Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story, I'm just having a little fun with them.

Please Note: This story is just a drabble for me. I won't have any kind of normalized updating schedule. I write for it when I feel like it and the updates are likely to be few and far between. I hadn't originally planned on posting this, but I thought some of you might get a kick out of it.

Summary: Lemon with somewhat of a plot, or at least I think there will be more of a plot in future chapters. Lots of smut, lots of partners, I'm probably going to include just about everything I can think of except m/m slash, only because that's not my cup of tea and I don't think I'd be able to write it.

Chapter 1

The streets of Surrey were as quiet as they usually were at this time of night. Each and every one of the inhabitants of the house at Number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging had fallen asleep only hours before, after an exhausting day of eating, gossiping and watching TV...

...that is, all except for one.

Completely covered by his far-too-old and tattered blankets, within his small bedroom on the second floor, Harry Potter lay in his bed, flashlight in hand, mesmerized at the discovery he had made earlier that day...

His relatives had gone out for a lunch meeting with the family of one of his Uncle's bosses. Shortly after finishing his chores, Harry, for the first time he could recall in recent memory, let his curiosity get the best of him, and began to snoop around the areas of the house that he'd normally left unexplored.

He'd never done it before, out of fear of punishment, but this year, after the apparent increase in activity of Voldemort's followers, Dumbledore had put up temporary wards that would hide his wand signature against detection in case he found himself in a situation where he needed to defend himself in some way. Supposedly, Sirius had presented a convincing argument to the Headmaster on his behalf, but at the same time, he had been given a strict warning to avoid using his wand unless it was absolutely necessary. But just having the ability to use his wand any time he wanted, without the Ministry finding out, allowed Harry's curious side to overrule his normally cautious conscience.

The basement held nothing of interest other than a large spider that had made it's web in one of the ceiling's corners. The warning he had given the arachnid against his relatives penchant for squishing things that crept and crawled, seemed to reach the spider's understanding somehow, as it immediately scurried away and out of sight. His Uncle's study turned out to be just as boring as the man himself. He wondered if Petunia knew about the stashed flask in the back of one of the filing drawers.

His Aunt and Uncle's bedroom turned out to be just as stale as it's owner's personalities, except for a strange device he had found hidden in the back of the bottom drawer of their nightstand. He wasn't exactly sure what it's purpose was, but given it's shape, and after overhearing a few hushed conversations back in his Hogwarts dormitories, he decided he didn't really want to confirm his suspicions. After a shiver of disgust, he then moved on to his cousin's bedroom.

At first, everything had turned out to be just as he'd expected. All the latest electronics, some of them broken, were strewn about the room. Clothes both clean and dirty, almost completely covering the dirty, crumb-laden floor. Two shelves of pristine trophies, looking completely out of place in a room that would make any normal human being run from the room in disgust.

Just before he was about to leave the room to snoop through the hall closet, he caught sight of the corner of a magazine poking out from under his cousin's king-sized mattress. Wanting to know what kind of reading material could possibly hold his idiot of a cousin's interest, Harry slowly lifted the mattress off to investigate.

What he found was something that he'd only heard talk of four times before in his, so far, short life; once while listening in on a conversation between Dudley and his gang of stooges, and three separate times from overhearing a few of the upper-year Muggleborns' conversations back at school.

At first, Harry couldn't help but look away in embarrassment. He knew the basics of how babies were made, and he'd begun noticing the different shapes and sizes of the girls he'd seen around school, but the images that were splayed across the covers of these magazines were entirely foreign to his admittedly limited range of imagination.

Eventually, his hormones got the best of him and he couldn't help but kneel down to get a closer look. On one cover, a woman with an extremely large chest smiled up at him with her back arched at an uncomfortable looking angle. On another cover a woman was on her hands and knees facing the camera. Her mouth was open as if she was yelling, but she seemed to be extremely happy. A well-muscled man was kneeling behind her.

