Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/9981503. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence Category: Multi, Gen Fandom: Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling Character: Ginny_Weasley, Other(s), Harry_Potter Additional Tags: Explicit_Language, BDSM, Bestiality, Chan, Heterosexual_Sex, Slash_sex, Drug_Use, Gender_Change, Incest, Out_of_Character, Sexual_Content, Spoilers, Threesome, Voyeurism, Action/Adventure, Drama Collections: HPFandom Stats: Published: 2010-09-09 Completed: 2010-09-10 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 28644 ****** The Games We Play ****** by AwwShuckS [archived by HPFandom_archivist] Summary Make no mistake. He is not the good guy, the hero. He is the anti- hero. Come inside if you want to meet the real Harry Potter. The Black side. DarkHarryxMulti Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and its various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Work In Progress Notes Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection profile. ***** Prologue: The Set-Up ***** Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and its various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Warning: This story is pure FICTIONAL smut and features extremely controversial sex, which may or may not include bisexuality, beastiality, fetish, incest, pedophilia, rape and so on. Happenings in this story are fantasy and should remain so. If it's not your cup of tea - STOP RIGHT HERE.   -x-x-x-x-x-x- “Life is a game. It’s just a matter of how, and who, you play. Those who tell you differently are either liars or idiots. Today, I am neither.” -Harry James Potter, c. 2014   Prologue The Set-Up 2009, May My name is Harry Potter…perhaps you’ve heard of me? What am I saying…of course you have. You’ve probably read all about me. Maybe you even think you know me, understand me…hold my secrets. You’d be wrong. Very, very wrong. But you will come to understand that soon enough. You see, I’m famous. I didn’t intend for that. In fact, my notoriety came from a nasty little incident involving the murder of my parents when I was barely a year old, and just snowballed from there. By the time I was an adult, I was a media darling – voluntarily or not. It didn’t help when my so-called best friend sold me out. Since the time I stepped into Hogwarts, I’ve had a more than a few friends – well, that last word must be taken with a grain of salt. Some friends have genuine regard for me, or at least who they think I am. Some are only using me for their own gain. A few just needed to get close to me so they could find a weakness. All are being used for my gain. None know the real me one bit. Well, that’s not completely true…but we’ll get to that later. A few years ago, my muggle-born schoolmate, Hermione Granger, decided to join the bandwagon and capitalize on my fame and her intimate knowledge of my life, being such a good friend and all that rot. Without my knowledge or consent and using a pseudonym, she released a book – well, a series of books. About me, and my life. Or what she thought she knew about it, anyway. Because she released said books in the muggle world as works of fantasy fiction, she thought it would never be discovered what she did…as if she is the only muggle-raised magic-user in existence. She certainly didn’t expect the worldwide sensation that came from them. Good for her pocketbook, bad for her otherwise. Especially since the stupid bint didn’t even bother to change the names of any people or places to protect the magical society. There’s this little law called the Statute of Secrecy. It’s really the foundation of the wizarding governments in the world. And I just so happen to be the youngest Head of Magical Law Enforcement in British history. To say that I was angry when I found out is an understatement. Still am, really. Everything blew up in her face about a year ago, and Hermione Granger-turned- Weasley, was this close to spending time in Azkaban. However, being the good friend that I am, I managed to broker a plea-bargain deal with the Wizengamot using my influence not only as the MLE director, but as the Harry Potter - Sir Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, thank you very much. Plus, my seat in the Wizengamot as Lord of Black holds a decent amount of power, even on the occasion when I have to abstain from voting if I have a conflict of interest due to my job at the Ministry. No matter what many think, I didn’t help her out of the kindness of my heart or any sort of loyalty and affection. And she definitely is not getting off unpunished, that’s for sure. Just for starters, she had to use the money she received from the books to help “re-hide” the places and entrances of the magical world she exposed. You wouldn’t believe the hassle it is to get into the Leaky Cauldron or Platform Nine and Three-Quarters these days with the amount of tourists that are always there. Most magicals use completely new gateways now as a result. Whatever money she had left after that and the not-inconsiderable fine, went to me as back-paid royalties. Furthermore, of any future income she earns from those books and the various merchandising, the Ministry receives ten percent, various charitable organizations receive ten percent, I receive seventy-five percent…she gets to keep the remaining five. Still a large amount of dough, but nothing close to what she was raking in before. Ron’s not too happy about that…nor with me. Apparently, being my friend entitles him to something, I guess…and he was enjoying the fruits of his wife’s labours, even if he didn’t know where they came from. Idiot. Like I said, the money issue was just the start of Hermione’s sentence. And my personal brand of punishment has only just begun. Ron will get his due, too…he just doesn’t know it yet. Anyway, the whole point in bringing up those blasted books, was to let you know that whatever you read, whatever you may think you have learned from them…forget it. Right now. For example, when the last book was released, I’d not even had my twenty- seventh birthday, so how could she write an epilogue from when I am thirty-six? Plus, there is so much she doesn’t know, even though she was there for a bit of it, and so much she just plain got wrong, that the truth is liable to turn those stories from child-friendly fun to banned-in-fifty-countries horror. I kid you not. Nor do I exaggerate. And that’s what we’re here for…to set the record straight. As much as I feel like divulging of it, that is. Of course, this won’t just be about the past…but about my present and my future. It’s time some more people are let into the mystery that is Sir Harry James Potter, Lord of Black, Baron of Godric's Hollow. Trust me…you may wish you never heard the name by the time we’re through. The best games are where the major players know all the ins and outs, and can play well. After all, what good is a game of poker when your opponent thinks they’re playing bridge? Where is the challenge? The risk? The reward? End Chapter ***** Part I, Chapter 1: The Black King and His Queen ***** Author's notes: "And what – you thought I could have the childhood I had, be raised as I was, by whom I was, and turn out all sweet and cuddly? Bullocks!" =============================================================================== Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and its various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Warning: This story is pure FICTIONAL smut and features extremely controversial sex, which may or may not include bisexuality, beastiality, fetish, incest, pedophilia, rape and so on. Happenings in this story are fantasy and should remain so. If it's not your cup of tea - STOP RIGHT HERE.   -x-x-x-x-x-x- “And what – you thought I could have the childhood I had, be raised as I was, by whom I was, and turn out all sweet and cuddly? Bullocks!" -Harry James Potter, c.2014   Part_I:_The_Players_&_The_Pieces Chapter 1: The Black King and His Queen 2009, May Harry Potter is a good boy who does what he’s told, when he can. He minds his betters and heeds the advice of those far more experienced than he. He’s sweet and kind and wouldn’t hurt a fly if he didn’t have to, since he abhors unnecessary violence. (snort) Sure, I do. And if you buy that, I’ve got a spell that lets you conjur food out of nothing, if you’re interested. The truth is, a childhood that seemed several lifetimes too long under the thumb of my domineering, obnoxious uncle, followed by an adolescence as the unwilling puppet of a headmaster with control issues and a government who liked to use me in any way that seemed appropriate at the moment, I’ve been left a little…bitter about authority. Unless it’s mine, that is. Let’s just say that I’ve developed control issues of my own. Regardless of how it may appear in the books, I am not a doormat. I am not easy going or quick to forgive. I am not as controlled by emotions as I am by interfering school teachers and I am not a pansy. What I am, is a powerful man with a knack for commanding attention and obedience, not to mention loyalty – whether deserved or not. I am merciless and I do not flinch away from punishing those who wrong me. I do not forgive betrayal and I do not let my temper fly at the drop of a hat…unless it suits my purposes, of course. And even when I was underage and at the whim of any adult who held authority over me, I was still an alpha personality; I still controlled my life and my destiny in every way I was able to manage. You’d be surprised just how much you can do with a little cleverness and a lot of determination. Oh, and a few galleons. What I am…is a Dom. As in a Dominate. I like control in sex. I like to bind my slave up and work them over until they are begging for it, then refuse to give it to them. I like owning my sexual partners. What I am…is a Sadist. I like whipping and spanking and otherwise tormenting my partners. And I like making them beg for that too. Willing or not. Lucky for me, I found my…soul mate, I guess, very early on. Something the books surprisingly got right, though for the completely wrong reasons. Fact is, I didn’t fall in love with Ginevra Weasley my sixth year at Hogwarts. I didn’t marry her a respectable time after we both completed school with her father’s blessing. And we didn’t pop out three kids starting at the mature age of twenty-five. I did fall in love with Ginny – well, as much love as someone like me can feel, anyway. But that happened after the whole Chamber of Secrets debacle when I was twelve, not sixteen. That summer, she went home to a happy-go-lucky family who alternately coddled her and expected her to be the same bright and shiny girl she’d always been. Of course, she’d never been that girl, not really, but even if she had, having Voldemort creeping around in her mind and controlling her, certainly ended any possibility of it ever happening. When school started up again, I saw right away that she had changed...for the better, as far as I am concerned. I’d always known she’d had a dark side to her, and had been frustrated as all hell that she wouldn’t talk to me other than to stutter, since I was hoping she was a kindred spirit or some such thing. But after that summer, when I looked into her soul… I knew she was like me – dark and twisted and bitter. And when I say I looked into her soul, I mean that quite literally. It’s a little, unknown magical talent I have – call it a knack for reading people, if you will. Quite useful, that. So, we got to talking, and one thing led to another. We started a…relationship, of sorts, though we refrained from labeling it at first. And next to no one knew about it for a long time. Until we wanted them to know…and oh, what a reveal that was. Good times, that. You see, I did marry Ginny and we do have children - several, in fact. But that didn’t come about how most would have preferred, though it was exactly how we wanted it. What I planned and she agreed to. Not that she ever disagrees with me…we don’t work like that, which is just how we like it. Wanting freedom and control, I needed to get married. It would allow me to be emancipated and out of Dumbledore’s, among others, more damaging influence over my life. Ginny was the perfect choice. Like I said earlier - for all intents and purposes, she was my soul mate – the perfect counterpart for my every whim and perverted desire, because she was just as twisted and perverted as me. Of course, the Weasley’s would never have agreed, so we went around them. In the wizarding world, if the heir to a family – which I was to both Potter and Black – impregnates a girl, they are able to get married with no obstacles, so as to legitimize the bloodline – no one wants bastards popping up trying to stake claims on inheritances, after all. So, even though we were both minors, we were able to get married and have a brief shag-fest of a honeymoon weekend before the adult-types even knew what was going on. And after that…well, let’s just say that the tension was high for a long time. How would you react to a fifteen year old you had invited into your home fucking your fourteen year old daughter until she was up the duff, then marrying her without so much as a by your leave? And the fact that they could do nothing about it – though, trust me, they tried – just riled them up all the more. Eventually they came around, though, for the most part. Being linked to Harry Potter is not exactly a burden these days, after all. The bloody hypocrites aren’t too thrilled that we’ve kept popping out kids since the first one, but what can I say? Ginny's got a maternal streak a mile wide. As for me, well, I occasionally get a hankering to fuck my wife when she’s pregnant, and Ginny is good at seeing to my needs. All of my needs. -x-x-x-x-x-x- 1993, December Harry's godfather was once a handsome ladies’ man, but he was also more than that. Much, much more. Before Azkaban, Sirius Black had been an athlete – there’s more than bloody Quidditch, you know! - and held a Mastery in Transfiguration from the prestigious Broceliande University of Magic in France. He had started the successful Potter-Black Industries with James Potter, which was still being held in trust for the thirteen year old Harry. Only half a year after escaping Azkaban and living life on the run, the two had become friends and occasional drinking buddies, much like Harry’s father and Sirius had been back in the day. As far as Harry was concerned, sneaking away from the castle to meet up with his fugitive godfather was well worth the risk. Sirius never told Harry what he should or shouldn’t do, never complained that Harry was too young for this or too innocent for that. The disgraced Lord of Black – it was his bloody title even if the bloody Ministry and his bloody mother had wanted to ignore that bloody fact – was a dark, devious man himself and was in certainly no mood to be a hypocrite. He may have been sent to prison a wrongly accused man, but he was far – so very far – from innocent on the whole. So he didn’t see any problem in having a pint or two, or maybe a shot or three, every now and then with the kid. Besides, Harry didn't drink heavily. He figured alcohol couldn’t be good for his developing teenage body, and with the damage left from his oh-so-wonderful childhood, Harry wasn’t going to take any chances. Besides, he didn’t like the lack of control he had over his own body when he drank too much. Case-in-point: when he drank with Sirius, his tongue tended to be looser than at other times. Which is how Sirius had learned Harry’s secret during one of their meetings: since the beginning of his third year, he and Ginevra Weasley had been “dating.” Really, they were more like fuck buddies, since no dates were ever actually involved. Neither wanted the scrutiny of a public relationship, and both had secret sides to them that they wanted to keep secret. It was what attracted them to each other in the first place, not some stupid, little-girl crush that everyone mistakenly believed Ginny had, had on Harry for years. No, it was much darker than that, stemming from…unusual childhoods and an evil dark lord messing with their minds. So they kept their…er, relationship, of sorts…quiet. Only Sirius knew, and that was because of a few too many shots of firewhiskey. And now, Harry was once again drunkenly confessing to the prison-ravaged man. Harry wanted to make a change in his life, in his dalliances with Ginny. He was contemplating breaking it off with the girl, not because he was tired of her, but the opposite actually. He needed her, craved her in a way that was entirely unhealthy. The things he wanted to do to her…he wasn’t sure they were even legal. At this point in his life, Harry still felt a smidge of trepidation and guilt over various things, and the intense desire to hurt and dominate a girl who he actually somewhat cared about was sending him down that dark spiral right quick. And so, tongue loosened and dignity lost in a bottle of spirits, Harry had whined and complained and blamed himself, generally letting it all hang out to his godfather. Sirius had been amused at first, but now he was tired of his young friend’s pussy-whipped, whiny attitude, which didn’t suit the boy at all. He knew most of it was the drink, but decided to take his duty as godfather seriously – pardon the pun – and teach the boy the right way to treat a girl like Ginny. He didn’t want young Harry to become a wimp when it came to women, a fatal flaw that had sadly appeared in James once Lily entered his life. Evans had definitely worn the pants and carried the whip in that relationship, quite literally. Sirius advised Harry now, not even slurring since he was able to hold his alcohol, unlike his godson, to just take the girl and forget his unnecessary feelings of guilt. "Listen, Harry, fuck the girl. Fuck her hard and often. They love it. She'll love it. And if she complains, fuck her again. Stick that guilty-assed todger of yours as far up her twat as you can and shag her ‘til she figures out who's boss. And when you get tired of that, she's got two other holes that you should most definitely not neglect. She'll love you for it. Get your arse in gear and stop being such a nancy-boy." "Bloody hell, Sirius, you really know how lay it straight." "Take charge, Harry. You'll thank me if you do. So will she." -x-x-x-x-x- 1994, January Ginny smiled timidly. "Harry, I'm going to be straight with you: I love having sex with you. You’re much better than any of the others were.” Harry raised an eyebrow, standing before her, determination in his frame. He’d brought her here to be alone, and to follow Sirius’ advice, but apparently he wasn’t the only one with an agenda for this evening. Sighing mentally, he decided to see where this was going. “But?” She took a deep breath, wringing her hands and lowering her eyes…almost submissively. “But, I need you to be more…manly.” "What?!" Harry hissed the word. Now he was getting angry. How dare this little bint imply he wasn't "manly" enough?! He was plenty manly, thank you very much – especially since he was only thirteen, and not technically a man, but a boy! "Please, Harry, don’t be mad. I don’t say that to be mean. And, unless I’m completely wrong about you, you've had some of the same kinds of feelings too, only the other way around." Harry considered that and what he had planned to tell, explain, force upon Ginny, if necessary, before the girl had spoken up first. "Go on," he drawled sardonically. "Thanks, Harry. Umm…I am all girl, Harry. But I am a dark, twisted…dirty girl. I want to be treated as those kinds of girls should be treated. I need it – I need someone who can completely dominate the scene, not one who bows and scrapes. I don't want to be put on a pedestal and worshiped; I would rather be put over a knee and spanked. Hard. And repeatedly. I want you to make me cry, Harry – in both pain and pleasure." Harry looked into his girlfriend's semi-downcast eyes, so in