A/N: Warning! This fanfic contains non-con/dub-con, even if it is against an absolutely vile villain. If that sort of thing makes you feel uncomfortable or offends you, this is your only chance to back out. Otherwise, hope this gets your rocks off!

In the space between spaces, where time was as foreign as a concept as Tumblr girls hating slash, Fate or Destiny or whatever you would like to call it was busy making changes to one of many universes.

To any outside observers, they would be driven insane by the incomprehensible surroundings, so if someone were able to see what was occurring, they would see a formation of sparkling lights 'holding' a pen and a piece of parchment with the details of certain individual: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Full name: Tom Marvolo Riddle

Alias: Lord Voldemort

DOB: 31st December 1926

Age: 68 years

Height: 1.83 m / 6'0"

Weight: 79.1 kg / 174 lb

Threat Class: XXXXX

The Incomprehensible Being couldn't care less about a little boy who feared death and had a laughable superiority complex. In fact, the only reason why it was doing this was because of orders from above (yes, there was a hierarchy). Apparently, the Boss wanted to see Harry Potter fuck the superiority out of his enemy, but who was it to judge? Although, the Boss didn't want Harry to fuck his enemy as Tom Riddle aka Voldemort, so here the Incomprehensible Being was changing the Dark Lord into the Dark Lady. It studied the new contents of the parchment:

Full name: Tamara Merope Riddle

Alias: Dark Lady Voldemort

DOB: 31st December 1926

Age: 68 years

Height: 1.84 m / 6'0.5"

Weight: 79.1 kg / 174 lb

Measurements: 36-25-36

Bra Size: 34EE

Arse: Out of this world

Threat Class: XXXXX ('X' against Harry)

If the Incomprehensible Being had a mouth, it would smirk at how Harry (one of many infinite timelines) was going to react to seeing his archenemy rise from the cauldron. With a puff of smoke, the parchments vanished instantly, and then changes were applied to Universe #130000.

Harry wanted to scream, but nothing came out of his mouth. All he could do is watch in horrified fascination, as the cauldron that contained what was left of Lord Voldemort began to react violently and threaten to escape its confines. He dared not turn his attention away from it, not even to glance at the body of his fellow Hogwarts champion some distance away.

"The Dark Lord will rise again!" Wormtail declared with an almost fanatic devotion in his eyes. For that moment, the servant did not care about his (still bleeding) stump where his hand used to be.

Suddenly, the cauldron exploded in a mess of boiling hot potion, some of which had landed on Wormtail, who screamed in agony as it burned his exposed flesh. Luckily for Harry, none of the potion landed on him; unluckily for Harry, he was still tied to the statue, as wisps of long-forgotten dark magic coalesced to take the form of Lord Voldemort. However, even in his frozen state of terror, Harry could tell that something was… different, for a lack of a better word.

He was expecting to see someone akin to the Quirrell-Voldemort hybrid from his first year; instead, there stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman with luscious black hair that fell past her shoulders. She was an amazon in height – definitely several inches taller than Harry – with the toned physique. He couldn't help but let his eyes drift down her curvaceous, hourglass figure and soaking in every detail of her round, perfectly sculpted arse. It put all the arses in Hogwarts to shame!

"Wormtail!" Voldemort snapped, and Harry was amazed at the smoothness of her voice, underlined with a hint of steel. She turned to face her snivelling servant. "What did you do, you imbecile!?"

No longer restricted to the view of her back, he was offered an equally – if not more so – wonderful view of her side, as the Dark Lady(?) berated her sobbing servant, who was also struggling to keep eye contact with his mistress(?). After she was done and turned slightly in his direction, Harry was rewarded with the sight of the Dark Lady's busty chest. His jaw dropped and drool flowed down his mouth.

