Introduction:
Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor
Chapter Twenty-Six: Did Someone Mention Plural?
Disclaimer: Not mine, I own nothing. I’m not making any money.
WARNING: Harsh Language, adult themes, sexual situations (i.e. smut), bad spelling and grammar.
Author’s Notes: This story is a broad farce with over the top humor (a good deal of it is crude and sexual) and OOC actions (that’s Out Of Character if you don’t know). Also, this is my first smut-ish fic. If you don’t like sex and sex-based humor, do NOT read this!
Chapter Twenty-Six: Tempers flare and a shocking revelation or two… perhaps three.
“Lousy son of a bitch, I’ll kill him!” Those eight words had been repeated constantly by Hermione as she stomped down the hall. After Harry had told her the devastating news that Ron had been lending out the “instructional” Pensieve Memory that the pair had made, the brunette witch dug through Harry’s trunk, pulled out the Marauders’ Map, said the proper incantation, then promptly began chanting”Lousy son of a bitch, I’ll kill him!”
Harry followed Hermione to the Gryffindor Tower with a mixture of rage that equaled his lover’s, but also with a sense of disappointment. Ron had now betrayed his trust for the second time and it cut through Harry.
“We should humiliate him first,”Harry offered through gritted teeth. “We can alter that prank we pulled on Fred and George. You know the one that made them see through old witches’ clothes. We can change it so that every time he sees Luna naked, he’ll actually see that letch Snape wanking off. Oh, it’ll be great! I can imagine him now trying to be intimate with Luna and suddenly, he’s kissing that greasy bastard. Or even make him see Molly. Nah, Snape would be loads better.”
“No. Take too long,” Hermione growled. “Just kill the son of a bitch!”
When the couple reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the painting asked “Password?”
“I’ll kill him!” Hermione spat. Pure rage flowed off of the witch.
The painting, obviously sensing that Hermione was not to be trifled with, swung open. Hermione led the charge into the Common Room and up to the very top floor of the tower, to where Ron and Luna’s marital room was located. Not even bothering to knock, Hermione threw open the door and barged into the married couple’s private room.
“Oh, hello, Harry, Hermione,” a very topless – and clearly comfortable in that state – Luna greeted. “Ronald and I were about to have sex. Would you care to watch or even join in?”
“I’ll kill him!” repeated Hermione.
“Now, Hermione, that wasn’t one of the options,” Luna said calmly as if it was quite common for Ron to get death threats. “Either group sex or voyeur; no violence. I really must insist.”
“Where is he?” Harry demanded, his tone barely concealing his anger.
“He’s getting ready for sex. We’re trying some role-playing exercises,”the blonde witch said, feeling completely natural talking about such things while having her sizable breasts exposed. “It will be very enjoyable. I’m playing the part of a street walker who lost her money and has to make up for such a transgression to her employer with sex.”
Just then, a visibly excited Ron came out of the loo wearing nothing but a very large purple silk hat with a vibrant peacock feather sticking out of the brim. “I’m your pimple daddy!” the red head called out in a loud voice, not noticing Harry and Hermione.
“It’s ‘Pimp Daddy,'” Hermione corrected before lunging at the mostly naked wizard while shouting, “I’ll kill you!”
Hermione and Ron crashed to the ground. Ron immediately began to thrash around in an attempt to get Hermione off, who was slapping him about the head and chest. The brunette witch was so enraged that she didn’t notice that Ron’s naked erection was brushing against the hem of her skirt.
Luna turned to Harry and looked at him with her big blue eyes before speaking in an easy but happy way; “It looks like Hermione has opted for group sex. That means we should go at it too, Harry. It’s only proper, don’t you agree? Obviously we should start with oral sex. Would you like me to lick your penis? Or would you prefer to go down on my muff?”
“What? No,” Harry blurted out. “This is serious!”
“So you want to bypass foreplay and jump straight into intercourse like Ronald and Hermione?” asked Luna sincerely. “I was hoping to sample some of your parsletongue magic. But if you insist; plunge your cock into my box.” She said this phrase without any passion; it was just a simple statement to her. The blonde witch sat on the bed and laid back, clearly waiting for Harry to mount her.
