come to realize that “You-Know-Who” was dead. It was quite ironic. His greatest weapon had always been his reputation, and in the minuscule, insular world that was the Wizarding one, he had been the next best thing to a superstar or a Royal. Now, however, the Kilchurn family owned the front pages, the centerfolds, and the Notices. He had been reduced in the public eye to little more than that annoying Fletcher, who still managed to make the news every now and then. The public had developed a craving for news about the small-time crook and all his various shady deals and failures. Thanks to that, there wasn't even a Villain role for the great Voldemort to play anymore, hence the need for Numbers --- stupid Numbers at that. Fortunately, there were so many stupid people in the American swamplands to recruit from, and he already had a hundred men and women under his command in the Colonies. The Oftalmo Insensita-charm had been dead useful though. He certainly didn't miss his nose.
After signing the unwashed man, the Dark Lord Voldemort, Scourge of Britain and an all out bastard, took a break. Potter was weaker now. His mentor had left; the boy was all alone. He picked up the copy of the Salem Inquisitor again, and re-read the article for the umpteenth time.
The Torch Is Passed!
John Evans (Wizarding Press International), November 19, 1996
Well-known and powerful Sorceror Caradoc Pritchard has departed from among us and no one knows if, or when, he shall return. Meanwhile, before his departure, he gifted all his powers, possessions, titles, and lands to Harry James Potter, who now steps into the role of Lord Kilchurn. Already known for surviving where others would not, Mr. Potter seems well able and trained to assume his new responsibilities and powers.
The first indication of something extraordinary about to occur came last night in the form of a notice from Kilchurn spokes-wizard Neville Longbottom to select members of the press, asking that they be broom-borne over Loch Awe at dawn the next morning and prepared to follow the party that would be departing Castle Kilchurn. Further information, we were told, would be available after the events we were to witness.
Early the next morning, those of the press who were privileged to receive invitations assembled in the cold morning light and flew over the far side of the loch from the castle. As the sun finally cleared the surrounding hills, the bell in Kilchurn’s highest tower sounded. As the deep peals rolled over the loch, three shapes took wing from the castle and flew south as we followed at a distance until the entire party arrived at Stonehenge and touched down. As we landed on our brooms, we could see Caradoc Pritchard dismounting from the dragon known as Hank while Harry Potter dismounted from a silver-hued dragon and Lady Elaine alighted from a firedrake which promptly resumed its human form as the Lady Ginevra.
The party moved to the center of Stonehenge, becoming skyclad as they did so, where the two sorcerers stood facing each other with one Lady standing second behind each. With simultaneous arm gestures, these sorcerers created a powerful shielding ward that prevented any closer approach by the press party as well as protected it. The two powerful men talked for a few minutes and then began a powerful ritual. A glowing nimbus surrounded the entire party, so bright that only shadowy outlines of the four individuals could be seen. The glow around the two sorcerers then intensified, blinding us. After first the glow, then the nimbus subsided, both men showed equally powerful auras which shrunk into them as they became fully aware after the ritual. Bowing to each other, the two powerful men led the party north-west to the burial mounds, effortlessly moving their ward with them. At the mounds, they embraced once again before Caradoc Pritchard appeared to sink into the ground atop one of the mounds. Mr. Potter dropped the ward and invited us to join them for the return to Castle Kilchurn via their transportation Arch, a far more comfortable means of travel than portkey or floo.
Once back at his home, Harry James Potter held a short press conference where he explained that Caradoc Pritchard’s role here was finished and that all of his powers, possessions, titles, and lands had been transferred to Mr. Potter, who gave an impromptu demonstration that he could indeed do the same magical acts that his mentor had. With this, we were dismissed to file our stories.
Yet, this story cannot be filed without asking, again, “Who is Caradoc Pritchard and why did he show up now?” One hint to this answer lies in the old legends that Merlin rests in the mounds, where Caradoc Pritchard disappeared, until such time as he is needed to protect England. We have to ask if he did indeed return to properly train Harry James Potter, as he once trained another young man, in order to properly protect England? In any case, we can be very thankful that a powerful and well-trained sorcerer still resides at Kilchurn Castle, ready to defend the Light and repel the Dark.
