Categories > Books > Harry Potter > If Wishes Were Hippogriffs
Practice, Practice, Practice!
Minnie gets some TLC, Draco has a /very/ bad day and Myrtle has a surprise.
?Blocked
Chapter 13 – Practice, Practice, Practice!
Neville Longbottom gazed with unrestrained loathing at the photo of Bellatrix Lestrange sneering from the front page of the Daily Prophet. He looked around the great hall for Harry, with no luck. Spotting Hermione he asked, “Have you seen Harry?”
“He had to see Madame Pomfrey about, y’know . . .” she touched her forehead.
“Oh, well, if you see him before I do . . .”
“I’ll let him know you’re asking after him.”
“Thanks.”
Ron Weasley mumbled something through a mouthful of bacon and eggs.
“Swallow, Ronald, then speak.” Hermione admonished.
Ron gulped and said, “I haven’t seen Harry, outside of classes, in ages. Where’s he gettin’ off to?”
Hermione leaned forward conspiratorially motioning for Neville to lean in as well, “Harry’s looking for a place to train. Umbridge was rubbish and I don’t think he trusts Professor Snape to teach us properly.”
“So where’s he go every night?” Ron whispered.
Hermione shrugged, “I can’t say, really.” Which was true, all the members of the coven had pledged to keep Helena’s living quarters to themselves.
)O(
Harry was, in fact, at that moment nuzzling Minnie awake.
“How are you feeling?” he asked when she finally opened her eyes.
Minerva reached down to grasp and stroke Harry’s “morning wood”, saying, “I think I’m “feeling” rather well.”
He gulped as she squeezed him just right, “Rather well, indeed!”
“Let’s find someplace warm and welcoming for this shall we?” she teased as she squeezed.
“Can’t have him getting a chill.” He agreed.
Minerva rolled onto her back, dragging Harry on top of her.
“I’m too heavy, Luv.”
Minerva sighed, “No, milord, you’re exactly right.”
A third hand guided his pulsing cock into her eager wet sex.
“Hmmmmmm, thank you, Pansy.” She said as Harry began a series of long, slow, sensual strokes.
“Save some for me, Harry?” Pansy asked, shyly.
“Oh, aye!” he groaned.
Minerva luxuriated in the feel of Harry’s rod as it slid all the way in to the root then pulled nearly completely out, like long stokes of a train’s steam piston. She urged him to go faster, then faster and faster still.
After a short time the familiar slap, slap, slapping roused the rest of the girls still in bed.
“Merlin, Mor - Gaaahhhna and Maeve!” Minerva shrieked as she matched Harry’s strokes; pounding right back at him as he pistoned in and out of her tight quim.
“Oh, aye!” she groaned as she felt his warm cum splashing her receptive womb.
“Aye, indeed,” he agreed.
Minerva pushed her pelvis against his, relishing the warmth, the wetness associated with their intimate joining.
Harry never really went soft, just semi-so.
Pansy stroked his cheek and whispered, “Milord?”
Minerva smiled up at him and said, “Go on, a chuilein, our Pansy hasn’t had a turn yet.”
He reluctantly pulled out of his head of house and began to repay Pansy for the patience and tenderness she’d shown him the day before.
They kissed, tenderly. Harry trailed kisses from her ear to her jaw-line then down her long neck. He nuzzled the space between her pert breasts then kissed, licked and sucked each nipple – Pansy delighted in the attention her lord paid her body - and something about having him kiss and suck her sensitive nipples made her a little crazy with desire.
“Now, Harry – I need you inside me now, please!”
Harry rolled onto his back so that his sex-slicked erection stood perpendicularly away from his body.
“You set the pace, Luv, gentle or rough, slow or fast; it’s all up to you.”
Pansy scrambled to straddle Harry’s midsection before she reached down to line up his turtle-head with her very wet cunt-slit. She slid the bulbous head of his delightfully curved gland back and forth across her drenched nether-lips before carefully taking him inside herself.
The “Ice-queen of Slytherin” hissed as her hymen tore, but ignored her pain, determined to take all of him. She continued pressing until Harry could feel himself bumping against her cervix.
“Easy, Pansy, easy, Luv. It’s not a contest; we have the rest of our lives to enjoy this.”
She gave him a look of triumph as their pubic bones pressed against each other.
“I did it!” she enthused.
“That’s my Pansy!”
“Yours and no one else’s, milord.”
“I’m just Harry.”
“That you are - and thank you, no matter what ever else happens today, this has been my best day ever!”
“Do you know what, Miss Parkinson?”
“What, Mister Potter?”
“I love you, and I’m going to love you forever.”
The dark haired Slytherin, the leader of his Vipera lay against his chest, impaled by his unflagging cock and let her tears fall.
“Hey, it’s okay, Pansy, don’t cry.”
She slapped him lightly on the arm and said, “Prat! These are good tears. Cause’, you know what? I’m going to love you forever and always.”
A chorus of “Awwwwwww’s” came from all four corners of the bed.