contrast to her bold words. For the next twenty minutes, Harry let a pregnant silence fill the air between them. When she would open her mouth to speak again, a harsh look and a not-so-gentle hand on her mouth let her know that it wasn’t a good idea. There was no decision to be made in regards to Ginny’s request, of course, but Harry thought they might as well get this new…phase in their relationship off on the right foot. He was using the silence to assert his authority, to begin bending her to his will. He stared at her small, twelve-year-old frame and at her teeny tits. He suddenly found himself lusting after this female in a very delicious way. He thought he knew her; he now realized that he hadn't a clue, Soul Reading skills notwithstanding. They had, had sex, of course. Lots of it. And neither had been virgins for years. But though it had been wild, especially for a couple of kids their age, it had been tame compared to Harry’s fantasies, his deepest desires. Desires he hadn’t realized were reflected back on him in one Ginevra Weasley. His girl, his friend’s little sister with the supposed fiery, red-headed temper, was really a very docile creature indeed, albeit a horny one. But more than that…she needed to be dominated just as much as he needed to dominate. How could he have not realized it? So much for his “reading people” ability. "Talk to me, pet." The new nickname tasted wonderful on his tongue. Ginny looked up at him, hope in her eyes. "Could you want me, Harry? I mean really want me – like that?" "You are in great danger of being raped as you sit there, in fact." She smiled shyly. "Promises, promises." "I keep my promises, in case you hadn't noticed. But we’re going to have to do something about that smart mouth of yours, aren’t we?" Harry relaxed his stance then walked closer to her in the dimly lit, dusty classroom. He took her by the arms and raised her slowly out of the chair she had been sitting in since the start of their conversation. Harry wasn't overly muscled – especially at thirteen - but he was a good deal stronger than he appeared, as is often the case with wiry built men. He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly, his hard lips demanding on her willingly submissive ones. He pushed her away, firm but still somewhat gently. No sense moving too fast into this new world. "Strip for me," he said in a low growl. She stood for a moment with her eyes downcast, hands at her sides while she shrugged out of the already open, hand-me-down robes. She looked up at him and her hands came to her small titties and began to undo her blouse, one button at a time. The white cotton parted, revealing a bra of the same color with a girly pink bow between her little-girl breasts. She tugged the blouse from the belt line of her gray and black school skirt – also obviously second-hand. Harry frowned. If he was going to be her Master…if he was going to own her, then he was going to have to see about getting her some nicer things. She was a reflection on him, after all. If he could manage it, that is, considering their precarious position as children in the world, rather than adults with the freedom to do what they want. Another thing he’d have to fix as soon as possible. She did not take the blouse off, instead letting it hang loose around her, her hands once again at her sides. Then she reached for the skirt and undid the button at the top of the garment before sliding the zipper down slowly. It slithered down her thighs and calves to lay in a pool at her feet. He gazed at her knickers and the dark secret it concealed at the base of her navel, at the place where her legs came together. He was almost salivating at the thoughts of the wicked things he intended to do to her. He was going to be extremely selfish with this girl's body very shortly. Her blouse eventually joined the skirt and robes in the pile on the floor. She let her hands move slowly up and down her side then reached for the front of her bra and rid herself of the flimsy item, her nipples poking out at her boyfriend tauntingly as she deliberately thrust her chest in his direction; they were already hard and extended. Ginny slipped her thumbs inside the top lining of her knickers and pushed them down. She stood naked, her hands at her side. Her scent assaulted his senses. Women were basically cruel; they did all in their power to seduce men, even wearing enticing fragrances. Yes, all women were very cruel and very dangerous. He could make her pay for that now. He would take her very roughly, would most definitely enjoy that, and so would she. Hadn't Sirius said so? Hadn't Ginny just said as much too? He was very close to her now. Her breasts, her nipples brushed his chest and he reached out and touched her little mounds. So small. So little-girlish. He pulled her to him and sucked her left titty into his mouth hard. He had in mind to suck it raw. He squeezed her right mound tightly and kneaded it, twisting and playing with the nipple as he did so. Ginny felt the familiar connection of her breasts with her cunny as he savaged her chest. He was playing rough and she loved it. She felt him drop his left hand from her breast and cup her bum. He insinuated his fingers into the cleft between them. One finger, she wasn't sure which, began the invasion of her anus. It only hurt a little, though she, amazingly, had little experience with that sort of thing. She pushed back slightly, helping him to enter her canal more deeply - she wanted to surrender. He switched his mouth to the other tit and continued his suckling. Merlin, how she wanted to be fucked. "Turn around and bend over the table," he said. She obeyed. "Spread your legs." Again, she obeyed his command. He spread her cleft and gazed at her – he’d always wanted to take her there. And he would…eventually. He kissed her hole and began to lick it, then moved his tongue to her pussy, preparing it for his cock. "Come with me." He grabbed her long, red hair by the roots and pulled her firmly, but not yet painfully, along to a bench. "Kneel up on it and bend over." She gladly did so, pushing her butt out toward its fate. She felt the tip of his engorged penis probing her slit; he was nearly in her. She was tight in spite of his slavering all over her crotch. Finally, she felt him lodge the head of his rod securely inside of her. It was the moment that all subs knew that they were had, that there was no escaping the Dom’s control, the moment when submission to their master's will was total. Ginny opened to his cock more willingly than she ever had. He started to push home his dick without withdrawing it at all until he was entirely inside of her. He rotated it a little and then began screwing her slowly, then increasing speed, finally ramming her again and again. He had to hold her hips to keep from thrusting her forward and over the back of the bench. She began bucking as she neared a climax; he was not far behind. Their one-two orgasms were an explosion of lust, as furious and fast as the sex that preceded them. But it wasn’t exactly what either of them wanted… Harry was conscious of the fact that he was only half soft and still hungry. He wanted to go again, but he wanted to use her, not just fuck her. And use her he did. He pulled her back then pushed her down to her knees. "Suck." Half spent, she did as she was told, licking and sucking him into another raging hard-on, inwardly smiling to herself and loving every moment as he fucked her willing mouth. Merlin, how she loved this not-so-new, but too long hidden, commanding side of Harry. After several minutes of her sucking, he pushed her all the way to the floor and spread her wide to take her again. He lay on top of her, looking into her sweat stained face as he rammed his cock home again and again, pounding her raw and unconcerned if he was hurting her. This was about his needs, his desires, his pleasure – she was but a vessel, a tool at his disposal. And with that, he actually met all of her needs and desires at the same time. It took longer the second time around but finally he exploded inside of her again. He rolled off and pulled her on top of him. He liked the feel of her nipples pressing into his chest. He liked the feel of her mound with its sparse hairs tickling his soft lower belly. He was determined to take her again later that evening, after he had taught her a lesson about what he did to little girls with smart mouths, as he had promised her. He would have to tell Sirius how absolutely right he had been. -x-x-x-x- 1994, May Ginny dropped to her knees and undid his belt. "Give me the belt," Harry said softly, meaningfully. She understood him. He also understood her. She knew she was going to be punished, going to be degraded and humiliated, but she had made up her mind to take her medicine and let him master her; she had no misgivings. It had been a few months since their first forays into this dark and forbidden world. She didn’t fear the sting any longer - and it would sting - but relished it, wanted more even. But she knew more would only come in time. In his time. He controlled it all; it was his way or no way. And that was how she liked it. She pulled her Master’s pants down and was met by his waving, six inch pole. Oh, it was going to feel good to be skewered by him. He'd fuck her good and proper; she was sure of that. She took hold of its almost unreal thickness and licked the precum from its tip then did her best to suck it in to her mouth as it stretched her jaws to the max. She let her tongue rub at the bottom of the shaft as she slurped and push-pulled the throbbing tool in and out of her mouth. Pulling it out, she looked up at him with knitted brows; it was a question, and he understood. "No, not until after; but I am going to spank you." "Yes, Master." Her surrender was complete now that she had voiced it. -x-x-x-x-x- 1995, February "Stand in the middle of the room, pet," Master commanded her. She stood without a sound and marched to the center of the room. “Bend over the table next to you." Once more she obeyed without a word. Harry pulled strips of rope from the bag he’d brought with him. He always preferred to use as little magic as possible. The physical act of preparing everything, of setting it all up, gave him a visceral feeling of power and control that he savored. He fastened Ginny's ankles to the legs of the table, smiling in anticipation and at the thrill of the close proximity of the naked thirteen year old's arse to his face taunting him while he denied himself the pleasure of touching it. For now. Ginny was spread wide and her moist pussy was quite visible to the others in the room. Her torso flat on the table top, she awaited her punishment, and her reward. Her legs were bound in such a way that she could see everything in the room, see them watching her. She felt a shiver of lust spike through her spine and she tingled all over in anticipation. Ginny shivered as she saw one of the boys take the belt from his pants and approach her Master, handing it to him. She then noticed Sirius say something on the sly to Harry, who nodded. The men proceeded to stand back as Harry walked to his pet. Her mate, her Master, raised his arm high in the air, only to strike downward with the borrowed belt. Ginny lost her breath with the first sting of the belt crashing on her naked bum. She wiggled and jerked spasmodically, finally screaming, "Noooo..." She danced on her bound toes and tried to rise, but was firmly held in place by her boyfriend’s strong hand pushing down on her head. “Just for that little stunt, slut, you’re getting an extra ten. Count.” And count she did. The sting, the jerking, the shock of the belt's force - all torment for the teen, both for the pain and the pleasure. Finally, when it was over, Ginny tried hard not to be disappointed, knowing her body needed to recuperate a bit no matter how much she wished for it to not stop. Never stop. She truly was a Masochist to Harry’s Sadist. Yin and Yang. "Will you shag her that way?" asked one man, a near stranger to her. "He will,” said Sirius. Ginny was still gasping for breath as she felt her boyfriend's penis invading her pussy and was crying like a baby as the hard cock jammed itself in to the hilt, skewering her. Each of the men watched as the young girl got royally fucked. Soon she was pushing back against the onslaught to her pussy, her submission total. Later, the men sat around on the couches, chatting with each other and Harry while he watched his girlfriend-slash-slave practically purr as she alternately sucked their cocks or licked their bullocks. As directed by her Master. It would be a scene that would be repeated in one form or another many times in the future. End Chapter ***** Part I, Chapter 2: The Stolen Token ***** Author's notes: "I do not forgive, nor do I forget. Especially not the crimes committed against me when I had no means of defending myself. I am, however, patient. Dish best served cold, and all that rot." =============================================================================== Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and its various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Warning: This story is pure FICTIONAL smut and features extremely controversial sex, which may or may not include bisexuality, beastiality, fetish, incest, pedophilia, rape and so on. Happenings in this story are fantasy and should remain so. If it's not your cup of tea - STOP RIGHT HERE. Additional Warning: Up to this point, the story has been fairly mild and tame. Now is the beginning of the Squick and the Disturbing (would make an interesting soap opera title, ya think?). I am a writer who has virtually no limits in print, and this Harry is a man with even fewer boundaries and the epitome of the anti-hero. He is all the D's - dominating, dark, dangerous, demented, diabolical, disgusting, devious...just to name a few. I refuse to pull punches with him, and do a disservice to who this character is. So, you have been warned for the last time, since I won't put any more of these in front of chapters, and I won't let you know what to expect so you can skip it if need be. (Ruins the fun, don't you think?)   -x-x-x-x-x-x- “Ambition for the ultimate treasure Achieved by whit beyond measure Determination found in so few And the courage to see it through. There is no single House, Harry Potter, that I can Sort you." -The Sorting Hat, c. 1991   Part_I:_The_Players_&_The_Pieces Chapter 2: The Stolen Token 2009, May Harry Potter is an honorable, honest man and always has been. He would never double-cross or swindle someone, and certainly never stab an unsuspecting person in the back. He is a rare breed, willing to meet even the greatest and evilest of enemies, such as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, head on, in a fair fight. While I’m somewhat grateful for the lie that was concocted to cover up what really happened at Voldemort’s demise, which Hermione’s books further embellished to almost ridiculous degrees, I will forever wonder how people can truly buy that load of shite. How would I have become that type of “honorable” person anyway? Who would have taught me to be so honest and above board? Dumbledore – whose “for the greater good” mentality was his own justification for every act he committed, cruel and kind? Sirius – who once tricked a schoolmate into facing a transformed werewolf just because of a petty House rivalry? Or Hermione – who so wanted her crush to make the House quidditch team that she Confunded the competition, despite her typical holier-than-thou attitude towards everyone else? Or perhaps the Weasleys – whose patriarch had no problem ignoring the very laws he helped put in place against charming muggle items just to satisfy his own obsession. Surely not the Dursleys - who did their best to ignore me when they could, degrade and humiliate me when they couldn’t. Better yet, why would anyone, even a misguided fool, face an eighty year old dark wizard who was smart enough to cheat death more than once, even without the mythical horcrux idea Hermione wrote about? I’ve said it before and I’ll say again; I am many things, but a bloody fool is not one of them. The fact of the matter is that I only “fought” the git because I had no choice. I’m far from a coward, but at the same time I felt no obligation to save a bunch of ignorant idiots who couldn’t be half-arsed to even try and save themselves. I certainly would never have offered myself up as a sacrificial lamb, even if there had been a bit of unwanted soul in my forehead. However, Voldemort didn’t give me much choice if I wanted to live at all, what with the whole “Wanted Dead or Alive” bounty on my head, just for breathing and all. But this whole face him head-on shite? Bullocks! Why would I afford a man who was cowardly enough – or intelligent enough – to try and kill me when I was too young to know which way to point the business end of a wand such a courtesy? Why would I unnecessarily risk my life – and the fate of the rest of the world, if I cared about such a thing – on a fool’s attempt at bravery? There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and I don’t think I need to tell you which side that maneuver would have ended up. Oh, I killed the ugly bastard all right, just not in a formal, monologue-filled duel put on for the excitement of the masses in the picturesque Great Hall at Hogwarts. I had a few handy tools on my side, and I used them all – a little cunning, quite a bit of natural magic power – no matter how much Hermione tries to downplay that bit - an ounce of self-preservation…and a super-powered invisibility cloak that once belonged to the bloody God of Death, for Merlin’s sake. In the end, sneaking up behind the ranting fool in the Forbidden Forest and lobbing a series of Killing Curses at him seemed a bit anti-climactic to Hermione, I guess. Oh well, the story where I faced him head on made better press anyway, and kept the Ministry off my back, which was fine with me. Plus, it earned me an Order of Merlin, First Class, in a ceremony where I was also knighted by the Queen, too. I made a fair few galleons both by selling my heroic tale to the press and suing those that printed their own versions without permission. Ahh, good times. Yeah, I’m not as anti-publicity as those blasted books portray me, am I? I’m not nearly as bad as Lockhart or anything, but I realized early on that it was better to use the press to my benefit than get used by the blood-sucking leeches. Honestly, other than my name and the rough idea of what I looked like as an underfed twerp of an eleven year old, the Harry Potter in those books might as well be a complete fabrication, even more than Hermione has ever realized. It certainly doesn’t take an evil Dark Lord for me to act in my best interest, no matter how I have to go about it. That stupid sorting hat had wanted to put me in all of the Houses, and that means Slytherin, too. Sneak attacks are really a useful tool, and I love to stack the odds in my favor. I’ve made sure to instill that same trait in my wife and children, and have never regretted it. After all, that’s how I came to have Boy. Which leads me to another false impression people have of Harry Potter. I do not forgive, nor do I forget. Especially not the crimes committed against me when I had no means of defending myself. I am, however, patient. Dish best served cold, and all that rot. The Dursleys and I certainly did not have an amicable parting. I protested mightily the incessant need for the Order to protect the bloody child abusers, but to no avail. Needless to say, the oh-so-touching farewell scene between myself and Dudders…yeah, that didn’t happen. Not anything like what was written, anyway. After we parted ways, I lost track of them. Frankly, I was tired of acknowledging their existence and I had too many other, more pressing matters to attend to first, like surviving until I reached the ripe old age of eighteen, and making sure the ones