Lord of Bones

It was hot.

Really, really hot.

I wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill Oh-God-I’m-melting!-AAAIIIGH! kind of hot either. For one thing, this had a few more As and at least three Es in its AAAIIIGH!

Ask anyone from Grimmauld Place about the heat and there’d be a virtual library of answers, ranging from Hot? HOT?! You call this HOT?! In my day, we used to go skiing in this weather! to The temperature is for the greater good; would you care for a lemon drop?

You wouldn’t hear a solution to the temperature crisis though, no matter how insignificant the answer would turn out to be.

In short, someone had forgotten to renew the cooling charms over the house.

Not that this was known to Molly ‘Mollywobbles’ Weasley. The heat, coupled with her own natural physiology, made her look like a slowly melting wax snowman with a red wig, and didn’t do anything for her temper either.

Which was why she was standing in front of and glaring angrily at a glaze-eyed, daydreaming Fleur Delacour, who did indeed have the foresight to cast a cooling charm on herself. And Molly fumed, both at the part-Veela’s scandalously skimpy attire and at the small moans the blonde was emitting.

The ‘evidence’ that strained against Fleur’s white shirt proved what sort of daydream the drop-dead gorgeous woman was having.

Roughly, the ginger-headed witch startled the Veela.

And startling a Veela in a manner that didn’t eventually involve the Veela being driven to the heights of orgasmic ecstasy was never a good thing, as the sudden stench of burning hair could attest to. Fleur glared at the interruption of her Evil Overlord fantasies, then blushed with embarrasment and lowered her upraised hand.

Oops? she offered weakly, watching Molly run around screaming with a head of flames. Quickly, the blonde conjured a bucket of water that upended itself over Molly’s head before she discreetly left the room and headed for the kitchen; leaving the smoked matriarch somewhat shellshocked and in dire need of a wig.

Taking a seat beside a just-arrived Hermione, Fleur immediately noticed Dumbledore and Snape sitting at the far side of the table, whispering urgently… or, at least, Dumbledore was whispering; Snape was gibbering something about snowy incarnations of absolute Evil and precious grease.

The Frenchwoman shuddered, just as Hedwig swooped in.

Immediately, a smile came up on her face.  ‘Ere you go, ‘Edwig! chirped the blonde, conjuring a piece of bacon as Hermione untied the letter and read it out.

The three women growled.

It was at this point that they realized Hedwig had yet to leave. Indeed, the owl was standing in front Dumbledore and Snape, holding something small and yellow in her talon.

A lemon drop.

Dumbledore’s eyes followed the movement of the confection within the claw eagerly.

Then Hedwig hurled it, straight into Snape’s mouth. He swallowed.

The Headmaster screamed and leapt at the Potions Master, pulling his mouth open wide and trying to force his hand down Snape’s oral cavity. NOOOOO! It’s mine, I tell you! MINEMINEMINE!!! shrieked the old wizard.

There was a rustling sound.

Dumbledore stopped his intimate exploration of Snape’s throat to see Hedwig hold a packet of lemon drops in her claw.

The bag moved. As did Dumbledore’s head.

Hoot.

Out the window went the bag.

Dumbledore screamed with anguish and leapt out to save the sour confectionary.

Hedwig’s foot jerked back, and back inside went the bag, which had been roped to the owl’s talon.

Aren’t we on ze first floor?

Yes, we are.

There was a dull ‘thud!’ and an anguished shriek of NOOOO! Precious is lost!

Lord of Bones

Deep, deep within the dank dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Evil was stirring. It was not the BOW, AND SUBMIT BEFORE THE DARK LORD OF ALL CREATION! kind of Evil, mind you; it wasn’t even even the Curse-those-short-blue-communist-parodies kind of Evil.

It was more of the branch of Evil that the other manifestations of Evil didn’t like to talk about.

Sort of like that distant, inbred cousin who accidentally videotaped himself humping a ceramic flamingo on the Prime Minister’s lawn over the annually-shown first-ever family reunion video tape. You know the type.

Anyway, this particular Evil-doer, who, despite being nothing more than an embarassing footnote in the vast Annals of Evil (page 369, last line and written in very faint pencil, to be exact), was plotting nefariously. It was the back-to-basics kind-of plotting too, with none of these fancy-shmancy killing the heroes before their first level-up or every act of the Hero is actually part of my Master Plan plots.

Bluntly put, it was back to hunching over old cauldrons while cackling like a maniac on a sugar-high.

This particular maniac (who had perfected the art of demented cackling) grinned malevolently, showing teeth that would’ve sent Hermione Granger and her parents into hysterical sobbing and frenzied screaming at the sight of even the palest shade of yellow possible.

This Evil (who will now be referred to using the lower-case ‘e’, for fear of offending the truly-that-badass Lords of Evil) had a plan. A plan that would bring the students of Hogwarts to their knees screaming at the injustice of the sight as a much-anticipated side-effect.

The cauldron bubbled noxiously, sending toxic green fumes rising up into the air.

Beady-black eyes gleamed.

It would be ready soon.

Very very soon.

His greatest creation.

The foundations of his grease — the base by which his grease would proliferate on his mangy scalp.

He giggled insanely, looking over each of his ingredients with a keen, practised eye.

The unholy glee in those beady black orbs would’ve made Prince Arthas flee to hide under Jaina Proudmoore’s bed while rocking back-and-forth and whimpering about the bad, bad man with those evil, evil eyes.

Popular culture references aside, the figure, trembling with unsurpressed glee, slowly counted the ingredients as he tipped them into the cauldron.

Specially imported Nundu-dung? Check.

Bottled dragon-flatulence? Check.

Eye of an angler-fish? Check.

Petals from a Rafflesia plant? Check.

Feather from a Hoatzin? Check.

Looking down on his newest concoction, the figure summoned up all his strength for his final ingredient, his crème de la crème of the batch.

He pressed a finger against the side of his nose and snorted into the cauldron.

There was a hiss, and a thunderous ‘BOOM!’

Slowly, the figure began to laugh as the cauldron’s contents settled into a thick, slimy concoction — the base on which the grease would be applied. Reverently, he cupped a portion of the replusive muck and lathered it on his head, inhaling the aroma of grease-base.

Soon his wonderful greasy locks would return.

He picked up the bottle of grease nearby, and squirted it on his head; expecting a sudden rise in hair follicles.

There was a dull ‘splat’ as the grease on his head simply went in the opposite direction and hit the ceiling. The man’s eyes widened in shock.

Impossible! How had he made a grease repellant?!

Unless… 

He braved a look at the ingredients and noticed that the feathers were snowy white.

Nooooo! screamed Severus Snape in pure anguish.

His sentiments were not echoed in Grimmauld Place, however. Or, at least, not to some of its inhabitants, as an awakening Hermione could attest to.

The brunette blinked for a moment, trying to regain her bearings as her mind had caught up with her.

Then she blushed.

Oh, yes.

The striptease practice.

She blushed further, remembering her own part in the event. With the skimpy fur coat and the thigh-high leather boots.

And Tonks’ and Fleur’s own costumes. Can’t forget those. Especially not the way all three of them had practiced a mutual strip-tease.

Or the competition they had agreed on. For a moment, a goofy smile highlighted her face, as several fantasies ran through her mind.

Still, it was morning and she was somewhat peckish… with a yawn, she pulled on her nightrobe and belted it tightly before heading to the kitchen; taking her seat next to Fleur, who gave her a knowing smirk. Tonks passed by them both, only for Hermione’s hand to come down on the pink-haired Auror’s behind.

Hard.

Tonks yelped and spun around to stare at a blushing Hermione before smirking and mouthing I’ll get you for that.

Fleur simply chuckled, just as Hedwig swooped in for the daily ritual. Hermione unfurled the letter and read it out.

Fleur sighed.

Three minds took a few moments to comprehend that, then turned speculative. And more than a little naughty.

P.S. Pedro’s starting up a cracker collection. Care to contribute?

There was an outraged gasp as Luna strode in with her Heroic Costume, this time wearing a black bodysuit and suspiciously avian facemask. Now sea-serpents too?! Does this fiend’s evil know no bounds?!

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as her body tensed at the slight. She felt Fleur and Tonks growl.

Then Hedwig said a word.

Hoot.

Luna’s eyes went wide as a bunny rabbit appeared on the table looking at her.

No… impossible… her only weakness… 

Eh, what’s up doc?

Luna shrieked and tore down the hallway as Hedwig calmly shut off the cassette in the rabbit toy.

Yes, Luna is meant to be Daffy.

Lord of Bones

It was a little-known fact that the Forces of Evil operate somewhat like a simplified version of a modern-day business unit.

The top of the food chain (or organization chart), of course, remained the Evil Overlord, who could alternatively be referred to as the Dark Lord, the Dark One, the Ma-ou, the Evil One and various other titles. Due to recent changes in the infrastructure of Evil, the Evil Overlord of today values the benefits of good PR, a healthy dose of sanity, cynicism and a tendency to not start laughing at the sight of genocides, mass-murders and other inappropriate situations.

Next came the Second-in-Command. In the old days, this used to be the Loyal/Scheming Evil Wizard/Chancellor/Vizier/General. However, due to recent upheavals and the coming of the modern Evil Overlord, Dark Mistresses have generally subsumed the role of the Second(s)-in-Command into their own duties. In addition to promoting equality and strengthening ties between Overlord and Mistress, this gives Evil Overlords even better incentive to lock themselves in a room with their Second(s)-in-Command and have kinky sex orgies. Plus, who’d ever believe those ‘scantily-clad bimbos’ (in the words of a disgruntled female supporter of Good) had (almost) equal say in the running of the Empire?

Last, but not least, were the Legions of Terror. The vast hordes of minor evils too have benefited from the modernization spree, and now benefit from sensitivity training, martial arts classes, schooling in the basic tenets of common sense, bi-monthly classes of What not to do when in close contact with an imprisoned Hero and/or his/her love interests, and, of course, civic pride.

And all of these tiers abide by one — and only one — motto above all others.

The very same motto that once again gave rise to the credibility of Evil after a long, long line of stunningly-incompetent aspirants to the post of Overlord (including the infamous No-Heart and Gargamel).

Evil has standards.

And deep, deep below Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, lurked a being who missed the mark.

Professor Severus Snape twitched madly as he opened the deepest, darkest door in his deepest, darkest dungeon with trembling hands; far beneath where even the Bloody Baron lurked. Only the faintest pinpricks of light touched the dank, musty room he shuffled into (and even those he recoiled away from and snarled at), where numerous vials, esoteric potions ingredients, bubbling cauldrons and dog-eared subscription copies of Grease through the Ages dominated the shelves. There was a twinge of hysteria in his laugh as he shuffled across the room, peering into the depths of his cauldron.

Deep in these dungeons, no living or undead thing dared enter, for fear of unhygienic contamination.

He was free.

Free from that accursed, white-feathered diabolic agent of Hell.

Free from that blasted, harem-collecting, world-dominating abomination from the depths of Hades.

Free from the threat to his precious, precious, all-too rare grease.

He clutched at his hair, a snivelling wail echoing around the room as he mourned the loss of his grease. With only a few drops of the viscuous black liquid left on his scalp, Severus Snape was an addict deprived of his fix, and it showed in his vastly-changed mannerisms. Gone was the persistent sneer and eloquently-insulting speech.

Now Snape tended to speak in third-person and had invented a new form of expressive laughter, a combination of a snivel and cackle.

This author calls it the ‘snickle’.

Anyway, Snape peered into the depths of his cauldron, a grotesque grin growing on his face as he gazed down on the murky surface of the solution within. Tentatively, he fumbled with a packet before unsealing it and dumping its contents in the concoction; the darkened room preventing him from seeing much except for the hissing bubbles that rose when the contents of the package merged with the liquid.

It was done.

Secretly prepared at the most covert times of the day, with specially harvested ingredients from the most eldritch locations, this was Snape’s pride and joy.

The Ultimate Grease-Restorer™.

And it was all his.

With an excited squeal, he dove in and picked up a dollop of the thick concoction, splattering it all over his scalp. Then came the hard part.

Cringing, the Potions Master filled a glass with fresh, clean water (shuddering in disgust the entire way) before dumping it over his scalp and massaging the combined water and mixture — the water helping the mixture adhere to the lank strands of hair.

Then he froze.

A bubble had drifted down.

A soap bubble.

Numbly, he brought his hands down to eye-level.

Shiny bubbles.

He had made a shampoo.

His eyes drifted to the packet. There was a small tuft of white down spilling out.

Had he the capacity to do so, Severus Snape would’ve screamed in horror. Instead, he just stood there.

He would stay like that for a long, long while.

Elsewhere.

In a far cry from the dismal domain of Severus Snape, Nymphadora Tonks sat up from her bed with a yawn.

Then paused.

Entwined as she was within the tangle of slender limbs and shapely bodies, Tonks’ mind immediately flashed back to the previous night, where a certain letter and several sets of pictures had set of the chain of events that led to her being entwined within the tangle of slender limbs and shapely bodies.

There was a quiet little moan as Hermione arched against Tonk’s left side, throwing her right leg over the Metamorphmagus’ leg. To her right, Fleur burrowed deeper against her shoulder.

Nymphadora smiled evilly, and muttered a wandless charm.

Her fingers glowed an icy, frozen blue as she reached down between the thighs of both sleeping women and touched.

The twin shrieks almost blew out her eardrums.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Tonks smiled sheepishly at the two witches on the opposite side of the table, chuckling weakly at the twin glares aimed at her. Neither witch appreciated their sudden wake-up call, especially after an entire night of hot witch-on-witch-on-witch action.

Thoughts of vengeance were put aside when Hedwig swooped in while carrying an empty bucket of yellow paint. The trio spared a curious glance at the can before unfurling the letter.

Three faces glowed red at the mental picture.

Three faces glowed nuclear-red… up until Tonks realized that she was standing behind two vengeful witches while reading the letter.

Uh-oh.

She yelped as Hermione and Fleur quickly turned the tables on her, pinning her on the kitchen table. Tonks ‘eeped’ as she realized the precariousness of her new position — with Hermione straddling her face and Fleur holding down her legs. Judging from the quickly-growing naughty grins on both captors’ faces, they knew it too.

The hyperactive Auror squeaked as two horny witches began to drastically increase the fic’s rating.

Hermione looked up with a jolt. Isn’t this when Luna comes in?

Hoot.

Outside, a green-and-black bodysuit wearing Luna cowered away from the yellow kitchen door.

Lord of Bones

It was a standoff in the kitchen.

In one corner, weighing in at 140 pounds, half of which was grease, was Potions Master and Death Eater Professor Severus Snape, skilled dueler and proficient in wandless magic. He twirled his wand in a slim hand, sneering balefully at his contender.

In the other corner, standing at one and a half feet foot and weighing six pounds, was Hedwig, snowy owl and familiar to Evil Overlord-aspirant Harry Potter, and master of the sacred arts of Owl-Fu and Smackin’-A-Bitch.

And watching all this was a stunned Order — except for Tonks, who was taking bets.

The challengers tensed.

The air thickened with excitement.

Then Snape moved, his hand rising up and bringing his wand to bear, hurling a crackling black bolt with nary a word… 

Hedwig’s wing snapped out and backhanded the bolt. Snape’s — and everyone else’s — eyes widened. Then Hedwig spoke a word, a word that promised much pain and suffering beyond the deepest, darkest pits of Hell.

Hoot.