Pansy buried her head in Harry’s shoulder, which moved his member inside her in a way that delighted them both. Pansy began to slowly slide up and back, up and back, up and back, adding a little wiggle on the back part and repeating, up, back, up, back, up, back, up-back-up-back-up-back – wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. After too short a time she felt that familiar warmth and tingle radiating outward from her sex; rebounding through the rest of her body. Up, back, up, back, slap, slap, slap. Harry had begun to pound into Pansy from below and each time their pubes struck together she felt something like an electric shock as her hypersensitive clit pressed against the base of his thick cock. He increased the tempo and the length of his strokes until Pansy began to scream her release to the four corners of the castle. The liquid warmth she felt as Harry splashed her insides was absolutely delicious.
They cuddled for the next several minutes while Minnie and the rest of the witches present skillfully cleaned the lovers, their sheets, even their hair as they lay entwined.
Harry had to agree, it was going to be a good day.
)O(
Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, was in Hell.
He was naked, save for a few rags that his father wouldn’t use to protect a house-elf’s modesty. Barefoot, on his knees he scrubbed the putrid vomit that the Dark Lord had spewed when he’d fallen screaming in pain the night before.
Where had it all gone so wrong?
)O(
Two days earlier his godfather, Snape, has assured him that he’d be welcomed back into his father’s house, they had even joked about transferring to Durmstrang together with Crabbe and Knott. But when he and Nott and Goyle entered Malfoy Manor, the moment they stepped into the living room from the great fireplace they had been felled by multiple cruciatus curses.
His father, as well as Crabbe’s, Goyle’s and Nott’s were torturing them. Snape stood there stone-faced.
“Expelled? And you have the temerity to return to this house, you little bastard?”
Lucius, none too carefully, used a cutting curse to remove Draco’s clothing and shoes, until the boy lay curled on the floor in the fetal position, naked and bleeding.
“Father, please! I’m your son!”
“Bastard I called you and bastard you are. You are no son of mine! If you wish to live you will quickly learn your place in our society, Draco No-name.”
Whimpering, Draco looked up, past his father’s loathing, searching for any hint of sympathy. He saw his mother, once so proud and beautiful, cowering in a far corner; she was beaten, her once beautiful gown in tatters. She looked frightened, disheveled, used and abused - old.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse he heard a sibilant voice, praising his father.
“Well done, Lucius. Well done indeed.”
Draco’s eyes grew wide with panic.
“Our world has become weak. We need to become the crucible from which the glorious new order will arise. Who here has the courage to do what must be done?”
Vincent Crabbe, senior, stepped forward saying, “I do, milord!” And, without a second thought, killed his son.
The green glow of the killing curse faded and Theodore Nott, the first, felt all eyes on him. He hesitated for just a moment before saying, “I – I do, milord!” and leveled his wand at his own son.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Theo Nott looked confused as his father slumped bonelessly to the ground.
“Theodore Nott, the elder, hesitated,” the dark lord explained, “see that you” and he pointed to the boy cowering on the cold stone floor, “do not, Nott.”
Voldemort made a hissing noise that could have been laughter at his own cleverness.
“Take up your father’s mantle, Theodore, and join us.”
Theo scrambled to his feet, practically wetting himself in relief and gratitude.
“What is your wish, Lucius? Shall we spare this disappointing, quivering, lump that was your son?”
Lucius didn’t hesitate; he leveled his wand and began the killing curse.
“Avada . . .”
“No!”
All eyes snapped to Narcissa, who, once again, stood tall and fierce. Bruised and bloodied, her once fine robes in tatters as every death-eater in the room, save her husband, had brutally raped her - repeatedly.
“He is of pure blood, milord. He is clever. It would be a terrible waste to kill him. Set him to some task, something worthy so that his father might claim him again.”
“Very well, Narcissa. Draco No-name, I give you this commission – kill Albus Dumbledore.”
Narcissa’s voice hitched, “How will he do this, milord?”
“Not my concern. Draco may live, but only if Dumbledore dies within one year. If the Hogwarts Headmaster still breathes by the end of that time, well, there is no place on Earth you can hide from me. Just ask Karkaroff!”
There were some evil chuckles.
“Theodore Nott, are you prepared to take my mark?”
Theo fell to his knees and shouted, “Yes, milord!”
“You must first be blooded.” Voldemort looked about the room and smiled, “Kill Draco’s mother, she’s become tiresome of late. Make it interesting – use your bare hands.”
Theo, big, strapping lad that he was, dropped his wand on the marble tiles and advanced on Narcissa. She refused to cower; if she had to die it wouldn’t be trembling in the corner. Nott leered, Draco’s mum had long been a fantasy of his, and he was going to enjoy this.
Snape wondered how much more of this he could be expected to endure. He palmed his wand surreptitiously – if nothing else he might save Narcissa from her torment by killing her swiftly. But he knew even that brutal mercy would come at a terrible price. As Nott advanced on the defiant witch Severus prepared the spell. With a little luck and a large distraction, it would look like a heart attack.
“No!” Draco screamed and scrambled across the slick stone floor snatching the wand from where Nott had dropped it moments before. He rose to his knees, jabbed the wand into his ex-mate’s abdomen while screaming “reducto!”