I gave a shit-sickle for – a.k.a. Ginny and my son – did as well. But I never forgot, never. Unfortunately, despite being two fat fucks and a woman ugly enough to draw attention just about anywhere outside a rodeo or equestrian competition, they managed to disappear completely. Well, as completely as they could without magic. In time, I would learn that they had changed just about everything they could about themselves – name, location, jobs, even some of their appearance. They used the nice, tidy nest egg put aside from the money Dumbles paid them over the years – what, you didn’t really think they took me in out the kindness of their hearts, did you? – to buy themselves a new life. I couldn’t find them no matter how hard I tried, by muggle or magical means. But, it would seem, Fate stepped in about three years ago to grant me my wish. Or maybe it was Karma, since She can be quite the bitch, after all. I should know…my very existence attests to Her vindictiveness, relies on it even. -x-x-x-x-x-x- 2006, May Ginny, or Pet, as Master liked to call her, smiled at the young man who knelt, naked, at her feet and resisted her every desire to take him right there and then, to unleash her anger and deviant lust on the unsuspecting fool. She couldn't believe her luck when she ran into him at the coffee shop earlier that day. This was one of those whom Master and she had been unsuccessfully searching for, for so many years. He, along with his parents, had been the object of countless unfulfilled desires for revenge that they both shared, ever since their school years together. Ginny knew immediately what she had to do. She enticed him; it wasn’t really so very hard. They had coffee together and he tried to chat her up, obviously wanting to get in her pants. Ginny didn't mention Master and he didn't mention any family besides his parents and, believe it or not, a wife. That last bit was something of a shock – both that he would hit on her but not bother to hide his attached state, and that he could find someone to marry him in the first place. Ginny decided the girl must either have been desperate or is dumb as a post. Probably both. Ginny certainly didn't volunteer the information that she was the willing and mostly obedient slave to the man he once considered his freak of a cousin. But she flirted, gently seducing him with soft touches and subtle glances, until she suggested they go to her house for something more interesting than coffee. He eagerly agreed. He followed her back to her Master’s home, which would appear to any muggle as an ordinary townhouse. Grateful that the kids were at her parents’ for the day, she led him down the stairs to the cellar dungeon, being sure to keep her hand on Dudley’s arm so that he would be able to see the magically hidden door in the kitchen. Once they had entered the antechamber in the basement, which gave off every appearance of being a small studio apartment suite, Dudley pulled her into his arms and kissed her, deeply and passionately. Ginny shouldn't have allowed it, but she was a nympho and it felt too good to stop. Besides, she wanted to distract him until she could go in for the kill, so to speak. His right hand took her breast and caressed it firmly while his left took her hand and guided it into his trousers to his cock. She wrapped her hand around it and began stroking it, disappointed at how little seemed to actually be there, even though she was sure he was fully hard. His gasp of pleasure, however, was enough to remind Ginny that she had gone too far. She pushed him away and began removing his clothes, from his shirt to trousers, even divesting him of his unders. He attempted to reciprocate, tugging gently at the buttons of her blouse, but Ginny swatted his hands away. When he was completely naked, she told him to close his eyes. "What are you doing?" he asked as Ginny opened the wooden chest beside the bed and removed a pair of leather wrist cuffs. "You'll see." She approached him from behind and gently caressed his slightly hairy, bare back. Then, quickly, before he could protest, she secured his wrists behind his back with the cuffs. "This is kind of kinky," he said, sounding both anxious and intrigued at the same time. His slimy attempt at sounding seductive had Ginny rolling her eyes. "This is only the beginning," she promised. "On your knees." She pushed his shoulders down, giving him little choice but to comply. She proceeded to fit his ankles with matching cuffs and linked them together, rendering him mostly helpless. The collar was next, fastened securely around his neck. Then the whole mess was attached to an unobtrusive metal notch in the floor. Once she had him secured, she walked near the stairwell and picked up the telephone. Harry had never understood the complete ignorance of modern technology in the wizarding world, and would not tolerate that sort of idiocy in his own home. "I have a gift for you, Master," Ginny told Him when He answered. "One I know will bring you great pleasure. It’s in the antechamber to the dungeon already." "Then by all means, you will present it to me," He replied and hung up the phone. "Who was that?" the chained up man demanded. "What are you doing with me?" Ginny ignored the question, assessing his appearance. "He'll want you gagged," she said, returning to the chest for a ball gag. “The old fashioned way. He likes to use magic as little as possible…though He does use the occasional healing charm if He wants to keep playing awhile longer.” "He? Who's he? Magic? What the bloody hell?! Is he one of those freaks? Are you?!" She didn't answer and all further questions were to remain unasked as she silenced him with the gag. Ginny then prepared herself, slowly undressing before the kneeling, soon-to-be- slave until she, too, was completely naked. She fastened her own cuffs around her ankles and wrists, but her collar she carried. When she was ready, she unlinked him from the floor and his ankles and attached a short leash to the front ring of his collar. "Come along," she ordered, tugging at the leash until he stood and followed in a daze. She led him to a heavy door in the back of the room and into the dungeon proper. She reattached him to the stone floor in the center of the room, then moved off to the side and situated herself in her ready position: kneeling, legs spread, hands behind her back, head submissively bowed. From beneath her bangs, Ginny watched Dursley quietly while they waited for Master. He had grown up well, and seemed to have lost a lot of the extra weight. He was far from lean, but much of his bulk had transferred into a more attractive muscle. Without some of the fat, his face had slimmed and he was actually somewhat good-looking, with his fine blond hair, watery blue eyes and lightly tanned skin. She studied his eyes as well as she could from her position. He was frightened, yet also excited and aroused. Of course, she didn't need to look at his eyes to know that. A mere glance at his erect cock confirmed his state. She sighed again…too bad he was so inadequately endowed for such a large man. Not like her Master. Her heart pounded with anticipation as she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs in the antechamber. From his sudden stillness, she knew Dursley had heard them too. The dungeon door clicked open and suddenly Master appeared, casually standing there as if He had been the one waiting for them, not the other way around. The pleasure on His face was easily apparent as He recognized who she had waiting, as was the deviousness. The surprise – and fear - on Dursley's face was also clear once he recognized his cursed cousin. "You have done very well, Pet," Master said to her, beckoning her to come to Him. She crawled quickly and kissed the top of His boot in greeting, then sat up again, before Him, and presented her collar. He fastened it around her neck and locked it. Walking to the man, Master bent near the quivering boy - really, he was too much of a sissy to be called a man - and sniffed, grinning maliciously at the fear He detected on His cousin’s suddenly sweat-laced body. Ginny continue to wait quietly while He guided the man to his knees. He unlinked his wrists then pushed him forward onto his hands and knees and secured the leash to another ring set in the floor. He then turned to Ginny. "Where did you find him?" Master asked, indicating for her to begin her duties. She told him the story as she began undressing Him. Once unclothed, He locked her wrists together and attached the cuffs to a hook suspended from the ceiling. "You'll watch," He commanded. "Yes, Sir." He spread her legs wide and fastened her ankles to rings in the floor, then smacked her bum with His hand. She gasped at the sudden pain. "That's reward for finding him first," Master said while he gagged her, preventing the cheeky retort He knew was coming. Satisfied that Ginny was now secured and silenced, He turned His attention to the boy. He knelt on the floor in front of him and removed the gag, holding his head up with a strong grip on his blond hair. "Freak?" Dursley finally choked out. "Ah ah ah, no talking," Master said, unceremoniously shoving His cock into the man's open mouth. Dursley accepted it far more eagerly than Ginny would have expected. She watched from where she was chained, her own arousal growing as the young man worked his mouth, almost expertly sucking and caressing with his tongue, obviously much more experienced giving blow jobs than his current marital status should have allowed. She struggled against her bonds as shivers of excitement filled her. “Stop,” Master ordered. “Behave, or I’ll punish you.” Ginny immediately froze. When Master Harry said punish in that tone of voice, He meant Punish. It would not be the kind of discipline she enjoyed. Master suddenly pulled out, then walked around behind the boy and knelt. He studied Dursley's arse, then slapped it. The man winced at the feel of flesh striking flesh, but didn't make a sound. Master's approval was clear, but Ginny knew that while Dursley might find pleasure in this part to some extent…it was only the beginning. Ginny wasn’t even sure if Master would allow the boy to live, but maybe he would be better off if he didn’t. Then again, he seemed to already be enjoying himself much more than she ever thought he would, so maybe the life of a slave would be something he could…grow accustomed to. Master positioned His cock at His cousin’s bunghole, not having bothered with lube or any sort of stretching in preparation. He would want Dursley to be in pain, Ginny knew. Besides, Master said a dry fuck was sometimes better, tighter. She wondered if Dursley was as experienced in taking cock up his arse as he was with his mouth. For his sake, he had better be. Ginny could see the man's face perfectly from her position and smiled gleefully, not a bit sympathetic, when the look on his face changed to shock and pain as Master entered his arse with one fast, forceful thrust. He cried out loudly, but Master did not pause, moving fast and hard. Amazingly, Dursley began to moan, apparently enjoying himself even though she could still see him cringing in pain at the same time. Glancing at the floor, she wasn’t shocked to see a bit of blood dripping down between their legs and she wanted to lick her lips in anticipation. Master always got so horny when blood got involved, so…ummm, words could never describe. A small whimper escaped her throat as she watched. Ginny hovered on the brink of orgasm, but could do nothing to give herself that release. At the same time, she was incredibly jealous, wanting her Master’s thick cock tearing through any one of her holes right then, rather than that piece of muggle trash who didn’t really know how to appreciate such a divine gift. Master, however, needed no help to come. His thrusts became faster and more intense until, finally, He climaxed. Dursley fell forward onto his elbows as Master pulled away, not having come himself. He didn't speak, but the look on his face said he needed more. Really, it was better this way. Cumming without permission would have consequences Ginny was pretty sure the man wasn’t prepared for. Master stood up, but left Dursley and Ginny in their positions as he redressed in his jeans and boots. "Now, we talk…or I should say, I talk, you answer only when I ask you a question. Understood?" "Yes," he said quietly. “You will address me as Master or Sir. Understood?” Silence. “I said, understood? Don’t make me ask again, boy…” “Yes, Sir.” “Better. If I ever have to repeat myself again, I’ll make you wish your fucking cunt of a mother had just swallowed load you were conceived with. Is that understood?” “Yes,” he mumbled. A swift kick in the gut from one of Master’s heavy boots proceeded, “Excuse me?” “Yes, Master,” Dursley groaned. Ginny wanted to groan as well, but for very different reasons. She could feel herself dripping, turned on as always by the sheer dominance her Master displayed. “Let me make something perfectly clear. You are now mine. I do with you what I wish. You eat at my whim. You sleep at my leave. You take a dump at my call. I own your every word, every thought, every fucking breath. And you better make sure you do everything in your bloody power to please me, because if I decide that you’re not worth the trouble, and I don’t want you around anymore, I’m not going to just let you go on your merry fucking way. I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to do it in the most painful, most tormenting way possible. Do you understand me, now, boy?!” Master demanded. “Yes, Master,” Dursley said between the sobs that were coming out his mouth now. Ginny was half surprised that Master didn’t make him shut up, but she supposed He rather enjoyed the blubbers from the man that had once taken such delight in beating her Master up. She certainly did. Master Harry planted His boot on Dursley’s naked arse and pushed, forcing the man completely forward, awkwardly sprawled on the floor while still chained to it. “This is where you belong. On the floor, beneath my boot. You are nothing. Lower than nothing.” He ground His heel into the man’s lower back, ignoring the painful whimpers and cries being muffled by the stone floor. “You are no longer Dudley Dursley. In fact, you no longer have a name. I’m going to do the same courtesy your fucking father did me -- Boy. Hear it. Learn it. Become it. That is who you are from now on. I suggest you forget your old life right quick and embrace Boy, the slave, if you want to live. For you, there is no “I”, no “me”, no “mine.” It will always be Boy. Master’s Boy. Is that understood, Boy?” Muffled groans. “I can’t hear you, Boy!” Master barked, kicking his side. Boy turned his head and cried, “Yes, Master. I understand!” Another kick and a stomp on his calf added. “It doesn’t sound like you understand, Boy. Wanna try that again, shithead?!” Boy was confused for a moment – a moment too long, Ginny thought – but, just as Master brought his leg back, rushed out. “Sorry, Master! Boy understands! Boy understands Master!” “Good.” And He let His kick fly anyway, causing Boy to half scream as He landed the blow on his already bruising side. "Now, answer me. While you were alone with her, what did you do together?" Boy looked worried, and Ginny was right along there with him. "W-we kissed, Master." That little rat. "Did she touch your pathetic baby-dick?" Ginny tried to signal him with her eyes not to say anything, but he couldn't see her. She sighed inwardly, knowing what would come next, both dreading and anticipating it. "Yes, Master," Boy said. Correction – that stupid little rat. Master turned, picked up His belt from the floor where it lay and walked toward her. "That wasn't allowed, was it?" He asked. She shook her head. "You deserve to be punished." She nodded, relieved that His voice didn’t indicate the kind of punishment she had been dreading earlier. "Wait," Boy said, "Don't take it out on her. I – um, Boy did it." Ginny wanted to spit on him in disgust. In trying to “save her” from something she most likely would enjoy, he would only anger Master further for his interference. "How very noble of you," He sneered, His voice suggesting anything but. "Tell him the rule," He ordered Ginny, after removing her gag. "Nobody touches Master’s property without permission except for emergencies," she said with as much of a shrug as she could manage in her position. The belt struck her bare bum suddenly and she cried out with the first few blows, but more from the shock than pain. She quickly realized that He was holding back and this punishment would have been far more severe had He not been pleased with the gift she had brought. “Watch the attitude, Pet, or I might have to get serious about punishing you,” He warned when He had finished. Panting, she murmured, “Yes, Master. Thank you for my punishment, Master.” “Now, what constitutes my property?” “Everything. And everyone, including me, Sir. I am not allowed to touch Boy, nor let anyone touch me, since we are both Master’s property.” “Mmmm. Keep alert, Pet. I want you to watch your Master break in His new toy,” He said wickedly, caressing her face with the edge of the belt briefly before turning to the quivering Boy, chained and sobbing on the dungeon floor. “You know, I’m a little surprised at how relatively quiet and obedient you’re already being, Boy. Merlin knows, you didn’t get that personality trait from your father. Vernon would probably be having a heart attack by now, he’d be yelling so much,” Master mused. “Then again, you always were so afraid of magic, ever since that first meeting with Hagrid.” Master Harry chuckled. “I think I’ll make a special exception for you. I usually leave the magic out of my…fun as much as possible, but with you? I think I’ll have to make use of it more since you like it so much, maybe use a little of both, hmmm?” The chuckle turned sinister sounding, even to Ginny’s long desensitized psyche. “Oh, but my magic will be much, much worse than anything you’ve seen so far. There is so very much more to fear than pigs’ tails and trick candy, Boy.” Master walked over to the wall, opening His cabinet of whips. “Let’s get started on your education, slave. I hope you slept well last night. You’re going to need it.” -x-x-x-x-x- 2007, Aug Harry sighed and set the Daily Prophet on the kitchen table. Frankly, he was bored to tears with that gossip rag that called itself a newspaper, and was especially tired of reading about himself when there were millions of other things more important going on. Besides, he was horny, as usual, and wanted something a little more…interesting to pass the time. Cocking his head for a moment, Harry made a quick decision. Ginny was upstairs with the kids, so was unavailable to service him. He could have made her available if he really wanted to, but decided to find his entertainment elsewhere. “Nippy,” Harry called one of the house elves, stifling a snicker at the name as usual. Nippy had been born into the Potter-Black household and, as the Master of the House, it had fallen unto Harry to name her. Harry had delighted in letting his inner twelve-year-old free reign on the elves’ names, no matter how much Ginny rolled her eyes at him. As a result, several of his elves had names such as Nippy, Handsy, Jesus, Cunny, Dumbass, Titty, and so on. Unsurprisingly, when Harry had polite company, he usually just called his major-elf-domo, Geeves - snicker - to serve him and his guests. It was one of the reasons Geeves accompanied Harry everywhere, no matter which of his many homes Harry was residing in at the time. Over the years, most of the elves still in direct service to the Potter/Black estates were like Nippy, born in the last fifteen years and raised under Harry’s strict guidelines and philosophies. They were the cream of crop as far as elves were concerned, but one step above even that. He’d insisted on limited education, having no desire to suffer the company of idiots, even