Harry immediately realized what they must be doing, but his unfamiliarity with the female anatomy led him to believe that the man was putting his...equipment, in place that was entirely far too disgusting. Not wanting to look at that image anymore, he gathered up enough courage to touch it in order to slide it out of the way, only to reveal another cover underneath that showed yet another large-chested girl sitting on the lap of yet another large-muscled man. Harry couldn't help but notice how big the man's...thing was. The woman in the picture seemed to be enjoying the fact that his equipment seemed entirely too big to be fitting where it was currently...fitting, and both of them seemed to be enjoying what they were doing very much. It almost reminded him of how good he felt every time he caught the snitch...except the pleasure these two looked like they were having seemed to be on a whole different level.

The idea that there was something in the world that could bring a person more pleasure than he got while playing Quidditch completely boggled his mind. Before today, he never would have thought it was possible.

Harry continued to peruse a few more covers, completely entranced by the images on the covers, but was still unable to gather up enough courage to actually open any of them up. One magazine seemed to be themed around black leather and odd-looking masks, another showcased Asian women.

One of the one's that caught his attention the most was the one where the girl on the cover was dressed in an outfit not unlike the uniforms the girls wore at school, excepting for the fact that the chest of the woman on this cover was nearly bursting out of her half-buttoned top. A similar image of Hannah Abbot immediately came to mind, since she was one of the only females he knew that could even come close to reaching this girl's...size, but Harry quickly squashed it down, feeling as if he had violated his Hufflepuff friend in some way.

Just when Harry was about to continue his investigation into this strange new world, he heard the feint sound of a car door slamming near the front of the house. He let the mattress fall and immediately bolted for the door...but just before he shut it, his instinct to run and hide was temporarily thrown to the wind. He ran back into the room and rushed over to the bed, then, without even looking, he stuck his hand between the mattresses and grabbed the first magazine his fingers touched. With a look, he saw that it was the one that had the woman sitting on the man's lap. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the cover and ran out of the room once again, making sure that nothing was out of place, and closing the door as quietly as he could behind him.

Just before the front door opened with a loud bang, Harry made it back into his room without a sound. He immediately took the magazine and shoved it into his hiding place under the loose floorboard under the bed. He had just enough time after that to get himself into a position that looked like he'd been napping, when his bedroom door suddenly burst open.

"Get up, boy! There'll be no lazing around as long as there's work to be done!"

Harry pretended that he'd been startled awake by tiredly wiping his eyes clean. "But...I finished all my chores already." He hoped to Merlin that the loud and fast thumping of his heart wasn't outwardly visible or audible.

"Yes, well, we ran through some rain on the way to lunch, so the car needs a washing. Make sure you have it done in time to make dinner!" With that his Uncle slammed the door shut and stomped back down the hallway.

Harry closed his eyes in relief and slumped back down on to the bed. That was a close one. He took a few breaths before willing himself to get up and put some shoes on. He would wash the car now, and then he would make a large dinner afterward - which he knew he would end up having to clean up himself - but the whole time he worked, he knew he would be tingling with anticipation at the opportunity he'd have later that night to get a better look at what he'd 'borrowed' from his cousin's bedroom...

The next few weeks of summer were the quietest anyone at Number 4 could ever remember having since that fateful day Harry had gotten his letter to Hogwarts. Unbeknownst to them, the reason for the strange silence was because when Harry wasn't doing his chores, eating his meals, or going to the bathroom, he was holed up in his room, reading page after page of whichever magazine of Dudley's he happened to have in his possession at the time.

Soon after he had taken that first magazine, Harry took to switching them out, one for another, whenever he had the opportunity. Since Dudley's collection was so large, Harry hoped that he would never pay close enough attention to notice when one went missing, but even if he ever did, Harry would always eventually return whichever magazine he had to their rightful place, and since Dudley wasn't exactly the sharpest tack in the box, he would most likely come to the conclusion that he'd just temporarily misplaced it.

It wasn't long before Harry's curiosity soon turned into obsession. It got to the point where every minute of his spare time was taken up with looking at, and taking pleasure in, his stolen magazines. He couldn't go more than a few hours without thinking about them, which, in turn, meant he also couldn't go too long without relieving himself in the way that all teenaged boys assuaged their sexual frustrations.