Theo shrieked as his intestines liquefied.
Several wands sighted in on Draco, who knew he was dead, but didn’t care – they would not touch his mother while he lived. Draco, still shaking from multiple cruciatus curses stood between Narcissa and the rest of the room, shakily pointing Nott’s wand at Voldemort.
The tense standoff was broken by the wheezing laugh. Voldemort was clearly pleased. He began to applaud. “Well done, well done indeed, Draco No-name!”
The dark lord stood and beckoned Draco to draw near. Draco didn’t really have a choice, he staggered forward.
“Extend your left arm, Draco.”
The boy extended his arm, wrist up.
Voldemort looked over Draco’s shoulder, “Is he dead yet?”
Theo Nott still writhed in agony on the floor, bloody ichors of black bile, feces and urine oozing from his ruined gut as he twisted about trying, in vain, to keep his insides from spilling further.
“No matter,” Voldemort said with a shrug, “he will be – soon.”
He turned his full attention to Draco, standing naked and bloodied before him.
“Once chosen, chosen for life. You shall bear my mark and all will fear your coming – you will serve me, and me alone, you will serve death to my enemies, for only in killing do we affirm that we have the right to live. Mosmorde!”
The dark mark burned into Draco’s inner elbow and he fell, hissing in pain.
“When next you feel this, it will mean that I am summoning you, now, make yourself useful - clean this place up.”
Draco rose, barely able to speak. He nodded and turned to obey when the crucio struck.
“Show due respect, Draco No-name,” Lucius admonished, “Always address our lord properly and beg his leave when he dismisses you!”
Draco refused to acknowledge Lucius. He turned to Voldemort and stuttered through the pain, “I humbly beg your p-pardon, milord. May I p-please go and do your b-bidding?”
The dark lord was impressed, “You may, Draco No-name.”
“P-please, milord, as your servant Malfoy has c-cast me from his house may I be c-called Draco Black, from my m-mother’s house?”
“Very well.” Voldemort turned an amused eye to Malfoy, “Perhaps you were too quick to disown Draco, Lucius, I see fire in him. I would not turn my back on your wife’s bastard son if I were you.”
The man paled and bowed deeply, “as you say, milord.”
)O(
Myrtle Malone was frightened. What would her lord think; would he be furious with her? Would he send her away? It would almost be better to return to her unfeeling, ghostly state – but of course that was not possible now . . . unless. No.
“Tell him.”
Myrtle spun to see Astarte, cross legged in a wall sconce.
“I’ll bet you anything you like he’ll be thrilled.”
“Oh, Goddess. That is too much to hope for.”
The diminutive deity smirked, “I’ve got a quarter stone weight of true silver that says he’s over the moon about it. In the unlikely event I’m wrong and he’s not you will have a fortune. What have you got?”
Myrtle rubbed the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand, “Um, I have a half-pound of Honeyduke’s Finest Dark chocolate. . .”
“Done!”
Astarte fluttered to Myrtle’s shoulder, “Let’s tell him now!”
“You just want my chocolate.”
The tiny goddess shrugged, “Maybe.”
)O(
It was the end of a very long day and Harry reclined on the couch while Hermione leaned against him. His arms around her holding a book they were both reading – “Majiks Moste Darke!”
Hermione shook her head, disbelieving.
“As much as I love books, this is one that should never have seen the light of day.”
Harry nodded, “The Issue of Mine Enemy is beyond evil, I mean, using the skin of a firstborn child for a quick makeover?”
He blanched – “Minnie?”
Hermione practically shouted, “No!” Then lowered her voice, “No –the Rejuvenation Ritual derives its power from the magical core of the witch or wizard who endures it, which is why so many of them become squibs.
“This spell,” she said, pointing at the open book, “gets its power from the death of a child and the grief of the child’s parents – its completely evil.”
Harry hung his head in shame, “I owe Minnie an apology, a big one.”
“You never accused her, Harry.”
“Yes, but I questioned her methods even if it was just in my mind.”
“Yes, but as soon as I explained it?”
He nodded, “I see your point. Still, maybe a good spanking is in order. . .”
“If I know Minerva she’ll be volunteering to be over your knee, milord!”
They were laughing over this as Myrtle, looking very determined, walked into the living area with the goddess on her shoulder.
“Hello, Luv. Hello, my goddess and ancestress.”
Astarte rolled her eyes, “Don’t you start that, it’s hard enough to get Flopsie to call me by my name.”
Harry looked up, “Flopsie?”
“The sorting hat.”
Harry smirked, “Oh I’ll remember that the next time I’m in the Headmaster’s office.” He chuckled, “Flopsie!”
Myrtle knelt before Harry and Hermione on the loveseat, her hands clasped before her, head bowed.
“My Lord Harry, I have something that I must tell you.”
“Why so formal, Myrtle?”