in the form of a house elf – Dobby had been enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much. Most had to wear pristine uniforms, even if they had to be made by themselves since the humans couldn’t present clothes without releasing them from service. The elves were even more submissive and subservient than normal, if possible, and entirely capable and proficient in their duties at the same time. To top it off, they were fanatically loyal, enough to put Kreacher to shame, but without the same taint of insanity. It always made Harry laugh when Hermione - who was under the mistaken impression that Geeves was his only elf, and a paid one at that – visited; if she only knew… “Yes, Master Potter?” Nippy asked when she promptly appeared, dressed in the standard everyday uniform of a long, black tunic and white apron marked with the Potter-Black coat of arms. “What’s Boy doing right now?” Nippy was the elf he’d charged with supervising the slave over the last year since acquiring him. “Boy is working in the gardens, Master.” “Has he eaten yet this evening?” Of course, Harry knew the answer. Nippy would never deviate from the regime unless otherwise ordered. “No, Master.” “What was his dinner to be tonight?” “Broiled fish, potatoes and carrots, Master.” “Hmm. I want him in position in ten minutes. Leave him dressed as he is, but make sure he’s clean. I’ll be dining in the cellar antechamber in twenty and will see to his meal myself. And make sure to have the fireplace in the viewing room lit.” Harry dismissed the elf and stood from the table as she popped away. Running upstairs to wash up and change, he paused outside the nursery door only briefly to check on his family. Twenty minutes later, he walked through the spelled door in the kitchen and down the stairs, purposely letting his feet fall heavily, giving Boy a chance to get into the right frame of mind. Rounding the bottom of the stairs, Harry was greeted by a sight that always made him smile, though he hid it. After a childhood spent being worked like a house elf by Vernon and Petunia Dursley, it brought him immense satisfaction to return the treatment in kind to their beloved son. If She had been the type to solicit worship, Harry would have sent a prayer of thanks to his Mother, Karma. But alas, she preferred his gratitude be shown in works such as these – actually carrying out everything that she represented and nurtured. Boy, formerly known as Dudley Dursley, was kneeling submissively, head bowed, dressed in an enlargened tea towel, stained and tattered from months of wear. Normally, he would be naked, but he wore the “uniform” whenever doing his chores outside the cellar, more for the symbol of it than any sort of prudish attempt at modesty. Harry’s children were far from scandalized at the sight of a naked slave, having come upon far worse over the years. Ignoring him, Harry walked over to the kitchenette and dining area on one side of the large chamber, knowing he’d find it exactly as he left it. Other than to pass through on his way outside, Boy was only ever allowed in the antechamber on Harry’s orders, having his own cell off the dungeon playroom to sleep and eat in. Going into the small pantry, Harry returned with a medium sized tin can. Magically opening the can, he poured the dog food into a metal dish he conjured, then set it down on the tiled floor of the kitchen area, next to the matching water bowl he’d already placed. “Eat, Boy,” Harry commanded, satisfied when Boy obediently crawled over to the dish and began eating, not even flinching at the moist and meaty dog food even though that wasn’t his normal fare. For the most part, Boy was decently well- fed with human food, since Harry had no desire to starve his slave, unlike what the Dursleys had done to him. Unhealthy subjects meant less than adequate playtime for Harry, since their weakened bodies weren’t able to withstand as much as he liked to dole out. It was for that same reason that Harry had instituted daily exercise routines. To be honest, Boy’s astonishingly swift acclimation to life as a bottom-feeder – indeed, he seemed to almost blossom – had meant that Harry was quite happy with his service, and not looking to get rid of him any time soon, another reason to keep a close eye on his health. As Harry finished up his own dinner, which had been placed on a small table with a lone chair near to the doggie bowls, he examined the ravenously eating Boy. Over the past year, the strict diet and exercise regimen Harry had instituted, and Nippy had carried out, had paid off quite well. Boy’s physique had slimmed down quite a bit more than before, so much so that he couldn’t be called big by any stretch of the imagination, or even naturally stocky. It was quite obvious that, despite the statures of Vernon and Marge Dursley, being “big boned” was not due to Boy’s genetics, but rather his upbringing and former habits. Having finished his meal fifteen minutes before – more than enough time to rest a bit and digest – Harry suddenly stood and snapped his fingers. Boy immediately stopped eating and crawled over to him, resting on his knees in his submissive position once reaching Harry. Without a word, Harry removed the length of leather he had curled around the belt loop of his denims and clipped the end to Boy’s collar. Turning, he walked swiftly towards a door on the opposite side of the room, knowing that Boy was scrambling to keep up while crawling the entire way. He wouldn’t dare let the slack on the leash grow taut. Harry led Boy into the center of the viewing room. Pulling his wand from his back pocket, he summoned the specially crafted, freestanding black saltire cross, or St. Andrew’s Cross, from one of the open closets. Quickly spelling away Boy’s clothing, he attached the D-ring at the back of the collar and harness, as well as the ankle and wrist cuffs that the slave always wore, to the solid wooden saltire. Stepping back, Harry decided he was satisfied with his toy’s spread-eagled, helpless positioning and turned to walk across the room again. He entered a second closet, this one for smaller equipment and wardrobe, stripped off his jeans and put on a pair of leather, crotchless chaps. Normally Harry refrained from the donning such clichéd getup himself, but he wanted his pleasures to be unobstructed for wherever this evening may take him. Grabbing a portable cart already filled with accoutrement, Harry wheeled it over to his shallowly breathing slave, whether from excitement or fear, he wasn’t sure. He suspected it was a little of both. Walking around to another wall, Harry fiddled with some buttons on the control equipment installed there. The lights dimmed a little as a screen descended along the wall opposite. “Look up, slave. There’s been something I’ve been meaning to show you for a while now. You’re finally ready, I think.” Boy looked up at the screen on the wall in front of him just as the first image appeared. He recognized the unattractive couple in the still photo, even recognized the house behind them, but as though from another life, or a dream. “When Pet presented you to me that first night, of course I had to investigate where she found you. After searching for so long, you just fall into my very lap? Alone? Of course not…where there’s shite, there’s sure to be flies. So I searched the area, but after a few days of nothing I realized that you were probably using a different name. I could have Avada’d myself for not realizing that sooner, and that you were probably there on a business trip. After all, why would you have moved back to London when you tried so hard to hide from me for so long?” The whole time he was speaking and the slide show slowly cycled through images of Boy’s former family and home, Harry was working around the slave’s body. From behind, he reached through Boy’s legs, grabbed his balls and pulled, enjoying the cut-off cry of pain and shock that was emitted even as he slapped the sac to remind his toy to be quiet unless told otherwise. He attached a pair of weighted balls on a long chain to one of the rings piercing his ballsack before slowly letting them fall, not wanting them to swing around just yet. The chain was long enough that, had Boy not been chained to the saltire and could bend his knees slightly, the metal balls would have rested on the floor. As it was, with his knees straight and his body lifted slightly off the ground, all of the weight was being carried by his scrotum, which was stretching out already. “So, with a bit of cleverness, a bit of magic and a bit of the old Potter charm, I eventually found the hotel where you’d been staying. You know, you could have made it so much easier on me if you had remembered your wallet that day. But I digress…I must say I was amused at the name you had chosen. Piers Evans? Really? I find it highly ironic that your parents chose to use the last name Petunia shared with the very sister she so vehemently detested for the same reason you were in hiding in the first place. Magic.” The images continued, showing Boy things he suspected had happened over the past year since his disappearance from that life, if the sad and worried expressions on his parents’ faces were any indication. There were a few photos of his wife thrown in there, as well, but she didn’t look nearly as upset. Boy wasn’t surprised. Changing his mind about the cross, Harry hit a button on the remote controller resting on the cart and a straight bar and chains slowly lowered from the ceiling. Harry detached Boy from the saltire and sent it back to the equipment closet. He set about reattaching the slave to the bar and floor, pulling up until he was stretched and resting his weight on just his toes, the metal balls swaying slightly and pulling on his nutsack. Harry cast a spell on his hands and grabbed Boy’s half-hard cock from behind, the icy coldness causing the toy to gasp at the contrast to the warmth of the room that was being heated by a blazing fire in the fireplace. The cold made Boy’s semi-erection shrink until the hands moved up to twist and pull at his pierced nipples. Harry rubbed his body against the back of Boy’s, his cock against the slave’s arse. He moved one hand down and pushed one, then two fingers inside the tight hole, grinning when he saw over Boy’s shoulder the full, five-inch erection that sprung up, renewed, in result. Boy squirmed and started pushing back against Harry’s finger, causing the weighted balls to swing. Harry withdrew his hands and slapped the slave’s arse hard, then again, relishing in the stifled cry Boy let loose. He grabbed a large dildo from the cart and pushed it in, casting a spell so it wouldn’t come back out. “It took some doing, but I managed to track down the Evans family, in America of all places. I couldn’t help but remember all of Uncle’s grumblings over the years about bloody colonists messing things up and how the U.S. was just a cesspool of sin and idiocy. More irony, you see?” Harry slapped his arse one more time, for good measure. “You’ll never believe what I had to do to find them, though…I actually faked your death, Boy. Just another one of my clever, if sadistic, moments, of course. One morning, a perfectly unsuspecting hotel maid found the dead body of Piers Evans, who had choked on his own vomit after a bender the night before. Of course, the unfortunate man’s body had to be transfigured to be practically a clone of you, down to the DNA, but that wasn’t so tough since I actually had your hairs to use in a Polyjuice potion. Ahh, the wonders of magic. Oh, and my favorite touch was the kiddy porn still playing on the hotel room’s telly. “Even better; my plan worked. The next of kin was appropriately notified and came out to claim the body. It was like stealing candy from a baby, I tell ya.” Harry moved around to the front of his chained slave, his own cock erect as he surveyed the glassy-eyed expression his cousin’s face, gaze still fixed obediently on the screen. He idly started to jerk off and knew Boy, who could see him slowly and deliberately manipulating his cock out of the corner of his watery-blue eyes, was salivating for it. “You want to suck this, don’t you, Boy? You want to hold it, be fucked by it? Speak.” “Yes, Master. Boy wants Master’s cock so much.” Harry grinned deviously. “Of course, you do. But we are only just getting started.” Harry lowered a couple of thin, cord-like chains from the ceiling. He temporarily banished the piercings and put clamps on Boy’s nipples, then attached them to the chain. Pushing a button on the remote, the chain tightened and Boy’s body naturally reacted, moving forward slightly to ease the pull on his nipples, but that only increased the pain in his balls from the weights. When he moved back, instead the pain in his nipples increased. Harry grinned; his slave couldn’t win for losing. “I’ve been watching them for over a year now, surveying the situation. To be honest, I haven’t quite decided what I want to do with them yet. Revenge such as this should be doled out carefully – I’ll only get one shot. Wouldn’t want any regrets, now would we?” Harry walked over to the fireplace and picked up the poker, nudging the burning wood for a few moments while he picked up some spare metal rods and shoved the ends into the hot fire. Eventually he set aside the poker and put on a thick glove that he conjured. Grabbing one of the rods with the gloved hand, he pulled it from the flames, satisfied to see the end glowing red from the heat. “I even checked in on your little wifey. Can’t deny I was curious of what kind of woman would ever marry you. I figured, though, every Vernon has his Petunia, right? But of course, that’s not what I discovered, was it? While your parents were appropriately grieving your supposed death, Mrs. Piers Evans seemed…relieved? Happy, even?” An image of the woman mentioned just then appeared on the screen. Only this time, she wasn’t alone. Instead, she was walking down the street with a handsome man, his arm around her shoulders. Her own hands were resting lovingly on her obviously pregnant stomach. She looked ready to pop. Harry was in front of Boy, stretching the arm holding the glowing rod towards the bound slave. He pushed the stick towards Boy’s genitals, grinning wickedly when he jerked back before the heated metal could touch him. Of course, this pulled on the nipple clamps, so Boy moved forward, only for his Master to threaten his tits this time. “That picture was taken just last week. Imagine the scandal; only three months after her poor husband's death, the young Widow Evans remarried, using the money she received from the life insurance policy to pay for the wedding even. A few months later, and the blissful couple was proudly announcing the impending birth of their son. I would have thought your former wife was just as cruel and emotionless as the rest of you Dursleys, but of course I knew better, seeing as I can read souls. Danielle Evans nee Birch isn’t a bad sort at all, is she, Boy?” Harry grabbed the wilting cock and twisted it hard when the slave closed his eyes. He bit his lip to stifle his whimpers as his eyes shot open again instantly. His Master leaned close to Boy’s ear and whispered. “Make noise freely now, Boy. I want to hear you scream.” Harry grinned when Boy did just that in response to another hard twist of his cock, the weights being jostled too this time. Moving to the fire, he replaced his rod with a fresh one, hot and glowing just like the last. Returning to the slave, he grabbed the flaccid cock and jerked it until it was hard again. He then held the heated rod just a hair’s breadth from the weeping head of Boy’s cock. Boy screamed, half in pain and half in pleasure. “Imagine what I found out when I looked into the situation…about how thirteen year old Dani Birch ran away from home to get away from a physically abusive stepfather who was beginning to show more lecherous interests in her. How Dani was forced to prostitute herself to survive, then, when she was of age, she was finally able to earn a little more cash by stripping at her pimp’s club and turning tricks on the side. Then one day, a strapping, albeit large, young man began to frequent the club, especially during her performances. Before long, he was renting her…other services, until one day her pimp tells her she’s been bought. For good. “You forced that little girl with no other options to marry you, didn’t you, Boy? Just so Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t find out about your other perversions…how you like pussy – after all, sex is sex – but you really crave cock. More than that, you want the owner of said cock to use you, to abuse you, to control your every move. You married her to cover up that you’re one of those cock-sucking fagots your Daddy loves to rant about. That’s what you did, isn’t it, you perverted little pussy? Answer me!” Harry didn’t really know for sure if the slave had always preferred cock over pussy, but that didn’t matter. Boy would believe what he told him, and that was that. “Yes, Master!” Boy screamed just as Harry pressed the rod to a nipple, his other hand once again twisting his cock. “And if that wasn’t enough, you had to be a shite husband, too, didn’t you? You insisted on living with Mummy and Daddy, so that poor girl not only had to put up with your violent abuse, but Petunia’s not-so-veiled disapproval and degrading of any woman in your life and Vernon’s molestation and rapes, didn’t she? Good thing they didn’t really know where she came from and what she used to do for a living, it would have only gotten worse. Well…not used to do for a living, because you still sold her services to make a few extra bucks on the occasion, didn’t you, lovey?!” Harry moved the rod, scorching Boy’s scrotum this time, holding the rod to his flesh for long seconds then pulling back, only to do it again and again. “Yes, Master! Boy is sorry, Master! Boy is scum, Master!” “That’s right, Scum. You better be sorry, Boy!” Harry moved around behind Boy and rolled the hot rod up his back as he pulled the dildo from his arse. Holding the metal across his cheeks, Harry delighted when Boy jumped forward, causing his balls to be stretched by the weights and a scream to rip from his throat. Harry moved the rod away, casting a spell on his own body to make it feel as cold as ice to others, though he couldn’t feel it himself. He moved up and pressed fully against his slave, his hard cock resting in the crack of his arse. He chuckled when Boy, still sobbing in pain, couldn’t help but push against his Master, as far back as he could without getting his nipples torn off from the clamps still attached to the chain hanging from the ceiling. “You want that, hmm?” Harry murmured in Boy’s ear as he pushed his throbbing cockhead teasingly against the man’s stretched sphincter, still gaping from the removed dildo. Banishing the rod back to the fireplace, Harry reached around with both hands and grabbed the slave’s hips, then pulled. He thrust his cock deep inside to the tune of Boy’s screams of pain mixed with pleasure. “What if you could go back, Boy, hmmm? What if you could go back, be Dudley again.” Harry punctuated every word with a hard, unforgiving thrust into the dry hole. “Or at least be Piers Evans again, hmm?” Harry continued to fuck him good and hard, moving his hands up to twist Boy’s clamped nipples and pull on the chain attached to them. “Magic can do a lot of things, you know. I could get it all back for you. Even Danielle, if you want. Her new husband and soon-to-be-born child would not be a problem, I assure you.” Harry stilled for a moment to unlatch the weights from his balls, the sudden release of pressure causing Boy to spontaneously orgasm all over the viewing room floor, a litany of “Oh, Master!” and “Thank you, Master!” spilling from his lips. Harry shoved his cock in and out of his slave for a few more moments before letting go, his hot splash of cum in the sensitive anus causing Boy to orgasm a second time, though