THWACK! BLAM! KA-POW!

Staring at the mangled, twitching mess that was Severus Snape, Hermione barely noticed the owl fold her wings together and coldly bow at the whimpering sack of flesh.

Hedwig took flight again, landing on Tonks’ shoulder and looking expectantly at Fleur. The Metamorphmagus opened the letter as the owl nibbled on her customary bacon snack, before glaring at Dumbledore.

Hoot.

It was not a threat. It was a statement. Dumbledore gulped.

This byplay was ignored as the letter was read out:

Hermione made a strangled sound.

Really, really big Library.

The brunette began to squirm, crossing her legs and poorly attempting to cover her chest.

At this, Hermione squeaked, dashed up the stairs and slammed the door to her room shut. A more observant person would’ve noticed that she was frantically trying to unbutton her jeans and yank up her shirt.

Lord of Bones

Far, far away from the main portion of Grimmauld Place was a much-avoided room.

It was (that being the key word) a nice room, as far as rooms went.

Well, as long as you ignored what was going on inside the room.

You see, the Wonderfully Wacky Weasley family was recuperating from their brief voyuerism stint.

Or, at least, learning how to imitate tracks from the ‘Sounds of the Wretched and the Disgusting’ video soundtrack.

To most people, the room the Weasleys were recuperating from their horrendously awful (or wonderfully illuminating, according to the newly-enlightened and mentally-conflicted Ron Weasley) experience looked like an exorcising ritual gone horribly wrong. Between the projectile-vomit stains on the walls, the moans and groans of ungodly despair and the eye-searing sight of ginger everywhere, it looked like a cross between a long-abandoned citrus orchard and something out of the Exorcist.

SPLAT!

Another sickly, green projectile blast struck the wall, this time originating from Bill Weasley’s bed. Generally, getting an eyeful of dilapitated old biddy in place of the Veela bombshell or Metamorphmagus Auror you were really looking forward to did that to people.

He was joined in his Regan impression by Charlie, who did a credible impression of a terminally-ill dragon.

Off to the side, Arthur Weasley was trying a mind over memory technique he’d heard was good enough to block out unwanted images. This, of course, involved him chanting Electrikity, fellytones, plugs, feletison…  under his breath.

The resulting green tinge on his cheeks proved the effectiveness of his technique soon enough.

Ron, however, was not ill.

No, the youngest male Weasley now spent most of his time in his sick family’s room, wrestling with the impossible choice between Hermione’s youthful, sleek curves (or, at least, what he could peek at down her blouse) and the wonderfully matured form of the woman-in-the shower. This conflict inevitably resulted in a tendency to space out and start lamenting ARGH! I can’t decide! I must have them both! and laughing maniacally.

The author would like to take this moment to bleach his brain.

… All done.

Back to the Weasleys; there were, however, those who viewed their unopportune glimpse of the horrors which man was not supposed to know as an unfortunate setback. These, of course, were the instigators of the whole mess in the first place.

That and their goddamn twinspeak. This author hates the goddamn twinspeak.

The goddamn twinspeak aside, Fred and George hunched over slightly as they discussed their newest and more discreet voyeuristic tool of privacy-violation.

And we’ll call it the Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ InvisoPowder of Privacy-Violation! whispered Fred.

(This author was too lazy to find something that rhymes.)

We’re going to need a test run first! replied George. They shared another of those uber-creepy slasher-film-grins before sneaking out; all the while avoiding blasts of vomit, of course. With identical chuckles, they snuck their way back into the bathroom, sprinkling the powder over themselves as they did so.

With that, they were in, waiting lecherously for their first practice run.

We’re in this till the end, right?

Yeah.

They didn’t have long to wait as the door opened.

Lecherous grins turned to caricatures of fear.

It was the same old crone.

And she was disrobing.

The Twins screamed.

The witch looked up, and suddenly grinned horribly as her hands made accurate grasps at the Twins’ Little Twins.

Time for some sugar, boys! roared the witch, a dirty, dirty smile on her face.

The Twins didn’t stop screaming for a long time.

Elsewhere, Hermione looked up from the hot tub she had been relaxing in. Did you hear something?

Tonks, who’d been dangling her legs over the edge of the tub, arched her bare upper torso. Sounded like promordial screams of terror from a pair of twins about to be mind-scarringly violated.

… Ah. The brunette decided she really didn’t want to know, and returned to her fantasy of being shagged senseless in a hot tub with an eager-to-participate audience as watchers. She made way for Fleur, who silently slipped in beside her and put up a sound-blocking charm around the room.

The screams were spoiling the atmosphere.

 

What happened to you?! blurted Tonks, staring incredulously at the bruised and battered forms of the Weasley Twins.

Fred’s head rose, fixing the girls in the kitchen with the gaze of a man who’s endured horrors umimaginable. I can’t feel my peepee anymore, he whimpered.

For once, even Tonks had nothing to say. The awkward silence was cut when Hedwig swooped in through a window.

Hermione unfurled the letter as the owl chewed on her bacon.

Three faces turned bright red.

Then (a well-hidden) Luna stepped in, this time dressed in a rather strange brown canine outfit. I’ll ret you roray, evil-doer! she cried out, springing into action… 

Hoot.

Hedwig calmly tossed a large packet of stange-looking biscuits out the window. Luna’s eyes widened in horror as she switched springing angles. Curses! she yelped, even as her only weakness-of-the-snippet took her out of the picture and this drabble.

And, of course… 

Snape laughed insanely as he placed a new, greasy wig on his bare scalp. His laughs turned to squeals as the grease shot off the wig and smacked the ceiling, leaving him with a wig of lustrous hair.

Lord of Bones

There were many myths surrounding the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

One of the more popular ones, certainly, was fixated at exactly 3’o clock in the morning every Thursday when, legend had it, a ghostly box of doughnuts — frosted, glazed coconut, chocolate, cream, coconut and jam — would manifest in the Department Head’s office and travel around the entire floor before returning to whence it came. While generally a benign wraith, it was said that those Eaters-of-the-Last-Doughnut-in-the-Meeting would suffer tremendously at its hands/cardboard sides, only to be found much later in the wee hours of the morning; their trembling faces a mask of glaze, frosted sugar and jam.

An even more prevalent fable — especially among the younger Aurors — was the guardian of the beverage dispenser, a somber brown-robed monastic figure who allegedly appeared at around midnight at the end of every week to examine the dispenser. It was said that as long at least one cup’s worth of brew lingered in the machine (a cleverly-modified Muggle creation from the Department of Mysteries), the following week’s brew would remain exquisitely fresh. However, if there was nothing left in the device, the following month’s brew would allegedly taste like year-old dishwater mixed with old socks.

Obviously, a filthy Yank brew.

On the subject of the dispenser, Arthur Weasley attempted to take it apart recently to satisfy his curiosity. The item is currently being rebuilt, and Arthur Weasley was almost beaten to death by deprived Rufus Scrimgeour with a shoe.

Now that that bit of filler is done, we shall move on to what truly lurked within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; a secret so terrible that even the myths feared talking about it.

The darkest, most shameful secret of the DMLE.

Where even the most grizzled of Aurors dared not venture.

The Overnight Holding Cells.

I’ll say it again.

The Overnight Holding Cells.

In this horrible block, the darkest, foulest, most malevolent parts of Wizarding Society were sent into, for hope of at least some rehabilitation. Jaywalkers, tip-stiffers, serial exhibitionists, litterers, unlicensed broomriders; you name it, they had it.

These dregs of Wizarding society were carefully monitored and well-guarded, with even the slightest infaction immediately gaining the fearful and nervous attentions of any poor unlucky sod who had the misfortune of being on duty.

And now, one of them was being released.

We’re sure there was a mistake in the paperwork, Professor! You’re free to go!

Thank you, dear boy.

Albus Dumbledore strode confidently through the narrow hallways between Auror cubicles, a calm and confident smile on his face. It had all been a vastly exaggerated misunderstanding, of course — why, it was utterly ludicrous that people thought he had actually stolen the boy’s sweets in broad daylight. It hadn’t been stealing — the poor child simply needed to realize that he was too young to properly appreciate the bountiful divine gift that was the Lemon Drop.

Then he paused.

His nose had picked up something nearby.

Damn, Cornfoot; your girlfriend makes the best lemon meringue pies I’ve ever tasted!

She does, doesn’t she? The note of pride in the man’s voice was unmistakeable.

Dumbledore, however, heard none of this. All he could focus on was the scent of citrus.

He made a low growl.

The Aurors looked up.

Oh, good morning Headmaster Dumbledore. Care for — ACK!

The Headmaster roared and lunged, knocking away the Aurors and slamming into the pie. He batted aside the puny Aurors with fist and tooth before biting into the pastry, slobbering all over the lemony dessert.

Then he spat it out.

NO! Not Precious! All Icky and Gooey! Where is Precious! YEEEARRRGH! he snarled, clawing and hissing at the frightened man.

Goddammit! Someone stun him!

As stunning and binding spells rained down on the Headmaster, someone made a totally unrelated observation. Where the hell is Tonks?! It’s her turn to guard the Overnight Holding Cells!

It’s her day off.

Dammit. Alright, after we’re done with the Professor we’re drawing straws!

In the meantime… 

The object of the two Aurors’ discussion looked down on the bed she’d just rolled out from, a giant grin on her face. On the left side, Hermione was cuddling a bloster and making soft whimpering noises, squirming against the elongated pillow with a healthy red flush over her face. Fleur had the right side, being far quieter except for the occasional soft sighs and squirms.

With a flick of her wand, Tonks began to avenge the spank she received a few days ago, gently lifting Hermione’s hand while inching the sleeping brunette closer to the unaware blonde. Fleur’s tight gown had ridden up slightly, exposing the Veela’s curvy arse.

And Tonks’ target.

Wand still on Hermione, the Metamorphmagus inched to the bathroom door and started the shower.

Then she brought down the wand in a swipe.

Up went Hermione’s hand, before it fell.

THWACK!

Fleur shot up witha yelp, causing Hermione to wake up with a jolt as well. The Veela stared at the wide-eyed brunette, before only saying one word: Kinky.

And in the bathroom, muffled by the shower, Tonks laughed her arse off.

 

It was much, much later that the girls finally came down. Hermione still looked somewhat embarrased, but Fleur looked unruffled, if not somewhat amused. Tonks, however, still masked her giggles under the cover of a mild cough. Hedwig swooped in for her usual tidbit as the trio walked into the kitchen.

Before Hermione could unfurl the letter, she was interrupted by a bright flash of light and a battlecry.

Halt, evil-doers!

Luna had cometh.

In a red halter top with a globe on the chest and red cut-off shorts. Her hair had somehow obtained a green sheen and her skin had a blue tinge.

By the five powers combined — Fire, Earth, Air, Water, Heart — I am Captain Lovegood!

There was a faint chorus of Go, Lovegood! but most people were too busy trying to comprehend Luna’s newest Super-Costume. It was Fleur who — in a rare display of incredulous bluntness — finally brought up the most pressing issue.

Heart? What sort of lame Power iz Heart?

Luna’s reply was cut off before it even began when Hedwig spoke a word.

Hoot.

The Great Heroine gasped in fearful horror as the owl calmly dropped several non-biodegradeable plastics on her. N-NO… Pollution… my greatest weakness! she squealed, before fleeing in retreat.

There was a a faint cry of The Power… is yours!

Hermione shrugged and opened the letter, reading it out.

This was information overload for Hermione. The author will not say much about what happened to her, except that it was like all previous times the really, really, really, really big library had been brought up, except far more graphic.

Tonks, however, just stared at the dust cloud Hermione’s sprint had caused before speaking up.

Why doesn’t Harry ever mention our kinks?! We’re a Veela and a Metamorphmagus! We ARE Kink!

Fleur smiled impishly. I think we should remind him, yes?

Lord of Bones

The members of the Longbottom line were not known for being calm and collected..

It should be said that Neville, however, took it to extremes not seen since Great-great-great grandpa Longbottom accidentally stumbled into a pair of breeding nundu. Family members would go to great lengths to ensure the ‘n’ word and the ‘p’ word were never uttered in his hearing range.

Regardless, Neville took his own particular lack of self-control to great lengths.

This would explain why the poor fool was currently rocking back-and-forth in the fetal position at the corner while hyperventilating. Sweat trickled down his brow, past his wide, unseeing eyes and down his trembling lip as his mind struggled to comprehend the shocks of the day.

He couldn’t unsee them.

Yes, them.

The ‘T’ word.

Titties.

They were everywhere now, mocking and haunting his every move every step of the way. Big ones, small ones, pink nipples, dark nipples, large aerolae, small aerolae… it was a whole new world out there, just waiting to be explored!

But he certainly wasn’t the one out to discover the new frontier. Having a whole new perspective thrust on him was not something he particularly enjoyed, especially since he’d be interacting with people who had lived with it all their lives.

He’d never be able to look at Lavender or Susan in the eye again.

Worse than that was the fact that the ‘T’ word wouldn’t leave his mind. From wondering whether Padma and Parvati were indeed identical in every single way, to wondering whether Lavender and Susan’s… assets… were natural (they were) to even wondering if Slytherins like Greengrass enjoyed rough groping or playful teasing; the ‘T’ word just wouldn’t leave his mind!

And worst of all was that he’d had an up-front view of Hermione’s… y’know.

It wasn’t that they were bad or anything — Hermione’s were indeed very nice — but what worried him was one thing.

The fact that he’d seen the chest of one of Evil Overlord Potter’s Dark Mistresses before the Evil Overlord did.

He could just see it now: a bout of pillow-talk would lead to Hermione’s innocent confession of Oh, did you know Neville once had a front-seat view of my breasts before you did?, which would probably end up with Harry hunting him down with a squad of specially bred Augusta-Snape hybrids.

Neville whimpered.

It could be even worse.

Harry might want to expand his harem of Dark Mistresses and look to Hogwarts as the place to start; Hogwarts, where Neville was surrounded by hundreds of the ‘T’ word. And if Harry were to accidentally find out that Oh, did you know that Neville was looking at my boobs the entire time he was talking to me?… 

Neville squealed.

Then he took a deep breath and drew all his Gryffindor courage together. No, the ‘T’ word would have no power over him! As long as he was not exposed to the ‘T’ word, he would be fine.

He would prevail!

He. Was. Longbottom!

He nodded his head decisively, then stood up jerkily as the small button on his shirt began to wail like a siren. Quickly Blunder-Boy! To the secret lair! came Luna’s voice.

The Longbottom heir sighed and trudged his way to the cellar.

Then his mind locked up as he took a good look at what Luna was wearing.

A silver-blue spandex suit that claerly showed the room was too cold and that Luna had not elected to wear underwear.

There was a dull ‘Thud’ as Neville fainted.

 

Luna beamed down at Neville’s unconscious body. So, it was true after all — that Muggle show had spandex-suited teenagers fighting the forces of Evil, and now there was proof.

The pure Goodness of this Ranger uniform had actually knocked out the evil in Neville!

And after his fall, would come the fall of the Dark Mistresses!

Then the Overlord!

Then would come the days when a snorkack could take a walk down the beach without being prey for a hungry owl! The silver-blue Ranger would triumph!

Ohohohohohooooo! laughed the blonde, as visions of a world safe for snorkacks occupied her mind… a vision that quickly dissipated as she saw Hedwig swoop in, snatch her bacon and deposit her letter.

She ducked out of sight, realizing that no-one had seen her yet, just as Hermione opened the letter.