Was it even possible for a woman to have breasts that massive? His aunt had said that it wasn't possible without plastic surgery, and even then it was apparently easy to tell if they were fake. Yet, it was clear as day even to Harry's eyes that the pale breasts almost as the size of her head were real, if their firmness and perkiness were anything to go by. Topped with dark (and erect!) nipples, the Dark Lady appeared like she belonged in one of Dudley's porno magazines, although she was clean-shaven down below.

"Ah, Harry Potter!"

It was only when the Dark Lady had directly addressed him did Harry divert his attention to her face, which was as perfectly sculpted as her body. He also noticed that her irises were still the same shade of red, along with her pouty lips and high cheekbones.

"I like the new look, Tamara," Harry remarked casually. It took less than a second to realize it and curse himself for his stupidity. Why did he call her 'Tamara'?

Contrary to what he was expecting, Tamara laughed. It was like a beautiful melody, unlike the cruel laughter from his nightmares. If Harry had been paying attention and not once again ogling her breasts, he would have witnessed the brief moment of confusion flash across her face.

"It is… different, but I am still Lo-Lady Voldemort," Tamara assured with a confident expression on her face. With her twitch of her fingers, the wand in located in Wormtail's pocket – the servant was still a sobbing mess – zoomed into Tamara's outstretched hand, much to her surprise.

Surprised then turned to wicked glee, before she pointed her wand at Harry. Fear struck his heart, as he finally remembered where he was.

"Crucio!"

Harry braced himself for the unimaginable agony, just as Moody had describe in the Defence class, yet it never came.

"What is this? Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" Tamara was frantic in her casting, even if it continued to have no effect. She pointed her wand at Wormtail.

"Crucio!"

Instantly, Wormtail was writhing on the ground, as pain coursed through his body which promptly decided to relieve itself of piss and faecal excrement before passing out. Without a pause, Tamara turned her wand back towards Harry and cast the cruciatus curse again… and again… and again, all to no avail. With each cast her appearance became more frazzled, particularly her hair.

Harry was in disbelief. This was Lord/Lady Voldemort? This had to be some sort of trick, right? All of this had to be a lure into a false sense of security.

At least, this is what he thought after the first five or so castings. By her twentieth spell – she had mixed it up a little bit, only to find that nothing could be done to harm him – Harry practically roared with laughter at the murderer of his parents and so many others. With this burst of confidence, he was freed from the grip of the statue and took one step towards the Dark Lady.

"Stay back, Potter!" Tamara threatened with narrowed red eyes, though it was ruined by the slight quiver of fear in her voice.

Harry ignored the attempt at a threat and with all of his strength, he sent the Dark Lady flying several feet away with a punch across the face. Momentarily dazed on the ground, the Dark Lady was about to point her wand at the Boy-Who-Lived, when she realized that it was no longer in her grasp.

"Looking for this?" he taunted with rage twisting his boyish features into something ugly. Between his index finger and thumb was the yew wand, before it was snapped into two pieces and thrown aside.

Tamara didn't even have time to glare at the teenager, for Harry kicked her face with all of the pent-up anger stored from his years living with the Dursleys. The sound of a sickening crunch told both of them that he had broken her nose.

"This is for my parents!" Harry screamed, as he let loose a barrage of kicks at her face.

By the time he was out of energy and panting, he could barely recognise the bloody and bruised mess that was Tamara Riddle's face. Surprisingly, she was still conscious and was trying to crawl away.

"Oh no, you don't!"

A kick to her back sent her face buried into the muddy ground.

"Pl-Please, Potter… Have mercy…"

It was a sight that Harry would never have imagined that he would witness: the most powerful Dark Wizard (Witch) of the last century begging him for mercy with tears in her badly busted-up eyes. He grabbed onto her hair and pulled back which made her yelp.

"Call your Death Eaters and tell them not to harm me in any way. I want them to watch this," Harry ordered coldly.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the once proud Dark Lady didn't do anything to summon her followers; instead, it was through sheer force of will on Harry's part that the Death Eaters began apparating around them.