Harry noticed there was no semen. That had been happening more and more frequently lately, and was one of the reasons prompting this exact session. Moving around to the front, Harry grabbed the back of Boy’s head by his hair, kept long and braided now for his Master’s pleasure. “So what say you, Boy? Just say the word, and I’ll give it all back.” Of course, Harry had no intention of following through on his promise, but Boy didn’t know that. “No, Master, please no,” Boy whispered. “No? Then what do you want, Boy?” “Please, Master. Boy wants to stay with Master. Boy lives only to serve Master.” Harry’s lips twitched in a satisfied smirk. “Good answer. Tell me the truth now, slave. Why don’t you release cum very often lately?” Boy chewed his lip nervously. “Boy needs only Master’s pleasure to get his own. Only Master is important. Boy is not a man, and so does not need cum. Boy tries hard to make this happen, so very hard.” Harry released Boy from his bonds and pushed him to his knees. “You are almost ready, then. Clean me.” And shoved his semi-wilted cock, covered in semen, ass juice and a bit of blood, into Boy’s willing mouth. Hell, there could have even been a bit of shit there, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care Harry sighed. Mother would be proud of him for this accomplishment. For even better than the torture, the enslavement, the rapes he inflicted on the creature before him, was the fact that Boy now wanted all of that more than anything. Finally, after a year, Dudley Dursley no longer existed. Piers Evans no longer existed. There was truly only Boy, slave and tool of Harry Potter, Lord of Black. -x-x-x-x-x- 2008, August The cat left burning trails across Boy’s back and arse. He had never beaten him this much in twenty-four hours, and Boy was pouring sweat from every pore in his body, both from the beating and from straining, forcing himself to endure it. Through gritted teeth, gasps and shudders, he continuously cried, "Please, Sir, harder, Master, please…" Then suddenly, He stood towering above as Boy knelt before him, and Boy smelled His leather, His crotch, His arsehole…intoxicating. His dick was half hard in front of Boy’s face, framed by His chaps and His balls and Boy heard Him speak and knew what he must do. Boy took the meat in his mouth and held it there, waiting, and then it began to dribble, hot and salty. As His dick softened, the piss flowed, then shot out against the back of Boy’s throat, and he drank it thirstily. Boy was His. His toilet. His dog. His whipping boy. His and nothing else, and nothing other than the knowledge that he was His invaded Boy’s awareness or had any relevance to him. Nothing but that knowledge made Boy’s dick hard and Boy’s hole twitch with want. Boy was nothing but His and Boy drank, thankful that it was His Will that Boy taste his scalding piss... Boy felt His fingers under his collar, pulling him to his feet. Boy’s collar. Master's collar. The thick, black leather that marked him as His to use as He saw fit. The collar Boy could not, would not, remove unless it was His Will; the collar Boy wanted more than anything else to feel around his neck, to wear until the day he died, hopefully at His hands as well. Boy wore other marks, other badges of His ownership. The tattoos and the rings through his flesh. Today he would obtain the ultimate mark of Master’s control: the knife scar on Boy’s empty bag. Boy wanted nothing more than that, for Him to claim Boy’s sex, to seal His ownership. Master moved behind him and slid His stiff, throbbing dick up Boy’s arsehole, sinking deep into his guts. Boy howled like a cat in heat as He fucked him. It had been two weeks since Boy had been allowed to cum, and never before had Boy been so horny, so hot. Master teased him all the while, for two weeks bringing him almost to the point of shooting, then stopping. His balls were sore. Boy was suddenly floating in the air, then held up by a sling as He shaved Boy’s balls. Finally, two years after the beginning of his new life, Master was going to fully take Boy. The cold kiss of the straight razor made Boy’s dick throb each time it scraped, removing hair the hot wax from earlier had missed. Boy’s dick was jerking as he watched Him sharpening the knife until it almost sparkled. Then Master did something He had never done before, and Boy jumped. His lips wrapped around Boy’s stiff dick and He began to suck, slowly, and at the point when Boy could feel it swelling, He stopped, holding it deep in His throat. Over and over again, Master did this, and Boy began sobbing and begging Him to let him cum. Master took Boy’s hand and directed it to his own baby-cock, telling him to jack slowly, but not to cum until He gave permission. Finally, when He had given permission, Boy started to moan as he felt the cum boiling in his balls and then in the base of his small dick. He groaned like an animal as he prepared to shoot his last potent wad ever. Suddenly, Boy was cumming, cumming, cumming hard, like he never had before, and just as it began to spew out, the cold steel seared Boy’s bag. Boy felt the sharp ache up inside his gut, up to his lungs and he shrieked from both the orgasm and feeling the warm blood run out as the icy blade cut out his balls. Boy was His. Boy would wear Master’s collar forever, as Boy would wear the scar of His knife. Boy had no sex, no desire other than His dick, His balls, His arsehole now. Proud to wear Master’s marks, proud to be His toilet, Boy treasured every stroke from His belt, every slap from His hand, every taste of Him. Boy belonged to Him, body, mind and soul. Master’s hard-on was Boy’s only happiness, and he would have it no other way. Boy existed only worship Him, serve Him…all of Him. End Chapter ***** Part I, Chapter 3: The Nookie Bookie ***** Author's notes: "You may not believe me – then again, by this point, you just may – but I was as unruly and dangerous as the Dursleys said I was. A boy’s gotta eat, after all, and since they weren’t too keen on feeding me…" =============================================================================== Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and its various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Warning: This story is pure FICTIONAL smut and features extremely controversial sex, which may or may not include bisexuality, beastiality, fetish, incest, pedophilia, rape and so on. Happenings in this story are fantasy and should remain so. If it's not your cup of tea - STOP RIGHT HERE. =============================================================================== “I am not a greedy bloke, but I know what it’s like to scrape for every bite of crusty bread. I will never live that way again. Are ya with me, mate?” -Dean Thomas, c. 1996 Part_I:_The_Players_&_The_Pieces Chapter 3: The Nookie Bookie 2009, May “Because of prejudice and hatred, Harry Potter had next to nothing as a child. His muggle relatives denied him basic material and emotional necessities, going so far as to slander his name to the neighbors, leaving him friendless and alone. With these humble beginnings, Harry now recognizes the true value of things in life. His friends need only ask and he would hand over his modest inheritance, down to the clothes on his back. Unlike many others, Harry has no ambition to increase his wealth, knowing that his greatest riches lie in the people he is grateful to call friends.” Translation: Harry Potter is a spineless idiot who not only couldn’t stand up for himself as a child, but is so desperate for friendship that he’s willing to buy it. Umm…bloody-fucking-no! Okay, let’s start with the easy part first and point out that my inheritance was anything but modest. I don’t know how much this shite matters to you, but it’s details like these that can make all the difference, you know? In actuality, all Hermione knew about was the vault I used for school…which was just that – my school trust. And even that was probably more than Arthur Weasley could make his entire life. Let’s just say that Ron is right to be envious. Then add to that, my parents’ will stipulated that I would have access to their personal vaults and property, including but not limited to the cottage at Godric’s Hollow, when I was considered a legal adult. My marriage to Ginny at the end of Fifth Year took care of that, and both of my parents had decent- sized personal and joint assets. However, Wizarding Law dictates that the Head of a family must be twenty-one years of age in order to claim that designation and have subsequent access to related monies, properties and titles, no matter the circumstance. It was a way to prevent impulsive teenagers with too much money and too little sense controlling Seats in the Wizengamot. Twenty-one was the traditional age most wizards had finished their ten-year apprenticeships, implying they were mature and ready for adulthood. Despite the change in legal adult age to seventeen, the twenty-one law remained in effect, and so I still had to wait until then until I could claim the Potter Family vaults and properties, but they were well worth the wait. They were not anything near the Malfoy assets, nor were there any noble titles attached at the time, but the Potters were far from paupers. There was a reason my father never had to work, you know. Now the Black estate is something else entirely. Despite the unfortunately accurate depiction of Grimmauld Place in Hermione’s books, the Blacks were definitely on the Malfoy level, noble title included. Grimmauld is just the tip of the iceberg and, honestly, I rarely have to use a hotel when I travel, considering how many properties around the world the Blacks acquired through the centuries. I had to do a bit of legal maneuvering to be able to claim Head of Black, but all in all, it wasn’t so difficult. And the reward more than made up for the trouble. Don’t make any rash judgments, though. Even if I didn’t have the Potter and Black inheritances, I had been making my own way, money wise, for years before entering Hogwarts. By hook or by crook – I knew how to turn pence into pounds. I didn’t just stop trying to make money, or turning my gold into more gold, just because I was in a new environment. It just meant that I had an official bank to house it, rather than under my mattress, and other little hidey-holes. Now, that bit about just handing everything over to my friends should they ask for it? Yeah, right. What do I look like to you, Mother Theresa or the Red Cross? Trust me, I am not a charitable person by any means. That word alone – charity – leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Nothing in life is free, and I’m not about to change that. I’m not above helping someone out, someone who I like or at least has something I want, but I always – always – get something in return. And trust me, you don’t want to owe a man like me any favors, because you’ll never know when I’ll come to collect my due, or even what I will be collecting. The interest rate, so to speak, might just be too high, too rich for your blood. Ever heard the phrase ‘sold my soul to the devil’? Now, I’m not above blackmail and bribery to get something I want, but I definitely don’t pay people in a pathetically desperate plea for them to like me. Partly because I don’t give a shite what people think of me, and partly because I just don’t need to. Pre-Hogwarts life wasn’t as lonely as Hermione and the Weasleys assume. Just as all those rumors about my deviant, criminal behavior…weren’t just rumors. You may not believe me – then again, by this point, you just may – but I was as unruly and dangerous as the Dursleys said I was. A boy’s gotta eat, after all, and since they weren’t too keen on feeding me… Some of my most financially lucrative schemes and deals wouldn’t have succeeded if it weren’t for my blood brother, though. Hell, some of them were his ideas to begin with. It’s ridiculous to say that I was friendless before my eleventh birthday when I’d been pulling cons and making trouble with my partner in crime, Dean Thomas, since we were just ankle biters. Yeah, you head me right. Dean Thomas. We’ve been tight since before either of us even knew we were wizards. Dean and his mother moved from London to Surrey, only a few miles from Privet Drive in fact, in a less savory part of town, when I was about five. There was a local street gang that eventually pressed Dean into joining, not that he was too opposed to the idea. Jugger, the leader, liked to use little kids for special jobs – small fingers and beguiling eyes do wonders in many cases, don’t they? Only a few months later I joined up; Dean and I hit it off quickly and we’ve been thicker than thieves ever since. He’s definitely part of my ‘Inner Circle,’ so to speak. Not quite two years after our first meeting, I happened to witness a bit of accidental magic from Dean – yes, I knew about magic, but that’s another story for another time – and our…bond, I guess you could say, just grew stronger. Dean’s always been in the thick of it with me – making money, committing crimes, learning magic and so on. Hell, you name it, we’ve probably done it together, in some form or another. Take sex, for example. Dean is completely straight, but he’s not shy or insecure, so though we’ve never had sex with each other, we have shared many adventures. I can’t even begin to recall the number of threesomes we’ve had with some girl or another. Even losing our virginities was together, with a prostitute named, of all things, Contrary Mary Magdalene.   -x-x-x-x-x-x- 1988, October Mary suppressed a shiver as she vigorously rubbed her hands up and down her arms, cursing the thin jacket and short, short skirt she was wearing. Being in her line of work sucked in more ways than one, but it was really shite in this bloody cold weather. In the fucking winter, knee-high boots, fishnets and a denim mini could just as likely lead to her death from hypothermia as it was to earn her next meal ticket. At least tonight she’d be warm, she figured. Jugger had already paid her half, promising her food, a roof for the night, and the rest of the money after she fucked the two blokes he’d bought her for. Apparently, they were rookies in his crew and they’d done good, earned a bit of a reward, he said. Whatever, she didn’t care, as long as she got paid. She wasn’t always so lucky, and punters weren’t always so willing to go with her – not the regulars, anyway. She was a reasonably attractive woman still in her twenties, but her mouth often got her in trouble, and not because it was on someone’s dick. There was a reason they’d stuck the Contrary bit in front of her street name, Mary Magdalene. There’d been a time when she’d been just Mary, and sometimes Mary Sl- ‘Stop that!’ Mary pinched herself to force her thoughts away from better days long gone. It would do no good to torture herself with should have beens, but aren’t. Or would have beens, but weren’t. Bringing her mind back to the here and now, Mary’s shivers turned to shudders as she made her way through the cluttered path in the small wood just outside of town. It was dark and cold, and she was hoping that Jugger was telling the truth; that there really was an abandoned cottage just ahead and he wasn’t just setting her up. He was usually a straight shooter, but he had a vicious streak that scared the shite out of her. She hoped she hadn’t done anything to piss him off lately, because the shadowy woods were scaring her silly and she really didn’t want to die tonight. Just when she was about to give into her nerves and run back the way she came, the path opened to clearing so small it barely had room for the run-down cottage it housed. At first, the building appeared empty, but the faint light of the moon showed that the windows were just painted black to prevent light from inside being seen by any who happened to pass nearby. Just then a cold gust of wind blew straight up her skirt to her crotchless knickers, and Mary quickened her steps to the front door. Now that she was closer, she could see the thin strip of light at the bottom of the door and the familiar, muffled sound of music and pissed blokes. At her knock, the door swung open to reveal Ugly Mutt – a twenty-something, stocky thug that more than lived up to his nickname. And not just in the face – Mary had intimate knowledge of just how ugly Mutt was below the neck, too. Mutt belched, then called over his shoulder, far louder than necessary in such a small space, “Oi! Boss! The whore’s here.” He turned his distorted mug to her and leered. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary…how do yer garden grow?” Mary rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t. I shave, you git. As you well know,” she said flatly, ignoring Matt’s loud laugh in response. Once the door closed behind her, Mary nearly sighed in relief at the warmth. There was no electricity or heat, obviously, but the boys had fires going in both the fireplace and the kitchen stove, and just the shelter from the wind made a huge difference in the temperature. She did a quick survey of the room and its occupants. It was a small cottage, with a combined kitchen and sitting room. There were two doors on the left, to what she assumed were the loo and the bedroom, and that was about it. The boys had obviously been collecting furniture and dragging it here, from what she could tell of the mismatched, more than worse-for wear pieces that were scattered about. Thankfully, the sitting room itself was quite large and spacious in comparison to the overall size of the cottage, because it was filled with at least a dozen or so blokes, ranging in ages of eight or so to maybe twenty-two or three. She recognized most of them, hell, she’d fucked more than half, but there were a few unfamiliar faces. Too many to be sure who it was she’d be shagging that night. Jugger came into the room, then, through one of the doors she’d noticed earlier. Tall, bald and scarred, he wasn’t the oldest of the lot at just gone nineteen, but he was definitely the meanest. He’d earned his street name from the comic book character, because apparently, just like Juggernaut, once he got started, he didn’t stop. He just kept going, getting faster, stronger, and angrier. Mary had witnessed it firsthand once, when he’d gotten into a fight with a man twice his size. Jugger had kept beating him until the man nearly died and the bills came, scattering the gathered crowd. “A’ righ’ boys. Seems da entertainment’s here,” he grinned, the long scar on his face making his smile look even scarier than intended. As fierce as that mark looked, it wasn’t even the worst scar he sported; there were plenty more scattered across his body. Jugger had definitely earned his place at the head of the pack – the hard way. “Ahh, swee’ Mary. I ha’ a special job fer ya tonigh’. Come o’er here ‘n’ meet yer new pupils, Perfess’r.” Mary walked over without hesitating, though she didn’t know quite what to make of the mischievous glint in the man’s eyes. Once she was by his side, he put his arm around her shoulders. “Mary, I’d like ya ta meet da boys responsible fer dis evenin’, since dey is da blokes who foun’ deez ‘mazin’ digs,” Jugger said. Mary turned in the indicated direction, prepared with her standard seductive smile, only to freeze at the sight before her. Surely she had to be mistaken, because the only boys before her were just that – boys. The pair couldn’t be more than eight or nine, at the most! “Dean Thomas an’ ‘arry Potter. Potter ‘n’ Thomas ha’ earnt da righ’ ta be men, I say. An’ yar gonna take care a tha’ fer ‘em.” “Bloody hell, Jugger!” Mary protested, turning wide eyes to him and ignoring the sniggers from the rest of the boys in the room. “You can’t be bloody serious! I didn’t agree to shagging any kids. I ain’t into that!” Quicker than a flash, Jugger lost all of his jovial demeanor and turned a hard, glaring eye on her, the arm around her shoulders tightening and his other hand coming up to grip her neck just under her