Fleur scowled at that. She’d have to sex-up — I mean, protect Harry from her foreign bimbo cousins. The Veela made a mental note to write to her cousins back home.

She was going to need serious firepower… well, even more serious than the firepower she had here.

Three faces blushed. One face began alternating colours.

P.S. Have heard that a Great Heroine wishes to oppose me. Feel obligated to inform you that I have Great Hero insurance and a highly competent team of diabolic lawyers.

Luna’s eyes narrowed as she jumped up. Nothing was going to stop her righteous cause, not even a highly competent team of diabolic layers!

Hedwig smiled owlishly and malevolently, before dropping a card in front of the Ravenclaw.

Hoot.

Luna turned white with horror as she stared numbly at the words written on the card: For every Power Ranger that turns up, ten Snorkacks get eaten. Above that, a fork hovered over what was obviously broiled Sorkack.

Without a further word, Hedwig turned and flew off.

And far, far away; a tied-up Dumbledore and Snape sobbed as the projecters began to rewind themselves back to the title screen and start again. Their titles?

Birth of a Lemon Drop and The History of Grease.

Cloudtobias

It was a rather quiet afternoon after Harry’s latest order letter. Hermione was camped in the library per the norm, but she had some unexpected company.

Fleur was also in there, reading up on something, but inquiries as to what it was only brought a blush and smile to her face, and the response of something for ‘Arry.

Tonks was there as well, reading over some paperwork for the Order. As it was her turn in the rotation to do the said paperwork, she found it easier to do it in the library because not many dared to distrub Hermione for fear of reprisal, which suited Tonks fine as it kept some of the more annoying and Harry Potter obessed red heads away.

I’ll leave it to you to decide which ones, dear reader.

So it was a pleasent surprise that they recieved a second letter from Harry in the middle of thier quiet pursuits. Hedwig came soaring in threw the window Tonks had opened on a whim, and landed neatly ontop of Fleur’s open book. Before offering the elg with the letter attached, she stared at Fleur openly giving a hopeful hoot.

Smiling Fleur waved her wand and said something in french, conjuring a freshly cooked strip of bacon which she then offered to the pampered owl. Hooting in pleasure, Hedwig snatched the bacon in her beak, offered the leg with letter, and took off as soon as it was untied.

It iz addrezed to uz. Fleur responded, drawing the other watching ladies over as she unrolled it to read out loud to them.

He certainly knows how to butter us up, huh? Tonks murmured, smiling none the less.

At the thought of her parents encouraging Harry to gain followers, Hermione began to rub her temples to stave off her migraine.

Tonks grinned at the thought of Voldemort’s expression as the Boy-Who-Lived shouting that phrase at him just before he killed Voldie.

The second is a rather odd man with sharp pointed ears, wearing a green tunic, and carrying large shield a sword. He doesn’t speak but he does scream like a wiener when he falls down of gets hit really hard.

Oh Harry. Hermione sighed, her migraine hitting her full force.

The thrid is another large muscular American muggle who calls himself Brock. He seems to revel in beating people up in horrific ways with nothing but his fists and rather large knife.

Fleur paused to wince at the mental image before continuing.

The fourth and last scares even me. He’s a very odd muggle who wears a large metal helmet, fishnet body suit, loin cloth and has this wierd laser on his shoulder. He doesn’t speak except in growls, clicks and the ocassional roar. He also carriers dozens of knives and other bladed weaponry on his person. He happens to be my personal favorite but he does have the nasty habit of skining people and making trophies of thier skulls.

What? Hermione shrieked.

All the women gathered in the library heard a certain greasy git begin to scream hysterically out in the hall.

Cypher3au

Sitting up in his vast, exceedingly comfortable bed, Harry idly picked at the rune-covered bandages wrapped around his chest and right arm as he waited for the Naga Princess to finish arranging the temporary position of his desk in accordance to Feng Shui or some nonsense like that. He’d had the furniture moved in so that the Princess had a place to write while he dictated his letters during his recovery.

Finally happy, the Princess dropped herself into her chair, laid out several sheets of parchment, and plucked up a quill, eyeing the Tower’s Overlord expectantly.

Dear Order, my conquest of North America was a resounding success, and large swathes of Central America followed without incident, until we discovered the lost city of gold, El Dorado. There was some intital anxiety on the part of the natives at the sight of my Legions of Terror, but their fears were soon put to rest after I met with the Chief of the city, Tannabok. Great guy, Tannabok. Anyway, we’d arranged for a legion of my troops to stay and help protect the city in exchange for a generous number of trinkets made from the plentiful gold of the area, with an eye to eventually reintroducing the people of El Dorado to the outside world, when the jackass High Priest decided to put his foot down.

Despite the best efforts of the Chief and his predecessors, human sacrifice was still a part of their society, so the High Priest was actually able to call upon the power of one of their gods to animate a gigantic statue of said god’s likeness; some cougar with a name like half a box worth of jumbled-up scrabble tiles. Long story short there was a lot of property damage and quite a few injuries, but the statue and suped-up High Priest were defeated without any fatalities on our part.

An elegant voice rang out through the bedchamber. Thanks in no small part to your own efforts, my Lord.

The Overlord and Naga both glanced at the doorway, where Harry’s personal healer had entered and closed the door behind her. Serenity, how is everyone?

Everyone has been healed as well as possible, though the worst of the them, yourself included, can expect a few days of being confined to a bed in order to fully recover. The regal, white-haired woman smiled affectionately at the reclining wizard. Tannabok wants you to know that a great celebration will be held in your honor as soon as you are up and about.

Harry huffed. Great, more accolades. Glancing at Serenity once again, the Overlord arched an eyebrow at her attire. The odango’d woman wore gold earings and a simple golden chain holding a crescent moon above and between her eyes, but the only actual garment she was wearing was an incredibly sheer white gown that tightly hugged her voluptuous body from her nipples to her toes, the only concession to modesty being the almost opaque ribbon holding the top of the dress to her breasts and half-heartedly concealing her nipples. I hope, for the sake of Tannabok’s poor heart, that you weren’t wearing that around El Dorado.

Serenity laughed, a beautifully pure sound that was almost out of place in the dark tower. Of course not, my Lord; I only wear this here… for you. Her unnaturally blue eyes darkened with lust as she swept them up and down her Lord’s body. Now, I think it’s time I checked up on my favourite patient, don’t you?

As the former Moon Queen slid onto the bed, her whole body glowing with a healing light, the Naga Princess licked her lips with a forked tongue, eagerly writing down everything that happened on that bed for almost an hour before giving in to the urge to join in.

 

Hermione, Fleur and Tonks blinked at the heavy thudding sound Harry’s latest missive made as it slapped onto the table. Being quickest on the draw, Tonks plucked up the hefty enveloped and whistled at its bulk. Wow, big letter this time. Sliding her wand across the top of the envelope, Tonks withdrew the thick pile of folded parchment and flipped it open, settling in for a long read while Hermione and Fleur read over her shoulders.

Three pairs of eyebrows slowly rose.

When the first page was flipped over, and the second page slowly scanned, all three witches began to get a little flushed in the face. By the third page there was an unspoken, unanimous agreement to move someplace a little more private, with Fleur grabbing Hermione and all three vanishing with twin cracks of disapperation.

Seconds later, Luna peeked into the room. Finding it empty she growled and shoved the door open, revealing the purple suit and domino mask and the green cloak and tall, floppy fedora she was wearing. She stamped her foot with a frustrated shout. Blaaaaast!

Lord of Bones

Ah yes, the summer.

To some people, it is the time of freedom and unbinding, a time when they can strut around as though they’re the kings of the world, a time for rest and relaxation and getting drunk off their arses in poolside bars just so they can go hit on anything with breasts and a mean right hook.

To this particular demographic, summer was a time when only one word dominated their minds and bodies.

Titties.

We hate these people.

To others, it was a time of torture, a time where wearing tweed was quite possibly fatal to one’s health, a time where subscribing to sunburn cream and heat stroke medication took up half a month’s expenses, a time where bitching about things no-one gave a damn about was all the rage.

We hate these sort of people too.

No, we’re not telling you why.

Of course, in Grimmauld Place, faction division wasn’t so simple, especially since the temperature was about as chilly as a suburb of Hell. This had ramifications, of course. Given the drastic temperature increase, it was not unusual to see a change in wardrobe.

This could either be a good or bad thing, depending on your perspective.

On one side, you had the ‘old crowd’, who had adapted to the temperature change surprisingly quickly. As such, you had things like Arthur Weasley going ‘Muggle’ via a vintage swimsuit, Mad-Eye Moody in a singlet and a pair of speedos and Remus Lupin walking around in a ratty pair of boxers, cheerfully showcasing his obscenely hairy chest.

Yes, you read that right. Remus’s chest hair could shelter a hedgehog with little trouble.

On the other, you had the ‘aesthetically pleasing’ crowd. This included Fleur Delacour, who was now dressed in what was possibly the skimpiest tanktop-and-shorts combination known to man; Tonks, who had donned a bikini top and jean-shorts, and Hermione, who had gone with a singlet-and-khakis combo. She could’ve worn less, but she was still recovering from her previous dream featuring an Evil Overlord and a really, really, really, really big library.

A deeper look into her dream would result in a drastic increase in this snippet’s rating, so I’m not going there.

The Weasley boys were there too, but they were too preoccupied with watching a drop of sweat make its way into Fleur’s astounding cleavage to notice that her Gallic temper was about to be unleashed.

And off to the side, Severus Snape stood next to his temporary Dumbledore-appointed bodyguard, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was dressed in official Auror robes. ‘Cause Kingsley’s cool like that.

A familiar flap of wings drew everyone’s attention to the window, where Hedwig had flown in, accompanied by… 

A macaw? said Hermione curiously, watching the red-and-blue bird land alongside his snowy comrade.

The girls studied the macaw. The macaw studied them, as Hedwig nibbled the bacon Fleur had set out.

Yaarrr! Ye be a fine enough trio o’ cabin wenches! Mayhap ye be willin’ tae help warm Cap’n Potter’s bed, aye?

Three sets of eyes grew wide. One’s face became smug, another contemplative and another sported an atomic blush before reaching out to nab the customary letter. A thought struck her.

Captain Potter?

Fleur and Tonks shrugged.

Frowning, Hermione read out the letter.

Hermione blinked at that, looking up to see Fleur and Tonks looking thoughtful… and somewhat eager. Off to the side, Hedwig approached Kingsley. Owl and Auror’s eyes met.

For a moment, there was complete silence.

Then Kingsley nodded, turned around, and delivered an punch so strong it knocked Snape at least six feet back and unconscious.

Hoot, said Hedwig approvingly, pulling a pirate hat and eyepatch out of thin air with her talons.

Kingsley took them reverently.

He’d always wanted to sail the Seven Seas.

Pedro, for his part, hopped up to Remus Lupin of the obscenely thick chest-hair. Hey.

Lupin looked up.

Pedro wanna cracker.

Lupin went back to his book… until the macaw grabbed hold of his obscenely thick chest hair and looked him in the eye.

Lupin squealed.

I — said — Pedro — wants — a — goddamn — CRACKER!

Hurriedly a cracker was conjured and offered. Pedro snapped it up in a bite. Much obliged, guv.

Hedwig simply beamed. They learned so quickly nowadays… 

Cloneserpents

After many days of recuperation, Neville returned to his mediation. The damage sf seeing a scantily clad Hermione and Fleur in a drenched and clinging top had robbed Neville of his progress. Undaunted, the Gryffindor began to meditate once again. This time he would make sure he was ready to face the dreaded T word before even comptipating leaving the room.

He sat in the lotus postion with his legs fold under him.

Ohm, he chanted, letting out a long slow breath.

He forced his mind to focus on his fear of the T word.

Ohm.

One souldn’t fear the T, he told himself.

Ohm.

The T word is the proverbial foutain of all life.

Ohm.

Suddenly, a voice drew Neville out of his meditation. Whacha doing, Nev?

His eyes shot open to find Tonks bent over in front of him so that their eyes were nearly level. But poor Neville did not look into the Auror’s eyes…  well, at lease not the eyes on her face.

It was unfortunate for Neville’s shattered psyche that Tonks had decided to wear a very loose fitting pullover with a very large opening for the collar. It was also very unfortunate for Neville that Tonks had opted to go braless that day. For the pose that Tonks was standing in gave Neville a very clear view down her top.

Oh-oh-ohm, he stammered, trying valiantly to regain the strenght meditation had given him.

Are you meditating? she asked, still bent over.

Oh-oh-ohm! dispite his efforts, Neville could not tear his eyes away from the metaphormagus’ T words. They hung there, in all their milky white goodness for him to oggle.

o-oH-OhMMM! Curses! Why couldn’t he look away! if the Evil Overlord caught wind of Nevile laying his eyes upon Tonks’ wonderus mounds, he would surley die a horrible death!

Are you stressed about something? Is that why you’re meditating? she asked, genuinely concerned.

The pink nubs crowning her beautidul mountains sang to him.

Oh-ohmm-mm! He tried to let the power of the chant wash over him, to take away his troubles and focus his mind. He screw up all of his remaining courage and focus on the chant. He hoped to find the strength he so despreately needed in that word. Alas, it was not to be. With his eyes still fixed on Tonks’ chest, he uttered; Ohm-nom-nom-nom!

A coupious amout of drool spilled from his lips as he pitched backwards and lost consciousness.

Lord of Bones

There was a room in Grimmauld Place.

This statement would actually seem to be fairly obvious, as well as somewhat dim. Due to a healthy respect for his reviewers, the author will not point out the obnoxiously and obviously accurate fact that, as a general point of note, most houses do have rooms.

Well, except for the Burrow, which is not so much a house as a hygenically-uncertain and structurally-unsound parody of the Old Woman’s Shoe.

Anyway, there was a room in Grimmauld Place.

A rather special room.

’Special’ in that it was at least vaguely habitable, was far apart from the main body of the building and had a distinct lack of anything even vaguely resembling or hinting towards the presence of a person of the female persuasion.

Some would consider it sexist.

Some would consider it ridiculous.

Some would trade their livelihoods for something even vaguely similar to the idyllic paradise (in their minds, at least) that was a bastion of their freedom.

In truth, there was one, and only one reason for that room’s existence.

Neville Longbottom was discovering Zen.

Incense burned in the room as Neville breathed in its scent; the powerful aroma filling his lungs and renewing his mental vigor. Slow, even breaths were exhaled as he ran through the mental exercises he’d learned; all for one specific reason, the reason that had driven him to the very depths of terror as his frail mind struggled to comprehend… 

To expunge the vile taint of the ‘T’ word for his mind.

No, not the ‘T’ word. Ti… titt… tit… TITTIES.

Yes, that was the word. Titties.

He felt strong; far stronger than he had ever been. All those self-help meditation books had paid off after all.

The Gryffindor mammaryphobe gave the books lying on the floor an admiring glance, chief among them Mind over Mammary and Beyond the Boob. Those illustrations — based on actual breasts, amazingly enough — had worked wonders in purging his mind of the impurity that had maligned it.

Yessir, he was a new man!

A new, hungry man. Zen was not conducive to people who required three square meals plus supper, and Neville was reminded that he hadn’t eaten since last night.

All sacrifices for the greater good, of course, but all the same; he unwound himself from his meditative pose and strode out the door and to the kitchen; his mind intent on the biggest goddamn sandwich he could make.

