Tommy's Harem
By Stealacandy
Disclaimer: I don't own an harem, but despite anything I may have written in this story or might yet write, in my heart of heart I wish I did. And I'll defy any of you normal, straight male readers to honestly say you don't, either. I also don't own Harry Potter, but in spite of my great dislike for HBP, the book and the disaster, in my heart of hearts (and everywhere else, for that matter), I wish I did. And I'll defy any of you normal, straight male members of to say you don't either. Nothing we can do about it, but a man could dream…
A/N: While many of you, undoubtedly, spent this weekend reading the new book 7, I made yet another attempt to finally finish reading my battered copy of Milton's Paradise Lost. I've been making annual futile attempts since the turn of the century. (BTW, when someone say "the turn of the 20th century", which year does he refer to - 1900, 1901, 1999 or 2000? Anyone know?) Of course, like all the previous attempts, all too soon I had a headache and ended up throwing the book away in disgust. Which is why it is so battered. So I picked up another book to read, which turned out to be Dr. Laura's (that's the name of her radio program) 10 Stupid Things Couples Do To Mess Up Their Relationships. I read the intro and some five chapters in random order. That got me thinking, and I just had to write a "Voldemort gets an harem, then it all goes downhill from there" story. While my thought were wondering, I remembered EsperJone's Omake for the "Dark Squire" Omake by Rorschach's Blot. That gave the tone for the story. So I dusted out my copy of Robbins & Cotran, spent the next couple of hours doing some background research, then started writing. Enjoy!
P.S. This is a post-OoTP story, even though this chapter takes place in the beginning of Harry's 5th year at Hogwarts. I really don't like HBP, so I tend to ignore it. That is, unless I'm not writing a humour fic. That is to say, unless I come up with some whacky way to whack Lord Voldemort, I must find an alternative ending for his reign of terror, which usually leads either to the banal solution of "Harry offs Lord V. from afar with a sniper rifle / charmed shotgun / enlarged Uzi sub machinegun / sentient Kalashnikov / LAO missile launcher stolen from the army supplies (or summoned, along with Wile O. Coyote in an obscure black magic ritual) / old fashioned mangonel and a cauldron full of NAPLAM / nukes Britain to bits and pieces / or something similar, or to a Super!Harry story, which I like to avoid. (Nothing wrong with Super!Harry, only if Harry was Super!, so would be anybody else, so the story would be boring, and so would be Tom, so it won't matter in the end.), or, if I try to find the middle ground, leads back to some wgacky solution, only in a bad, slightly less entertaining, way. Or, it leads to horcruxes, which I might be forced to use in spite of the fact that they come attached in the hip to HBP canon and that they constantly reminding me of my 1980's SEGA Master System game machine. But this is a humour fic. In fact, this entire story is a joke, so I don't give a whore's ass about horcruxes, and so I ignore HBP. (I made a typo and wrote HBO. I corrected it. They had a good show about 12 years ago, so it won't do to ignore them. On the other hand, HBP comes along with Dumbledore finally canning it, and JKR said Snape really is evil, yet that never stopped me from ignoring it. Except for those damn horses' asses. I wanted to say I don't need any whore's crotches to kill a dark lord, than I realized, in this story, I actually do.) Now I don't call it "AU due to HBP"either. I hate when people do that. If you write a sequel to OoTP, then it's a post-OoTP story, like so many others, and just like HBP is a post-OoTP in it's own right, being it's official sequel. Even if you write some scenes or dialogues that take place in former canon books, you are still mainly writing a post OoTP story, unless they deviant vary far from the original canon story, then it's a post-"whatever canon story you star to deviant after", takes "whatever canon story you start to deviant in" and "whatever canon stories come after you still use" into considerstion, and write them all as spoilers if you must. It's only AU if you actually alternate your story from the very beginning, or something fundamental in it. Like making Nevile the Boy-Who-Lived, not killing Harry's parents, giving him a twin sister, sending him to live with Someone-Who-is-Not-Dursley, you name it. But I'm ranting again, which I rather leave for later, after I conclude writing the story, so, after this long introductory author note, let's go to the real introduction to the story, which is relatively short… enjoy!
