Categories > Books > Harry Potter > MY BUNNY HUTCH
DISCONCERTING A DARK LORD
Alorkin
Disclaimer: I Disclaim, therefore I am…not the owner. (I don’t own Descartes either.)
A/N: Normally I’d never even consider posting a story this short, but I’ve padded it as much as I possibly could and I can’t make it any longer. Sorry.
******
Lord Voldemort woke to that ridiculous tune once again. This made the ninth night in the past two weeks it had tormented his dreams of conquest, forcing him to wakefulness, and he had no intention of suffering any further. Suffering was for the lesser peoples; not for Lord Voldemort!
“Bellatrix!” He shouted.
Instantly the psychotic attack dog was at his feet…literally. As good as she was at her job, he sometimes worried about her. It seemed she enjoyed his punishments just a little too much.
“Master, how may I…service you?” She asked in what she thought would be a sultry, inviting voice, but given that she'd spent nearly fifteen years in Azkaban prison, it was really little better than fingernails drawn across a chalkboard. He winced as she gazed with lust at his black Acromantula-silk covered lap.
~This is getting ridiculous!~ He thought.
“Bellatrix…” He sighed. “You do know that since my reincarnation I have the same recreational facilities as ‘Action Man’.” He sometimes regretted sacrificing that particular portion of his anatomy but death was final, and he hated the idea of leaving the world bereft of his benevolent guidance.
Bella’s cow eyes told him she really didn’t care.
Rubbing his noseless face in frustration at her single-minded desire for his no-longer-available favours, he finally sighed again.
“Go find and kill Herman’s Hermits!”
“Who?”
“Herman’s Hermits!”
“Yes, My lord.” She backed away on her knees then stood and slowly departed the room. Voldemort could feel her disappointment at his having not hurried her on the way with a rousing round of Cruciatus. Through the doorway, he thought he heard a quickly stifled sob.
~Maybe when they’re dead I can get some sleep!~
******
Two days later an exhausted Bellatrix returned.
“My lord, Herman’s Hermits have been disbanded for twenty five years. Three have died already and the remainder are on tour in the colonies. It will take a considerable amount of our liquid assets to travel to America and locate them before I torture them to death. Should I still go?”
“Twenty five years? How old are these people?”
******
In the smallest bedroom of an unremarkable house on an unremarkable street in the unremarkable hamlet of Little Whinging, in the somewhat more remarkable county of Surrey, Harry Potter held his Hermione close. They’d just made love again and he was stroking her untamable hair, and softly humming as she drifted off.
He discovered she wasn’t so sleepy as he’d thought.
“Harry?” she whispered, sending frissons of lust through him.
“Mmmm?” He sighed, his gentle breath kissing her bared neck. She closed her eyes in pleasure and moaned. Then after a moment, she forced herself to return to the subject she’d broached.
“Why are you humming ‘Henry the Eighth, I Am?’ It’s not very romantic, you know”
“Don’t know. I discovered a few weeks ago that for some reason, it’s the only way I can get a peaceful night’s sleep.”
Fini
Alorkin
Disclaimer: I Disclaim, therefore I am…not the owner. (I don’t own Descartes either.)
A/N: Normally I’d never even consider posting a story this short, but I’ve padded it as much as I possibly could and I can’t make it any longer. Sorry.
******
Lord Voldemort woke to that ridiculous tune once again. This made the ninth night in the past two weeks it had tormented his dreams of conquest, forcing him to wakefulness, and he had no intention of suffering any further. Suffering was for the lesser peoples; not for Lord Voldemort!
“Bellatrix!” He shouted.
Instantly the psychotic attack dog was at his feet…literally. As good as she was at her job, he sometimes worried about her. It seemed she enjoyed his punishments just a little too much.
“Master, how may I…service you?” She asked in what she thought would be a sultry, inviting voice, but given that she'd spent nearly fifteen years in Azkaban prison, it was really little better than fingernails drawn across a chalkboard. He winced as she gazed with lust at his black Acromantula-silk covered lap.
~This is getting ridiculous!~ He thought.
“Bellatrix…” He sighed. “You do know that since my reincarnation I have the same recreational facilities as ‘Action Man’.” He sometimes regretted sacrificing that particular portion of his anatomy but death was final, and he hated the idea of leaving the world bereft of his benevolent guidance.
Bella’s cow eyes told him she really didn’t care.
Rubbing his noseless face in frustration at her single-minded desire for his no-longer-available favours, he finally sighed again.
“Go find and kill Herman’s Hermits!”
“Who?”
“Herman’s Hermits!”
“Yes, My lord.” She backed away on her knees then stood and slowly departed the room. Voldemort could feel her disappointment at his having not hurried her on the way with a rousing round of Cruciatus. Through the doorway, he thought he heard a quickly stifled sob.
~Maybe when they’re dead I can get some sleep!~
******
Two days later an exhausted Bellatrix returned.
“My lord, Herman’s Hermits have been disbanded for twenty five years. Three have died already and the remainder are on tour in the colonies. It will take a considerable amount of our liquid assets to travel to America and locate them before I torture them to death. Should I still go?”
“Twenty five years? How old are these people?”
******
In the smallest bedroom of an unremarkable house on an unremarkable street in the unremarkable hamlet of Little Whinging, in the somewhat more remarkable county of Surrey, Harry Potter held his Hermione close. They’d just made love again and he was stroking her untamable hair, and softly humming as she drifted off.
He discovered she wasn’t so sleepy as he’d thought.
“Harry?” she whispered, sending frissons of lust through him.
“Mmmm?” He sighed, his gentle breath kissing her bared neck. She closed her eyes in pleasure and moaned. Then after a moment, she forced herself to return to the subject she’d broached.
“Why are you humming ‘Henry the Eighth, I Am?’ It’s not very romantic, you know”
“Don’t know. I discovered a few weeks ago that for some reason, it’s the only way I can get a peaceful night’s sleep.”
Fini
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