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Neville Longbottom was reading the same article for the umpteenth time. It hadn’t been easy to set up, and they had actually held a dress rehearsal of the whole thing. It was loads of fun for those involved, as no one outside of their little circuit knew how it was done. After all, Harry had supposedly been in three places at once, and Stina in two. When he had made an oath that not one of the present people had been under a glamour, the speculation inside the Kilchurn circle just got wilder, as Elaine and Caradoc couldn’t be Polyjuiced, being fake forms from the start.
Some days he loved his job, and on other days he just adored it. He had been very worried that their public image would be horribly damaged if they accepted the Dementors. He couldn’t have been more wrong, and as a side effect he found out how the news about Kilchurn was actually spread. Just about everybody in the magical world had some kind of connection to some House-elf, and as the public was incredibly curious, they asked the elves, and the elves made small and select leaks of interesting but meaningless details. Neville made a note to have some kind of coordinating meeting with the Chamberlain as soon as possible. So far, nothing sensitive had been leaked, but better safe than sorry.
His Aunt-in-law had been most tolerant to some minor violations to this point, and had been instrumental in some of the necessary legal manoeuvres he had undertaken, but he really didn’t want to try her patience. Especially as he and Susan weren’t married yet. His parents had been over the moon about it all, once they started to get up to speed on the modern history of the magical world.
His father hadn’t been very sorry to lose the Lordship, and was now gunning for a peacekeeping job in Otherton. Frank was taking it very seriously, and was currently studying everything he could on the history and culture of all the various races, and even the languages. He already spoke a passable Gobbledegook, decent Norse for the Wolf- and Bear-runners, and indecent Norse for the Huldr. He had already been fluent in French, German, and Spanish, as well as, for some reason, Swedish and Norwegian. In his dealings with the citizens of Otherton, he even used a different surname, and people was slowly gaining respect for Frank Croaker as a man who listened and understood, even if he didn’t agree.
Alice was working with her husband and Hermione on writing better books, where Alice added special sections for an Auror edition for Hermione’s Guide to the Sentients, listing the pros and cons of all the species from a law-enforcement point of view. It was, after all, possible to sexually assault a Huldr, and such a rape shouldn’t be judged more leniently just because the victim was a sexual being. Without consent, it’s non-consensual, after all. It took her 10,000 words to explain that properly but it had to be done. The chapter on Lake Wardens ended with a simple urging: “If at all possible, Recruit!” Neville had sniggered at that. Shapeshifting, invulnerable aurors. There’s a thought.
He shuffled his papers a bit and found the To-do-list for Christmas. It was going to be grand. Invites was being sent out to all magical families with children in all of Great Britain, and Otherton would be transformed to a great Christmas theme park. There were enough abilities on weather magic in the town to guarantee snow, and there would be Santa Claus galore everywhere. With real elves to boot. The waitresses would be gallivanting around giving out eggnog and hot spiced wine to everybody, there would be living theatre and all kinds of things that Neville had never heard of.
The Huldr were already making sure that there was enough willow planted in pots to make grow into gifts. After all, it would only take four Huldr, four potted willows and twenty minutes to make a whole dining table in one piece of carefully grown wood. Willow was a fast-growing tree naturally, but when the Huldr bent their wills to the task, it was incredible. He had a rocking chair made that way in his private chambers in the Castle himself. The only bad thing with it all was that it hadn’t been his idea.
Lavender had gone from ‘the girl with the boobs’ to a veritable dynamo of social and economic power. The people had made her the Mayor, and she made sure that they didn’t regret it. She was everywhere, and Neville realised that he wouldn’t be able to get as much done as he did without her. Her Boutique had become a place for the rich and famous, but where there was ordinary clothing for ordinary folks as well, and even the cheapest clothes looked really good. There was some Acromantula silk in all the clothing that left the Boutique, and it had proven to be very resistant to magic, unless it was added while the silk was still wet. Practically no first-year hexes or jinxes would work through it, and one of the cornerstones of the business was the summon-proof silk knickers.
There was also the line of underwear that could only be removed by the person who put them on, and turned to steel at the first hint of violence. He had heard of married men who worked around the Huldr who bought undies like that and had their wives dress them in the morning. He wondered briefly how they went about their visits to the bathroom, but concluded that he didn’t really need to know.