"Potter!" one of the Death Eaters exclaimed and pulled out his wand, only to be immediately disarmed by a snap of Tamara's fingers.

"Do nothing!" Tamara ordered with a venomous glare to every one of her followers; her voice was a direct contrast to the begging earlier. As soon as she made eye contact with Harry, the defeated and broken Dark Lady returned.

If it weren't for the burning dark marks responding to the order, they would not have believed that the gorgeous woman with a bloodied and bruised face was once their Lord. Therefore, they kept their silence and stood still for further orders.

"Is this your Dark Lord?! The one that your fear so much! Broken and defeated by me again!"

Harry pulled her up onto her knees by her hair and motioned her towards his crotch area, which had formed a noticeable tent underneath his trousers.

"Watch as your Dark Lady services The-Boy-Who-Conquered-Her!"

Tamara was openly weeping at the turn of events, as her pride and arrogance had vanished long ago. Even so, there was still an iota of stubbornness left ready to be crushed out, as Harry pulled down his trousers and presented his six-inch cock to her.

"Suck it," his voice was deadly soft. The former Dark Lady shook her head in refusal, only to receive a sharp slap to her face. "Suck. It."

The Death Eaters surrounding the two waited with bated breaths to see what would happen. Many were in denial. This woman couldn't possibly be the Dark Lord! Others were embarrassed to find themselves becoming aroused at the display of dominance over their former leader, to the point where some were trying (and failing) to discreetly play with themselves.

With his archenemy kneeling before him and absolutely broken, Harry ignored the pleading look in her eyes and glared back. He was somewhat amused to find her still resisting, but that was soon being replaced with irritation.

"If you want to be like that," Harry growled in frustration, before he placed a hand behind her head and forced his cock into her mouth.

He was satisfied to see her choke at the sudden violation of her mouth and gag for air, as he thrusted repeatedly into her mouth. It didn't help that her busted-up nose already made it difficult for her to breathe.

The rest of the Death Eaters watched in morbid fascination, as their leader was being face-fucked into oblivion. Much to Tamara's humiliation, it was clear to those who were close enough, that she was absolutely wet.

"Oh, so you like being my whore," Harry commented with a smug grin, without letting up on the face-fucking. Tamara responded with a slight nod.

Even though it was still a face-fucking, Harry was no longer 100% on the receiving end of the blowjob. It was obvious to anyone watching that Tamara was bobbing her head up and down his cock with loud slurps.

"Ah, I'm going to cum!" Harry stated with gritted teeth, before he shot his seed into her mouth.

The salty, yet also surprisingly tasty seed made its way down her throat, and with his cock still filling her mouth, red eyes met green. As he withdrew his cock from her mouth, Tamara gave a hint of a smile, while his cum began to work its magic on healing her damaged face.

"That was pretty good," Harry remarked with half-feigned satisfaction, "But you are going to have to do better than that."

After only a few seconds of healing, Tamara's face was as good as new and any lost beauty (not much) was consequently restored. Additionally, instead of a look of utter defeat, her red eyes were now shining with a new purpose: absolute devotion to her new master.

"Was I not good enough, daddy?" Tamara pouted playfully. She had spoken in an exaggerated girly voice, which caused the surrounding Death Eaters in denial to almost have heart attacks.

"You'll get better with practice," Harry reassured her with a terrifying smile. His attention turned towards the Death Eaters. "I guess all of you picked the wrong team, if this is your master."

Before he could react, one of the Death Eaters still loyal to Lord Voldemort charged at him. Fortunately (and rather unfortunately for the Death Eater), Tamara was standing on her feet with an outstretched arm and open palm holding the loyalist in place. Gone was Harry's whore; in her place, Lady Voldemort was back.

"You dare attack my beloved!" The Dark Lady clenched the outstretched palm into fist, which crushed the loyalist's heart and other organs. It was lucky for him that he died instantly.