chin, forcing her to keep her eyes even with his. His voice low and deadly, Jugger growled, “Yar inta wha’ I say yar inta, cunt. Or did ya ferget tha’ yar a whore? Now, when I le’ go, yar gonna show me boys a good time, yeah? Dey’s need some schoolin’ in da ways o’ men an’ beasts, an’ yar gonna be da one who’s doin’ da schoolin’ or I’ll be takin’ back tha’ dosh I gave ya – in yar flesh. Got me, luv?” Mary nodded as much as his grip would allow and when he let go, she asked, “Are you sure we have to do it here? Don’t you think they’d at least want a little privacy – pressure to perform, and all that? Shite, can they even get an erection yet?” And just like that, Jugger’s mood shifted again as he laughed heartily, the rest of the boys following. Turning to the children nearby, she was shocked to see them laughing at her request on their behalf right along with the others. Did they even know what they were laughing at? “No worries, Perfess’r. Dean an’ ‘arry ain’t yer typical sprogs, ain’t tha’ righ’ boys?” Taking a closer look at the boys, Mary found herself agreeing with Jugger’s claims from pure gut instinct alone. The taller of the two, a dark-skinned lad with tight, curly hair and big hands, had a hard edge to his laugh, almost bitter sounding. He was dirty and unkempt, but looked comfortable that way, as if it were the norm. Mary was no fool; she’d lived on the streets long enough to know that for this boy – Dean Thomas, Jugger had said – it probably was the norm. Proper hygiene and cleanliness took a backburner to food and shelter in the poorer walks of life. It was the second lad, though, that really convinced her that Jugger wasn’t completely ‘round the bend. Smaller, skinnier, all around more innocent looking, this beautiful little boy made her shudder deep in her soul. Despite the oversized, worn clothing he wore, he seemed to hold himself with a dignity that defied his circumstances, as if he were a lord walking amongst the lowly commoners. She noticed he didn’t laugh so much as smirk in her direction, his astonishingly bright, green eyes peering at her beneath the bangs of his messy, black hair. It was those eyes that made her stomach twist, for she swore she could see a dark gleam in them, yet was unable to resist the lure. It was as if he were a snake charmer and she the serpent trapped by his siren song, pulling her steadily to her doom. Mary shook herself, coming back to the moment at hand, and sighed. “Fine, let’s get this over with, then,” she muttered as she began pulling off her clothes, only to be stopped by Jugger. “I don’t thin’ so, girlie. I pay fer ya all nigh’. Yer tonigh’s entertainment. I thin’ me an’ da boys would like a bit o’ show, an’ Potter an’ Thomas just migh’ need a wee somet’in’ to get in da mood. Now, strip…slow like. Mutt, turn up da music!” Mary stopped herself from rolling her eyes and complied, swaying and undulating as she undressed to the decidedly non-stripper-style music playing over the small radio. Pulling on her long-honed skills, she dropped into her “whore” mindset, like an actor getting into character. It was where she went with every customer, always pretending. At some point, Mary stopped ignoring the two young boys and began to actively try to seduce them, making eye contact and licking her lips as she saucily ran her hands over her own body. She watched the lads take off their clothes, responding to a distantly heard call from the audience, and ran her eyes over their pre-pubescent forms. She was somewhat surprised to see them touching their own hard cocklets, but she guessed they must be familiar with masturbation already if they were so at ease with the plan to fuck her that night. Examining their equipment, she was satisfied that at least they’d have no problems there. They were certainly not large, but she’d had smaller – from fully grown men, no less. Both somewhere around four inches and slender, she would hazard to guess they’d each grow descent cocks eventually, average at the least, possibly more. And, if his hands were any indication, the black boy in particular would be quite well endowed some day. Noticing that someone had set a faded kitchen chair behind her, she used the prop to her advantage, dancing around it, offering the room flashes of her fanny as she kicked her leg up over the back. Finally, she sat in the chair, legs spread, beckoning the boys to her with a finger. When they drew near, she reached down, replacing their hands on their dicks with her own, smiling at the twin groans they emitted. “How about I suck you, duckies, hmmm? But who first…” Mary murmured, pretending to think it over. She got down on her knees, then her bum, since that wasn’t low enough for their short statures. Taking a quick pull with her mouth on one, then the other’s cock, she looked up at them, suppressing the inner surprise at having actually enjoyed the feeling of their small dicks on her tongue. “Why choose? I’ll just take both…” Capitalizing of the fact that the boys were less developed, she pushed their bodies together so that she could take both of their privates in her mouth at the same time. Ignoring the cheers of the peanut gallery around them, she voraciously sucked their cocks until they both shuddered violently. She assumed they had just orgasmed, though they were too young to have actual cum. Stretching out on her back, Mary enticed the boys closer, pushing their heads between her thighs. She couldn’t help but get wet now; what they lacked in experience, they certainly made up for in enthusiasm. Besides, any two tongues, no matter who they belonged to, felt good when eating pussy. Mary decided to let go of the last of her reservations and just enjoy the sex; she’d done weirder things than fuck a child, anyway. Her soul had been damned long ago. Moaning and pushing her hips up to meet tongues and lips and teeth, Mary finally came, shouting out like the whore she was - exactly what she knew their audience wanted to hear. “Mmmm. Very good, duckies.” Noticing that their cocks were hard again, Mary smiled. “Now who’s going first?” It didn’t escape her notice that Thomas, despite being the more physically imposing of the two, deferred to Potter, who simply nodded in indication that Dean should go ahead. She wasn’t surprised, though…something about that kid just screamed alpha. She’d been with men like that before, and she could recognize the signs of a natural Dom, though she’d never expected to see said signs in an eight-year-old. Dean clambered between her legs and lay on top of her, but his inexperience betrayed him here. He lay there, not quite sure how to meet the mark, thrusting his hips in an attempt to get inside, but missing her hole every time. Hearing the not-so-quiet snickers around her, Mary reached down to save him further embarrassment, grabbing his dick and guiding it inside her. Sinking in easily, Dean grunted and immediately began jackhammering at her pussy. Surprisingly, it felt good, the swift movements creating a delicious friction against her cunt walls even though he wasn’t very thick. She was far from climaxing, especially having just come minutes before, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless. She just wished he had a little pubic hair – she usually liked feeling it rub against her clit when a man fucked her. Wanting to make the boy look good in front of the other men, Mary put on her best performance of a woman in the throes of passion, only partially faking it. Grabbing his firm little bum, she tempered his frantic hips subtly, drawing the sex out a little and angling him just right to give them both more pleasure. “See, girlie?” Mary heard Jugger’s voice nearby. “Didn’t I tell ya you’d be the perfect perfess’r? Show tha’ lad how ta fuck like a real man, yeah?” Dean wasn’t good for more than a few more minutes before he lost his rhythm, then stopped altogether, shuddering and grunting through his short, dry release. After a brief pause, the boy pulled out and got up, moving back to allow his friend in for his turn. Harry gave her a decidedly naughty half-smile, surprising her by touching her body first rather than just going straight to fucking. One hand on her tit, the other playing with her cunny, the kid was actually getting her worked up. That, combined with the left over build-up she’d experience while fucking Dean, meant she’d probably have an orgasm if the boy could hold out at least as long as his friend. She was about to find out, because Harry moved closer and adjusted the angle of her hips to suit him – was this kid really a virgin?! He seemed so at ease, so comfortable with the entire act, as if sex was as natural to him as it was to an experienced adult, not a virginal child. Even as she pondered this, Harry reached down, aiming his dick and sliding inside in one easy stroke, right on target. And it felt good. Harry didn’t jackhammer, and seemed to purposely change his rhythm and speed to keep her on edge. At some point, Mary gave up wondering where a virgin child had learned to fuck so good, and just enjoyed the moment. She’d never thought she’d say it, but bloody hell…size doesn’t matter as much as how you use it! Looking over, she saw that Dean was hard – again! She’d heard rumors that boys who didn’t produce sperm yet could go at it like rabbits, but she’d obviously had no way of knowing if the rumors were true before. The pair’s stamina was astonishing…and somewhat worrisome to her. Jugger had pointed out that she was theirs for the entire night, after all. Would she last? She had the right of it to worry; many hours later, Mary was resting on her hands and knees, Harry pounding away at her pussy from behind and Dean’s dick in her mouth. She was ready to faint from exhaustion and too many orgasms to count, but the boys never seemed to tire. The rest of the crew had long since either fallen asleep or passed out from drinking, but Dean and Harry had yet to show signs of even slowing down. Aside from the trio, only Jugger remained awake, cheerfully making sure she worked for every bit of the money he was paying her…and then some. -x-x-x-x- 1997, June Dean’s head jerked up from where it was lazily resting on his pillow as the sound of distinctive knocking drifted into his bedroom. Groaning, he jumped out of bed, cursing when he realized what time it was. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and padded barefoot out to the front room, not bothering with a shirt. If Harry wanted to wake him up this early during the summer holidays, then he’d bloody well not complain about his state of dress, or undress, as the case may be. It’s not like they hadn’t seen each other naked, and much more, countless times before, anyway. He entered the sitting room just as the door opened, revealing his messy- haired…er, not so messy-haired friend. “You know,” Dean grumbled before he went over greet Harry, “if you were just going to come in anyway, why’d you bother to knock? Hell, it’s your flat, you’re not supposed to have to knock, mate.” Clasping hands with his blood brother, Harry grinned. “You’re just sore because I woke you up. Nice way to greet guests, by the way,” Harry said as he looked Dean up and down. “Glad to see you went all out to look presentable, D.” Dean laughed, “Yeah well, you come here at ten in the morning during the fucking holidays then you get what you get. It’s not like you don’t like the view anyway, pervert.” Harry grinned cheekily. “True that. But I am just trying to look out for my girl – wouldn’t want to offend her innocent eyes, you know.” Only then did Dean realize that Harry wasn’t alone. He leaned over and smiled at Harry’s petite wife, who was giggling as she clutched a tightly wrapped bundle to her chest. “Innocent my arse. You married a wild one, and you know it. Hey, Sprite – long time no see,” Dean nodded at the redhead. She hadn’t been in Hogwarts since winter hols as she’d been due to give birth in January. Harry had been paying a tutor so she wouldn’t fall behind and, from what his friend had been saying, she’d actually been learning more than she would have if she’d stayed in school. Regardless, it had been six months since he’d seen her, and he’d sort of missed the fiery girl. “That the sprog?” Harry smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Ginny wanted to get out of the house and to see you, but she’s not quite ready to be separated from the baby yet, so we brought him along.” “Hey, Dean. Wanna hold him?” Ginny offered, holding her arms out a little in Dean’s direction. Dean took a quick step back, holding his hands up, as if to ward off the evil she seemed intent on pushing on him. “No. No way. I don’t do kids.” “Aww, he’s not so bad. Jamie’s a very good baby – and he’s asleep right now, anyway.” “Absolutely not. Dean and babies do not mix, trust me. He’ll end up broken or something.” Harry chuckled. “You better leave him be, Pet. When he starts referring to himself in the third person, you can’t win. He’s dug in his heels and plans on staying awhile.” Ginny pouted, “All right, Master. But I still say he needs to get himself a girl and settle down and get his own baby Thomas.” Dean blanched at that. “Oi!” he squawked. “Settle down? I’m only seventeen fucking years old, woman! Way too bloody young to settle down.” At Harry’s smirk and raised eyebrows, Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut it, Potter. Your position is completely different. Besides, I’d hardly call you settled down, even with a wife and kid in tow. Not many girls out there are as…adventurous as Sprite over there.” Harry grinned. “No lie. But you know as well as I do that a woman can be…trained, mate.” Dean snorted. “You’re the pervert, not me, Harry. I just fuck – I’m not into all the extra kinky shit. The only tool I need is between my legs. No insult intended, of course,” he smirked in Harry’s direction. “Of course,” Harry rolled his eyes then turned to his wife. “Pet, go get comfortable on the couch. D and I have some business to talk over in the kitchen. James should be getting hungry pretty soon, right? Go feed the greedy, little bugger.” Ginny nodded and moved towards the couch as the boys retired to the kitchen. Dean sprawled out at the table across from his long-time friend. “So, Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? And what the hell did you do to your hair?!” Harry snorted and pulled several items from his pocket and set them on the table before taking a seat. Waving his hand, the items resized to reveal several flat jewellery boxes, a small drawing pad, a bottle of ink and a couple of odd-looking quills. “Holy crap, Harry! Did you just do wandless magic?” Harry and Dean had been practicing magic since before they had wands, but casting those kinds of spells without one was very difficult. The two of them had only ever mastered the easy magic, like lumos. “Actually, no." He held up a hand, displaying an intricate ring that looked to be made of wood, metal and precious gems. “It’s a focus ring. I figured out that wand-making is just a form of enchanting, and a focus doesn’t have to be a foot-long piece of wood with unicorn hair, dragon heartstring or phoenix feather. I’m not a skillful enough enchanter to create my own, yet, but I found someone in Belgium to make me one.” “Brill,” Dean murmured. “Is it even legal?” Harry affected a long-suffering look and huffed. “Of course not. No reason it shouldn’t be, but the bloody Ministry likes to control everything, as usual. Nothing a little invisibility spell can’t fix, though. Gin’s got one to, and I’ll need you to come with me to get yours. I’m sure you can see why it’s an advantage?” “Yeah, mate. Does this junk have to do with that too?” Dean asked, gesturing to the items on the table. “It’s not junk. These enchanted items are going to help us make a lot of money…completely undetected.” Dean’s eyes lit up. “You mean it’s a go?” At Harry’s nod, Dean cheered boisterously and clapping his hands in triumph. “Bloody hell, that’s brill! So lay it on me, mate. How are we going to do this?” Harry chuckled, then picked up the drawing pad, opening to the first page. “First, mister artiste, are your paintings. Well, your drawings would work too.” Dean raised a brow. “My paintings? So we’re going with my idea to sell them as a cover then?” Harry nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got enough money and investments already in works, that my income won’t even be questioned, and I can pass it off even if it is. You on the other hand…But if we use your art as a cover up for what we’re really selling, they won’t be able to find anything if they dig deeper. Muggle or Magical authorities. We’ll just make me your agent, who works on commission, just to be sure.” “Yeah, but what about the whole supply and demand shite? I know we’re planning on only using exclusive, high priced girls, but even then I can’t run the biz, oversee whores and customers, make enough paintings to cover each, er, transaction, and still have time for a little fuckery of my own. I’m too young to go celibate, Potter. The world’s women aren't ready yet to be deprived of my magnificent cock.” Harry chuckled, “No worries, D. That’s why you’ll be selling prints, not originals. High quality, magical prints worthy of the price we’ll be charging for them, but prints nonetheless. Your originals will be worth much more, of course, and will be reserved for our more….expensive products. The real beauty is in this, though.” Harry pushed the open pad towards Dean, a strange symbol drawn on the page in an elaborate calligraphy-style. “What’s this? It’s weirdly…hypnotic?” “It’s supposed to be hypnotic, at least at first. That is your new signature” Dean finally managed to pull his gaze away from the entrancing symbol and look up at Harry, questions clearly spelled out on his face. “It is?” “Yep. Your runic signature, I should say. You know, enchanting is mostly a dead art in Britain and what is left has seemingly more regulations and restrictions than the Unforgivables, so the Ancient Runes that Hogwarts teaches is only a drop in the bucket to what is out there. Especially when you factor in the basic enchanter’s ability to create their own.” “Okay, okay. Down with the Man; Government bad, Regular Bloke good. Now tell me what this symbol means and why it’s my new signature.” “First off, how many times do I have to tell you that no one is 'good.' Do you ever listen to me?” Harry snickered when Dean rolled his eyes. “Nevermind, obviously you don’t listen, because you would have put two and two together by now. Enchanted runes, Dean…they can make you do things, or not do things, as the case may be. In this case, I created this rune to keep our secrets. As long as you or I transfer it magically on each individual print, it carries over the spell. The spell itself, which gets enacted either by the client accepting the transaction or someone just looking at the painting, essentially makes a person not ask too many questions and keep our secrets, even under persuasion such as Veritaserum. Decent workmanship, if I do say so myself; a combination rune that mixes memory, secrecy and focus of the mind. Not bad for a relative beginner, eh?” Harry grinned cheekily. “Not bad? Harry, it’s bloody brilliant. And if we make sure I put the signature someplace hidden – like a lot of artists do – then even a mage-sight might overlook it.” “They’d be hard-pressed not to, considering I layered the spell specifically for them as well. Even as rare as they are, we can’t take any chances. Prostitution may be legal, but pimping or running a bordello aren’t. But, the spell works so that the more you wonder about it, the stronger the magic gets and urges you to look away, all the while the traces of magic hide itself more and more.” “Like I said. Brilliant.” Dean picked up one of the jewellery boxes and opened it, revealing a thin, silver chain. “You never did tell me what you did to your hair. Did you go back to the Dursleys and not tell me, or something? Gotta say, at least Petunia’s