It was perhaps a pity that his new meditation efforts would have their effects tested out this early.

THUD! SPLASH!

ACK! I’m so sorry Fleeeeeeuuuurrrr… . Neville stared in horror as the three water-glasses that the Veela bombshell was holding clattered on the floor, their contents on the blonde’s uniform top.

The blonde’s thin, silk uniform top.

Neville began to gurgle in horror as the water plastered the tight top to Fleur’s full figure; revealing everything possible without actually being invisible. To his terror, her prominent nipples were easily visible through the shirt.

Is everything alright?

Like a man facing his own executioner, the Gryffindor slowly turned around as his shattered mind began to process the familiar voice.

Then it shut down as he recognized Hermione Granger, dressed in a thin fur coat, matching Durmstrang-red fur-trimmed knickers and thigh-high leather boots. The brunette flushed and tightened her coat around herself, unknowingly showing off her shapely figure.

Ne-Neville!

Neville’s thoughts, caught as they were between arousal, mammaryphobia and the wrath of an Evil Overlord whose Dark Mistresses he’d just spied on, resulted in only one possible conclusion.

He drooled and fainted.

(Far away in an indoor hot spring, a green-eyed Evil Overlord would’ve sneezed if not for the two moaning Veela on each side of him and the raven-haired Naga whose head was bobbing on his lap.)

Fleur looked down at the unconscious teen. I do not know whether to be flattered or insulted. Wordlessly she levitated him to a nearby couch and dumped him there before walking back along with Hermione to their room. The door closed shut, just as soft, sensual music began to play.

A pair of blue eyes, however, turned away from the sight, obviously chagrined.

Her sidekick had proven himself too easily taken in by the wiles of the Dark Mistresses. She’d have to pick up his slack in dealing with the Evil Overlord and his malevolent, skimpily-clad, kinky harem of Mistresses.

And sometimes, you had to go back to the basics to do so, as that wonderful Muggle show had revealed.

The next morning.

Hedwig swooped in, snapping up her bacon and depositing the letter in Hermione’s hands. The brunette witch quickly unfurled it.

Hermione’s face turned bright red, while Tonks grinned lecherously. Fleur looked thoughtfully naughty.

Then a few grunts of exertion interrupted the scene as Luna — clad in nothing more than a caveman-esque tunic and blue cape — dragged a massive club behind her, a battlecry on her lips.

Now, villains, you will answer to CAPTAIN LUUUUNNNNNAAAA! she roared, suddenly lifting the club.

Hedwig smiled an evil, owlish smile and tapped the top of the club with a talon.

Hoot.

Luna blinked as her club suddenly disintegrated, showering her with brown dust. She blinked even more when Hedwig calmly dangled a piece of paper in front of her.

Then she paled.

Wracklespurts discovered to have been material for prehistoric clothing! blared the article.

Noooo!

And, of course, who could forget… 

Dumbledore giggled insanely as he pried open the tin, the tin that had the last lemon drops in Britain. Gleefully, he inserted a hand into the container, drawing out a handul of… white feathers?

He looked in. Nothing but white.

Albus Dumbledore began to cry.

Cloneserpents

I can see the day when Harry finally claims the kinky bookworm, uber-hot Veela, and the wild and flexable metamorphmagus:

As customary, Hedwig landed before Hermione and nibbled on the piece of baccon after efortlessly thwarting Luna’s insane plan. While Tonks lovingly stroked the snowy owls soft feathers, Hermione read aloud:

Before anyone could react to Harry’s latest note, the West wall of the kitchen exploded in a shower of dust, motar, and bricks. A score of pirates, led by Kingsley, charged through the gapping hole in the wall.

Thar’ the wenches be! the former Auror said, pointing his cutlas toward Hermione, Tonks, and Fleur. Get ‘em fer the Cap’in boys!

With a battle cry of AARRGH! the pirates lunged at the three witches. With their prisioners tossed over their shoulders, the pirates rushed toward the hole wench they came.

As she bounced on the running pirate’s shoulders, Tonks exclaimed; It’s about bloody time! and then sighed contentily.

Fleur echoed Tonks’ statement with a cheerful and excited Oui!

Hermione expressed her feelings by chanting Books, blowjobs, books, kitty-licking, books, orgasms, books, sperm swapping, books, buggering, and more books!

Lord of Bones

The scholar whimpered as the pirate’s rough, calloused fingers prodded between her thighs, teasing her mercilessly. A lustful chuckle echoed into her ear as the captain used his free hand to tear down her bodice, freeing her pink-nippled breasts into the cold air. She blushed furiously and turned her head down to avoid the wide-eyed stares of the naval officer and noblewoman who were her fellow spoils of war, only to be roughly pushed up to face the emerald-green eyes of her new owner.

He bruised her lips with his kiss, leaving her breathless while he explored her rapidly-unresisting body. She barely had the time to let out a surprised squeak before she found herself on her knees, facing a massive bulge in the captain’s trousers.

The door opened. A black-haired young woman — naked save for the serpent-styled gold jewelry decorating her arms and body — swayed into the room, stepping up to embrace the captain from behind. The scholar heard the woman hiss something, and the captain’s grip on her hair tightened. Timidly, she undid his trousers, releasing his long, thick manhood.

She gulped, her eyes widening and hands clenching nervously as the massive, powerful organ throbbed in the air.

Slowly, she leaned forward, her tongue sticking out… 

Hermione! It’s time for breakfast!

Goddammit!

 

Hermione Jane Granger was not a happy person.

Oh sure, most of the time the reason for her unhappiness turned out to be: a) Ron Weasley, b) anything that diverted her attention away from a particularly good book, c) Ron Weasley, d) Harry Potter getting injured, or e) Ron Weasley. This time, however, Hermione had found a new reason.

It was something that has been experienced from time immemorial by any man with a sufficiently hot wife/girlfriend/fiancee/callgirl.

Hermione Jane Granger had been cockblocked, and she didn’t like it one bit.

And from the looks of it, she wasn’t the only one, if Tonks’ strained smile and Fleur’s mutters of I was zis close…  were any indication.

Pointing out that they were dreaming and that none of it really happened probably wouldn’t help, unless, of course, the speaker wanted a one-way trip to the Magical Mishaps ward of St. Mungos. Molly Weasley would never realize how close she had come to certain hospitalization that day.

Sharing a table with a giggling Severus Snape and the Weasleys probably didn’t help.

There was s brief moment of respite as Hedwig swooped in through the window, picking up her customary bacon from Fleur’s fingers… 

… only to have get snatched away by Snape. This is it, you dratted bird! cackled the unhinged professor; No more bacon! No more fo-GLURK!

There was a brief moment of silence as everyone tried to adjust to the fact that Hedwig had just taken hold of the ‘hooked’ part of Snape’s hooked nose. For his part, Snape was trying to come to terms with the fact that Hedwig was giving him an evil owl smile.

Hoot.

Eeyaaagrh!

I never knew that was physically possible, said Tonks with a sort of horrified awe as she stared at Snape’s nose.

Snape’s nose, which had been twisted in a 180-degree angle upwards.

Wordlessly, Fleur conjured an entire strip of bacon, eliciting a delighted Hoot! and an affectionate nip before the bird took flight. As usual, the ever-present letter was opened and read-out.

Ron growled.

Minions back at Evil Dark Tower say construction is going well. Private quarters are finished, along with the really, really big bed complete with wine dispenser and toy booth. Chose not to ask about toy booth.

Three faces turned thoughtful.

Minions say they’re waiting for Mistresses opinions on decorations. Chose not to ask about that either.

Three faces turned really thoughtful.

There was a scream of absolute terror as Severus Snape ran off, wailing about his precious grease.

Lord of Bones

The distinguished Madam Augusta Longbottom, mother to the indisposed Frank Longbottom and grandmother to Neville Longbottom, Lord-Regent of the Longbottom family, and now a new member of the old crowd of the Order of the Phoenix, frowned into her cup of traditional Sunday afternoon tea.

She had been doing that a lot, lately.

Frowning, that is.

You see, Lady Longbottom had Opinions.

With a capital ‘O’.

All right, they weren’t exactly opinions so much as they were rigid, unbending beliefs that had lasted for more than seventy years and several bouts of constipation. Lady Longbottom had Opinions about everything, and we do mean everything.

It just so happened that the ones most prevalent currently were about an Evil Overlord and women.

In short, Lady Longbottom was scandalized by the fact that the Women of Today™ were shameless, even those supposedly-sensible young women who were said to be the Hopes for Tomorrow™. To Lady Longbottom, Auror Tonks was a particularly virulent offender due to the perky, attractive Auror’s obviously scandalous, scarlet woman-y outfits (generally consisting of short-sleeved shirts and tight jeans).

She was not also not impressed by one Hermione Jane Granger’s choice of fashionwear as well, due to the fact that Hermione’s outfits generally revealed her arms and legs, and, on the often-common hot summer day, substantial cleavage as well.

The author also isn’t touching the subject of Lady Longbottom’s reaction to Fleur. Suffice to say, it involves a lot of frothing at the mouth and long-hidden insecurity issues.

Well, and the Opinion that these scarlet women were out to seduce her grandson with their feminine wiles. What can the author say? Lady Longbottom’s not exactly the sharpest tack in the shed.

There was also her Opinion on Harry Potter; which was not so much an opinion as a confirmation: Harry Potter was Bad News. This was most probably due to the blood of his Tart of a mother.

Yes, Tart.

A long story cut short, busybody chaperoning mother-in-law walks into the room to find hot redhead in really, really slinky lingerie busily proving to her tied-to-the-bedposts husband that she’s a dirty-talking tease. Chaperoning, busybody mother-in-law quickly realizes that she’s walked into the wrong room and that the newlywed bride is actually a deviant harlot who does not know proper bedroom behavior.

We’ll leave you to wonder why exactly Lady Longbottom was chaperoning her son’s honeymoon.

Regardless, that left Lady Longbottom believing that Harry Potter was a twisted deviant who was also an Evil Overlord. The saving grace of the Hopes for Tomorrow™, was, in Lady Longbottom’s opinion, the fact that they had (and will have) nothing to do with Harry Potter.

Lady Longbottom was obviously not aware of several graphic fantasies, a lot of dirty-talking and really kinky dreams.

But enough of the filler already.

Lady Longbottom looked up from her cup of tea as a beautiful snowy owl swooped in, snatched her readily-available piece of bacon from Fleur’s hand and let Hermione untie the letter from her leg. It was then read out:

Lady Longbottom gasped; the boy truly intended to take over the world!

Then her thought processes paused: what did that last line mean?

As though reading her mind, Hedwig pulled out a remote control and pressed the Big Red Button with a cheerful Hoot.

Cypher3au

Making one last check of her bathrobe to make sure it was belted securely shut and that she wouldn’t be giving any lurking, gawping redheads a show, Hermione unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hall, almost bumping right into Tonks in the process.

The metamorph smirked. You were in there quite a while, Hermione… enjoy yourself? Ignoring the daggers the flustered muggleborn was glaring at her, Tonks grabbed the younger witch’s hand and dragged her down the hall and up the stairs to Fleur’s bedroom, shoving the brunette into the room before hopping in herself and locking the door behind them.

Fixing the now askew towel she’d wrapped around her wet hair, Hermione frowned. Couldn’t this have waited until I was dressed, at least?

The pinkette nodded. Sure, we can wait, but your clothes and stuff are in here; you’re staying with me and frenchie, now.

Blinking, Hermione glanced around the room and quickly found her trunk… and she couldn’t help noticing that there was only one large bed in the room. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she thanked god for the thickness and fluffyness of her bathrobe. Only one bed?

Tonks wrapped a companionable arm around the shorter girl’s shoulders. Here’s the facts; I want to fuck Harry. Fleur wants to fuck Harry. You want to fuck Harry. And if those letters he’s been sending are any indication, Harry wants to fuck us. Agreed?

The now deeply blushing brunette nodded silently.

One of Tonks’ fingers slipped into the top of Hermione’s robe and began tracing light circles on the Gryffindor’s collarbone. On the downside, it looks like Harry’s found himself a horny Naga Princess and a flock of hot-to-trot veela, so the three of us are going to have to present a united front and make a big first impression if we’re going to stake our claim as Overlord Potter’s Mistresses.

Swallowing hard as Tonks’ finger dipped lower and brushed against her breast, Hermione stammered a little. What did you have in mind?

Fleur’s voice spoke up from behind a folding screen. We were thinking of making ‘Arry the judge of a little Triwitch Tournament.

The metamorph picked up the thread of explanation. Three sexy Champions from three schools will compete in three sexual events over the course of the night, oral sex, vaginal sex, and finally anal sex, with the winner having the honor of sleeping on top of the Judge while the others have to make do with cuddling up to his sides.

Naturally, I will be the Beauxbaton Champion. The veela stepped out from behind the screen, stretching her arms up over her head in a seductive pose as she showed off her modified Beauxbaton uniform. For the most part the uniform was unchanged, though it was a little snugger on her full figure, MUCH shorter, and the silk was perhaps just a little thinner, not even attempting to conceal the prominent nipples beneath. The dark tights had been replaced with pale-blue stockings with lacy tops, and the sensible shoes with high-heels.

Tonks grinned as the breath rushed out of Hermione’s lungs in a soft gasp at the sight of the veela. I made a few modifications to the uniform I wore in sixth year, and picked up a pair of platform mary janes, so I’ll be the sweet, innocent Hogwarts Champion.

Shivering faintly as Tonks began to slowly undo her belt, Hermione nodded faintly. I guess that makes me the Durmstrang Champion, then?

Red is much more your color than it is ours. Fleur noted seriously, before grinning impishly. Plus, we thought a kinky little witch like you would appreciate the chance to wear thigh-high leather boots and a big fur coat.

With one last soft tug, Hermione’s robes and the towel around her head dropped wetly to the floor, leaving the damp witch completely naked before the other two women, a fact that she couldn’t seem to bring herself to feel anxious about for some reason. In fact, she felt distinctly pleased as Fleur gave her an admiring once over.

Tonks pressed a kiss to Hermione’s neck and gave her a brief hug before sliding away. Fleur’ll help you get dressed while I go grab my uniform, and when I get back we’ll work on make-up, then practice stripping all sexy-like, cool?

Mm-hm. Hermione hummed absently as she stared at Fleur’s round, swaying arse as the veela strolled over to one of the cupboards, then licked her lips as the veela bent over to pick up a large shoe box, her extremely short skirt riding up to show off her small powder-blue thong.

Shaking her head in bemusement, Tonks allowed herself another second or two to admire the show herself before disapparating away.

Lord of Bones

The unwashed, tattered-rag-clad figure looked around the shop with a suspicious gaze, shuffling around the aisles and hiding behind shelves as he sought out his goal. There was a strange frantic motion in each of his movements; so much that he looked like a shoddily-animated puppet.

He leaned down, sniffing the floor intently and disturbing a nearby customer. The irritated woman quickly moved out of the aisleway.

He looked up, his eyes gleaming madly.

He was close.

So very, very close.

A deranged giggle escaped him, drawing the cashier’s attention away from the morning edition of the Star, and from the article detailing the new Overlord’s latest conquest. The lanky man glared at the shuffling figure over the top of the page suspiciously but did not leave his seat.

Um… Excuse me? The six-year-old smiled nervously at the cashier, placing his packet on the counter along with the money his mother had given him. The man gave the boy a friendly smile, taking the money and wrapping the packet in a plastic bag before returning it.