"Anyone else want to try to attack us?" Harry asked nonchalantly, although he was ready for anyone was stupid enough to try. "No? Won't see you in Hell. If you would, Tamara."

With a few swift hand motions, every Death Eater surrounding them was killed, before they were even falling to the ground. Her red eyes were burning with rage and protectiveness over her master. Nudity aside, Harry thought she was absolutely stunning.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Tamara asked with a maniacal gleam in her eyes, "So much power coursing through our bodies – binding the both of us."

Harry nodded, while he flexed his fingers repeatedly. He was engrossed in the sensation of raw magical energy at his fingertips just itching to be utilised.

"Together, we could rule the world! I should never have tried to kill you all those years ago," Tamara wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her chest.

This had the effect of making her breasts jiggle upon impact with his head, due to the significant height difference.

Harry felt rage well up inside him. He began to knead her left breast with excessive force – enough to make Tamara wince.

"You shouldn't killed anyone – no-one innocent, anyway. I should have killed you, or at least sent you to the dementors," he twisted her nipple, to the point where she let out a cry. "But I guess is the next best thing. This way, you will forever be mine. I don't know how it happened, I don't care, but from now on you submit to me. Got it?"

"Yes, daddy," Tamara whimpered submissively. "We have so much power between us – you have power over me. Anything you want from me is yours."

The possibilities ran through Harry's mind. Images of fucking the former Dark Lady in the Room of Requirement, the Chamber of Secrets, even in Snape's office or on one of the house tables in the Great Hall. Scenarios where she rode his cock with screams of ecstasy, while he squeezed those unbelievably large breasts. He could envision milk squirting out from her nipples while simultaneously squirting down below on his cock.

The headlines of the Daily Prophet – they were going to find out eventually – would be scandalous: "Boy-Who-Lived becomes Boy-Who-Conquers-Dark-Whore", "Tamara Riddle-Potter becomes pregnant with first/second/third child", and so on.

"Get dressed," Harry barked and added, "And make it sexy – I want everyone to know that you are my whore."

Tamara grinned radiantly and with a snap of her fingers, clothes seems to materialise onto her body. She was wearing a very form-fitting black dress with jaw-dropping cleavage. Even though he loved how the dress looked on her, Harry frowned.

"Is this not to your liking, daddy?" Tamara furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. He obviously loved the dress, so what was missing?

"You need shoes," Harry stated bluntly. "I want you in high heels."

Tamara had heard of high heels – she knew they were shoes – but as Lord Voldemort, muggle fashion wasn't exactly his top priority or interest. In fact, she was a little nervous at the prospect of walking around in them for extended periods of time.

"What kind? I don't-Oh!"

Once again through sheer force of will, Harry had used his newfound magical prowess to conjure up a pair of red platform shoes with five-inch stiletto heels on the ground. With an uncharacteristic giggle and gleeful jump, Tamara slipped her feet into the shoes. This had the effect of raising her height and affecting her posture, so that her huge assets – front and back – became even more prominent.

"We have to make Cedric's death look like an accident," Harry told her and added in a matter-of-fact tone, "After all, Voldemort is dead. He couldn't have killed him."

Tamara nodded resolutely in agreement and got to work on the corpse. It was child's play to make the death appear to have been the result of an acromantula, rather than the killing curse. On the other hand, it was not child's play to walk in the ridiculous heels she was currently wearing, much to her frustration.

"You'll get it. You are going to have a lot of practice walking around in them," Harry snickered. He gave her a lecherous smile, in response to her playful glare. "All that practice will give you strong leg muscles perfect for hours of fucking."

If someone had told him that he would leave this graveyard with his now-female former archenemy as his lover/sex slave, Harry would have cursed the ever-loving shit out of you.

Harry chuckled to himself, as he felt the tug of the portkey take him and Tamara back to Hogwarts, the latter holding on to Cedric's body.

Maybe there was someone watching over him, after all.