“No, no, this isn’t what you think,”Harry said and pulled Hermione off of Ron. He didn’t do this to save Ron from a thrashing, but to have Hermione protect him from Luna. Harry was deeply concerned that if he didn’t lie on top of Luna, the blonde witch would hop up and begin molesting him.
“Let me at him!” Hermione growled as Harry pulled her away from Ron. “I’ll kill him!”
“Wait, that wasn’t intercourse?”Luna asked, sitting up.
“What’s your problem?” Ron demanded as he stood. “Are you completely mental?”
“You’re dead!” Hermione growled, trying to tug herself free from Harry’s grasp.
“Why? What did I do?” Ron asked.
“Um, Ron, cover up,” requested Harry. The red haired wizard was still very ready for a proverbial “roll in the hay” with his wife, meaning that Ron was looking at Harry and Hermione with all three eyes. As stated before, erections are the type of things male friends shouldn’t share with each other.
Having clearly forgotten his state, Ron looked down and saw something looking back up at him. With a rapid and frantic motion, Ron swiped his large hat from his head and placed it over his groin. The wizard burned a fiery red in embarrassment.
In juxtaposition to her husband, Luna sat casually on the bed. The witch seemed completely natural having her enormous breasts exposed to the open air where everyone could see them.
“You’re dead!” Hermione snarled again.
“Why?” Ron repeated and took another step back.
“We found out, Ron,” Harry said, his voice tainted by the anger and disappointment that pierced his being.
“You’re dead!” Apparently Hermione was so angry that the knowledge of the English language she had retained had vanished save for those two words – well, three separate words if you count the contraction.
“What the hell did I do?” Ron asked frantically and took another step back away from his angry friends. He had put enough distance between himself and Harry and Hermione that Ron was now pressed up against the far wall.
This caused Luna, who was approximately halfway between the two groups, to pivot her body back and forth; turning her attention to whomever was speaking. Much like a spectator at a tennis match looking from one side to the other. Mind you, this caused her naked breasts to sway and swing similarly to two metronomes. A naked, big breasted metronome. Normally, if Ron had not been so concerned with his friends’ temper, he’d be transfixed with the swaying orbs. And Harry would probably do the same. Hell, so would Hermione.
“How many people have seen it?” Harry demanded.
“Seen what?” shot back Ron.
“Is that why everybody in the school keeps looking at me and Hermione so oddly?” Harry asked.
“What are you talking about?” the red head asked desperately.
“Have you lent it out to the whole fucking school?” Harry demanded.
“Mate, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ron defended.
During this interchange, Hermione had growled, barked, snarled, and shouted the words “You’re dead!” no less than six times. At one point, she had experimented and tried to kick at Ron despite the fact that he was a good four feet away from her.
“The Pensieve, Ron,” snapped Harry. “Everyone in the bloody school has seen the Pensieve Memory Hermione and I made for you.”
“What?” a shocked Ron asked.
“That’s not possible, Harry,” Luna said in a dreamy tone. In a cool and easy manner, Luna strolled to a bedside cabinet, pulled out her wand, incanted a ridiculously long incantation full with words that Harry swore weren’t words at all, and tapped her wand in several places all over the face of the cabinet, before opening it. The blonde reached in and pulled out a small box. She placed the box to her lips and whispered another incantation, this one much shorter, causing the box to pop open. Luna reached in and retrieved the glass vial that Harry had given them. “We keep it locked up,” she said simply.
“Bu- but Harry overheard some people talking about seeing it,” Hermione persisted, clearly confused.
“Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand them Harry?” Luna asked.
“No, they said our names,” he explained.
“Well, maybe you didn’t understand what they were talking about,” offered Ron. “Maybe they were talking about something else.”
“They were talking about how Hermione is a gusher,” added Harry.
Luna giggled and said, “More like ahosepipe. She’s like Cho doing ahandstand.”