Hermione gently elbowed him in the ribs and looked at Myrtle, then back to Harry, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, right.” He said sitting up straight and saying, “My Lady Myrtle, you are of the inner circle, you need never fear to tell me what is on your heart and mind. Nothing you can say will ever diminish our bond of love and fealty.” Not for the first time, Harry wondered where he was getting all this formal speech.
Myrtle lifted her head and, as tears streamed down both cheeks, slowly lifted the locket from her neck.
She placed it on the floor at Harry’s feet.
And did not fade.
She remained solid, warm, flesh and blood.
Harry began to smile, “This is wonderful . . . why are you crying?”
“Because, milord, the only way I can have substance is if I’m not alone in this body.”
“But how can you be. . .”
Harry connected the dots.
“Myrtle, are we pregnant?”
Myrtle gave a little half smile and nodded.
Harry fell to his knees and gathered Myrtle into a fierce Hermionesque hug.
“I’m going to be a father!”
He shouted.
He laughed.
He cried for joy.
He beamed.
No, really, light poured off him in waves of gold and green and violet.
Then stopped.
“Myrtle, oh my Gawdess, I never thought to ask, is this, um, okay with you? I mean. . .”
Myrtle who had laughed and cried along with Harry beamed right back at him.
“If it brings you joy, my lord, I will give you a child every year for a hundred years!”
“But Myrtle, what about you? Don’t you have any say in this?”
“Oh, Harry, with all the “practicing” that goes on around here it’s a wonder we’re not all in the pudding club!”
“Practicing?” Harry asked, his smile returning.
“Well,” Hermione explained, “some of us aren’t ready to have your babies yet, yet mind you, but that doesn’t stop us from practicing as much as we can, as often as we can . . . making them!”
“Oh, aye!” Minerva said, beaming as well.
Hearing Minnie’s voice Harry turned and asked, “When did you come in?”
Minerva McGonagall stepped fully into the room, followed by the rest of the coven, “There was such happiness and contentment radiating from this room that I thought we could all use a bit of good news. Is it as we suspected, Myrtle?”
Myrtle smiled and nodded, beyond speech.
All the girls in the coven screeched and squeed.
“Hey, I had my part in this too, y’know!” Harry complained.
The girls lined up to give Harry his congratulatory kisses.
“Thank you, thank you, no; really, it was my pleasure. . .”
That statement earned him several groans and not a few pillows flung his way.
Minerva kissed Harry, “So now the locket can be used by another, wouldn’t you say, milord?” She gestured to the necklace.
Myrtle smiled even more broadly, “Of course - Lady Helena!”
As if on cue the Ravenclaw ghost floated into the living room.
“My Lord, if you would do the honors, please?” Minerva gestured to the apparition that was the Lady Helena.
Harry picked up the necklace then looked to Myrtle. “With my Lady’s permission.”
Myrtle nodded.
As Harry was about to place the necklace over Helena’s head, Myrtle said, “Harry, wait!”
He froze.
“We need to do this in the infirmary.”
Harry was confused, not for the first time that night.
Hermione caught on first, “Lady Helena was stabbed to death.”
“But, Hermione, Helena has worn the necklace before.”
“Only for a very short time, Harry. If she wears it for too long she’ll bleed to death and this time she might not return as a ghost.
“Let’s continue this conversation in the hospital wing, shall we?”
Minerva led the way, followed by Harry and Myrtle and Hermione and the Lady Helena.
Poppy had just put the last potion away for the evening, or so she thought, as members of the coven arrived in the hospital.
“Poppy, we need to prepare for a stabbing victim, multiple knife wounds to the chest and abdomen and severe loss of blood.”
“Sweet Brigid! When did this happen?”
“About nine-hundred and eighty years ago.”
The matron was gob-smacked for all of two seconds before she snapped out of it and set a table with the potions and crystals she’d need along with the caduceus wand, a white wand entwined by two snakes.
“Ready when you are, Minerva.”
“Milord Harry, if you will do the honors?”
Harry placed the necklace on Helena’s shoulders. She became corporeal and sighed as the deep wounds reminded her of the last time she’d seen the bloody baron alive.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Helena, I had no idea the pain this would cause you.”
“It’s all right, Lord Harry, because, as a ghost, I feel nothing. Any feeling, even pain, is preferable to that.”
She winced as Poppy applied her healing skills to her ruined torso. “Lady Ravenclaw,” she said, “I’ll need to put you in stasis while the healing magics do their work.”
“Of course, Madam Pomfrey.” Helena turned to Harry. “Milord, a favor?”
“Anything, Helena.”
“If this does not go well, if I should pass on, please promise me you will not grieve – I have been allowed to breathe again after nearly ten centuries and I welcome that and all that it entails. I don’t even begrudge the pain. Pain is good; it reminds us that we are alive.”
“Lady Helena, if you start to slip away, you can remove the necklace.”
“That will be difficult, as my body will be in stasis. Isn’t that right, madam healer?”
Poppy nodded, “Yes, Lady Helena.”
“Harry?”
“Yes, Helena?”
“One more favor?”
“Name it!”
“A kiss before I sleep?”
He leaned down and placed his lips ever so gently against hers.