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Tommy's Harem
1. Prologue
October 1995, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, The Quidditch Pitch
In the Air
…
"Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey - Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good - I mean bad - Bell's hit by a bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession"
"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN / HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN / WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN"
But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch. He dived ... In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom ... The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck ... Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch ... to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, was reaching, groping... It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds - Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball - Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly - Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval ... They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won -
WHAM.
A bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice. "Are you all right?"
On the Ground
…
Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer. "Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper ... but then he was born in a bin ... did you like my lyrics, Potter?"
Harry didn't answer. He turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called, as Katie and
Alicia hugged Harry. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly - we wanted to sing about his mother, see - "
"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.
"- we couldn't fit in useless loser either - for his father, you know - "
Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.
"Leave it!" said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little - "
"- but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK - "
Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal bludger attack.
"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasleys pigsty reminds you of it — "
Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach -
"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!"
He could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled "Impedimenta!" and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach.
At which opening Malfoy jumped and hit him square in the jaw, causing him to bite his tongue and split his lip, before being hit, in turn, by George.
Later, In McGonagall's Office
…
Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand. "Ban us?" he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. "From playing ... ever again?"
"Yes, Mr Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick," said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. "You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped, too - if his team mates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall," she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. "The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well ... good afternoon to you." And with a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.
"Blasted toad of a woman", muttered professor McGonagall into her breath, barely loud enough for Harry, who stood nearby, to catch it. "Well then Potter," she said, "there is nothing for it. Go to the Hospital Wing and have Poppy look you over and clean you up, your are all covered with blood."
That was a clear dismissal, and while Harry wanted to argue all he needed was a simple cleaning charm, he was in trouble enough already and though better of it. Which is why he found himself a few minutes later in Poppy Pomphrey's clutches.
The Hospital Wing
"Merlin! What happened to you, Mr. Potter?" the matron asked.
"Oh, I just got into a fist fight. Professor McGonagall Insisted I come to see you." said Harry, his back to the door, hoping for a quick escape.
"And a good thing she did. Fist-fights! What were you thinking?" she rambled on.
"I wasn't, really," muttered Harry, but Madam Pomphrey didn't seem to catch it. She waved her wand at him muttering various spells.
"It seems you are not hurt, Mr. Potter. So let me just - " she said and pointed her wand in his general direction.
"Evanesco Harry Potter's blood" cast the nurse, and Harry was clean and dandy as the day he was born. (After the midwives cleaned him up, that is.)
Unknown to either of them, behind Harry and behind the door, professor Snape was lurking, laying in wait for the opportunity to taunt Harry a little, deduct some house points unwarrantedly, and look for an excuse to throw a diatribe and demand Harry's expulsion from the school. As Madam Pomphrey cast the spell at Harry's blood, Harry was saved from further humiliation by Snape's Dark Mark flaring up in pain. He made a hasty retreat, returned to his quarters to recover his Death Eater regalia and hurried up to answer his dark master's summons.
Which was why he wasn't there, nor was anyone else, to hear Harry Potter swear.
"I will make that woman pay. Huh! She made the mistake of her life. Now that I don't have to spend time on Quidditch training, I will spend my waking hours plotting revenge. I will avenge me it is the last thing I do! I will become a dark lord if needs be, but I - will - have -revenge! Bahaha."
Nor was Severus Snape there to tell Harry he needed to work on his evil laughter. It would be with him for years yet.
Severus Snape was somewhere else, and didn't know what to make of it. Was the dark lord drunk? Had Wormtail pulled a prank on him somehow? Twenty minutes and three Crucios later, a very baffled potion professor made his way back from the Three Broomsticks tavern to Hogwarts school proper. His master, it seemed, has never called.