“But how’d they see the Pensieve if you’ve kept it under lock?” Hermione moaned.
“Did you make more and lose one,”Ron suggested.
“How dumb do you think we are?”Hermione scoffed. “We’d never do such athing as make a spare and lose it.”
“Oh, so it had to be me,” Ron said with bitterness. “I’m a lummox and therefore had to betray my friends.”
“Ron that’s not-” began Harry.
“How could you two think I’d do that to you?” the red head asked, clearly hurt. “I learned my lesson back during the Tri Wizard. You two trusted me with that memory; I’d never let it out of my sight.”
With his shoulders slumped in dejection, Ron turned and sulked into the bathroom. As the door closed, Harry heard a muffled sob come from the bathroom.
“I think you two should leave,” Luna said, a small frown marring her face.
Hanging their heads, Harry and Hermione walked out of their friends’ room. They walked back to their chambers as each silently berated themselves for doubting Ron. Sure he wasn’t the brightest person in the world, and he was pigheaded and stubborn. But since his transgression at the beginning of their fourth year, where Ron assumed Harry had entered his name in the Goblet of Fire, Ron had been a loyal and true friend.
Harry felt even worse than Hermione. He was Ron’s best mate and shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that. Harry should’ve realized that Ron would never betray his trust again. Even if he and Ron were lost in the woods for weeks and weeks, wandering aimlessly without food, Ron wouldn’t betray his friends.
The next morning, after spending asilent night together, Hermione stated in a soft and mournful voice; “We have to make it up to him.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed.
“But how?” she asked, admitting that she didn’t even have the slightest clue.
“That’s easy: food or sex. He’s a bloke; therefore, all he thinks about is sex. And he’s also Ron, which means his entire existence is centered on food,” offered Harry.
“Well, he’s got the sex covered with Luna,” Hermione said.
“So that leaves food,” concluded Harry. Taking Hermione’s hand in his, he guided her to the kitchens.
“Are we going to have the House Elves whip something up for him?” she asked.
“No, that’d be cheating,” he answered. “We were the ones who fouled up. We’re the ones who have to make reparation.”
“Do you know how to cook?”
“Kind of. I mean I know how to fry food,” he said with a shrug. “The Dursleys made me cook for them. But all they ever wanted was fried food. So I guess I can make him some fish and chips and loads of bacon. What about you?”
“I’ll bake a cake then,” Hermione said, her smile growing slightly less guilty.
“You can bake?”
“I haven’t before, but how difficult can it be. It’s just like Potion brewing: add ingredients, throw it in the oven, simple,” she said confidently.
The moment the two entered the castle’s kitchen, every single House Elf dropped what they were doing (which meant several dozen pots and pans crashed to the floor splashing their contents everywhere) and bowed to Hermione.
“Oh, Great One, what do you be needing?” one elf bounded up to Hermione and then proceeded to kiss her feet.
“We need to make some food for afriend of ours,” Harry answered for Hermione who couldn’t do so for herself because she was trying to explain to the little creature not to kiss her feet.
“What do’s you’swants us to be fixing for you’s friend?” another elf asked while trying to kiss the hem of Hermione’s robes.
“Actually, we decided that we’d be the ones cooking,” Harry said.
The collective gasp from the House Elves was almost enough to create a vacuum in the kitchen. Every single elf drew in a deep breath of shock at the same instant. So much air was inhaled that Harry felt his hair move.
No one spoke or even moved for six whole seconds. It was dead silent in the kitchen for that time. Then the wailing started. The screams and cries of the House Elves echoed off the walls of the kitchen. Several elves who were weeping hysterically were huddled in one corner; they were curled up into tight little balls, desperately clutching their knees to their chests. Another set of elves were placing their hands into the flames of the stoves; the smell of burning flesh quickly filled the air. And at least twenty were slamming their heads repeatedly against the walls. Harry felt it was safe to assume that the elves didn’t take too kindly to the idea of “The Great One” preparing food by herself.