“That was nice, milord.” She said, and winced, “But next time I expect to learn firsthand what the French taught you about kissing.”
“That’s a promise, my lady.”
Neville Longbottom gazed with unrestrained loathing at the photo of Bellatrix Lestrange sneering from the front page of the Daily Prophet. He looked around the great hall for Harry, with no luck. Spotting Hermione he asked, “Have you seen Harry?”
“He had to see Madame Pomfrey about, y’know . . .” she touched her forehead.
“Oh, well, if you see him before I do . . .”
“I’ll let him know you’re asking after him.”
“Thanks.”
Ron Weasley mumbled something through a mouthful of bacon and eggs.
“Swallow, Ronald, then speak.” Hermione admonished.
Ron gulped and said, “I haven’t seen Harry, outside of classes, in ages. Where’s he gettin’ off to?”
Hermione leaned forward conspiratorially motioning for Neville to lean in as well, “Harry’s looking for a place to train. Umbridge was rubbish and I don’t think he trusts Professor Snape to teach us properly.”
“So where’s he go every night?” Ron whispered.
Hermione shrugged, “I can’t say, really.” Which was true, all the members of the coven had pledged to keep Helena’s living quarters to themselves.
)O(
Harry was, in fact, at that moment nuzzling Minnie awake.
“How are you feeling?” he asked when she finally opened her eyes.
Minerva reached down to grasp and stroke Harry’s “morning wood”, saying, “I think I’m “feeling” rather well.”
He gulped as she squeezed him just right, “Rather well, indeed!”
“Let’s find someplace warm and welcoming for this shall we?” she teased as she squeezed.
“Can’t have him getting a chill.” He agreed.
Minerva rolled onto her back, dragging Harry on top of her.
“I’m too heavy, Luv.”
Minerva sighed, “No, milord, you’re exactly right.”
A third hand guided his pulsing cock into her eager wet sex.
“Hmmmmmm, thank you, Pansy.” She said as Harry began a series of long, slow, sensual strokes.
“Save some for me, Harry?” Pansy asked, shyly.
“Oh, aye!” he groaned.
Minerva luxuriated in the feel of Harry’s rod as it slid all the way in to the root then pulled nearly completely out, like long stokes of a train’s steam piston. She urged him to go faster, then faster and faster still.
After a short time the familiar slap, slap, slapping roused the rest of the girls still in bed.
“Merlin, Mor - Gaaahhhna and Maeve!” Minerva shrieked as she matched Harry’s strokes; pounding right back at him as he pistoned in and out of her tight quim.
“Oh, aye!” she groaned as she felt his warm cum splashing her receptive womb.
“Aye, indeed,” he agreed.
Minerva pushed her pelvis against his, relishing the warmth, the wetness associated with their intimate joining.
Harry never really went soft, just semi-so.
Pansy stroked his cheek and whispered, “Milord?”
Minerva smiled up at him and said, “Go on, a chuilein, our Pansy hasn’t had a turn yet.”
He reluctantly pulled out of his head of house and began to repay Pansy for the patience and tenderness she’d shown him the day before.
They kissed, tenderly. Harry trailed kisses from her ear to her jaw-line then down her long neck. He nuzzled the space between her pert breasts then kissed, licked and sucked each nipple – Pansy delighted in the attention her lord paid her body - and something about having him kiss and suck her sensitive nipples made her a little crazy with desire.
“Now, Harry – I need you inside me now, please!”
Harry rolled onto his back so that his sex-slicked erection stood perpendicularly away from his body.
“You set the pace, Luv, gentle or rough, slow or fast; it’s all up to you.”
Pansy scrambled to straddle Harry’s midsection before she reached down to line up his turtle-head with her very wet cunt-slit. She slid the bulbous head of his delightfully curved gland back and forth across her drenched nether-lips before carefully taking him inside herself.
The “Ice-queen of Slytherin” hissed as her hymen tore, but ignored her pain, determined to take all of him. She continued pressing until Harry could feel himself bumping against her cervix.
“Easy, Pansy, easy, Luv. It’s not a contest; we have the rest of our lives to enjoy this.”
She gave him a look of triumph as their pubic bones pressed against each other.
“I did it!” she enthused.
“That’s my Pansy!”
“Yours and no one else’s, milord.”
“I’m just Harry.”
“That you are - and thank you, no matter what ever else happens today, this has been my best day ever!”
“Do you know what, Miss Parkinson?”
“What, Mister Potter?”
“I love you, and I’m going to love you forever.”
The dark haired Slytherin, the leader of his Vipera lay against his chest, impaled by his unflagging cock and let her tears fall.
“Hey, it’s okay, Pansy, don’t cry.”
She slapped him lightly on the arm and said, “Prat! These are good tears. Cause’, you know what? I’m going to love you forever and always.”
A chorus of “Awwwwwww’s” came from all four corners of the bed.