He leant back for a second. There was so much to do, so he decided to dilute it all. He quickly launched his Patronus with a humble request for lunch with his Fiancé. She always made him feel better in minutes, and her skills in organising came very handy at times. He could also use another go at talking her out of participation in that calendar thing. She had agreed to take a more covered approach than the Huldr, but really, that didn't say much. Perhaps he should change his own stance? Odd as it may seem at times, he knew the value of the changed mind in dealing with his future wife. She always got a bit suspicious and changed her own stance in response to his. It was odd, but it worked. All in all, he was having a good time, and he really liked everything did. Life was good. Busy, but good.
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Istvan paused, and wiped the sweat from his brow with the bedspread he used for handkerchief. The construction of Sunny Street, the Dementor settlement, was a fairly large project, as they apparently preferred a kind of low, square stone hut as personal dwellings, meaning that the entire construction was in his hands. Mayor Brown had just been there and complimented the crews on the work done, and that girl had a way of getting the best out of everybody, and the improvised fashion show, where she modelled the Boutique's new colourful Dementor line had been great fun.
Amusingly enough, the giants were often called upon as translators for the Dementors, as the poor things couldn't speak, and barely hold a pen, much less a quill. They could beat a drum though, and they had all quickly learned the drumspeech of the Giants. Not the stripped and simplified one, made popular by the man Morse, but the full, rich and poetic language. This way, the monstrous Dementors had revealed themselves as a sophisticated race with an incredible oral, or drummed, tradition and to the Dementors collective surprise, they were much sought after by the children of Otherton. The children had learned at least some of the Drumspeech in a matter of days, just to hear the stories the frightening beings could tell. Some were familiar, like the Cinderella story, but the way the Dementors told it, the girl was called Rhodopis, and the shoe was pink, and when the little boys and girls heard about the girl with eyes green as the Nile, hair feathery as Papyrus and skin as pink as a Lotus flower, the Dementors could have their fill of happy thoughts, without the children even noticing the slight chill. That, and the constant supply of chocolate that the strange beings carried at all times made the former prison guards a real hit with the kids.
Istvan shook his head. Who would have thought? Not him anyway. He was of course fully aware of the fact that he was thick as a brick, but he didn't mind. He liked bricks. They were crunchy. He grasped his huge rasp, made from Vaulundersteel and black diamonds, and put the finishing touches on the closing stone for the mastaba. Giants, making houses for Dementors who were busy telling stories to Veela, Huldr and Goblin young. This was an amazing place. After work, he had an appointment with a little squirrel tailed girl called Vigdis, who had promised him that she would find a way to take him inside.
Yup. Amazing.
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Sippa was smiling. She wasn't very good at it, but practice made perfect and as her Veela heritage had been recognized, she had been accepted as a permanent citizen of Otherton and even gotten herself a job. She was getting a lot of practice. After years of watching waiters and waitresses, man servants and all kinds of domestic workers rather than her husband, she had picked up more than she originally thought. Thanks to that, she had started to make money on teaching young House-elves and goblins the social codes of the so-called upper class. Even the saucy little Huldr wenches from the Inn paid her to teach them how to fold napkins and how to figure out the proper titles of people without asking.
When the late autumn party season came rolling in, she was asked for advice on party organization often enough to start her own business. One morning, there was a sign above her door saying “The Wizard's Staff”, and in smaller letters below, “Maid to Please.” Somewhat crude, she thought, but appropriate as the maids she found herself coordinating were Huldr and Veela after all, and pleasing was in their blood. She no longer dyed her hair blond, so the natural silvery colour dominated, and as she let her hair grow out she found that none of her old “friends” recognized her anymore. In fact, one of them had even asked her if she knew where Narcissa Malfoy was these days. It took some serious self control to keep from giggling as she answered that no such person could be found in Britain these days. After all, her name in the Otherton Floo book was Sippa White. Narcissa Malfoy was a distant, unhappy memory, like the fortunately fading memories of her husband. She would never forget Draco's conception, though. She had been dressed up like a boy and taken anally from behind until Lucius was almost done. Then, he had pushed himself inside her vagina and barely managed to unload before going limp. She would never marry a poufter again, that was for sure. The ill begotten son was dead now, and her so-called husband had simply vanished.