“PLEASE STOP!” a very mortified Hermione cried out. And the elves did. In fact the elves stopped completely. Some were frozen in mid-sob, others had their heads pressed firmly against the walls, and a few had their hands still in the flames. “You there,” Hermione pointed to the ones who were cooking their limbs. “Pull your hands out. That’s it. Now put out the fires. That’s good.”
Hermione took a calming breath and said, “All I want to do is bake something for a friend of mine.”
And as if by some primal instinct, the elves began to abuse themselves once more.
“STOP IT!” she screamed again. Hermione looked to Harry with pleading eyes. Clearly she had just wanted to explain the situation to the elves, but she didn’t know how.
Harry thought for a moment, and then, somewhat hesitantly, he tried to explain what was going on in a way that the House Elves would understand.
“The Great One… ah… just wants to experience your suffering… by baking a cake.”
“No’s,” two dozen elves cried out.
“The Great One dobe better than that,” another shouted.
“But she wants to do this,” Harry pressed. “That way, the Great One will be even closer to you. She will, um, know your pain. The Great One will understand you all the more.”
The elves looked to each other. A moment later, a few of them nodded their heads, albeit reluctantly. Some of them still had tears flowing freely from their bulbous eyes.
Even though Harry and Hermione had convinced the elves that they would do this on their own, the elves still helped. Every time the couple needed an ingredient, at least four House Elves would dash to fetch the item.
Once, Harry had to pause in his frying to stop a House Elf who had not accepted the notion of The Great One baking. The little creature had gotten alength of rope and fashioned a noose. Harry tugged the elf off of a stack of chairs where he was trying to hang himself.
While they worked, Harry noticed that a number of the House Elves were staring at him and Hermione. Unlike the other House Elves who were watching how the couple was cooking intently, this group had their eyes fixed on Harry’s and Hermione’s crotches. These elves had an odd look in their eyes, sort of like a look of admiration mixed with longing.
“Looks like some others have seen our Pensieve,” Harry said and pointed at the odd group.
“Bloody hell,” Hermione cursed. “We should just start distributing them ourselves at this rate.”
“Hey, we could charge a viewing fee,”offered Harry lightly. “At least that way we could earn some money.”
“Or we could write a book,” Hermione said with a bemused smile. “You know, update our ‘special book.’ I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
“We’ll become filthy rich,” stated Harry. They both laughed at such aludicrous notion.
A few hours later, the couple was done with their tasks. Harry had several stacks of chips, fried fish, and rashers of bacon. Hermione proudly held up her single layer chocolate cake… which promptly started to make a hissing sound. A large chasm formed on top of the cake and black smoke billowed out of the gash. Like a deflating tire, the cake slowly and noisily collapsed in on itself.
With Hermione’s right eye twitching in annoyance, Harry whispered in her ear “I guess baking isn’t as simple as potion brewing.”
“I-I can’t give this to him,” she moaned.
“You could have the House Elves make something for you and just tell Ron you made it,” offered Harry. “I know I said it was cheating, but at least we gave it a try.”
“I couldn’t do that,” she said firmly. “It would be wrong. I’ll just give it another attempt and bake asecond cake. It can’t be that hard to make a cake.”
As Hermione stirred and blended the proper ingredients once more, she openly bragged about how she had learned from her previous mistakes. She smiled broadly, confident that this time her creation would be perfect. The witch’s smile only faltered slightly when the cake hissed and split open once again, coughing black smoke into the air.
“You could have the House Elves make a cake for you and just tell Ron you made it,” repeated Harry.
All it took was a simple resigned nod from Hermione and the elves were off like a shot. Dozens of the little creatures began bolting back and forth from the cupboards to the stove. Within minutes of starting, the elves began to form a multilayer cake. In no time, they had completed nothing short of a confectionary masterpiece. It stood six feet tall, and nearly eight wide at the base. Each layer had a different frosting; chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, almond, and so on. On the second layer, dozens of small chocolate figurines of wizards and witches chased each other around the edge of the cake. A hundred sparklers stuck out in every direction on the top two layers.