hair-cutting skills have improved. This one actually looks good on ya.” Harry’s mop of unruly black hair was nearly gone. He hadn’t shaved it completely, but it was extremely short – as in buzz cut short. “Er, no. I just got sick of the mess on my head. I like this better. Ginny says it suits me, or something – apparently emphasizes my strong jawline or some shite.” Dean fluttered his eyelashes at Harry, and, in a falsetto that sounded all wrong mixed with his naturally deep voice, lisped “Oh, yeth, Harry. You’re thimply gorgeouth now. Tho manly, tho thexy.” With a wave of his hand, Harry gave Dean breasts and a bad make-up job to match the added blue beehive hairdo on his head. “Whatever; I was just sick of having people look at me with pity like I’m bloody Oliver Twist asking for more food. That mop top just screamed orphaned street-urchin.” Ignoring Dean’s indignant protests over his new look, Harry gestured to the silver chain necklace in Dean’s hand. “These are for the girls. Enchanted with very similar spells as the rune, but spelled with an extra invisibility spell to shield it from all but our eyes and theirs.” “There are ways to see through invisibility spells. Remember Moody’s eye?” Harry smirked. “Trust me. Not a problem with this magic. I’ve been very thorough in my research, thanks to a, er, friend of mine.” Dean quirked a brow at his friend's smug expression. “Translation: one of your hook-ups. I swear, you’ve been with Sprite since Third Year, you’re even married to the chit, and you still get more pussy than me!” Harry laughed. “Who said it was pussy this time?” “Ugh!” Dean yelled, pretending to be disgusted. “Don’t need to hear about that, mate!” Ignoring Harry’s loud guffaws, Dean flipped the page in the pad, finding some more symbols. “So what are the inkpots and quills for? They don’t look like normal quills.” “That’s because they’re not. If you look at the second page there, you’ll see another rune. This one is for a tattoo, to go on each of the girls. It essentially reinforces the loyalty and secrecy spells in the necklace, well actually, the necklace reinforces the rune. But it also has extra tidbits worked in that will allow us to…please the clientele better. The girl mentally activates the spell and basically a glamour is enacted that disguises her as whatever the intended target wants to see. Blond hair, blue eyes? Poof, there she is. It’s limited – can’t change genders or body shapes too much because it is just a visual illusion, not a shape-shifting spell, but it’d still handy, yeah?” “I’d say so, mate.” “The quills and ink are magical – needed for the tattoo. The process is not like muggle tattooing with needles, at all. The spells are based around old Egyptian magic used to disguise hide things, tombs in their case, so they will actually hide the girls – there will be no acknowledgement of their existence on record or otherwise unless we wish it so. And in order for us to be tied into the tattoos so either of us can control them, and also to see through the glamours, we both need to do the actual tattooing and push our magic into them simultaneously.” Dean gaped at him. “Harry, I don’t know the first thing about being a tattoo artist.” Harry grinned. “Don’t worry, mate. It’s easier than with muggle tattoos. The magic practically does it for you. I’ll show ya how in a bit – been practicing. I have one on Ginny already. She’s been having fun with it.” Dean snorted. “I bet she has, the nymph.” “I might be offended by that, if it weren’t true,” Harry laughed along with his friend. “Oh, and D…I wouldn’t worry about not getting enough pussy. The tattoo process involves intense magic use…ritual magic. And that shite has some very, er, pleasant side effects.” “Sounds brill, Potter, but do you think you could get rid of my breasts now? Gender switching is Zabini’s gig, not mine.” -x-x-x-x- 2002, February “Mummy, I’m hungry,” five-year old Jamie whined as he tugged on Ginny’s trouser leg. “I wanna eat, too.” She chuckled when he gestured towards her chest, where his two-month old sister, Laurie, was voraciously suckling on her breast. Ever since he’d been weaned, James had been jealous of each of his siblings that still got fed from the tit. Considering the fact that he had five new siblings in as many years – Al, Cory, the twins Lily and Henry, and finally Laurie – he’d spent a lot of time stewing in his envy. Heck, Ginny had even breastfed the tiny Teddy Lupin when the infant had come to live with them after the war, at the same time as Al. Thank god for magic, and her Master’s diet and exercise demands, or else she’d probably look as frumpy and saggy as her own mum already, even though she was barely in her twenties. The funniest part, though, was that Ginny was pretty sure it wasn’t the attention from his mum that James was longing for, or the normal jealousy a child feels over the newcomers in their family. Let’s just say that, though he may not have completely connected sex to the various related body parts yet, she was still pretty sure her eldest son was very much a “breast man.” Then again, maybe he did already have a sexual frame of mind. She wouldn’t be surprised, considering his Father was something of a sex addict, and she wasn’t any better. Plus, though they didn’t actively try to perform in front of their children, they didn’t go out of their way to cover their sex life up, either. That combined with her Husband’s naturist tendencies and determination that His children not grow up ashamed of their bodies, or what those bodies are naturally good at, meant that the kids didn’t blink at coming across their parents in, er, delicate positions. As a result, their children weren’t completely ignorant of the goings on of adults, even if they weren’t interested in sex themselves yet, beyond normal curiosity that is. This could get the Potters into awkward moments, since the children have not developed verbal filters just yet. Well, awkward for others, since Master enjoyed making people uncomfortable with such talk. Ginny snickered, recalling her mother’s flushed face just that morning when Jamie innocently asked if Grandfather had a willie as big as his Daddy’s. Shaking herself out of fond memories when Teddy piped up that he was hungry too, she called for a house elf to get the children food. After Jamie had returned to the other side of the viewing room they were in to play with his brothers and sister, she turned back to the large window that let her look into the adjacent room in Le Tapis Magique – The Magic Carpet, the chain of high class bordellos Master Harry and Dean Thomas had opened up after the war all around the world. They were all currently down in the cellar, where special rooms were set aside that clients never got to see, such as the ritual room she was peering into now where her Husband and friend were currently adding a magical tattoo to a new courtesan. Ginny shivered; the lucky bitch was being branded by Master, something she dearly loved and couldn’t help being envious of. Absently, tracing one of her own tattoo marks, she couldn’t help but hope that Master Harry would mark her again soon. It had been awhile, but Master didn’t leave permanent marks frivolously, so unless He had a specific purpose in mind, she wouldn’t be getting another tattoo no matter how much she liked them. Ginny felt herself get wet as she watched the inking come to a close and the magic in the room reach a climax…which she was sure was to be followed by the occupants’ sexual climaxes eventually. She loved watching Master and Dean perform these rituals. The intense magic made all three participates almost high off it, which easily transformed into lust, especially since they were already naked. The three almost invariable ended up having sex together – unless the courtesan was a boy, then an uninterested Dean went elsewhere to fulfill his desires. Sure enough, there was very little foreplay before the small but curvy woman was being plugged by two large cocks. Ginny grudgingly admitted the girl had talent, since she seemed to have no problem with taking the reasonably well- endowed men in two of her holes at once – her mouth was still free to cry out in ecstasy. Ginny also loved to watch the rituals because it was one of the few times when she was able to freely admire her Master – both his body and his countenance. Much of the time her head was bowed or her eyes lowered submissively, at least when they were having sex. She relished this opportunity to watch Master at His peak – commanding, seductive…just plain sexy. Not to mention, like anyone with two good eyes should, she just liked ogling her Husband. He was very attractive; muscled but still lean, tall, defined and all man. She glanced briefly at Dean’s tall, mocha-skinned, fit build, before moving back to her Master, unable to resist His draw, the domineering magnetism of His mere presence alone, even from her position in a different room. Her eyes lingered on His cock as He stopped slamming into the girl’s pussy and pulled out to reposition them. He wasn’t as long as Dean, but what He had was definitely more than average, and He was very thick. When they had just begun having sex, Ginny hadn’t realized how well-formed her then-boyfriend had been in the genital department, or how lucky she was. All her lovers up to that point had been fully grown men, so the six-inch cock Master had by the time He was fourteen seemed average. Then He had started sharing her, and sometimes it was with boys their age…they weren’t as gifted. And Master had actually grown since then, making Ginny one happy woman. Especially since He wasn’t all show – He knew how to use the ‘goods His daddy gave Him,’ too. Ginny tried not to drool as she raptly watched the scene unfold in the other room. Master always took the lead in their play, of course, as was His nature and the tenor of His friendship with Dean, but though the sex was hot, Ginny knew it didn’t ever fully satisfy His needs. Dean was a straightforward bloke, so Master respected that and refrained for getting too…kinky. Dean wasn’t a bad shag or anything, and could play around a bit – Ginny could attest to that – but when Master’s libido was spiked as intensely as the ritual caused, He had equally intense needs that couldn’t be met by such…vanilla sex, she thought it was called. She hungrily watched her Master plow His cock into the whore’s cunt, propelling her body into Dean’s crotch, where she had as much of his pole stuffed in her mouth as she could get. All the better for her, she thought. Master’s unfulfilled needs just meant a long, glorious night for Ginny up ahead, and she could hardly contain the anticipation. -x-x-x-x- 2008, July Harry stepped into the Belgian branch of Le Tapis Magique, hidden in a magical forest not too far from Brussels. Smiling charmingly, he flagged down the Madame, who hurried to him with a wide grin and fluttering lashes. Taking the middle-aged squib’s hand, he kissed it a little too seductively to be considered merely polite, and murmured, “Madame, please tell me you are available this evening? I’ve been slightly down lately, I’m afraid, and I could do with your style of pick-me-up.” He grinned cheekily, but was serious in his request, as she would know. He’d had the Madame several times, and always enjoyed himself. Despite being in her late forties, the Belgian woman was very handsome, and seemed to have the energy of teenager. Her often affected stern manner made her the perfect Madame, and also the perfect school teacher when Harry got the mind for a little role play. The Madame playfully slapped his arm with her free hand before responding, “Oh you, Master ‘arry. For you, I would make myself free, no matter who iz waiting for me. But we cannot meet tonight, Monsieur. Master Dean haz a very special fille for you tonight. Zomeone new he would like you to try before she is to wear ze mark. Surely zat will be good, I zink, no?” Harry sighed dramatically. “I don’t know, ma petit. I’m a lusty man…do you really think one novice girl could satisfy me more than your wealth of experience and talent?” The Madame giggled, something Harry knew she didn’t do often, though he never had any problem eliciting such sounds from her. The old Potter charm strikes again – Sirius would be so proud. “I do not zink even a hundred women just like me could satisfy you, Monsieur.” “Harry!” Harry looked up at the sound of his name being called, spotting Dean beckoning him from the doorway leading to the cellar rooms. “I must go, Madame. I’m afraid duty calls.” A few minutes later, Harry and Dean were sipping brandy in the private offices next to the ritual room. Dean had moved his main residence to their bordello in Belgium the previous year, claiming to prefer the environment, and the people, over England. Harry was pretty sure the not-so-secret crush he harbored on one of the courtesans here played a larger factor in the sudden decision, but kept his mouth shut on that. Most of the time. “I need you to do me a favor, D.” Dean cocked his brow – a trait he was famous for when it came to his conversations with Harry. “Must be a big favor, if you’re starting it that way.” “What way is that?” “Harry…you don’t ask for things, you demand and expect a response. Especially since you know I’m always down for whatever you’ve got planned anyway. And that was as close to asking that I’ve ever heard you get.” Dean’s eyes squinted suspiciously. “Don’t give me that innocent look. I’ve known you for over twenty years, mate, and I’m not going to fall for it. You don’t have an innocent bone in your body. I’m not going to like whatever you need, am I?” Harry sighed. “That all depends. You’ve always been in my corner about the Dursleys and my revenge plans, right?” Dean chuckled. “Yeah, mate. I think I actually puffed up like a proud papa when you first told me about turning your cousin into slave-boy.” Harry smiled. “Good. Because I want your help with Aunt Petunia.” Harry quickly outlined his plans and braced himself, knowing Dean wouldn’t like them, but would reluctantly agree anyway…eventually. He was on the mark exactly. “Bloody hell, no, Harry! It may have been years, but I remember what that woman looked like. Her face could scare the warts of a hag. There’s no fucking way she’ll make it here – she’ll single-handedly ruin our reputation for quality whores!” “If she doesn’t fall in line…well, plenty of men have rape fantasies. She just won’t be acting, like the courtesans do. As for her looks, well that’s what the tattoos are for, Dean. Glamours, remember?” “Yeah, but I’ll still be able to see what she really looks like through them. It’s enough to put a bloke off his dinner, that’s what,” Dean muttered. “And what about the whole tattooing process, then? There’s no way I’m getting naked with that cow. She’s gotta be even uglier now – she’s old!” “Oh, suck it up, D. It’s not that bad. You have to admit, my idea is perfect justice, yeah?” Dean huffed. “Fine. But I don’t see why we have to keep her here. Can’t we plant her in one of the other bordellos, where I don’t have to see her every day? Or maybe you can just skip the whoring part and take her straight to your place?” Harry shook his head. “No. Making money off her like she made money off me, albeit in a different way, is part of the process. Besides, Boy isn’t ready for her just yet. I want her to be able to see him day in and day out, each doing the work of servants and slaves, but he will have no recognition of her, no connection to the mother that once spoiled him rotten. He’s almost there, but it will take a few more months, no more than a year. And when that moment happens, I want her at the point where she is resigned, but hopeful…defeated, but not completely broken. It will be the final straw. It will break her heart, and break her.” “And I can’t talk you into sticking her in England, instead?” “No. I need you to oversee her…re-education personally. It’s important that after that first night, she not see me. She needs to forget her old life, with the exception of the hope of seeing the son she thought was dead.” “Great,” Dean pouted grumpily. “So I can’t even ignore her. How am I going to explain the worst case of erectile dysfunction known to wizard-kind to my girls? I have a reputation to uphold, you know!” Harry chuckled. Really, his friend was just being ridiculous by this point. “I’m sure your reputation will not suffer. Even Petunia’s horse-face couldn’t give you a case of limp-dick any more than I could go a day without a good fuck.” “Fine. But I have half a mind to not show you my surprise in revenge. It’s only because we need to tattoo the girl that I’m going to give her to you anyway.” Dean led him into the viewing room, where Harry stopped short at the sight of a young, naked girl resting lazily on the dais in the ritual room, looking a little bored. A very young, naked girl. “Woah. I know we’ve pushed the envelope on the age of our girls a bit, D, and we’ve had plenty of younger clients, but are you looking into breaking into child trafficking now too? Not that I’m necessarily, opposed, mind you…just confused?” Dean grinned and shook his head. “Believe it or not, mate, but Isabelle is actually twenty-two years old. I had the Healer check her over, and apparently she’s got some kind of growth disorder. Her glands don’t produce the right kind of hormones or something, so she’ll never grow more than she is now.” “Are you serious? She looks maybe ten or eleven – if even that!” “I know, yeah? It adds a touch of realism to the whole thing, that’s for sure. A step better than the glamours, I think – but that may be just because I can see through the glamours anyway. But since her body will not only look the part, but feel the part? Yeah, the pedos will definitely pay premium for her.” Dean nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Go on; I thought you’d like to try her out before we mark her.” Harry’s cock was rapidly filling with blood. He’d not had a girl so young – or at least looked so young – since he was in his early teens. Come to think of it, he wondered why he’d neglected that particular flavour for so long. “Merlin, some days it’s just really good to be a pervert,” Harry declared before he walked towards the door separating the two rooms, ignoring Dean’s hearty laughter coming from behind him. When he entered, the girl looked up, cocked her head and smiled, as if she had been waiting for him. She probably had, since even the Madame had known of Dean’s plans for tonight. Sitting up, she scooted to the edge of the stone dais and sat with her arms behind her, weight resting on her hands and her long, silvery-blond hair tumbling down to just brush the surface as she nibbled on her bottom lip ever so slightly. Her legs dangled over the edge, thighs spread to reveal her tiny, bald slit. Harry walked until he stood between her legs, stepping up on the lower risers so that his legs were pressed against the altar and his cock at perfect level to pierce her cunny, but for the bothersome fabric of his trousers serving as a barrier. Isabelle sat up completely, the top of her head just reaching his shoulder. Her small, childish hands reached forward toward his belt even as one of his fingers trailed from her neck to her barely-there titties. He played with her breasts, which were nothing more than swelled, puffy nipples, for only a few moments, before tracing his hand down her torso, heading straight for that enticing pink cunny his dick so wanted at. Slipping a finger in between her lips, he smirked at her delighted sigh, glad that apparently puberty wasn’t required for the girl to get wet. He wasn’t planning on toying around with much foreplay this time around, so it was better for her sake if she was at least slightly ready for him. At the same time, he suppressed his groan when his cock finally sprang forth and Isabelle wrapped her small hands around the shaft, slowly, but expertly, wanking him. Slipping a finger inside, Harry felt something