This story is for Ariaeris, happy early birthday. I bought extra brain bleach for when everybody has finished reading this. Shudder. I apologise in advance you can blame her for putting this idea in my head. The name we gave to this pairing is as evil as it appears. M-WA-HA. Harry Potter and all affiliated characters and products belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, this is obviously a piece of fan fiction as this is far to disturbing to be anything else. Are you prepared for it....I don't think so but off you go.

The house was dark around them, quiet as well. No longer the host of Order of the Phoenix meetings, 12 Grimmauld Place saw little occupation but for the two men pressed against a wall in the entrance hall. Even the paintings around them were silent; the occupants of the frames having quickly left once the men entered the hall. All except one, who stared transfixed at the men, after the velvet curtains covering her frame had been pushed aside.

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The two men made for a beautiful image when together. The larger, older male towered over his petite partner. His hair cropped into a buzz cut, the muscles of his chest and arms rippled with every movement the sight unhindered by his shirt which lay somewhere near the door. At 6'2'' and holding the complete weight of his partner Marcus Flint was the epitome of a dominant pureblood. Embodying everything that the image in the painting had believed was the perfect form for a true heir of a noble house, representing everything that his younger partner wasn't.

Standing at only 5'6'' the younger partner was petite and to an outside viewer seemed to be completely overwhelmed by the other male. To those in the know however, Harry Potter was the one with the real control in the relationship. With shoulder length tousled pitch black hair, large round emerald green eyes which illuminated his face and made for a stark contrast against his pale skin, he was the image of delicate and yet behind this fragile facade laid insurmountable power. Magic drifted under his skin simply waiting to be put to use. For Walburga Black he stood for everything that was wrong with the wizarding world and yet she could not help but respect him, be attracted to his power.

The two men, the two lovers - for that is what they are, quickly discarded their remaining clothes. Harsh pants echoed through the hall as Marcus hooked his arms under his lovers' legs, hiked him up to equal height and slammed his body against the wall. His mouth attached itself to his lovers' neck and Harry's head fell back against the wall as high pitched moans erupted from his lips. Lust filled green eyes peered over Marcus' shoulder to lock with the smouldering gaze of the older woman contained in the frame.

With her black hair released from its usual confines underneath a black hat, face contorted into lust rather than hatred and delicate hands no longer resembling claws. The freshly restored painting showed the dark beauty Walburga Black held in common with her niece Bellatrix before her time in Azkaban. Her resemblance to Sirius Black all the more predominant now she was not screaming.

"Bring him over here" the harsh but feminine voice cut through the panting.

Marcus moved Harry until they were standing before Walburga. Her dark eyes scanning their bodies, watching every flex of muscles, every fluttering breath, every little movement was seen and catalogued. Marcus shifted behind Harry and pressed their bodies together so tightly you could not see where one ended and the other began. Silently the two watched Walburga waiting for another command.

"Spread his legs"

Immediately the direction was followed as Marcus pushed Harry's legs apart gripping his thighs to hold him steady. The woman in the portrait raised her hands until they were pressed flat facing outwards and watched expectantly as the younger male raised his hands to press against the images own.

Silence descended on the triad as they all held still waiting for some unknown signal. It came upon them suddenly as Harry pushed his hands harder against the paintings and pushed his body closer to Marcus. A quick nod of the head from Walburga saw Marcus driving into Harry in one quick thrust of his hips. A high keening erupting from the lips of Harry as Marcus let out a groan at the feel of the tight channel around him. Thrust after thrust pulled muffled whimpers from Harry's lips as he tried not to make noise.

"Harder" came the command from Walburga directed at Marcus. As if that was what he was waiting for he lifted Harry's body further into air until his body was being entirely held up by Marcus. He drove into him fast and hard with a force that sent Harry's body flying forward with every thrust until finally his body was being crushed between Marcus and Walburga's portrait. His hands still pressed against hers held high in the air, with blood dripping from his lip where he had bitten through it in the attempt to hold back noise; Harry was the image of debauchery.

"Louder" was the next command. Noise came spewing from Harry's lips. Moans, cries, pants, groans, every wanton sound available fell from the soft, pouty lips as he created a symphony of decadence. On and on came the commands for harder and louder until finally a long keening was heard as Harry erupted, his essence sliding down the portrait. This was immediately followed by a harsh thrust that rattled the wall and a long groan as Harry clamped around Marcus causing him to explode.

The two finally regained their breath and moved away from the portrait. Collecting their clothes and their wands they cleaned the portrait and still naked and walking on unsteady legs they headed up the stairs for round two in their own room, leaving the portrait alone in the quiet hall where she would listen to the sounds of their coupling drift down and if she was in the mood she would join them again in another portrait frame kept in their room.

For Walburga Black, Harry Potter may not be the perfect heir, he was not a Pure Blood and certainly wasn't a dominant figure, but he had power, he was the keeper of the heart of a perfect heir and he showed her the respect she deserved. As his moaning cries of 'Marcus' became louder and drifted down the stairs and she moved towards the portrait in their room Walburga Black knew she would want no other to be the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Yes people that was a Marcus Flint Walburga Black and Harry Potter threesome. M-WA-HA. It truly is as evil as its name envisions.

For readers of 'Shadow' please don't hurt me. You'll be happy to know I have over 50 pages...handwritten...and not all of them are for immediate use. I also have 5 assignments for uni due. BUT I have the next two weeks off so do expect an update. So sorry.

Review. Please. I'll give you brain bleach.