“Wow,” Hermione said in awe. “Do you think Ron will believe I made this?”
“I don’t think he’ll care, really,”answered Harry. Knowing Ron, his red haired friend would probably go into sugar-shock just at the sight of the monumental cake.
“How do you think we’ll get it to him?” Harry asked.
“We’s can be delivering it anywhere’s The Great One wants,” one House Elf said joyously.
“That would be wonderful,” Hermione said sincerely. “Could you take this and the food Harry made to our friends, Ron and Luna, in about fifteen minutes?”
“We betaking the foods to Weezy and Weezy’sbig boobied missus in a few,” another elf confirmed.
Harry and Hermione made their way back to Ron and Luna’s room. As they walked, Hermione asked; “It’s only been a day, do you think Ron’s upset?”
“It’s not like Ron to hold grudges,”Harry replied.
“Are you delusional? Of course it’s like Ron to hold grudges,”Hermione countered hotly. “He’s petty and jealous to a fault. Don’t forget the Goblet of Fire fiasco; he didn’t talk to you for weeks. Which shows you how pig-headed he can get; you two shared all the same classes and slept in the same room and yet he didn’t talk to you.”
Thinking back to his earlier analogy about being lost in the woods with no food, Harry realized that it was quite possible for Ron to abandon him.
“I tell you he’s lucky to have such a forgiving friend like you,” Hermione continued.
“Well, I think the food will placate him a bit,” Harry said wondering what he’d do if the “Lost in a Forest and Ron Abandons Me” scenario ever came to be. More likely than not, Harry would forgive Ron, pretty much for the reasons Hermione had said; it was his nature. Then Harry came to realize how lucky Ron was to have him as a friend. No one else would put up with Ron’s flaws like he did.
When they got to the door, Harry knocked. Luna answered. Her ever-present smile had returned.
“Hello, Harry and Hermione, so nice of you to stop by. I told Ronald that I knew you would, but it’s still nice of you to do so. Otherwise, I’d look like a liar to my husband,” she greeted the couple easily as if she had not just asked them to leave the night before. “Won’t you come in?”
Harry and Hermione walked into the room like a pair of accused criminals waiting to be judged.
“I’ve been talking to Ronald,” Luna stated with her odd happy tone. “I explained to him why you thought he had lost the Pensieve Memory. There was a touch of logic to your accusations; you made only the one memory, and Ronald does have a tendency to foul things up. He’s still upset, but at least he understands.”
“We’d like to apologize,” offered Hermione.
“You do realize my Ronald can be abit pig-headed, don’t you?” Luna asked dreamily. “It’s one of his more enduring attributes, along with his insatiable virility. Even though he understands why you accused him, he is still upset, like I said. Unfortunately you’re going to have to do more than just tell him you’re sorry.”
“We’ve got that covered,” said Harry.
“Good,” smiled Luna. “I do wish that Ronald would become a little more forgiving like you, Harry. Then, Ronald would be utterly perfect in every way. But then again, I find perfection rather dull, so maybe I shouldn’t wish for such a thing.”
The blonde witch turned and called out to the door leading to the bathroom. “Ronald, those guests I told you to expect are here now.”
“Tell them to go away,” he said loudly from behind the door. “I’m not ready to forgive them just yet.”
Luna turned to Harry and Hermione and explained, “I told you he’s stubborn.” She turned back to the door and said in a loud voice, “Ronald, we discussed this earlier. We are both becoming adults and therefore we must mature. Allowing your friends to apologize and then forgiving them is the mature thing to do, Ronald.”
“I don’t wanna,”the red head said petulantly.
“Ronald, I won’t swallow next time Igive you oral sex like I promised if you don’t come out here right this instant,” Luna said firmly.
The door opened and slowly, Ron stepped out of the bathroom. He stood close to the door and folded his arms in front of his chest defensively.
“Look, Ron, we’re sorry,” Harry said sincerely.