She had half a mind to vow never to marry or have children again, but she had had enough of limits and boundaries. Besides, at the moment she didn't miss anything. The fact that men still turned to look at her went a long way, and the little girl-cubs, Ylva and Hilde, visited every day. She had become a friend to their family, and little by little, the life she wanted was forming around her. She had opted not to have any significant other, but for a well formed and kept woman, getting someone to scratch her occasional itches was not really a problem. Narcissa Malfoy, a miserable woman, was gone, and in her place, Sippa White was learning to be happy.
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Katie Bell was not quite that happy. Every time she had gotten close to Harry, something had happened to make him run off. In school he was never alone, and while she didn't mind the company, she had a reputation to care for. If she just launched herself at him, her reputation would go down the drains, not to mention the small, annoying detail that just about all the young witches in the castle were doing it, so she needed something different if she wanted to stand out from the crowd. She played with the thought of pulling away and playing the hard-to-get game, but then, she realized that he probably wouldn't even notice, what with him making at least three witches walk around funny, with silly grins, every single day. She was sitting at her usual place by the table in the great hall, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to meet the understanding eyes of her Head of House.
“He's not easy to get close to these days, Miss Bell.”
The girl sighed and looked down at the table.
“It's bloody impossible, oh sorry Professor. I need to speak with him in private, but he's never alone.”
The girl blushed, but while Minerva McGonagall might be upset about a bit of coarse language, Minnie McGee was quite understanding. At least one girl in her house wasn't just shoving her knickers in Mr Potters pocket, believing herself to be original. Besides, the Professor knew a thing or two, and decided to help.
“Yes he is, Miss Bell. May I inquire of your reasons? There are too many girls around who want nothing but inches from him, but you do seem to have a different purpose in mind.”
Katie shook herself, and met the Professor's eyes.
“I'm looking out for my Family. I trust Harry, but the rest of my folks are still too scared to come out in the open like all the others. I'm supposed to get some kind of personal guarantee.”
“You do understand that any person with ties to Kilchurn could give you those, right?”
She shrugged.
“He's the Lord. It's a family thing. He's the one anointed by the Goddess. He's the one I need to talk to, if I can figure it out. I thought of sending him a gift, but he has everything already.”
Minerva smiled. He did, and he wouldn't be very impressed by a new broom, or even a strange girl in bed. He had begun to chase them away now, but there was one thing within her area of expertise that the young Sorcerer might appreciate.
“I understand, and while Mr Longbottom might get annoyed with me, I will assist you. You're from Orkney, and I believe your family has ties to Highland Park?”
Katie was confused, and let it show.
“Yes, my grandfather is the Master Blender there. Why?”
Minnie McGee lowered her voice and posture, mumbling in the girl's ear.
“Mr Potter may be more or less impervious to alcohol, but he has become quite the connoisseur of single malts, and his collection is extensive. I had the opportunity to peruse his collections, as well as hear about his favourites, a while back, and though Highland Park was missing I do believe that the heather peat would be well received. Not to mention how much he has embraced his Norse connections.”
Katie's smile lit up the immediate area, until she clamped down on the Charm. It was so obvious.
“I can't believe I didn't think of that. All Orcadians know that we're really Norse, posing as Brits. I'll call home for the latest, and give it to him.”
“The latest?”
Katie's face shone as she dove into the Family business.
“Yes. It's a 40-year-old Single Malt. Jason --- Jason Craig, the manager --- just cleared it, and Grandfather loves it. He says it's a balance of toffee, dark chocolate, orange zest and heather peat smokiness; the whisky will be packaged in an oak stained wooden box complete with a 28-page leather booklet. Would he like that?”
“You get some of that, and I'll set up a meeting for you. Did you intend to work in their marketing department by any chance? You sold it nicely.”
The younger woman blushed as she realised that she had gone on a small rant, but then again, she was proud to be who she was.
“I'm Orcadian. We all pick it up by osmosis.”
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Luna stepped out of the stone group in Lambohov. The very first thing she did was send a mental message to her own Frej, Harry. She asked her Brother/lover to tend to her pets, now that she knew just how badly they would react to her prolonged absence. She knew that she didn’t put much of a strain on Harry by asking this. He just had to fuck them a little, and most guys didn’t mind that. She wanted him to last once it was her turn, after all. She had been a bit worried when she learned about how potent that crackling effect really was, and how severe the addiction could become, and she was very happy that she hadn’t hurt anyone who mattered to her. Her treatment of her pets was nothing but revenge, after all.