Pansy buried her head in Harry’s shoulder, which moved his member inside her in a way that delighted them both. Pansy began to slowly slide up and back, up and back, up and back, adding a little wiggle on the back part and repeating, up, back, up, back, up, back, up-back-up-back-up-back – wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. After too short a time she felt that familiar warmth and tingle radiating outward from her sex; rebounding through the rest of her body. Up, back, up, back, slap, slap, slap. Harry had begun to pound into Pansy from below and each time their pubes struck together she felt something like an electric shock as her hypersensitive clit pressed against the base of his thick cock. He increased the tempo and the length of his strokes until Pansy began to scream her release to the four corners of the castle. The liquid warmth she felt as Harry splashed her insides was absolutely delicious.
They cuddled for the next several minutes while Minnie and the rest of the witches present skillfully cleaned the lovers, their sheets, even their hair as they lay entwined.
Harry had to agree, it was going to be a good day.
)O(
Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, was in Hell.
He was naked, save for a few rags that his father wouldn’t use to protect a house-elf’s modesty. Barefoot, on his knees he scrubbed the putrid vomit that the Dark Lord had spewed when he’d fallen screaming in pain the night before.
Where had it all gone so wrong?
)O(
Two days earlier his godfather, Snape, has assured him that he’d be welcomed back into his father’s house, they had even joked about transferring to Durmstrang together with Crabbe and Knott. But when he and Nott and Goyle entered Malfoy Manor, the moment they stepped into the living room from the great fireplace they had been felled by multiple cruciatus curses.
His father, as well as Crabbe’s, Goyle’s and Nott’s were torturing them. Snape stood there stone-faced.
“Expelled? And you have the temerity to return to this house, you little bastard?”
Lucius, none too carefully, used a cutting curse to remove Draco’s clothing and shoes, until the boy lay curled on the floor in the fetal position, naked and bleeding.
“Father, please! I’m your son!”
“Bastard I called you and bastard you are. You are no son of mine! If you wish to live you will quickly learn your place in our society, Draco No-name.”
Whimpering, Draco looked up, past his father’s loathing, searching for any hint of sympathy. He saw his mother, once so proud and beautiful, cowering in a far corner; she was beaten, her once beautiful gown in tatters. She looked frightened, disheveled, used and abused - old.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse he heard a sibilant voice, praising his father.
“Well done, Lucius. Well done indeed.”
Draco’s eyes grew wide with panic.
“Our world has become weak. We need to become the crucible from which the glorious new order will arise. Who here has the courage to do what must be done?”
Vincent Crabbe, senior, stepped forward saying, “I do, milord!” And, without a second thought, killed his son.
The green glow of the killing curse faded and Theodore Nott, the first, felt all eyes on him. He hesitated for just a moment before saying, “I – I do, milord!” and leveled his wand at his own son.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Theo Nott looked confused as his father slumped bonelessly to the ground.
“Theodore Nott, the elder, hesitated,” the dark lord explained, “see that you” and he pointed to the boy cowering on the cold stone floor, “do not, Nott.”
Voldemort made a hissing noise that could have been laughter at his own cleverness.
“Take up your father’s mantle, Theodore, and join us.”
Theo scrambled to his feet, practically wetting himself in relief and gratitude.
“What is your wish, Lucius? Shall we spare this disappointing, quivering, lump that was your son?”
Lucius didn’t hesitate; he leveled his wand and began the killing curse.
“Avada . . .”
“No!”
All eyes snapped to Narcissa, who, once again, stood tall and fierce. Bruised and bloodied, her once fine robes in tatters as every death-eater in the room, save her husband, had brutally raped her - repeatedly.
“He is of pure blood, milord. He is clever. It would be a terrible waste to kill him. Set him to some task, something worthy so that his father might claim him again.”
“Very well, Narcissa. Draco No-name, I give you this commission – kill Albus Dumbledore.”
Narcissa’s voice hitched, “How will he do this, milord?”
“Not my concern. Draco may live, but only if Dumbledore dies within one year. If the Hogwarts Headmaster still breathes by the end of that time, well, there is no place on Earth you can hide from me. Just ask Karkaroff!”
There were some evil chuckles.
“Theodore Nott, are you prepared to take my mark?”
Theo fell to his knees and shouted, “Yes, milord!”
“You must first be blooded.” Voldemort looked about the room and smiled, “Kill Draco’s mother, she’s become tiresome of late. Make it interesting – use your bare hands.”
Theo, big, strapping lad that he was, dropped his wand on the marble tiles and advanced on Narcissa. She refused to cower; if she had to die it wouldn’t be trembling in the corner. Nott leered, Draco’s mum had long been a fantasy of his, and he was going to enjoy this.
Snape wondered how much more of this he could be expected to endure. He palmed his wand surreptitiously – if nothing else he might save Narcissa from her torment by killing her swiftly. But he knew even that brutal mercy would come at a terrible price. As Nott advanced on the defiant witch Severus prepared the spell. With a little luck and a large distraction, it would look like a heart attack.
“No!” Draco screamed and scrambled across the slick stone floor snatching the wand from where Nott had dropped it moments before. He rose to his knees, jabbed the wand into his ex-mate’s abdomen while screaming “reducto!”
Theo shrieked as his intestines liquefied.