The boy scampered off with delight, already digging into the bag.

The shadowy figure, however, did not share that delight. Instead he hissed with livid disbelief as he stared at the empty plastic container.

He stormed his way up to the counter and grabbed hold of the cashier, shaking him roughly. Where… is it? Where is… the PRECIOUS?!

W-what are you talking about?! rasped the manhandled clerk.

That! howled the rag-clad figure, pointing at the empty container.

They’re sold out! That kid bought the last of them! There’s no extra shipment coming in for the next two months! gasped the store clerk, grunting as the figure tossed him aside with an eerie wail of Aaiiieee! before storming out the door.

He looked back and forth blindly before he noticed the boy holding a packet — HIS PRECIOUS! — while being accompanied by a young woman. He broke into a sprint, drooling and saliviating all the way.

The boy looked up.

And screamed as the packet was wrenched out of his hands by a charging bearded maniac.

Yes! Yes! gibbered the figure as he tore open the packet. Mine! All mine! Precious! Hungrily, he stuffed six of the divine yellow treats into his mouth, chewing and slurping noisily as great globs of saliva trickled down his mouth and into his matted beard.

The boy burst into tears, drawing his mother out of her shocked stupor.

You monster!

He barely noticed the whacks the boy’s mother was giving him with her umbrella, drawing the attention of several revolted passers-by.

For shame!

Tch, how repulsive.

My god, look at that twinkle!

He took no notice of the attention he was being given, baring his teeth, snarling and hissing only when a hand came too close to his packet. One fell into a mud puddle and was fished out by a grasping hand before being sucked back into the figure’s mouth; mud, grime and all.

All the while, he gleefully chanted Precious… the precious is all ours again, yesss… 

Minutes later, Auror were called in to investigate sightings of Albus Dumbledore robbing a six-year-old child of his lemon drops. Usually, an Order-sympathetic member would’ve gone along to any minor occurence, but it just so happened the only Order Auror on duty today was Tonks.

And Tonks had better things to be doing.

Like proving her flexibility.

Which was why she was currently making her way through various poses that would not have looked out of place in a very dirty mind.

She had a rather wide-eyed audience too.

How… is that even possible? asked Hermione, who had line of sight to Tonks’ shapely arse. She gulped slightly, remembering her last porno-esque dream where an Evil Overlord ruthlessly pounded into her arse while forcing her (rapidly-unresisting) face between a tied-up, pink-haired Auror’s legs.

Tonks smirked, stretching lazily as her sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to her trim upper torso and highlighted the fact that she was not wearing a bra. It’s a talent, she chirped.

Fleur, on the other hand, was silent, but her mind was racing. Between her own innate sexual talents, Tonks’ athleticism, Hermione’s kinky mind and their combined hotness; her cousins wouldn’t have a chance.

Oh, and the naga princess too. No point ocstrasizing a fellow hot bedmate.

But as for her cousins… Fleur smiled evilly.

A few binding spells, some rope… maybe letting them watch as the Overlord shagged her silly while leaving them bound and helpless… letting them join in only after Harry had finished with her… 

The blonde’s face flushed red as her nipples tightened; her musings slowly sinking into regions that would cause a drastic increase in this fic’s rating.

That is, until Hedwig flew in. You know the drill.

Three faces blushed turned thoughtful… and interested.

Hermione blushed, while Tonks and Fleur had mirrored smiles.

P.S. Hedwig’s in a good mood today. Had a snorkack feast this morning.

A gasp echoed in the room as Luna arrived, this time wearing a short red cape and a white leotard. An L was splayed over her chest.

You fiend! she thundered. Consumer of innocent snorkacks!

Hedwig smiled an owlish smile of pure Evil. Hoot.

Luna’s face locked up in a twisted rictus of insanity. Then she slowly waddled off, tossing a weak I’ll be back! over her shoulder with a squeak.

It wasn’t many people who could say they’d been wedgied by an owl.

And, of course, as for Snape… 

He was giggling as he slowly fed his cauldron grease to a pool of black muck, stirring away at the dark concoction with a fanatic’s glee. Soon, his first-ever batch of homebrew grease would be ready… 

Stick97

BZZZ

BZZZ

BZZZ

Hermione raised her head from the soft warm pillow, wondering what the noise was. Goodness! That wasn’t a pillow she had been laying on after… 

BZZZ

What the hell was making that noise? She looked towards the sound, and saw that magnificent piece of spellwork her…  err…  that Harry had created. Why the possibilities for the… .

BZZZ

Dammit! She got up, wrapping a sheet around herself, and walking over to the parchment stuck to the wall, touching the flashing Instant Mage box.

Hermione? Is that you? For some reason my parchment shows that it’s keyed to three of you?

Yes Harry, this is Hermione, what can I do for you?

Sssshouldn’t the quesstion be what wouldn’t you do?

Hush, Nancy don’t distract her. Hermione is there something odd going on there? Neville just apparated in shaking and offering to swear Allegiance to me as an Enforcer. He said something about feeling a large disturbance, a flash of red, and something about hundreds of male voices screaming out in terror? What was it Neville?

… …

SheRanga is after you? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Yes, I’ll let you be dark too, no worries. Can you look into this for me Hermione? I haven’t seen Neville like this, well ever.

Harry. Why can I hear Nancy but not Neville?

Shit. Uh… well, Neville isn’t keyed into this version, and um… 

That’s ok, Harry, I’d be a little worried if he was.

Thanks Hermione. So have you given any more thought about… 

Harry? Harry! Harry James Potter! What the bloody Hell is wrong with this thing? Connection lost? What the hell! Arrrgh! Hermione threw her hands in the air. Oh well, she needed a shower at any rate. She was so sticky!

Lord of Bones

The Oder of the Phoenix had reconvened to discuss a matter of serious importance; a matter that drew their greatest minds together and caused the formations of some of the greatest and most daring plans ever thought of in Magical History.

Reality is such a sad, sad thing.

Between the glares Fleur was throwing Bill, the stench of Mundungus Fletcher, the inane prattle of the Weasley twins, Moody jumping at the slightest twitch, Arthur’s Mugglemania, Ron trying to look down Hermione’s shirt and Snape attempting to snark with a partially-paralyzed face; the Order of the Phoenix was about as serious and well-coordinated as a fat, plump hen coming face-to-face with a very hungry snake while being chased by a fox with aspirations of having a chicken dinner.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

The ruckus continued.

Dumbledore’s eyes began to twinkle harder.

At this point, the noise began to quiet down as people in the room stared, enamoured by the power of Dumbledore’s twinkle.

The twinkled reached a supernova-esque intensity.

Everyone in the room shut up simultaneously, fascinated by the ungodly twinkle.

Fear the twinkle.

Now, my friends, said Dumbledore benevolently; We are gathered here today to discuss a troubling occurence… 

cough*Bullshit*cough muttered Tonks.

… the occurence, of course, being Harry’s dark pa-

Hoot.

Hermione started as Hedwig calmly landed on her shoulder, completely cutting off the fiery diatribe the brunette had been about to unleash on the Headmaster. Automatically, Fleur conjured a bit of bacon, feeding the elegant avian her favorite snack.

Then the bird paused.

Behind them, Snape’s wand rose in a trembling hand.

Hedwig calmly turned around and met Snape’s gaze. For a moment there was silence, as Snape’s jaw quivered.

Then Hedwig spoke a word.

Hoot.

Snape began to tremble and dropped his wand, before numbly limping his way back to his seat and curling up while rocking back and forth and sucking his thumb.

Hedwig then calmly met Dumbledore’s gaze before raising a wing and mimed drawing a line across her throat. The Headmaster whimpered.

Hermione dragged her horribly-fascinated eyes from the byplay and unfurled the letter, reading it out loud.

Play the banjo? mouthed Fleur.

India campaign going well. Use of Gabrielle as PR agent and mascot works wonders.

What?! yelped the half-Veela.

Have encountered minor roadblock in campaign. Accidentally spoke Parseltongue to a snake out of boredom — now have instead ended up meeting giant snake-king-person.

Only Harry could actually end up meeting the King of the Naga, sighed Hermione.

Minions insisted on proper diplomatic protocol. Am now being pursued by very aggressive snake-princess after accidentally speaking Parseltongue in giant-snake-king-person’s court.

What?!

Hip?

Just then, Remus walked in through the door wearing a shiny, sequined shirt with bellbottom trousers. The most eye-catching thing, though, was his gigantic afro and coloured glasses. Groovy, cats! What’s chillin’?

Cloneserpents

Hermione returned from the muggle newsstand with a paper bag filled with magazines.

What are those? asked Fleur.

Well, if we’re going to compete against a handful of Veela and the naga princess, we’ll need to best them, Hermione replied. And to do that we’ll need to do some research.

The brunette dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed. Scores of magazines and periodicals spilled across the mattress. Each one had a naked woman on the cover. Some even had two or three women. Tonks selected one magizine that had a buxom blonde secductivly biting into a strawberry. The metamorphmagus opened the magizine to a random page and read;

The proper way to kiss both sets of lips, by C. U. Lingus.

Cloneserpents

The Adventures Adventure of Captain Fire-Crotch

Ginny had bided her time patiently. She had stood in the shadows of the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, listening day after day as that bushy haired scarlet woman, the French whore, and the metaphomagus skank shivered with delight over each and every one of Harry’s posts. The whores. Harry belonged to her, not them. Ginny deserved Harry all to herself. It was their destiny. And those three whores were trying to step in the way of her and Harry spending their lives together.

She wasn’t a fool. Harry was a man and being a man meant he was weak when it came to feminine wiles. Ginny knew that if those whore sunk their scarlet women claws into him, he would surely cave. Worst of all, Ginny knew that the bookworm, Veela, and metamorphmagus were teaming up — they were planning to seduce Harry as a team. Even though Ginny and Harry’s love was predestined, no man could resist the advances of three young, nubile, and open minded women.

In order to save Harry, their destined love, and the oodles of babies they would surely have, Ginny had to act. She had to do something.

Then it hit her: become a pirate just like Harry had! She would recruit a crew and conjure a boat, then set sail on the high seas. She would sack and pillage town after town until she built a reputation as a vicious rouge. And once she had accomplished this, she would sail for Harry Evil Dark Tower and form an alliance — her crew of scurvy pirates with his Evil Minions. Of course they would seal this alliance with a bout of wet, sloppy sex. He would rail her so hard that the bedpost the shagged upon would slam and bash against the wall.

With her plan in the forefront of her head, Ginny set out to find a crew. She would have to start small — perhaps only two or three crewmen. A smile appeared on her crimson lips. She knew exactly who to recruit.

You want us as your first mate and bosun? asked Colin Creevey.

Aye, she replied, easily slipping into pirate speak.

I don’t know, Colin said.

But after we become note worthy pirates, we get to join Harry, right? asked his brother, Dennis.

That be the plan, said Ginny.

Both Creevey brothers’ eyes lit up. The mere thought of being in any association with their hero made their hearts sing.

All right, count us in, said Colin while Dennis wiped a happy tear from his eye.

With her crew in tow, Ginny boarded the Knight Bus and traveled to the nearest dock. There she conjured a twenty-foot schooner.

Don’t you want a bigger boat? asked one of the brothers.

Nay, matie, we’ve got to start small, Ginny answered. She could already feel the fresh salty air filling her lungs. Once we sack our first town and recruit more hands, then we get a bigger ship!

Before she went further, she needed to name the boat. For a moment, she ponder over the notion of giving the vessel a name that would strike fear into people’s hearts. But then she decided to christen the boat with a name that heralded her mission. Waving her wand, she carved big, bold letters into the side of the boat.

The Bedpost Shaker.

She could feel her loins tingle at the thought of what the Evil Overlord Harry Potter would do to her.

Now we need to get dressed for the part, she announced. The red-head waved her wand and transfigured the brothers’ clothes into proper pirate clothes — complete with scarves wound around their heads and scabbards dangling from their belts.

For her own clothes, Ginny went all out. She conjured a great big hat with a massive plume, weathered long coat and a billowing blouse. To finish the look, she transfigured her shoes into heavy, thigh high boots.

Pardon, Captain Weasley…  began Colin.

Stop, interrupted Ginny. I will need a new name. One that will cause men to quake in their boots!

All great pirates had such names; Blackbeard, Bluebeard, and Redbeard. She snapped her fingers and announced; From this day forth, I shall be known as Captain Fire-Crotch!

Pardon Captain Fire-Crotch, but don’t you think having such heavy boots is a good idea, stated Colin. I mean if you were to fall into the water, the weight of those boots might drag you down.

Nonsense, she said as she climbed into her boat.

A few moments later, Captain Fire-Crotch and her small crew set sail. If the captain’s mind had not been so preoccupied with the thoughts of how Harry would ravish her body, she might have noticed that the mast for the sail was not tied down properly.

There’s a storm ahead, warned Colin twenty minutes into their adventure.

Weather be damned! snarled Fire-Crotch. She had a mission and nothing would stop her.

Then a great gust blew. The sails snapped and tugged free. As the mast swung toward the captain’s head, she exclaimed; Bugger.

With a sickening thud, the mast slammed into Fire-Crotch’s head and sent her flying over the port side of the boat and into the choppy water.

Looking over the side, Dennis exclaimed Blimey! She’s sinking like a rock!

I told her those boots were too heavy! Colin said as he turned the boat back to the harbor.

Lord of Bones

Standing in front of a large and blank piece of wall, the Weasley Twins, alternatively known as Fred and George, Gred and Forge or Those Fucking Ginger Bastards (at least, to at least three quarters of Hogwarts’ student and teacher population), grinned down at the assembled horde of their relatives. By the assembled horde of their relatives, the author obviously means Ron, Bill, Charlie, Arthur and Percy; not, as suspected, the much-maligned Hyaenidae family.

Which was somewhat surprising, considering that, in fact, Fred and George had disturbing grins.

Really disturbing, slasher-movie kinda grins.

No-one’s ever accused the Weasley Twins of not having a few bats up in their belfry.

Anyway, the Weasley twins grinned down on their relatives as they bounced a small silver-ringed white ball amongst themselves, a decidedly unsettling glint in their eyes, provoing their ineffectual patriarch to step up.

All right boys, what’s all this about? he asked, a tone of weary curiosity in his voice.

Somewhat reality-defying was the widening of the duo’s grins.

Why, Father dearest— started Fred.

—we’re shocked that—, continued George.

—you would actually—

—question our—

At this point, the author would like to say that writing Twinsspeak really, really pisses him off. For the sake of his continued emotional wellbeing, we’ll skip to the final lines and hope that he hasn’t thrown his keyboard out the window.

—presenting The Weasley—

—Construction Materials Transparency—

—Visual Aid!

Ron, who had been cured of his temporary bout of intelligent eloquence, voiced the one word in everyone’s minds. Huh?

Fred sighed. It means we can see through walls, Ronniekins.

And it just so happens that we’re going to test it out on this wall, behind of which is the girls’ bathroom!

At this point, Arthur saw warning lights. Now, boys… 

George looked at him flatly. Are you really going to pass up this chance?

For a moment, Arthur wrestled with himself, his innate meek decency warring with the chance to watch some quality T&A. It would be obvious which won out.

As the twins set up their equipment, the Weasleys began to wonder about which lucky young woman they’d have the chance to appraise. Perhaps it was Hermione’s tight, curvy body? Tonk’s sleek athletic form? Fleur’s incomparable curvaceous centerfold physique? Emmeline Vance’s full and ripe body?