“Yes, it was wrong of us to accuse and attack you,” added Hermione. Harry wanted to point out that she alone attacked Ron and he had nothing to do with the assault. He had relatively kept his cool whereas Hermione was the one trying to draw blood, but now was not the time or place. Later, he’d hold this little tidbit over his lover’s head and perhaps get an apologetic blow job out of it.
All throughout Harry’s and Hermione’s apology, Ron’s face was a stone mask of disappointment. Harry got the distinct impression that Ron had been practicing this expression in front of the mirror for some time.
“We should’ve trusted you, mate,”Harry offered.
Despite their sincere apology, Ron’s face remained unchanged. It was clear that he had no intention of making this easy for Harry and Hermione.
With a loud pop, piles of fried bacon, chips and battered cod materialized before the red haired wizard. Instantaneously, a smile cracked Ron’s expression at the sight of the piles of fried food. His stern demeanor vanished completely, replaced by that of total joy, when the monumental cake popped into existence.
Harry watched in stunned amazement as Ron dove at the piles of food. The red head scooped up handfuls of fried fish with one hand while the other shoveled cake before shoving the food into his mouth. He turned to Harry and Hermione, and with bits of fried fish and chocolate cake tumbling out of his opening and closing maw, uttered; “Murf tea gukz!”
“He said ‘thank you,'” translated Luna happily. “And he accepts your apology.”
Happy that Ron was pleased while being simultaneously disgusted by the red head’s eating habits, Harry and Hermione left the room silently.
“I’m glad he’s not upset anymore,”Hermione said with a smile as she and Harry made their way back to their room.
“Yeah,” agreed Harry. Abruptly changing the subject to less Ron-filled issues, Harry broached a suggestion that Hermione had given the night before. “So, you’re curious about anal sex, huh?”
Looking at him wryly, Hermione teased “Oh, so you did hear me say that last night. I thought you were in too much shock to have comprehended.”
“Of course I did,” he returned as the couple turned another corner. “When a bloke’s witch says she wants to experiment, he listens. Even if I was under the effects of the Draught of the Living Death, I would’ve heard you.”
Hermione snorted a soft chuckle. “We will have to take it slow. You can’t just go barging in.”
“I didn’t take it slow last night and you seemed to like it,” he pointed out.
“That wasn’t the real thing, now was it?” the brunette countered. “It was just the sensation of it. We have to work up to the real act.”
“Gotcha,” he whispered. “Go slow.”
The young wizard was doing aterrible job of concealing his excitement. Any new way to pleasure his lover was a welcomed adventure. But skipping down the hall is not a proper thing for a seventeen year old wizard to do.
“Oi, you two,” the ever-gruff voice of Argus Filch, the school’s caretaker called out to Harry and Hermione. “The Headmistress wants to see you.”
“Do you know what for?” asked Hermione politely.
“I don’t know that, do I?” the bitter old man shot back. “If I did, Iwould’ve said the Headmistress wants to talk to you about the weather. But I didn’t, so you should’ve known I know nothing.”
The grumpy old man hobbled away grumbling, “Snot nosed kids always asking stupid questions. If it were up to me I’d have them all whipped.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Harry said disgustedly. He and Hermione were about to be intimate in a new way and this meeting with McGonagall was delaying it. The two made their way to the Headmistress’ office while Harry muttered on and on about “lousy effing timing.”
“Good evening, Professor,” Hermione politely greeted the older witch after walking into her office.
“Hi,” was all that Harry was able to say. He dared not attempt anything further because something along the lines of “MAKE THIS QUICK, DAMN IT! THERE’S SEX TO BE HAD!” might slip out.
“Thank you for coming,” McGonagall returned. There was a serious edge to her voice… well, more serious than the normal serious edge to her voice. “Please sit down.”
“What’s the matter, Professor?”Hermione asked picking up on the Headmistress’ more serious tone.
“Minister Pippin called today and informed me that a student is going to return to Hogwarts,” McGonagall said cryptically.
“You’re kidding, right?” Harry half pleaded.