She had learned a lot about herself on her odd little voyage. She had entered through Sjögestad at first, but apparently that place was not very well suited for women and Daniel, the Guardian of the Gateways in the Östergötland province, had driven her to the larger group of stones at Lambohov instead. This added the complication of civilisation. These days, the stone circle was in a field surrounded by houses, and there was a popular football field right next to the stones. The guardian of the divine bus-stops solved this with a small tarp tent, some machinery and the orange and white strips used to indicate a working area stretched between the largish stones. Her body spent the time inside the tent, and her mind was in Vanaheim.
At first it had been really nice. There had been an invisible man there who had shagged her repeatedly. She decided to make a game of it, to see how fast she could get him off. A combination of a handjob with his crown inside her arse had managed it in just under two minutes, and some dirty talking with his cock between her boobs had made a similar time. She had tried some slow, teasing varieties as well, and once managed to keep him on the edge for three hours before allowing him to come. She was very proud of that. After a while, though, even her healing magic couldn't keep the soreness at bay, and as the man was quite good, she was getting more than a little sated and not quite as eager for his semen as she had been at the start. When she had almost had enough, she found herself, without any soreness in a comfortable room being introduced to Frej. He was pretty cool, wasn't thrown even for a second by her odd observations, and applauded her lovemaking skills.
She had then gone on to receive the sorcerer education. She had spent long hours talking to Fafner, and she even got the advanced Potions instruction from the old sweetheart Oden. The first time he had attempted to rape her, she had raped him right back. He hadn’t been quite so pushy after that, and Luna believed that the wise, perverted god of death and destruction genuinely cared for her. The Norse Pantheon was very straightforward, so Luna's bluntness was something new, but that fit right in the gang. Once, Loke had attempted to snare her into some fairly shady deal, and she had simply told him that he was being silly and, on the whole, not very nice. She had also pointed out that even Gods could do with deodorant. The roaring laughter that shook the hall had made Luna into a very popular resident, and no doors were locked to her. She was tutored in the Seidsong by Freja's handmaiden Gullveig, and in the art of advanced and exhausting copulation by the Goddess herself. Heimdall and Mimer's severed head taught her how to use her latent Sight and Balder tried valiantly to make her make sense. Frej's price for admitting her was very cheap, and she had an idea that Loke might have put him up to it. It was fun, though.
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“Ronald, I don't think it can get more ready than it is. The amount of power you've put into the repair charms won't even let the ledge we forgot to sand get sanded. Every time I try to polish the blasted thing, it repairs itself right back to rough.”
Miss Blue, who preferred her code name to her real one, looked at the fidgeting redhead in exasperation. The Ship was ready, and it had been loads of fun to make. Ronald was a very interesting individual, and his plans were a strange mix of genius and silliness. She and the other Unspeakables had been assigned to investigate the consequences of Cognivore-induced dissociative personality disorder in a highly magical mind. She usually sighed when she considered the impact their report would have on the daily lives of witches and wizards everywhere. Not that she cared, after all. She was getting premium, high-risk pay for a job that consisted of helping a seriously hunky redhead build a magnificent ship and outfit it properly. His condition made things even more fun, as he adapted his entire personality to match the current demand. When calculations were needed, he became absolutely logical, solving the problems and cracking the calculations with instinctive ease; As a ship-builder, his personality became that of a pirate, waiting to rove the seas; In Engineering mode he became scarily bright; And his Artist self was overly emotional, but incredibly talented and romantic. Miss Blue, or Eupathia Bottock, frequently found herself wondering what he would be like in Lover mode, and she promised herself --- again --- to find out. Right now, though, she had another problem. Everything was done and fully kitted up, but the delicious boy wouldn't even dream of taking off. He had been making lame excuses for half an hour already. He delivered another one.
“Well, that's something I really should look into. It wouldn't take me more than a few days, and I'm not too sure about the medical charms in the sickbay. I don't understand why the headache remedy conjures acid.”
He nodded very seriously as he spoke, and Miss Blue resisted the urge to lift the hem of her robe to avoid the stream of bullshit. Instead she chose to take his words seriously.
“It's because some kinds of headaches are cured with a special kind of acid. Come on now, Captain Ronald. Let's set sails.”
“No, not yet. There's something I haven't thought of.”
“What?”
He mumbled something that was completely impossible to hear.