And, perhaps the most important question: natural, trimmed or shaved?

It would’ve taken a team of sanitation engineers to remove the drool.

Here it comes!

The picture was at first grainy, but then soon developed into a clearer visage as the hidden spying tool started from the feet.

First came the feet, chapped and worn, that soon lead up to thunderous thighs, to the junction between the legs covered by a literal forest of hair that obly barely covered the drooping lower lips. Up and up the camera went, past a flabby stomach and gigantic pendulous breasts to the familar jowled face.

Shrieks and screams of unholy agony echoed around the place as several gingers writhed and twisted in profane, unholy agony; scratching and clawing at their eyes in horror. I can’t unsee it! wailed some of the downed Weasleys.

Well, except for one.

She’s beautiful…  said Ron, awe in his eyes as he looked on his first naked female, drool dropping down to join his brothers’ sweat.

And that was why the trembling forms of the Weasleys were now gathered in the kitchen… well, except for Ron, who was mumbling Hermione and her, Hermione and her… ARGH! I cannot choose! I must have them both!

Then he broke out into insane laughter, before a creeped-out Hermione hit him with a Silencio.

And, as in every installment of this series, Hedwig swooped in, had her favorite Veela-conjured treat and delivered her letter.

Three voices growled an agreement.

Tonks quickly summoned a back of crackers, which Hedwig took with a grateful Hoot. She was about to fly off when… 

Halt, Servant of Darkness!

Several heads turned, and several pairs of eyes widened.

Albus Dumbledore had entered, followed by Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Elphias Doge and Emmeline Vance; all of which were dressed in sailor fuku.

Yes, those sailor fuku… y’know… the planetary ones.

The Weasleys screamed. The girls turned green.

The author would like to stress that the unamused Emmeline Vance made a very fetching Sailor Venus and was not part of the girls’ sudden change in complexion.

In the name of the Light, we will — what’s this?

The owl had hurled a set of photographs at them.

Is that… is that my secret lemon drop cache?

Is that my favorite grease factory?

Hedwig smiled an evil owl smile as she held up a large remote with SELF-DESTRUCT BUTTON FOR GREASE FACTORY AND SECRET LEMON DROP CACHE written on it.

Hoot.

Lord of Bones

Ah, the great outdoors.

Yes, indeed, that mystical and magical place of summer and endless sunshine, where itty-bitty birdies sing and twitter all day long, where the flowers bloom bright and beautiful and smell eternally sweet, where butterflies and similarly-attired insects flew around amongst flower stems and childrens’ limbs, where giggling young lovers could frolic amongst the long summer grass both day and night… 

Ah, yes, the beauty of an unrestrained summer sun, the agony of a disturbed wasp’s sting, the suffering of an unprecedented heat-stroke, the inevitable surprise of frolicking into a bush of poison ivy, when you did your laundry in your own sweat… 

Screw that. Why the hell is it called the great outdoors, anyway?

Regardless, there was only one thing certain.

The great outdoors and Grimmauld Place got along like Tom and Jerry in a sack on fire.

At least, that was what Nymphadora ‘I-have-no-first-name’ Tonks thought as she looked out through the window. Being cooped up in an Addams’ Family mansion reject was not particularly endearing to the perky woman.

Not that she had much of a choice.

Still, it was more than enough to drive her to that darkened Abyssal Pit of No Return™.

In short, Nymphadora Tonks was bored.

And a bored Tonksie was seldom a good thing — at least, for everyone else.

All in all, through a combination of boredom and natural curiousity; Tonks had so far discovered that Mundungus Fletcher’s unique… scent was due to a secret family shampoo recipe, that Minerva McGonagall owned a set of prized Hello Kitty robes, that Charlie Weasley’s oft-boasted scars were really cheap stickers, that Elphias Doge shaved his legs (something that had almost sent her to the Psychaitric Ward of St. Mungos’) and that Arthur Weasley had a secret collection of Muggle vibrators.

She’d also found out that Hermione tended to talk in her sleep.

Rather graphically.

Having just woken up from a dream involving a black corset, a collar, a green-eyed Evil Overlord and the practical aspects of having a large enough throne; the Metamorphmagus chose not to press the issue.

Which meant she was bored.

Again.

And staring at the other members and ‘affiliates’ of the Order of the Phoenix wasn’t helping.

At least, until a familar white owl swooped in, nabbed Fleur’s conjured bacon and let Hermione untie the letter from her leg. A wide grin crossed Tonks’ face — Harry’s letters and Hedwig always were good for some entertainment.

Hermione sighed.

Feeling slightly homesick. Need something to remind me of home.

Tonks and Fleur had identical small, wickedly sensuous smiles. Hermione, for her part, simply read on with an atomic blush on her cheeks.

Then there was a scream.

Several heads shot up… only to see a bald, gibbering Severus Snape and Hedwig flying out the window holding on to a can of ‘Grease-B-Gone’.

Lord of Bones

The Order was inducting new members.

Or, at least, that was what the young crowd had been told — in between recriminations by She-Who-Won’t-Shut-Up and condescending variations of You’re too young and it’s all for the greater good, blah-blah-blah.

Alright, so they weren’t really ‘officially’ notified; Tonks just let it out because she was bored.

She had a habit of that, when she was bored.

It would probably lead to an Evil Overlord making sure to find effective use of time to ensure that Tonks was never bored or at least had something stuffed into her mouth; but let’s not get ahead of ourselves and have this snippet’s rating drastically increased.

Regardless, as befitting the induction of new members into the Order of the Phoenix, the Order had assembled in all of its dignified, and exalted elegance, grandeur and glory.

Bet you actually believed that.

It’s the Order of the Phoenix, for pity’s sake! Between the nasally-challenged thief, the unwashed spy, the giant fiery poultry, the somewhat-unhinged and electronically-challenged office worker, the smothering housewife and several doddering geriatrics with animal fetishes, the Order had about as much dignity, elegance and grandeur as a turtle taking a stroll through the Sahara Desert while being chased by a hungry eagle.

Anyway, the induction was going well, and Hermione could take a guess as to who was being inducted, if the presences of Neville, Luna and some berk with a crewcut were any indicator. Luna was still as whimsical as ever, and SBWAC was a placeholder for some random character the author’s going to chuck in and forget about, so he didn’t really matter.

Idly, she wondered where that thought came from, but since she couldn’t really decipher any of SBWAC’s physical characteristics, she let the matter drop.

It was Neville who had changed the most, though. The Gryffindor, who had been maturing into a fine, brave young man, had finally reached the pinnacle of his evolution: he’d become a weenie on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

To be utterly fair, it wasn’t really his fault. Taking a sheltered young pureblood (with all the restrictions enforced on sheltered young purebloods) and putting him in close proximity to an outgoing, hot Metamorphmagus Auror with a tendency to wear tight clothes and a drop-dead gorgeous Veela with excessive pride in her… um… physical characteristics generally had that effect.

*Hermione would, obliviously, never actually realize that seeing herself walk around in shorts was also screwing with Neville’s mind. The poor twit had been exposed to more legs, boobage and arse than his fragile little mind could handle.

Which was why he’d generally address the wall behind them when actually attempting conversation. The last thing he needed was for his classmate and her older friends to find him attempting conversation with their breasts.

But the author has decided he’s rambling, and would like to cut to the heart of the matter, so let’s fast-forward this a few minutes ahead.

A Few Minutes Ahead.

A familiar flap of wings heralded Hedwig’s arrival as the owl swooped in, nicked the waiting piece of bacon from Fleur’s hand and, in a spectacular set of acrobatic stunts, deposited the letter in Hermione’s waiting hand.

Luna watched wide-eyed. Neville clapped uncertainly.

Hermione ignored the byplay and read out the letter.

Three growls started and were cut off; before three heads made mental notes to discuss ‘practical’ uses of parseltongue.

Hermione flushed at that, before her face joined Fleur’s and Tonks’ in speculation.

P.S. Luna was right, Crumple-Horned Snorcacks do exist. Hedwig thinks they’re owl treats on legs.

Luna gasped, a look of pure undiluted horror on her face.

P.S. You know that really, really, really, really big library? I’m filling up the shelves.

You should know the drill by now.

As Tonks looked at the retreating brunette (whose hand was already halfway up her shirt), she realized something was wrong. Hey, Snape and Dumbledore haven’t been hurt yet!

Then twin screams ran out.

Noooo! Precious! Precious has been greased!

Noooo! My grease! My grease has been lemonized!

Lord of Bones

AAAIIIIEEEEE!

Neville shot out of bed, sweating and gibbering before running out and bumping into a passing pink-haired Auror.

 ‘Lo, Neville.

Then he realized that his head was between Tonks’ perky rack. With a strangled squeak, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted.

Tonks shook her head bemusedly and levitated the Gryffindor back to his bed before making her way to the kitchen and barely missing Luna. The Ravenclaw took one look at the unconscious drooling Neville and sighed. Oh, poo.

Now where was she going to get a sidekick?

Then her eyes hardened. No… it was time to prove that she did not need aid to oppose the Overlord’s Evil Regime! With her new Heroine Costume, nothing would stand in her way! Wrapping her long red cape around herself, she strode to the kitchen with loud, dramatic steps.

And then faltered as she realized Hedwig was staring at her, a bit of bacon in her beak and a malevolent glint in her eye. Off to the side, Hermione unfurled the letter and read it out.

Fleur grit her teeth.

The trio looked curiously at the blank piece of paper that came with the letter… until it slowly became a photograph, showing a sinfully hot, curvaceous woman with dark hair and serpentine eyes. Unclad save for the snakelike adornments around her arms, ankles and neck; the naga princess’ photo began to gleefully demonstrate how the serpentine side of her nature exhibited itself in her flexibility (with both normal human legs and serpentine lower torso). The final straw was when after uncrossing her ankles from the back of her head, the snake-woman sent a smug smile to the camera walked off, her last words being a throaty purr of Oh my Lord… 

The trio — Tonks in particular — twitched; the Metamorphmagus growling something that sounded like I’m more flexible than her! They turned back to the letter.

P.P.S. Currently updating the really, really, really, really big library with rare and magical books.

You know the drill.

With a dramatic toss of her cape, Luna simultaneously rejoiced the apparent retreat of a Dark Mistress and challenged the Vile Familiar.

Hoot.

Luna’s eyes widened as she read the catalogue page Hedwig thrust at her. Horror welled up in her being as she read the damning words: Dramatic red capes at 30 galleons a set! Made from genuine wracklespurt!

Noooooo!!!

The wail of pure anguish was not shared by Severus Snape as he scraped off the grease from his cauldrons and began applying them to his scalp, all the while laughing dementedly. It was however, a sentiment shared by Dumbledore as he miserably looked at the stacks of chewing gum and lemon juice bottles.

It’s just not the same! he wailed.

Lord of Bones

WARNING: Somewhat disjointed.

Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Albus? pressed Minerva McGonagall, looking at the Headmaster with something akin to disbelief. Dumbledore simply smiled beneficiently, his eyes sparkling with Twinkle #354 (I’m right and I damn well know it).

He shouldn’t be left alone with those horrid Muggles so soon after Sirius’s death!

Now, now, my dear Professor, placated Dumbledore; It is imperative that Harry stay under his relatives’ roof. They are his only real family, and I’m sure they truly do care for him.

The iron-haired woman gaped at him, before spinning around and storming away. Nothing good will come of this, Albus! she called over her shoulder.

It just so happened she was absolutely correct.

 

The members of the Order of the Phoenix (plus the Weasleys, Hermione and assorted riffraff no-one gives a shit about) gathered in the dusty halls of Grimmauld Place, still stuck by the death of one of their own. Not even the arrival of Fleur I’m-sexier-than-any-Playwizard-Centerfold-and-I-know-it Delacour altered the moodiness of the house’s residents.

Even Tonks was somewhat morose.

And Tonks was never morose.

Ever.

It just wasn’t natural.

That is, until a familiar snowy owl descended and alighted on a table. Hedwig looked around imperiously, waiting patiently as an eager Hermione and the Weasleys made her way to the table.

The brunette witch held out a hand —

— Just as Albus Dumbledore, smiling benignly, attempted to intercept the owl and take the letter.

THWACK!

All activity ceased. Incredulous eyes looked between owl and wizard, as Dumbledore’s hand rose to stroke his reddened cheek.

Hedwig had just bitchslapped Albus Dumbledore.

Hoot, said the owl disdainfully. The canny bird calmly took wing and landed on a stunned Hermione’s shoulder, gazing around the kitchen with a baleful glance.

Numbly, Hermione untied the letter and spread out the parchment, looking at the messy scrawl of her best friend’s handwriting. Numbness was replaced by incredulity as she carefully read out the letter’s contents.

… The hell?

 

Two days later… 

Harry’s letter had caused an outcry among the members of the Order, causing some of the younger members to agree to take turns watching Privet Drive just to get the older members to shut up. Personally, Hermione thought the green-eyed wizard was having fun at their expense.

Then Tonks walked in, a twitch under her eye.

Tonks? asked the brunette, concern in her voice.

The metamorphmagus growled.

Just then, Hedwig flew in (pausing only to divebomb Severus Snape). The regal avian landed between Fleur and Hermione, immediately sticking out her leg.

Fleur took the moment to feed Hedwig some of Molly Weasley’s bacon. Hoot, said the bird thankfully.

Hermione read the letter out loud.

That was him?! yelped Tonks; anger, embarrasment and flattery warring on her face.

P.P.S. Tell her I know she was spying on my bath.

Hermione chanced a look at the Auror, who now sported a glazed look while drooling at the memory. The brunette surpressed a surge of envy and turned back to the letter.

P.P.P.S. This letter will not self-destruct.

The brat’s finally snapped, snarked Snape.

P.P.P.P.S. Have I mentioned the oodles of cash?

Hermione looked up at the seething faces of the Weasleys and resisted the urge to palm her face.

 

greenzxz

I'm too lazy and too crappy of a writer to properly set up the scene, so I offer two mini-drabbles to this drabble:

Scene 1:

 

Scene 2

(into the future and probably fairly AU):

Head Librarian Granger arrived via portkey into the cabin of Captain Potter, barely blinking at the sight of Cabin Wench Tonks on the ground, kneeling between the legs of the pantsless Captain Harry Potter, Evil Overlord, etc. Stripping off her specially designed easy access robes, the brunette quipped, Gee Harry! Can’t you keep your pants on for most of the day? Why do we even bother getting you dressed?

Tonks took her mouth off Mr. Phoenix and replied for Harry, You left him like this when you went on duty you scamp! And why are you back so early?

I was mostly done with the indexing of those new books Harry acquired from South America when, well, I got distracted, ok? To her credit, Hermione barely blushed anymore when referring to the rare books of the Potter Library, although to practiced eyes could still see the effects of prolonged exposure on certain body parts. Where’s Fleur, anyway?

A wide grin appeared on Harry’s face as he pointed towards a mirror on the wall, She’s being punished.

Curious, Hermione stepped towards the scrying mirror to see it show a bow of a ship, recognizable to her as the vessel she was onboard at the very moment. The scene in the mirror moved up, except instead of showing the normal dragon figurehead, it showed the topless, partially transformed, part-Veela Fleur Delacour, tied down to the prow and looking like the sexiest harpy ever.