Several wands sighted in on Draco, who knew he was dead, but didn’t care – they would not touch his mother while he lived. Draco, still shaking from multiple cruciatus curses stood between Narcissa and the rest of the room, shakily pointing Nott’s wand at Voldemort.
The tense standoff was broken by the wheezing laugh. Voldemort was clearly pleased. He began to applaud. “Well done, well done indeed, Draco No-name!”
The dark lord stood and beckoned Draco to draw near. Draco didn’t really have a choice, he staggered forward.
“Extend your left arm, Draco.”
The boy extended his arm, wrist up.
Voldemort looked over Draco’s shoulder, “Is he dead yet?”
Theo Nott still writhed in agony on the floor, bloody ichors of black bile, feces and urine oozing from his ruined gut as he twisted about trying, in vain, to keep his insides from spilling further.
“No matter,” Voldemort said with a shrug, “he will be – soon.”
He turned his full attention to Draco, standing naked and bloodied before him.
“Once chosen, chosen for life. You shall bear my mark and all will fear your coming – you will serve me, and me alone, you will serve death to my enemies, for only in killing do we affirm that we have the right to live. Mosmorde!”
The dark mark burned into Draco’s inner elbow and he fell, hissing in pain.
“When next you feel this, it will mean that I am summoning you, now, make yourself useful - clean this place up.”
Draco rose, barely able to speak. He nodded and turned to obey when the crucio struck.
“Show due respect, Draco No-name,” Lucius admonished, “Always address our lord properly and beg his leave when he dismisses you!”
Draco refused to acknowledge Lucius. He turned to Voldemort and stuttered through the pain, “I humbly beg your p-pardon, milord. May I p-please go and do your b-bidding?”
The dark lord was impressed, “You may, Draco No-name.”
“P-please, milord, as your servant Malfoy has c-cast me from his house may I be c-called Draco Black, from my m-mother’s house?”
“Very well.” Voldemort turned an amused eye to Malfoy, “Perhaps you were too quick to disown Draco, Lucius, I see fire in him. I would not turn my back on your wife’s bastard son if I were you.”
The man paled and bowed deeply, “as you say, milord.”
)O(
Myrtle Malone was frightened. What would her lord think; would he be furious with her? Would he send her away? It would almost be better to return to her unfeeling, ghostly state – but of course that was not possible now . . . unless. No.
“Tell him.”
Myrtle spun to see Astarte, cross legged in a wall sconce.
“I’ll bet you anything you like he’ll be thrilled.”
“Oh, Goddess. That is too much to hope for.”
The diminutive deity smirked, “I’ve got a quarter stone weight of true silver that says he’s over the moon about it. In the unlikely event I’m wrong and he’s not you will have a fortune. What have you got?”
Myrtle rubbed the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand, “Um, I have a half-pound of Honeyduke’s Finest Dark chocolate. . .”
“Done!”
Astarte fluttered to Myrtle’s shoulder, “Let’s tell him now!”
“You just want my chocolate.”
The tiny goddess shrugged, “Maybe.”
)O(
It was the end of a very long day and Harry reclined on the couch while Hermione leaned against him. His arms around her holding a book they were both reading – “Majiks Moste Darke!”
Hermione shook her head, disbelieving.
“As much as I love books, this is one that should never have seen the light of day.”
Harry nodded, “The Issue of Mine Enemy is beyond evil, I mean, using the skin of a firstborn child for a quick makeover?”
He blanched – “Minnie?”
Hermione practically shouted, “No!” Then lowered her voice, “No –the Rejuvenation Ritual derives its power from the magical core of the witch or wizard who endures it, which is why so many of them become squibs.
“This spell,” she said, pointing at the open book, “gets its power from the death of a child and the grief of the child’s parents – its completely evil.”
Harry hung his head in shame, “I owe Minnie an apology, a big one.”
“You never accused her, Harry.”
“Yes, but I questioned her methods even if it was just in my mind.”
“Yes, but as soon as I explained it?”
He nodded, “I see your point. Still, maybe a good spanking is in order. . .”
“If I know Minerva she’ll be volunteering to be over your knee, milord!”
They were laughing over this as Myrtle, looking very determined, walked into the living area with the goddess on her shoulder.
“Hello, Luv. Hello, my goddess and ancestress.”
Astarte rolled her eyes, “Don’t you start that, it’s hard enough to get Flopsie to call me by my name.”
Harry looked up, “Flopsie?”
“The sorting hat.”
Harry smirked, “Oh I’ll remember that the next time I’m in the Headmaster’s office.” He chuckled, “Flopsie!”
Myrtle knelt before Harry and Hermione on the loveseat, her hands clasped before her, head bowed.
“My Lord Harry, I have something that I must tell you.”
“Why so formal, Myrtle?”
Hermione gently elbowed him in the ribs and looked at Myrtle, then back to Harry, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, right.” He said sitting up straight and saying, “My Lady Myrtle, you are of the inner circle, you need never fear to tell me what is on your heart and mind. Nothing you can say will ever diminish our bond of love and fealty.” Not for the first time, Harry wondered where he was getting all this formal speech.