“I didn't catch that.”
He mumbled again, slightly louder.
“One more time, please?”
He looked at her and said, testily.
“I'm scared of heights, okay? And flying insects.”
She closed her eyes. Apparently, today's personality had other phobias than the usual spiders. Luckily, the ones with phobias usually had a great carnal imagination.
“I have a really skimpy sailor outfit, and I expect to be your First Mate on board...”
The young man straightened up and grinned.
“Well then, Matey, let's see where we can find a northbound wind.”
“Northbound?”
“Yup. That’s what the cuckoo says, and I think it means business.”
“Well then, let’s not leave the poor bird waiting.”
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Marietta Edgecombe was having the worst time of her life. She was shaking and sweating, and the only time she didn't feel bad or terminally horny was during orgasm, but even they were losing their spark as well. Cho was doing better, but not by much. Their Goddess had abandoned them, and she couldn't really put any blame on Lord Harry for not taking her place.
She was scurrying down the halls on her way to the Hospital wing to get some Dreamless Sleep potion when someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her through what she had thought was a solid wall. When she noticed that someone was grabbing for her skirt, she tore it off with a single jerk and pushed back towards her assailant.
Potter.
It had to be Potter. No one else could have a member that large. She pushed herself against it when she felt a finger doing something magical to her arse, which made her even hornier than before.
She also felt the huge member starting to shrink, but the carnal beast formerly known as Marietta would have none of it. She swiftly positioned the log of a penis at her rear entrance, and slammed her body backwards against the wall, driving the monstrous member inside of her like a battering ram.
On the outskirts of her consciousness was some awareness of severe pain, but she was just too horny to pay it any mind. That was when the orgasm began. As it tore through her body, she continued to push back until she had taken the whole foot-long member inside her guts, and the pleasure was intense and immense. She lost all track of time, riding on the wave of the continuous orgasm until the huge member was yanked out of her. Before she could even whine in disappointment, it was shoved down her throat, and her belly filled with lovely, thick semen.
The man left, before Marietta's abused digestive tract revolted and she vomited on the floor before she collapsed. She was sated. She was all right again. It had been wonderful and glorious and she felt so loved. Lying on the floor in the secret room, with a pool of cooling regurgitated semen beside her and bloodstains on her clothes, she fell asleep.
Harry, on the other hand, was fleeing. She must have been insane, pushing herself onto him like that before he had time to morph himself down. The pleasure she had felt was his frantic attempts to heal her as she willingly tore herself apart on his flesh. She had torn just about all the soft tissue inside her, and the bleeding had been massive even before he had managed to stitch her together again. When he had fixed her insides and managed to avoid any further injuries, he had tried to use his mental abilities to check to see if there was any more injured areas, and instead, his mind had been inflamed by her deranged desire. If this was what his passionfire could create, he would never, ever use it again. Once he had dealt with Cho, of course. He had promised his … colleague? Sister? Luna, anyway, that he would tend the most urgent needs of her pets. The plan had been to briefly shag her, flash her and be done with it. That plan did not survive the proverbial first encounter. Cho would be different. If he had to, he would truss her up like a Christmas turkey before basting her. He would not do anything like that again. His consorts could take it, but they were stronger than humans in that respect. He suddenly felt Jorunn in the Bond.
Master? Don’t worry about it. She’s fine, and no lasting harm was done, but you’re right about one thing. We were made for you. Get back to your own castle now and get some real shagging done. I’m waiting, and Gabrielle is too horny for us to keep up with her. She needs you, I need you and we really need to discuss Christmas.
Thanks Love. I have some things to settle here first, but then I’ll come over. Have I been neglecting you?
Just a little. I’m beginning to feel a little feral, and you know how I hate that.
I’m sorry. See you in just a little while.
Suddenly in a much better mood, he strode purposefully downstairs, towards his smithy and the Arching chamber.
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He chose to Arch to Otherton first. The little town square was quiet, as it was quite late, and a soft rain drizzled over the area. The street lights were lit, spreading a shimmering golden light over the wet cobblestones, and he noticed that the light sources behind the glass of the lamps were moving a little. He put it down as an interesting thing, rather than something that warranted investigation. He didn't know half of what was being done in the little town, but according to Neville, it was blooming and growing and the people was happy. He sat down on one of the polished granite benches in the square, revelling in his momentary solitude.