“Who’s returning?” asked Hermione.
“If it was any other student returning, Professor McGonagall wouldn’t have called us up here,” Harry explained. “It’s Malfoy.”
“You’re kidding, right?” echoed Hermione.
“The Minister was quite insistent,”McGonagall said with a hint of a frown. “Mr. Malfoy is still under protective custody and the Ministry has decided that Hogwarts is the safest place for him. And that it would behoove him to continue his education at the same time.”
“Professor, I don’t have to remind you that Malfoy led a group of murderers into the castle last year, and because of his actions, Dumbledore was killed,” argued Harry.
Before McGonagall could reply, the magical portrait of Professor Dumbledore spoke up; “Everyone deserves a second chance, Harry.”
“Oh, I can see it now, sir: our kids will go to Hogwarts together and be best of friends,” Harry said bitterly. “Malfoy’s nothing more than a slimy bigot. He cheered when Slytherin’s Monster was petrifying Muggle-borns in our second year. In our fourth, he crowed over Cedric’s murder. And when Umbrigde was Headmistress, he abused and tormented his fellow students. Hell, he was happy over the notion of watching the toad woman torture me. Then, last year, he opened a doorway that allows a bunch of Death Eaters into the castle, several people are attacked and you got murdered.”
“Ah, but didn’t Mr. Malfoy redeem himself when he turned in several Death Eaters a few months back?” the painting asked insightfully.
“One right doesn’t necessarily correct a wrong, sir,” Hermione offered. “Especially when the wrongs outweigh the right.”
“The Minister told me that Draco was a changed man,” McGonagall stated. “And she reiterated ‘in several ways’ for some reason. They tell me that his nastier charms have all but vanished and now he’s a law abiding wizard.”
“Professor, you can’t let-” began Harry.
“I plan on speaking with Mr. Malfoy and his mother before I even consider letting him return,” McGonagall interrupted the young wizard. “After Ispeak with them, I will discus the matter further with you two as well as the staff. I called you here today to inform you of this.”
After a moment where Harry grumbled and glowered at no one in particular, Hermione took his hand and said; “Thank you Headmistress. We appreciate that you’ve included us in this decision.”
Harry muttered a goodbye and let his girlfriend lead him out of the office.
As they walked back to their room, Harry continued to grumble angrily.
“Bloody Malfoy. Should be chucked in Azkaban, not let back into Hogwarts.”
For nearly fifteen minutes, this was all that Harry did. His face had turned such a fiery red, that Hermione had grown concerned. Obviously, the brunette witch came to the conclusion that she needed to get Harry’s mind off of the upsetting subject.
“Harry, do you remember what we were discussing before we went to the Headmistress’ office?” she asked.
“No,” he mumbled. “Damn Malfoy.”
“We were talking about anal sex.”
It was like a bolt of lightning had come from the heavens and struck Harry, completely burned his worries concerning Draco Malfoy away. He snatched Hermione’s hand and announced “Let’s go!” before running down the hall.
The couple rounded a corner and slowed as they passed a group of sixth year boys. The younger students were involved in their conversation. Harry and Hermione slowed their pace because neither of them wanted to draw attention to themselves by bolting past.
As Harry and Hermione moved by, some of the group’s conversation was overheard.
“She swallows?” one whispered in near awe.
“Yeah, I guess that’s why they call her ‘Head Girl.'” another said with mirth.
“Did you see the one where she dressed up like a Muggle school girl?” another asked. “Pig-tails an’ all.”
“Isn’t that the one where he cums on her titties at the end?”
Hermione looked as if she was about to vomit. She had turned as white as asheet and her eyes were wide with fear and shock. Worried that she was about to collapse, Harry wound his arm around her midsection and supported her. As quickly and as quietly as he could, Harry half-carried half-led Hermione away from the group.
“They’ve seen more?” she breathed out once they were far enough away. “More than just the one Ron and Luna had?”
“Oh, that’s why one of the kids Ioverheard last night said Pensieves and not Pensieve,” pondered Harry. “They were talking about more than one.”