inside her extremely tight hole that he didn’t expect. “What the fu-a virgin?!” Dean’s chuckle coming through the intercom from the viewing room grabbed his attention. “Surprise, mate. Isa here is mostly a squib, but some of her family’s latent natural magics partially manifested in her. They’re descended from the Blacks, some branch that moved to France a few centuries back. She got the metamorphmagus gene, but without a strong magical core, it only comes through as a selective self-healing power. She can’t control it, but the magic takes it upon itself to fix her hymen – repeatedly. Also keeps her virginal tight, no matter how many she’s shagged, or how big the bloke is.” “A virgin every fucking time? Shite, she’ll be popular, that’s for sure.” “Best part, Harry: she’s a masochist. Loves the pain of getting her cherry popped. Right up your alley, eh mate?” Harry didn’t waste any more time – he was too turned on. Pulling her hands away, he positioned her a little better before lining his cock up and slipping just the tip inside. He groaned at the tight squeeze and paused. Isabelle said something to him in French that he didn’t understand, but figured out meant she wanted him to keep going. He hadn’t really been waiting for her permission, but decided actions spoke louder than words and slammed home, tearing her hymen in one swift thrust. He didn’t pause again and immediately began moving his hips. Accompanied by the pain and pleasure mixed cries of the child-like whore, Harry fucked her hard and fast. Well, as hard and fast as he could, considering the stranglehold her impossibly tight pussy had on his dick. He knew he’d found a new favorite that night, and even briefly considered giving Dean a pass on the Operation Peddling Petunia in exchange for taking this little girl back home with him permanently. But then his balls drew up in preparation for his imminent orgasm, and all coherent thoughts fled his mind. -x-x-x-x- 2008, July “This tea is quite good; you really must tell me your secret,” Primrose Evans commented as she took another sip of the delicious brew, and, for once, she wasn’t just saying that. “And have I thanked you yet for inviting me to tea, Mrs. Nargle? It’s been so long since I’ve sat for proper tea with company, since coffee is the brew of choice here.” The tea was truly remarkable, and she was having a hard time resisting the urge to gulp it down. But Primrose was a proper woman, and would never even think to behave so deplorably in the presence of polite company. Especially when said company was the first British woman to have made her acquaintance since they moved to this God forsaken country more than ten years ago. And even if the young woman had a strange name, it was nice to get out and socialize again. Primrose had not been up for much since…she refused to even think on it. “Oh, do please call me Diana, Primmy. May I call you Primmy? I do believe we British women should stick together, and formalities would just be a shame. Why, of all the neighborhoods for my beloved Newton to move us to, and of all the neighbors for us to have, for it to be another British family, well…it must be Fate, right? And who are we to fight Fate?” Primrose peered at her hostess over the brim of her cup as she took yet another delectable sip of tea – it really was quite good – and, as was her habit, began to pick apart her new neighbor’s, well, everything. The woman was slightly odd, and it didn’t stop with her queer last name. She had long, blond hair and her big eyes seemed to almost pop out of her head. They were such an unusual grey colour, which you couldn’t miss since Mrs. Nargle was permanently wide-eyed, never seeming to even blink. She dressed in the proper style clothing, but they were in oddly combined colours and prints – purples and polka dots and bright yellows, just to start. Then there was her demeanor, which alternated between that of a perfectly normal, young housewife whose husband travelled frequently for business – Primrose had yet to even meet him and the Nargles had moved in weeks ago! – and a slightly out-of-focus, not-quite-in-touch-with-reality bohemian student. What had Vergil called her? Oh yes, spacey. Yes, Diana Nargle was decidedly spacey and odd. If Primrose had been willing to acknowledge it, her inner voice would have reminded her just where one could find more of such odd people, but, as it was, Primrose was quite talented at ignoring that which she refused to see. The Evans family on the whole were very skilled at burying their heads in the sand, even during the years when that boy had lived with them. Her neighbor’s strangeness had been one of the reasons Primrose had jumped at the invitation to tea, aside from just wanting to socialize with someone from her home country. Primrose couldn’t, in the end, resist the lure of the promise of fresh gossip, whether from Mrs. Nargle, or about her. Yes, this tea was indeed quite smashing. Primrose was on her third cup! She felt like such a glutton in front of her queer neighbor. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care enough to stop. Oh well, the woman was probably too spacey to even notice Primrose’s overindulgence. “Oh, I have some delicious biscuits that you simply must try. I can’t believe I forgot them! I will only be a moment, Primmy dear. Here, have some more tea while you wait.” And with that, Mrs. Nargle poured Primrose another cup – her fourth! – before leaving the sitting room in search of apparently delicious biscuits. Primrose hummed quietly to herself as she took another sip. She really must learn Mrs. Nargle’s secret. Did she brew it fresh, or did she use teabags like so many Americans did – Primrose sincerely doubted that is what made the tea so palatable. Perhaps it was something she had added, a certain spice or sweetener… Primrose’s eyes seemed to droop of their own will, and she wondered at her sudden sleepiness. Perhaps she had gotten too overanxious earlier before coming to tea – it really had been a long time since she had felt up to visiting a neighbor, and she’d been strangely nervous. Had her nerves worked her into exhaustion? Well, maybe if she just closed her eyes for one moment, just while Mrs. Nargle was out of the room. Surely she would hear her coming in time to…open…them… -x-x-x-x- Primrose lifted her head and blinked her eyes open groggily…or she thought they were open. Her vision was still revealed only pitch black, darker than it would be if it were merely night. Confused, Primrose shook her head a little, trying to figure out what was happening. The last she remembered was waiting for Mrs. Nargle to return from the kitchen with some biscuits, and resting her tired eyes. An unidentifiable noise nearby woke Primrose up more – just enough to cause her to begin to panic as she realized that the reason she couldn’t see was because of a blindfold. And when she automatically tried to bring hands up to remove the bit of cloth from her head, she found she couldn’t, due to the tight rope binding her to the wood armchair she was sitting upon. Whimpering a little, she struggled against the ropes in vain, only to cease at the sound of someone clucking in disapproval very close to her ear. “Who-who’s there?” she stuttered nervously. “Where am I?” A chuckle – a decidedly masculine chuckle – sounded. “Oh, it’s good to see you, Petunia. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” She froze, her breath catching in her throat as her teeth began chattering with cold, despite the warmth in the room. “Y-you must be mistaken. My-my n-name is Primrose Evans. Please, l-let me go. You have m-me confused with someone else.” Suddenly the blindfold was gone, and Primrose blinked rapidly at the sudden bright light that flooded her vision. When her eyes had adjusted, she fixed her gaze on the well-built, young man standing before her. He was smiling at her in a way that chilled her to the bones, so she quickly diverted her focus upward, to….his eyes. His unmistakably familiar…bright…green…eyes. “H-Harry?” she whimpered. Harry smiled again at her. “Hello, Aunt Petunia. Did you miss me?” He reached down, waved his hand, and the ropes vanished as quickly as the blindfold had. Another chair appeared out of thin air behind him, and he sat before her, his posture every bit as relaxed as if he were reposing before an evening fire after work. As she rubbed her wrists to sooth the slight rope-burn there, her eyes, almost without conscious will, began to dart around the room, frantically searching for possible escape routes in what appeared to be a well-appointed master bedroom. Harry tutted at her again. “There’s no point in looking, you know. There’s no escape. It’s better if you just accept that – Dudley did.” Petunia’s eyes shot to her hated nephew, immediately filled with tears as her mind quickly drew horrifying conclusions at Harry’s words. “D-Dudley. My Dudley? Did…are you the reason he’s dead? Did you kill my son?!” she frantically shouted, sobbing at the same time. She was on the verge of hyperventilating, cursing herself for ever agreeing to bring the damned boy into her home, for succumbing to Dumbledore’s silver-tongue and Vernon’s greed. She knew better, she knew. And now look - that damned Potter was the reason her son was dead! “Oh no, Auntie. Dudley is very much alive. You can rest your worries on that, I assure you.” Petunia simultaneously wanted to cry in relief and joy – her Dudley was alive! – and scream at Potter for his nonchalance, as if he were discussing the day’s market statistics and not the fact that the son she had believed dead for over two years was, in fact, not. Harry continued. “He’s been with me – doing very well in fact. He’s embraced his new life, and I would suggest you do the same. You may even get to see him some day, provided you behave, of course.” Petunia’s mind worked as fast as it ever had, reaching several conclusions at once. The first was that she would do whatever she could to see her son again, alive and well. The next, but not the last, was that she needed more information; she still had no idea where she was or what was going on. “Where am I? What do you want? Why am I here?!” Potter chuckled pleasantly – though it still gave her the willies. “You’re in your new home, my dear Aunt. Welcome to Le Tapis Magique. This is where you’ll be working a little of the debt off that you owe me. You ever heard of Karma, Auntie?” Petunia sobbed softly. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you. I can pay you, Harry. Please, just let me and Dudley go, and I’ll get you the money.” “Oh no, Petunia.” Harry stood suddenly, and pulled her from her seat with a tight grip on her upper arms. She hardly noticed the chairs disappear; she was far too focused on the hard, menacing body that was now flush against hers. His breath brushed her ear, followed by his lips as he said darkly in a near whisper, “No, I’m going to make money off your presence on my property, just as you made money by housing me at Privet Drive. Then, I’m going to bring you to my home, where you will be the lowly servant you made me, and treated as such. Denied love and family. Oh, I will have my revenge on you, Aunt Petunia…but it will be more than mere revenge. It will be justice.” One arm snaked around her waist, the other grabbed at her hair and pulled her head back. Petunia was horrified to feel the unmistakable bulge of her nephew’s erection pressed against her stomach and she began to struggle against his iron hold on her. Harry merely chuckled and nibbled painfully on her chin. “You see, luv,” He mumbled against the skin of her unattractively long neck, “you’re here because I want you to be. You’re my birthday present, from a very special friend of mine. You remember Mrs. Nargle, don’t you, my dear Primmy?” Petunia’s eyes widened and she shook her head in denial. No! She wouldn’t allow this to happen! Her struggling increased as her panic threatened to overwhelm her completely. No! “Yes,” Harry murmured. “That’s it. You’re ugly enough to turn any man off, but lucky for me…I can smell the fear, and that’s always good to get my dick hard. And I like it when they fight, Auntie.” Petunia almost considered stopping her motions at his words, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction. But she couldn’t keep herself from struggling; her mind had settled into an almost instinctual fight-or-flight mentality, and flight was currently impossible. She felt like a corned animal, and tried not to give into the urge to faint as her sobs and fists were easily ignored by the man who was now tearing her clothes off. All too soon, he had them both naked and on the bed, his heavy weight pushing her into the mattress. She was twisting and bucking against him, but it only seemed to incite his lust more. Harry groaned and began to grind his hard penis into her hip, then pinned her wrists above her head with one hand while the other harshly pulled her legs apart. Situating himself between her thighs, he shoved his finger between the lips of her vagina. He chuckled at what he found there. “Oh, Auntie, you're just so dry. You might want to do whatever you can to change that. I’ll actually enjoy a dry fuck. You? Not so much.” He shoved two fingers inside her and Petunia shrieked, bucking her hips to try and get away, but only serving to deepen the invasion. Then, just as suddenly as he’d entered, Harry pulled his fingers out, to Petunia’s relief. The relief was premature. Harry spit on his hand and then rubbed his cock. “See? I can be nice. A little lube, yeah?” He lined is swollen cock up with her slit, pushing the head just inside her lips. Petunia’s tears were unstoppable, even as he paused. She tried to focus on anything but what was happening to her, but her efforts were futile. All she could feel, could think about, was the large cock pressed so firmly against her hole. Her horror deepened as she felt a rush of wet warmth leak out as her body, against her will, instinctively tried to prepare itself for what was to come. Just as he had with his fingers, Potter quickly shoved his cock inside her cunt, groaning at the tight feel of her long-neglected channel. He didn’t waste much time before he began fucking her, thrusting his large member in and out of her overly-filled pussy. Petunia’s nightmare turned to shame as she realized she was beginning to enjoy her own rape. It had been years since Vernon had last touched her, and he’d never been that good at it even when he had. Half- despairing, half-aroused, Petunia couldn’t help the moan that escaped, even as she lamented the idea that the best fuck of her life was being delivered by her own flesh and blood. She ceased her struggles, and Harry in return let go of her wrists. He used the newly freed hand to twist and tweak her nipples, sending shots of lust straight to her pussy, where the other hand was busily teasing her clit. Petunia moaned again, but lay limp even as her nephew’s hard thrusts continued to pound away at her resistance. She may be unwillingly enjoying it, but she’d be damned if she actually participated in her violation. She felt the build up to something she’d only experienced a handful of times in her life, but something no woman ever forgot. She was going to orgasm, and she sobbed anew at the humiliation. Without acknowledging Potter’s chuckles at her despair, she exploded in bright lights and racing tingles, crying out her release like a wanton whore. Harry thrust a few more times before pulling out. Quickly jumping up, he positioned himself over her and wanked his drooling cock until he came. His semen shot out in long strands, landing on Petunia’s face and breasts, making her feel all the dirtier. After a few moments to catch his breath, Potter hopped down off the bed. Petunia dazedly watched as he redressed then walked over to the door across the room. Pushing a button, he spoke into a small speaker, “Come on in, D. She’s ready.” He turned to look at her, where she was trying to cover herself with the sheet from the bed. “Oh, don’t bother with that. You’re going to be naked more often than not from now on. Except for, er, costumes, clothes are really just a waste of time in a whorehouse.” Petunia froze at his words. Surely she misheard him. “A…whorehouse?” Harry grinned. “A bordello. We’re quite in demand.” At Petunia’s dawning comprehension, he nodded. “Yes, Auntie. You’re going to be our newest courtesan. I told you I’d be making money off of you. Oh…don’t be like that; no reason to start crying again. The whores at Le Tapis Magique are treated quite well, you know. You’ll even get to keep some of the money you earn! That’s more than you ever gave me.” Just then the door opened, revealing a tall, imposing black man. He strode confidently to Potter’s side, and turned his gaze to Petunia, his eyes sweeping over her sprawled, nude form. She flushed at the clear look of disgust and revulsion that graced his face. “Blimey, Harry. How you were able to fuck that I’ll never understand.” Harry chuckled. “It had to be done, Dean, and you know how dutiful I am.” The sarcasm was heavy in his voice, even to a nearly catatonic Petunia. “Petunia, let me introduce you to your new boss, Master Dean.” He turned to his companion. “Let’s get to the ritual room. She needs to be tattooed.” Dean looked at him questioningly. “I thought they needed to be willing for the magic to work.” “Not this time, mate.” Harry grinned evily. “She’s getting the real thing – a full blown slave mark.” At Petunia’s renewed sobbing, Harry said, “Oh cheer up, Auntie. It’s not so bad. If you play your cards right, you may even get to see your precious Duddikins again someday.” End Chapter =============================================================================== A/N:Harry & Ginny have been busy little bees since they married - popping out one kid after another, and sometimes twins. Not too surprising considering how horny the pair of them are. As a result, they're starting there own army, or it seems like it. By the time of Games' "Present" (May 2009) they have 11 children - that's right, 11! And who knows if they are planning to stop? (ASS shrugs) Because knowing them all ahead of time won't hurt the plot, here is the so-far- complete list (in order of birth). And Harry warns you not to make fun of their names - He was following tradition. First names of all children are Royal names (Potter Tradition), Second name of the boys are stars/constellations (Black Tradition) and Second name of the girls are flowers/plants (Evans Tradition)   James Sirius; born January 22, 1997; Nickname(s): Jamie; constellation/star - dog Alfred Aquila; born March 15, 1998; Nickaname(s): Al; constellation/star - eagle Theodore "Teddy" Remus; born April 7, 1998; Nickname(s): Ted, Teddy; His biological parents, Remus & Tonks, died in May of that year, and Harry & Ginny adopted him the following summer. Edward Corvus; born April 17, 1999; Nickname(s): Cory; constellation/star - crow Elizabeth Lilium; born June 3, 2000; Nickname(s): Lily Henry Ankaa; born June 3, 2000; constellation/star - phoenix Anne Laurel; born December 11, 2001; Nicknames(s) - Laurie Stephen Lyncis; born October 4, 2003; Nickname(s) - Lynx; constellation/star - lynx Victoria/Jessamine; born October 4, 2003; Nickname(s) - Jessa, Jess Matilda Rose; born September 22, 2005; Nickname(s) - Mattie, or sometimes Rosie Richard Leonis; born January 1, 2009; Nickname(s) - Leo -x-x-x-x-x- Photo-ops of the some of the characters found below. The Photoshoot took place in May, 2009 (story timeline's "Present"), mind you. Harry Potter: [http://i902.photobucket.com/albums/ac226/ariawolf80/HP%20- %20The%20Games%20We%20Play/HarryPotter-Age28.jpg] Ginny Potter: [http:// i902.photobucket.com/albums/ac226/ariawolf80/HP%20-%20The%20Games%20We%20Play/ GinnyPotter-Age27.jpg] Dean Thomas: [http://i902.photobucket.com/albums/ac226/ariawolf80/HP%20- %20The%20Games%20We%20Play/DeanThomas-Age28-29.jpg] Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!