He was being watched of course. Sippa was standing in her window, looking out at the glowing blue figure in the street. The one Veela trait that she had cultivated was the empathic ability, ad she smiled as she sensed that he wasn't even aware of the glow, or that the rain and cold of the November night didn't touch his bare arms. As she watched him sit down, she poured two cups of tea and two Glencairns of A'bunadh. For some reason, even the people of Otherton who never drank alcohol had some finer whisky at home, just in case the Lord would show up. Putting the cups and glasses on a tray, she walked out to greet her Lord.
“My Lord? Some tea? It's a cold night.”
The young Lord made a small start, then smiled at her and made the rain avoid the bench with a gesture.
“Thank you. I hadn't really noticed .... Mrs Malfoy?”
She smiled briefly at his astonished face, and the trace of wariness, before correcting him.
“Sippa White, these days. I owe you more than you can ever understand, and I bear you no ill will at all.”
She held the tray suspended in the air with a little charm, and expanded it into a table. The young man sampled the whisky with care.
“Thank you. Hmm. Cask strength, Speyside .. Aberlour A'bunadh?”
“Very good, My Lord. This is an amazing place. Do you even know how loved you are in these parts?”
He sipped the tea and seemed to consider her question very carefully.
“No. Not really. It's not like I have some kind of Master plan. I just do things, one after another. It seems to be working. You make me curious, however. I remember quite clearly how you used to be, and this is a remarkable change.”
“Actually, not so much. You're married to a Veela, so you should know how we conform to be ideal wives?”
He grinned at her, and she found herself wondering just what his ideals would be, before he answered.
“Somewhat. I think the rules are different for me for some reason.”
She felt her body respond to his thoughts, even though he hadn't exactly been thinking about her. He had an incredibly dominating presence, and she found herself wishing he would just take her right there, even though she knew she was old enough to be his mother --- literally, as his mother had been two years behind her in school. She forced herself to focus again and continue a civilised conversation.
“Quite. Now, while your wife conforms with her whole being, my limited heritage forced me to conform outwardly, but Lucius' demands on me never changed the core of my being. I don't think you can understand the self-loathing it created, knowing that I was acting in a way so completely contradictory to my inner self. When Lucius lost his magic --- well, most of it --- his influence was almost eliminated. I was still caught, however, by the image that my offspring had of me. When your servants arranged his death, I was set free.”
“But ... don't you resent the death of your offspring?”
“I did at the time, of course. Now that Freedom has descended upon me, I shed no tears for that load that really should have stayed in my backside ... Oh, I'm sorry.”
She blushed profusely. It had not been her intention to use such crude language in front of her Lord, but he had somehow made her think with less decency than she usually employed, and he didn't seem to mind the rudeness, either.
“Don't be. I've said similar things about him myself. Not about you, though.”
“Thank you. I would have deserved it, though.”
“No one deserved Draco, and he deserved no one. He died without my direct influence, or even knowledge, but the responsible parties did act according to the standing instructions. I'm sorry, but your husband and son were counter-productive to progress and happiness, and were very unlikely to ever change. They would have had to be removed sooner or later.”
“Are those your goals? Most worthy, and had it come from someone else, I would have suspected some interesting herbology behind the notions. Don't be sorry about them; I'm not. I'm living and contributing in the most amazing town in the world. I'm running a business, managing myself, and I haven't even touched the Malfoy fortune other than to freeze the contributions to the Pureblood agenda. If I were to turn the mansion into a Muggle Hotel, could I do it under your protection?”
She smiled impishly, and Harry grinned widely.
“You know, I really like that idea. Talk to Neville about that. I'll let him know you're coming, and that I'm positive to it, but he has all the details.”
Now was the time. She steeled herself, but knew that he noticed her clasped hands and general tension.
“My Lord? I have two uncomfortable questions. My sister did deserve to die. She conformed completely, and could never have broken free even if she had wanted to. She was a mad dog, and I would have put her down myself if I had had the power, but she inherited the enhanced core, and I wouldn't have had a chance. I still need to know how she died.”
He was quiet for a second. When he answered, it was with a very low voice.
“Are you sure? It's not pretty, and I'm a bit ashamed of it.”
She didn't hesitate.
“She killed Cousin Sirius. She deserved whatever you did.”