“How the hell can there be more than one?” demanded Hermione frantically.
Harry opened the door to their chamber and said the only thing that made sense. “Somebody must be spying on us and they’re handing out Pensieve Memories for some reason.”
With her hands trembling, Hermione gripped the front of Harry’s robes and began to cry. “Someone’s watching us? And they’re handing out Pensieves of it? Oh, that’s horrible.”
Harry held her close, trying, in vain, to comfort her. It was a dreadful situation; apparently, a number of the times they had been intimate together have now been seen by a large number of the student body. Harry himself was concerned over the situation, but not nearly at Hermione’s level. The poor witch looked as if she was about to have a nervous breakdown.
“We can’t have sex until we find out who’s doing this,” Hermione announced between hiccups. “None at all.”
Now Harry’s level of concern exceeded Hermione’s. The brunette witch had just been eager to be buggered. But now because of this revelation, she was abstaining from any sex… including anal! This damn pervert was halting Harry’s love life. And Harry swore to himself that he’d make the pervert suffer!
Pulling away from Hermione, Harry moved to his trunk.
“What are you doing, Harry?” asked Hermione as he rifled through the contents of his trunk.
“Finding myself a pervert,” he answered and pulled up the Marauders’ Map. He tapped his wand to the old parchment and incanted, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”
He turned to Hermione and said “You’d better stay here,” before walking out of the room. Quickly he scanned the map until he found his target.
The dot labeled “Dennis Creevey”showed that the younger boy was in his dorm room in the Gryffindor Tower. The dot was also hovering over a dot labeled Padma Patil. Harry dashed to the tower with every intention of questioning the younger wizard as to where he had gotten the Pensieve from. When he reached the Fat Lady, he quickly checked the Marauders’ Map to find the password, which he gave and ran up the stairs, pushing pass the students in the Common Room.
The door to Dennis’ dorm had a neck tie hanging from the doorknob which is the universal sign for “Two people having sex inside. Piss off!” That, or if the wizard didn’t have a witch, it meant “Some bloke is masturbating in here. You don’t want to see that, so move along.” Harry was about to ignore the “neck-tie warning” and barge in when a pair of third year boys stumbled out of the dorm opposite Dennis’ door.
“Damn it, it’s just our luck,” a sandy haired boy complained, not noticing Harry. “Effingpest – taking our turn.”
“Yeah, we finally get a chance to see Granger and Pot… err, shit” it was at this point the other boy noticed Harry. “Hi, Harry,” he squeaked nervously.
“Oh, bollocks,” the first cursed. It was clear that the boys thought Harry was about to hex the both of them.
Harry pushed passed the boys and made his way to the third years’ room. Obviously, the boys were talking about watching one of those damned Pensieve Memories. The raven haired wizard realized that he didn’t need to ask Dennis where he had gotten the Pensieve from, not when Harry could enter the magical memory and find out himself. As he opened the door to the disgruntled boys’ room, Harry mentally reviewed his impromptu plan; he would push whoever was watching the Pensieve out of his way, then enter the magical memory and explore it. Harry figured he’d have no problem viewing a memory; he already had loads of experience with both Dumbledore’s and Snape’s Pensieves.
But Harry forgot all about his plan the moment he saw the person leaning over the Pensievebasin.
“My, she’s a flexible minx,” the figure commented, the voice dripping with lust. “That’s my boy, Harry; give her arse a good swat.”
“I should’ve known,” Harry growled. The pervert, the unseen letch who had spied on Harry and Hermione, was standing right in front of Harry with his nose in the Pensieve, watching it.
With righteous fury flowing through his veins, Harry whipped out his wand and sent a Blasting Hex at the stone basin. The bowl shattered into a million pieces causing the silvery liquid of the Pensieve Memory to be splattered on the wall.
As the figure stood and faced Harry, the bespectacled wizard threatened, “You’re lucky I can’t perform the Cruciatus Curse properly or else you’d be screaming in pain right about now, Gryffindor!”

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