Myrtle lifted her head and, as tears streamed down both cheeks, slowly lifted the locket from her neck.
She placed it on the floor at Harry’s feet.
And did not fade.
She remained solid, warm, flesh and blood.
Harry began to smile, “This is wonderful . . . why are you crying?”
“Because, milord, the only way I can have substance is if I’m not alone in this body.”
“But how can you be. . .”
Harry connected the dots.
“Myrtle, are we pregnant?”
Myrtle gave a little half smile and nodded.
Harry fell to his knees and gathered Myrtle into a fierce Hermionesque hug.
“I’m going to be a father!”
He shouted.
He laughed.
He cried for joy.
He beamed.
No, really, light poured off him in waves of gold and green and violet.
Then stopped.
“Myrtle, oh my Gawdess, I never thought to ask, is this, um, okay with you? I mean. . .”
Myrtle who had laughed and cried along with Harry beamed right back at him.
“If it brings you joy, my lord, I will give you a child every year for a hundred years!”
“But Myrtle, what about you? Don’t you have any say in this?”
“Oh, Harry, with all the “practicing” that goes on around here it’s a wonder we’re not all in the pudding club!”
“Practicing?” Harry asked, his smile returning.
“Well,” Hermione explained, “some of us aren’t ready to have your babies yet, yet mind you, but that doesn’t stop us from practicing as much as we can, as often as we can . . . making them!”
“Oh, aye!” Minerva said, beaming as well.
Hearing Minnie’s voice Harry turned and asked, “When did you come in?”
Minerva McGonagall stepped fully into the room, followed by the rest of the coven, “There was such happiness and contentment radiating from this room that I thought we could all use a bit of good news. Is it as we suspected, Myrtle?”
Myrtle smiled and nodded, beyond speech.
All the girls in the coven screeched and squeed.
“Hey, I had my part in this too, y’know!” Harry complained.
The girls lined up to give Harry his congratulatory kisses.
“Thank you, thank you, no; really, it was my pleasure. . .”
That statement earned him several groans and not a few pillows flung his way.
Minerva kissed Harry, “So now the locket can be used by another, wouldn’t you say, milord?” She gestured to the necklace.
Myrtle smiled even more broadly, “Of course - Lady Helena!”
As if on cue the Ravenclaw ghost floated into the living room.
“My Lord, if you would do the honors, please?” Minerva gestured to the apparition that was the Lady Helena.
Harry picked up the necklace then looked to Myrtle. “With my Lady’s permission.”
Myrtle nodded.
As Harry was about to place the necklace over Helena’s head, Myrtle said, “Harry, wait!”
He froze.
“We need to do this in the infirmary.”
Harry was confused, not for the first time that night.
Hermione caught on first, “Lady Helena was stabbed to death.”
“But, Hermione, Helena has worn the necklace before.”
“Only for a very short time, Harry. If she wears it for too long she’ll bleed to death and this time she might not return as a ghost.
“Let’s continue this conversation in the hospital wing, shall we?”
Minerva led the way, followed by Harry and Myrtle and Hermione and the Lady Helena.
Poppy had just put the last potion away for the evening, or so she thought, as members of the coven arrived in the hospital.
“Poppy, we need to prepare for a stabbing victim, multiple knife wounds to the chest and abdomen and severe loss of blood.”
“Sweet Brigid! When did this happen?”
“About nine-hundred and eighty years ago.”
The matron was gob-smacked for all of two seconds before she snapped out of it and set a table with the potions and crystals she’d need along with the caduceus wand, a white wand entwined by two snakes.
“Ready when you are, Minerva.”
“Milord Harry, if you will do the honors?”
Harry placed the necklace on Helena’s shoulders. She became corporeal and sighed as the deep wounds reminded her of the last time she’d seen the bloody baron alive.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Helena, I had no idea the pain this would cause you.”
“It’s all right, Lord Harry, because, as a ghost, I feel nothing. Any feeling, even pain, is preferable to that.”
She winced as Poppy applied her healing skills to her ruined torso. “Lady Ravenclaw,” she said, “I’ll need to put you in stasis while the healing magics do their work.”
“Of course, Madam Pomfrey.” Helena turned to Harry. “Milord, a favor?”
“Anything, Helena.”
“If this does not go well, if I should pass on, please promise me you will not grieve – I have been allowed to breathe again after nearly ten centuries and I welcome that and all that it entails. I don’t even begrudge the pain. Pain is good; it reminds us that we are alive.”
“Lady Helena, if you start to slip away, you can remove the necklace.”
“That will be difficult, as my body will be in stasis. Isn’t that right, madam healer?”
Poppy nodded, “Yes, Lady Helena.”
“Harry?”
“Yes, Helena?”
“One more favor?”
“Name it!”
“A kiss before I sleep?”
He leaned down and placed his lips ever so gently against hers.
“That was nice, milord.” She said, and winced, “But next time I expect to learn firsthand what the French taught you about kissing.”
“That’s a promise, my lady.”
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