She had been around enough politicians to notice his vague tone. She assumed that he was taking the blame for someone else, but it didn't matter. She didn't know why, but she needed to know how her sister had died.
“My passionfire is addictive. If I zap you a few times, nothing else will do and I really overdid my zapping on her. She died of internal bleeding, having torn her own insides apart on a really huge penis, and she still begged for more. I'm sorry.”
There it was. He had more or less told her that he didn't do it himself, but that he was still responsible, and he took the responsibility willingly even if he wasn't too thrilled about it. He was a good leader. It must have been Longbottom, and he did have reason, the poor boy. All things considered, it was exactly the kind of punishment her sister had deserved, and delivered by the most appropriate person as well.
“Don't be. It was somewhat ... fitting. She may have been in pain, but enjoying it. She destroyed herself, possibly knowing what she was doing and thus, she died as she lived. Now, the next uncomfortable question. I have heard that you are oath-bound to impregnate any female who asks. Is it true?”
He made a double take. Uncomfortably enough, the change of subject wasn't complete.
“Any appropriate female, yes. There may be preventing circumstances, though.”
She smiled, with care not to be seductive but supportive.
“How many are pregnant by you at this time?”
She almost laughed when the boy, so young and still quite innocent, frowned and started counting.
“Let's see. Six, I think. My wife, one of my consorts, and the Patil twins have just conceived again, having already transferred one set of fertilized eggs to two other mothers in India.”
She arched an eyebrow and decided to change the tone a bit. Adopting a slightly saucy tone, she responded.
“Poor girls. Being pregnant by you, without getting the fun part. That's a bum deal if I ever heard of one.”
He grinned in response to her wistful tone.
“I can't be everywhere.”
“Have you tried? Never mind. One day, I may ask for a child. Would I be appropriate?”
“Yes, you would. I ask you to wait a while, though.”
Amusingly enough, he didn't blush. She felt annoyed by that for a second. She had practically said that she wanted to have sex with him. That really shouldn't be treated like an everyday occurrence! Then she remembered that for this young man, such offers were.
“Certainly. I'm too busy right now. One day I might ask, that's all. Well, My Lord, It was nice to talk to you, but I believe you have other ladies waiting. I will take the hotel idea to Lord Neville, and do have a nice and strenuous night.”
She offered her hand, and to her amused surprise, he bowed and kissed it before he walked away, and the rain resumed its moisturising task. She smiled as she walked back to her house. Her loins had almost atrophied in the last years, but now, a most welcome burning sensation was reminding her of her gender. Perhaps she should see if her fingers remembered what to do. Life was better than it had been for a long time, and it looked like it was improving again.
Sometimes, she had been told, the sun could rise in the middle of the night, and the light of the Midnight Sun was supposed to be magical. She had believed that her personal sun had set a long time ago, but there it was, walking away through the cold November night, but warming her heart and giving back some wonder to the world. She giggled at her own overloaded imagination and washed up the tea set. Life was, indeed, quite survivable.
Author's notes.
Beta duties were carried out by pfeil, as usual, and this time I thought I needed a Gamma checking the story as well, and Cateagle stepped up and delivered. Having someone check the story for inconsistencies was great, and took a lot of the strain off.
The newspiece was also written by Cateagle. I wrote several articles myself with several cheesy titles before I handed it out on the group and Cateagle responded, looked at the concept and delivered everything I could ever have wished for. Now; stand up and give three cheers for Cateagle!
I just had a chance to try the Highland Park Whisky I mentioned, and it was a religious experience. A £899 religious experience. Okay, I moved it a bit in time, as it has just been released, but who cares? Jason Craig is really the manager, and he really is magical, but not in this sense. Arthur J.A. Bell is a connoisseur columnist on the subject, not a blender and not a Selkie, or even Orcadian but the connection was too good to pass up. Orcadians are Orkney people by the way, and not killer whale Animagi. The Sippa bit was the point of this chapter. I've made the same point before, but this time, it's a bit clearer, and will point you to the great adversary of this story.
Sorry about the lack of serious smut here. I've set things in motion for an upcoming smutfest, though. Don't expect much plot in the next chapter, and do forward your ideas as to how the Stonehenge play was done. No Glamours, no polyjuice. Who was who?
Read, enjoy and review. Next chapter will be along fairly soon.
Vanir
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