A/N: I didn’t think that all three girls would make good cabin wenches, and had an idea of Fleur being used in place of the figurehead, using her Veela allure to distract enemies. I figure she probably wouldn’t volunteer for that role though.

Eewec Ourbyni

Tonks was depressed. No one could grasp her inner need. She felt as though she had somehow failed to make her point. ‘The Point’, the one that defines who we are and people just couldn’t seem to grasp hers.

She was a Metamorphmagus. She could change anything about her to be the most perfect ‘Her’ she could be. No one could grasp it though. Everyone wanted her to be the most perfect ‘Someone else’ she could be. T’was why none of her boyfriends had lasted. They asked her to be this young actress, or that model, or some other prominent figure, or a school friend — that last she found decidedly creepy for THAT purpose.

No one looked at her for her and would tell her what she could change to be perfect in her own right.

She knew that normally no one can be perfect, always something that would mean she was ‘loved as much for her beauty as for her flaws’. She was a Metamorphmagus for crying out loud! She shouldn’t have any flaws if someone would just point them out. Preferably a certain green eyed dark lord currently doing his best to show why the previous one was a jumped up no one with delusions of adequacy leading a bigger group who were just deluded.

’Humph’ nope, still depressed, but now also quite horny.

She idly wondered what fun she could get up to tonight with Fleur and that surprisingly enlightening young lady with the love of books. Speaking of, here came Hermione now.

’Oh my!’

Looks like someone was watching her play ‘Overlord II’ last night when she unlocked the third mistress. Or it could just have been a coincidence…  nahhhhh. Who would have thought that the dungeons being so well warded against external magical penetration could be so beneficial when they were looking for somewhere to become their little den.

Oh, gods, she was horny and now their little bookworm just had to look so positively delicious.

She could fill a drinking glass with how damp she was right now. She’d refer to her nickers being so damp, but that would require her to actually be wearing any. That little minx of a Veela had vanished the pair she was wearing as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, and with the current short miniskirt she was wearing she had no wish to flash the ‘Red Headed Army’ going and getting another pair, and even less wish for them to see her knickers fly through the air by summoning a pair.

’Course, lap full of wriggly Veela prevented anyone seeing anything while she was sat down. Didn’t help the Horniness though.

Lord of Bones

Luna Lovegood was deep in thought. Very deep in thought.

This wasn’t a surprise to anyone who knew Luna Lovegood. The blonde Ravenclaw was very often deep in thought, though she was always more concerned about exposing Minister Fudge’s Heliopath army, the dietary needs of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack and the lifecycle of the Wracklespurt.

To be utterly fair to Luna, she wasn’t the only Ravenclaw with less-than-socially-accepted tendencies, just the most vocal among them. Stephen Cornfoot’s weekly pimple-poking competitions — with his face as the board, Marietta Edgecombe’s frequent games of ‘connect the zits’ and Micheal Corner’s unique ability to belch out Beethoven’s 7th symphony were well-kept secrets among their own social circles.

But Luna now had a new concern; one that truly shook her to her core.

Harry Potter had become an Evil Overlord.

And that, to Luna, was unacceptable.

Especially since Evil Overlords were generally either allergic to Snorkacks and Wracklespurts or allowed their vile familiars to use them as dietary supplements. That, to Luna, was the height of an Evil Overlord’s evilness.

That meant that Harry was trully irredeemable.

Therefore, it would come to her to prove as Harry’s foil, and counter the Evil Overlord’s evilness. She nodded decisively as she looked at the large, blank sheets of white canvas; this would be a good place to start.

And, of course, every Great Heroine™ needed a sidekick, thus explaining the unconscious form of Neville Longbottom and the dented frying pan next to him. Luna smiled in a totally-opposite-to-yet-eeriely-evil way: sh — they — would have to start at the primary forces of Evil here first, of course.

The Evil Overlord’s Dark Mistresses.

Which would explain why, three hours later, a Neville-accompanied Luna knocked insistently on the door to Hermione’s room, thus awakening its occupant.

Its dreaming occupant.

Which was why Hermione opened her eyes and glared at the ceiling. The defiant, stubborn Light witch had been well on her way to ‘defying’ her way into the first explosive orgasm of the dream at the hands of the ruthless, dominating Evil Overlord. She was not happy.

An angry and orgasm-deprived Hermione was not a nice combination, which Luna did not, in fact, discover when the brunette slammed open the bedroom door.

What? growled the unamused brunette.

Until she got a good look at what Luna was wearing.

… What on Earth are you wearing?!

Dressed in a sleeveless bright white vest and matching skirt, combined with a long flowing white cape, elbow-length gloves, thight-high boots and a strange white visor; Luna truly looked the part of a Great Heroine. Discounting, of course, the fact, that Luna’s pale skin and hair made her look like a blue-eyed ghost.

Or a desperate cosplayer. Take your pick.

For her part, Luna wasn’t so impressed either. Hah! I knew it! Only one so shamelessly exposed could possibly be a Dark Mistress of the Evil Overlord! she said dramatically, striking a Good-Guy™ pose.

It should be noted here that Hermione was wearing a mid-thigh length nightgown. Drenched with sweat. And blatantly exposing the fact that Hermione was having a very nice dream, based on the fact that her dark pink nipples were as hard as diamond and straining against the fabric of her gown.

Hermione twitched indignantly.

Neville, who had been ignored this far, was currently having a seizure as his brain tried to process his body’s reaction to a pretty, partway-nude witch versus the fact that Harry was an Evil Overlord and that Hermione was one of his Dark Mistresses.

Luna, meanwhile, had an impending feeling of DOOM as Hermione bore down on her, a malignant glint in her eyes.

Sometime later.

What happened to you? asked a startled Tonks as Hedwig swooped in to grab her bacon and deposit the customary letter.

The still-irritated Hermione twitched, choosing to instead read out the letter.

Three voices growled. The owner of one voice made a note to bring her three just-as-gorgeous cousins with her to sway the odds in their favor.

Three heads nodded in unison. Couldn’t be a Dark Mistress without some preperation, after all.

The owner of one head began to twitch again as Luna confidently strode in, flanked by Snape and Dumbledore.

Hey, better a lesser evil than a greater one.

What iz she wearing? asked Fleur with a sort of horrified awe.

Luna, for her part, immediately began to assess the possible threat of a triad of Dark Mistresses and a Vile Familiar, whilst Snape and Dumbledore, while silent, looked more than a little unhinged.

The Ravenclaw drew out her (safety-shop-bought) whip.

Hedwig looked down at the would-be thorn in the Overlord’s takeover.

Hoot.

THWACK! SPLAT! KA-POW!

Snape whimpered as the owl flew off, leaving him and Dumbledore hogtied together, a tub of grease and a lemon drop tantalizingly close yet so far away.

Luna, for her part, wondered how her gloves and boots had been used as restraining bonds to the wall.

Stick97

I was going to make a one shot for this but it just fits the big, really really big library.

Hermione stumbled downstairs on shaky legs. She was still woozy, but she had cleared her mind enough to research that damn Naga. Maybe she could teach Harry how to clear his mind using her method? No, she had to focus.

As she walked into the now small feeling library she saw Fleur massaging Hedwig while the owl ate her sarificial bacon. Tonks handed her a piece of parchment that appeared blank. There was a small green post-it applied.

H, this is a beta version of something I have been working on with Nancy and Gabrielle . You know what to do.

Hermione muttered I solemnly swear I am up to no good!

The parchment flashed and the trio watched as something similar to a boot up screen appeared.

Digital Overlord System v.69 appeared at the top of the parchment. Several boxes appeared as a small connecting…  appeared on the bottom right of the parchment. Hermione looked at the small boxes reading the titles. WizMail, InstantMage, WizEarth, Gringotts.wiz, Accessories, Entertainment, and myLibrary. As Hermione was reaching for the Library box, suddenly the InstantMage box grew and the sound of a buzzing snitch was heard.

In the expanded box, Harry’s writing appeared.

Hi girls, Now that I have my minions to keep things better under control, I’ve had some free time to do some research… 

I can imagine what kind of research you’ve been doing with that little snake princess Harry! said Fleur.

Now, now Fleur no need for that. Nancy has been quite a lot of help with this. Hedwig didn’t really mind the flight time but she says she wants to keep an eye on Dumbles so you girls keep an eye on her for me.

At this Hedwig chuffed and puffed her feathers.

Yes, I know you can take care of yourself girl, but I don’t trust the old bastard.

H…Harry, can you hear us and how do you understand Hedwig? asked Hermione.

Yes, and I’ve figured out a translation spell that converts everything. I needed a way for Gabbi to understand Nancy and I rather than having to keep translating. Then I showed them the Marauders map and we went from there. Oh that reminds me, we figured out a way to key this to you by your magical core, you just need to put a sample on the parchment and only you will be able to read it. Everyone else will just see a page of notes in your handwriting.

Harry, that’s genius! Why…

oh yeah, Nancy reminded me to tell you to make sure you enable the encryption before you open the Entertainment folder. It would definitley upset Molly.

What do you mean Harry? Why would…  Damnit Tonks! Don’t touch that! Harry said to wai… 

Mon dieu! Holy shit! That’s not possible! it says so in the Kama Sutra!

The girls were dumbfounded by the screen that had taken up the whole parchment. Nancy had appeared looking into the screen and seemed to be tapping the parchment.

Do you really think thisss will work Harry?

Should. Theory is sound, and we can check it later to see how it looks. Now get over here, Wench!

With that, the girls got an eyeful of just how and why the Naga was able to unhinge her jaw.

Girls… Girls! Hey! I thought you said you deleted that, Nancy!

Oopssss!

thud thud thud

Sigh, Ok, well, I really would suggest you take that somewhere private. To unlock all of the features, well, it involves a little sex magic by using uh a personal sample of fluid, but at least there is no blood involved. It was the only way I could figure out to prevent underage witches from accessing it. Oh and if you press it to the wall, and then pull the bottom right corner, you can resize it.

As Molly was trying to clear out the closet under the stairs, she was deafened by what sounded like a herd of elephants stampeding up the stairs. What were those girls fighting over? It sounded like a rolling Kneazle fight. Probably arguing over who would bear her little Ronniekins first child. Now that Harry had gone to the Dark, he would be the hero of Hogwarts as he always should have been. But who to pair Ginny with? Oh well, she would just have to find the next richest wizard.

Lord of Bones

Ah, Grimmauld Place.

Imagine a place so dark and bleak that Cruella De Ville would’ve never set foot in it on pain of death, a place where acts like murder and rape would’ve gotten you booted out due to being a right old softie, a place whose bizzare and alien architecture would’ve made even Bergholt Stuttley Johnson go into seizures, a place where even Jack the Ripper would rather castrate himself than enter, a place that even Edgar Allen Poe’s darkest nightmares dared not imagine.

That wasn’t Grimmauld Place, which was just mildly creepy and somewhat unsanitary. No, that was the house just three doors down the road with the skull-and-crossbones on the mailbox.

Not that it made much difference to the occupants, anyway. Toiling under the yoke of Empress Molly of Weasley (a.k.a Mollywobbles, Queen Ginger, the Portly One, ‘ARGH-SHUTUP-SHUTUP-SHUTUPPP!!!’) while being forced to clean every nook-and-cranny of the slighest speck of dust would’ve made people hate living in a cleaning supplies factory, much less Grimmauld Place.

Not for the first time, they cursed Overlord Potter’s (a.k.a the Boy-Who-Lived, the Evil Overlord, That Lucky Bastard) name, for escaping the tyrannical reign of Molly Weasley, conquering most of the known planet (no doubt while having others do his cleaning for him) and (probably) boning a princess. Detractors of the last point were generally pointed at Fleur’s direction, whereupon they realized that absolute hotness was no longer the jurisdiction of humanity and went back to sulking in their rooms.

In many ways, having Fawkes around should’ve at least lightened the load — or at least distracted the hapless unpaid cleaners from their duties with bursts of phoenix song and impromptu pyrotechnics displays.

It was perhaps unfortunate that the phoenix instead showcased his moulting capabilities as well as the fact that he had never been housebroken.

Or maybe he was just being a vindictive little bugger. No-one knew.

Anyone who brought it up with Dumbledore just got an eyeful of twinkle and Would you like a lemon drop? anyway, although Tonks succeeded in getting Fawkes to almost choke on one.

Dumbledore stopped the lemon drop distribution after that.

Regardless, the phoenix was there for a reason, a reason that soon became evident as Hedwig soared into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The owl nabbed her favorite deliciously crispy cholestrol-packed treat from Fleur’s outstretched hand before swooping down to land on Hermione’s shoulder… 

That is, until Fawkes started singing.

Sweet and melodious, the phoenix-song seemed to concentrate on Hedwig as the owl suddenly turned tail and flew towards Fawkes, her avian features suddenly softening.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly and winked conspiratorially at Snape.

The soothing notes of the phoenix-song seemed endless as Hedwig landed in front of Fawkes, leaning closer and closer with a passive look on her raptorian features… 

Then her leg shot out and ended Fawkes’ impromptu orchestra with an indignified SQUARK!

The shrieking phoenix turned silent as Hedwig dragged him to her and looked him in the eye, a look that promised the deepest darkest retribution as she spoke a word of pure Evil.

Hoot.

Then she let go, letting the phoenix drop to the floor with a ‘thump’. With a frightened squeal, Fawkes ran as fast as his little phoenix legs could carry him, away from the Incarnation of Terror in snowy owl form.

For her part, Hedwig simply flew back to Hermione and surrendered the letter, before flying off. Only Snape saw her look at him from the corner of her eye and give him an evil owlish smile.

There was a ‘thud’ as he collapsed, frothing at the mouth.

The trio gathered around the letter ignored him as Hermione read out:

Huh?

Gadzooks! gasped Ron as he entered. Our most esteemed professor seems to be emitting a mass of air covered in a matrix of liquid film! Should we not attempt to seek aid for him from the closest physician available?

Hermione went white with horror, then frantically reread the letter.

P.P.S. Appreciate the photos, Fleur. Really, really appreciate them.

What photos?

The half-Veela simply smiled smugly.

P.P.P.S. You know the Lost Library of Alexandria? It’s not so lost anymore. My really really big library just became a really, really, really, really big library.

Hermione very calmly placed the letter on the desk before vanishing in a blur of speed back to her room, closing it with a loud Thud!

Eewec Ourbyni

Tonks had finally managed to get her jaw to unhinge.

Hermmme…  Hermmm… … uhgg

Hermione suddenly felt someone tap her on the shoulder while deeply concentrating on the book in front of her. Tonks and Fleur would later swear to each other that they saw daylight between her and the chair she’d been sat in.

Tonks pointed to her now widely gaping mouth.

Mees…  Meeesss

Tonks appeared to be getting more and more frustrated and seemed to be looking around the room for something. Fleur and Hermione looked at each other and shrugged.

Suddenly Tonks burst into action and grabbed a piece of parchment that had been hiding underneath some of the many books strewn accross the desk and started miming the act of writing.

Hermione looked on and suddenly her eyes seemed to gain a spark of understanding. Fleur and Tonks looked at each other with raised eyebrows and shrugged as Hermione seemed to produce a quill and a full extra large inkpot from…  somewhere and held them out for Tonks to take.

After a moment to undo the inkpot and dip the quill, Tonks began to write. Hermione and Fleur looked on bemused.

Tonks turned the parchment round so the other two could read the missive.

Fleur reached up and muttering something under her breath touched the tip of her wand to Tonks’ top lip just below her nose and then to her bottom lip directly below.

The three girls looked at the number hanging in mid-air.

Had someone else been in the room, they would have been excused from believing that the were under the imperious curse due to the trios vacant glazed looks.

Hermione was rhe first to snap back to reality.

I…  I… . I’m really going to need that elasticity charm.

Fluer looked down at her lap and then back at the number hanging in mid air.

Oui…  merde, tres…

The two girls suddenly looked at each other and went back to the books they’d been studying with renewed vigour.

Tonks looked at the figure hanging there, then she too glanced down at her lap.

Hngg

Fleur and Hermione had identical looks of surprise as Tonks picked up a book and started flicking through it while massaging her jaw back into place.

Wha…  eve’ I ‘ave li… li…

She grabbed the parchment and wrote Even I have limits!!

Lord of Bones

Fleur yawned, shielding her mouth with her hand as she strode into the dining hall of Grimmauld Place. The part-Veela’s nose delicate nose wrinkled instantaneously as the sights and smells of the vast Weasley brood immediately assaulted her senses, prompting a regretful shake of her head. The Frenchwoman inched her way down the table, then paused as the weight of several gazes fell on her.

A dreadful thought came to mind. The silver-blonde looked down, then closed her eyes in irritation.

In retrospect, packing a collection of short, tight and near-transparent lacy nighties wasn’t the smartest thing she could’ve done. The same applied to forgetting to belt her robe over her nightdress.

Thus, the entire dining hall was privy to the fact that Fleur could cause a geriatric coma patient whose sex drive had been dead for years to die of severe blood loss just by baring her calf.

Even Dumbledore was staring.

Fleur drew on all of her famous composure and levelled the occupants of the dining room with a glare that could melt solid rock, causing a roomwide retreat of gazes, except for most of the Weasley men, who were now drooling.

Wuz fer breakfast? interrupted a half-dead voice, heralding Tonks’ arrival into the room. The part-asleep Auror had the foresight to toss a shirt over her knickers, but this didn’t prevent the exposure of her long legs.

Not that Tonks cared. Coffee-deprivation and a tendency to drop-kick anyone who got in the way of the coffee mug would do that to anyone.

Last but not least was Hermione, her nightclothes covered by a sensibly long robe (much to Ron’s disappointment — the redhead was looking forward to yet another ‘accidental’ glimpse of Hermione’s cleavage). The brunette had barely taken a seat before Hedwig swooped in through the open window, landing on the seat closest by — Fleur’s.

Automatically, the blonde offered the bird some bacon, which was accepted with a grateful Hoot! The customary letter was unfurled and read out.

My parents?! shrieked Hermione.

They have surprising skill at inflicting ungodly agony and torturous torments on lesser beings.

But they’re dentists! wailed the brunette.

Heads turned to the head of the table.

Three heads had the foresight to duck before a shover of soot-blackened hair decorated the room.

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Hermione and Fleur were researching like mad in the library, trying to discover more about this Naga princess/interloper/harlot. Tonks was still trying to dislocate her jaw in the corner.

Suddenly Hermione jumped up in alarm, Oh no! We need to rescue him right away! Naga secrete a deadly venom through their fangs; Harry is in terrible danger!

Hedwig’s bark and arrival stopped her from continuing that thought. Hermione grabbed the letter from the owl’s leg hurriedly, not letting Fleur perform her bacon ritual first. She got a peck for that.

Ignoring everything but the letter, she opened it to find —

Fleur groaned at Hermione’s predictable reaction.

P.P.S. I also sent some gifts to Mother Molly Weasley; please ignore the screams.

Just then, screams in various combinations of scarlet, woman, snake, and monster came up from the lower floors.

P.P.P.S. My minions are currently going through my big library (which is really big) to find whether He-Who-Must-Not-Get-Laid also shares this magical antivenom, given he has some of my blood. Alas, if you were here Hermione, you can help do research in this big library of mine.

And thus it came to be that Tonks and Fleur laughed their asses off as Hermione, once again, took off in the direction of her room.

Lord of Bones

Gags, fanservice and the obliteration of the Fourth Wall ahoy!

Over the too-stereotyped-to-be-a-joke darkness of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the sun rose, basking the street with the brightness of dawn. All over Britain, people rose from Hypnos’ embrace, opening their blinds, curtains and windows… only to smash their alarm clocks with their bare hands, shut their blinds, curtains and windows and go back to bed while muttering about it being too damn early for this crap.

It was morning in Grimmauld Place, and, being what the place was, things were taken to extremes.

It was morning in—

Hey, you! The narrating voice!

… What the hell?

Where’s my screentime?! I should be off showing Harry that I’m the only Dark Mistress he should have!

Ginny? Didn’t cloneserpents capsize you?

The youngest Weasley tossed the soaking-wet remnants of her ginger mane over her shoulder, sniffing haughtily. I’m not explaining myself to you! Now start writing about how I get Harry!

What happened to your hair?

… Er… it has absolutely nothing to do with a very hungry crocodile, honest!

Then why is that very hungry crocodile behind you?

Very, very slowly, a chalk-white Ginny turned around only to see the biggest and hungriest crocodile she’d ever seen stare at her, with a few strands of hair sticking out of its maw. On seeing each and every one of the reptile’s very sharp teeth, the one thing prevalent in her mind was ‘RUN AWAY’ in giant neon letters. The crocodile, however, had another, quite different thought.

‘Brekkies.’

Ginny fled, followed by twenty-five feet of hungry crocodile with aspirations of a ginger-themed breakfast.

Anyway, it was morning in Grimmauld Place. All around the house, occupants were stirring in their rooms; from would-be disciples of Zen leaping up screaming about T-titties! TITTIES EVERYWHERE! AAAAIIIIEEEE! to young voyeurs rocking back-and-forth while mumbling Never gonna be clean again… ..never gonna be clean again… .

But there was a room in Grimmauld Place, high up and facing a tree filled with quiet, nervous birds.

One stepped up bravely.

Chir—

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

The force of the shout caused the unfortunate bird to fall right into the coils of a very surprised — and thankful — adder.

And in his room, Alastor Moody pulled his covers — and his Deluxe Limited Edition One-of-a-Kind Donald Duck plushie — closer around him, before finally deciding it to be a lost cause and getting up. With the aid of his walking stick, he limped over to his false-leg collection.

Would it be the clawed foot? The cloven hoof? The peg-leg? The umbrella stand? The ballerina’s sandals? Tempting, but he’d already used that a few days ago. With a shrug, he decided on the relatively-normal peg-leg.

Now came his favourite part. He plodded to a tall, regal-looking silver decanter filled with crystal-pure water. Reverently, he drew out the large, glistening eyeball that was inside the decanter; drying it with a specially-prepared silk handkerchief.

Moody giggled in fond remembrance; ah, the things he and his precious little trinket had seen!

And there were many, indeed. The most recent had been a month ago, during the Ministry Ball — for all their haughtiness, those high-bred society witches easily had the bodies of women half their age. Narcissa Malfoy had still kept up her habit of wearing lacy, see-thru lingerie as far as he could tell — though even that hadn’t hidden her narrow platinum-blonde landing strip from him.

(Somewhere on the other side of the world, a Prisoner-of-War shuddered before feeding another grape to the Evil Overlord relaxing with his head on his Dark Mistress’ lap.)

There were others, of course — Anastasia Greengrass still had her hourglass figure under her robes, Violet Parkinson still carried the figure from her Hit Witch days… their daughters were easily following their mothers’ footsteps.

Casting his memory back even further back — Emmy Vance of the crotchless knickers; Gwenog ‘Bra? What Bra?’ Jones; the late Lily ‘Hogwarts’ Pinup ‘78’ Potter’s penchant for racy lingerie under her Unspeakable robes — Moody grinned fondly.

Ah, memories.

His reminiscing done, he turned to the mirror and practiced a few of his patented scowls — including Crotchety Old Geezer, Constipated Psycho, This-Is-Not-A-Scowl-It’s-A-Smile and Someone-Just-Shat-On-My-Upper-Lip — before deciding one that made him look like a deranged sanitation worker. Picking up his walking stick, Moody trudged his way out of his room.

There was creepy perving and ‘CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’-ing to be done. That is, until… 

Morning, Mad-Eye.

Aye, it’s a good enough — GREAT BLEEDIN’ BOLLOCKS!

Moody’s eyes — yes, even his prosthetic — widened in pure, unadulterated shock as he came face-to-face with Elphias Doge’s tatty old singlet-and-briefs combination. The old Auror bit back a shudder as a drop of sweat trickled down Doge’s flabby paunch and into his stained underwear, turning green as he did so.

For Merlin’s sake, put on some clothes! roared the Auror, turning around and storming off as he did so, leaving the puzzled Doge to stare at his back. The mangled wizard was so intent on forgetting his encounter that he didn’t notice that he was on a collision-course with Arthur Weasley.

OOF!

Sorry Arthur, didn’t see — ARGH!

Moody gaped in pure astonishment at the carrot-haired wizard’s prominent bald-spots… all over his body, that is. Evidently Arthur’s baldness wasn’t limited just to his head — his chest was dotted with rough-looking patches of skin amidst faded ginger hair. Inevitably, his eyes dropped lower… 

Then he screamed.

Arthur evidently had been unaware that tight speedos were not exactly underwear material.

Moody shuddered in horror as he fled down the corridor, the image of Arthur’s every vein and crease burning itself into his mind. Blindly, he reached out for one of the doors, opening it and running in.

Slowly, he breathed out. This was all just a figment of his imagination… yes, it had to be. Moody resolved to take a good, long look at one of the witches in the house — the Granger girl had developed quite a taste for lacy underthings, while Tonks had a penchant for going commando, and the Delacour veela’s underwear could cause a dessicated corpse to spurt blood — just the perfect things to remove the taint of his hallucinations… 

Mad-Eye?

Alastor brightened at the sound of the voice. A peek at Emmy Vance was sure to brightened up his day.

The blonde witch, for her part, just stared as the Auror turned around, took a good look at her chest, then turned away with a look of absolute, horrified disappointment. A twitch developed over her right eye.

Moody just walked back to his room, absolutely certain that something had just gone wrong — all he’d managed to see was the sight of the witch’s sweater moolding against her breasts.

 ‘Lo, Moody.

Hello Lup— Then he screamed and ran to his room.

The sight of Lupin’s quasi-sentient, jungle-like chest hair would haunt him for a long time.

Desperately, he yanked out his magic eye and checked it with every spell he knew, before finally noticing a note on the silver decanter used to hold his eye.

It simply had one word.

Hoot.

Incidentally, that was the exact same word Dumbledore found on the note accompanying the notice that announced the indefinite suspension of his membership to Lemon Drop Weekly.

_________________________________________________________________________

The alarm clock rang yet again.

If it had a sense of self-preservation, it would’ve quietly mailed itself to Peru and never looked back; as one of the room’s occupants got up.

And Hermione Granger was not in a good mood. With her hair adorably mussed-up, the right strap of her night dress falling off her shoulder and exposing quite a bit of cleavage, and a slender, shapely leg poking out of the covers; she would’ve looked definitely shaggable — if not for the look in her eyes.

It promised pain and agony far beyond the hottest pits of Hell for the infernal contraption that had awoken her from the pleasant realm of ultra-rare books, wine, a Naughty Witch and an Evil Overlord.

The alarm clock spontaneously combusted.

Hermione sighed, looking down at Fleur’s slumbering form. The gorgeous Veela had the foresight to cast a sound-muffling charm around herself, thus preventing a rude awakening. But still… 

A naughty smirk crossed the Gryffindor’s face as she looked up at the wide-eyed, bound form of Nymphadora Tonks. The metamorphmagus was currently enduring her punishment for the previous day’s prank, and was now floating above the bed, skyclad and bound.

Tonks whimpered as Hermione conjured a paddle and smiled.

_________________________________________________________________________

It was a wincing Tonks who’d taken a seat at the breakfast table, pouting at the victorious looks on Hermione’s — and later, Fleur’s — faces.

In retrospect, modeling her ‘Naughty Schoolgirl’ outfit while the other two were planning payback for her icy-finger prank wasn’t the greatest idea she’d ever had. Any further rumination on the matter was averted when Hedwig swooped in, nabbed her bacon and deposited her letter.

Hermione unfurled the parchment.

Three faces looked eager.

And in her room, Luna’s struggles to free herself were muffled by her newest Costume’s synthetic spider-thread.

Stick97

Hermione was pacing back and forth muttering about conniving little girls. Fleur was kneeling in front of the floo trying to reach her parents and find out what had happened with Gabrielle. Tonks was just laughing and shaking her head at the two agitated girls. Hedwig flew into the room and perched on Fleur’s shoulder. After receiving her bacony bribe, she stuck out her leg.

The other girl’s rushed to read the letter over Fleur’s shoulder.

Hermione had plopped onto the floor behind Fleur and had her eyes glazed. Tonks was trying to see if she could dislocate her jaw with her metamorphagus abilities, and measure the resulting area.

Fleur was scribbling a reply to her sister and planning a trip.

Lord of Bones

It had been a dark and terrible night for the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Greater than even the Dark Lord Voldemort had been the truly nightmarish encounter they had been forced to endure at the whims of a teenage would-be conquerer.

The solitude of the dark night masked the cries of unholy agony, the screams for mercy and the whimpering pleas for an end as those forced to endure the living nightmare tossed and turned in their beds, sometimes waking up only to evacuate the contents of their stomachs all over their beds and floors, before returning to a turbulent slumber.

They would never forget the day before.

The day that would forever haunt their most twisted nightmares.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the traumatic sight that was the hipness of Remus J. Lupin would forever be passed down to children as the consequence of not eating your veggies, staying up late and sprouting fur all over your body once a month.

Luckily, there were those that had managed to escape the horror — generally by running in the opposite direction when Remus unveiled his spectacular lack of social awareness. Or by being distracted by the more important things in life.

Such as devouring every bit of written lore about naga at hand, as Hermione did. Or sealing herself in her room (where occasional flashes of light could be glimpsed) as Fleur did. Or whatever it was that Tonks was doing.

It should be noted that their thoughts were on the same wavelength, and it wasn’t very complimentary towards snakes in general.

Barring that, it also explained why they were the only people who didn’t look chronically ill at the table the following morning (where Fleur did indeed remember to belt her nightrobe and thus prevent the spontaneous curing of every heterosexual male there).

Well, not that Snape looked much different from normal, although his somewhat off-balance cackle was somewhat worrying.

As customary, Hedwig swooped in from an open window, her master’s letter attached to her right leg as she made a beeline to Fleur, She-of-the-Fried-Ambrosia.

That is, until Snape stood up, a twisted smile on his (still half-paralyzed) face as he limp-stalked to the avian while his eyes glinted feverishly Bst… crt… fl… dth… .prdtn… bjr..th! Triumphantly he pulled out a solid iron-and-silver cross from his pocket and brandished it at the bird, foaming madly.

That is, until Hedwig calmly plucked the cross from the sallow man’s hand with a talon. Snape watched numbly as the bird proceeded to calmly twist the artifact into a pretzel, then put it back into his hand. The bird then curled his fingers into a fist before looking at him.

Hoot.

Wordlessly, Snape punched himself in the face, knocking himself out.

Tearing her eyes from the byplay, Fleur wordlessly held out a piece of bacon as Hermione read out the letter.

They growled at that.

An anguished scream of pure suffering rose from the first floor.