Late at night, five days before his upcoming birthday, Harry lay in his bed, once again feeling the excitement and arousal that went along with reading one of the fictional articles in one of the wordier magazines. His imagination was running wild, inevitably placing himself in the role of the tall, dark deliveryman and, to his temporary surprise, casting Daphne Greengrass in the part of the frustrated busty housewife.

Near the end of the story, Harry winced in pain before he could finish himself off. It had been happening more and more lately and he was clueless as to how to solve the problem. The smartest decision would probably be to stop doing it for a while and let his skin recover on it's own, but his newfound obsession had clearly become somewhat of an addiction, and the idea of stopping was quickly judged to be completely out of the realm of possibility.

At first he tried using soap, but quickly threw that idea out the window after feeling the painful sting that came about when the soap got into the hole at the tip. He could do it fine with water running over himself in the shower, but he was sure his relatives would find it suspicious if he began going to the loo every couple hours to use the faucet. He momentarily tossed around the idea of trying out one of his Aunt's many lotions and creams, but he knew that was just asking for trouble, especially when she started noticing that her bottles went empty faster than usual.

After staring around the room for a few minutes, trying his best to think of another solution, his eyes came to rest for a moment on his holly and phoenix-feather wand. Out of nowhere, the words of his best male friend sprang to front of his consciousness: 'Are you a wizard or not?'

Harry immediately reached under his bed to retrieve his wand, but stopped in his tracks when he realized that he had no knowledge of any spell that could help with his particular problem. He sat back down on his bed to think, after stashing the magazine back into it's hiding spot. Surely there were spells out there that dealt with this sort of thing? With all the men that existed in the history of the magical world, there had to be at least some that wanted to utilize the infinite possibilities of magic in the privacy of their own bedrooms...right? There had to be someone that knew the answer, but he knew it would be extremely embarrassing to bring up the subject with anyone he knew.

Maybe there was a book somewhere? But how would he be able to get it? How would he pay for it? Maybe Flourish and Blotts had a mail-in service like Honeydukes and Madam Malkin's? Maybe since he was looking for books, he could use his school trust fund to buy them?

He immediately pulled out a sheet of parchment to draft a quick letter...

The day before his birthday, Harry received his first package. With the extra cost of an anonymity contract, he had ordered seven hundred galleon's worth of books, which, unfortunately, turned out to be only three total volumes. Turns out magical books on sex were extremely expensive for some reason. Probably something to do with supply and demand - the clerk did mention that the three books he ordered were extremely rare finds, after all - or maybe the extravagant cost was meant to discourage the average wizard from buying them?

Luckily, there had been no problems whatsoever in using his trust vault to buy what he wanted. Any store that sold school supplies had authorization to withdraw from school trust accounts if permission was given to them, which he gave eagerly.

Harry idly wondered if there were age limits on this sort of material in the wizarding world like there were in the muggle, and if so, how was he not questioned on it when he made his purchase? He supposed it likely had something to do with the fact that the clerk he exchanged letters with had enthusiastically given him a fifty percent discount on his order when he saw that the name on the order form was none other than that of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. He never really liked taking advantage of his fame in any way, but in this case, if it distracted the clerk enough to cause him to disregard his age, Harry was all the more grateful for it.

It was also, therefore, a good thing that they had offered him the anonymity clause to his contract, or his order details would likely be all over the front page of the Prophet by now. He could only imagine the disappointment on that clerk's face when he found out Harry would be shelling out the extra galleons to keep his transactions private.

The next day, a message from Dumbledore arrived in the morning, along with a few other assorted birthday cards and packages. The presents he received were as nice as always, and he was glad to have them, but Dumbledore's letter also included a note telling him that it would be about another month before he could join the Weasley's at the Burrow. The only reason given was that the protections on the Burrow were not yet at the strength required to keep them safe from a direct attack. Harry was a little saddened by the news, but at the same time, glad that he would be given more time to study his newly acquired books in private.

Harry's imagination was running rampant. He'd finished the first two books within the first week, nearly unable to put them down except to eat and do chores. The things he'd read about were even more exciting than anything he'd seen in Dudley's magazines. He was absolutely right in his previous assumptions on the wizarding world. The possibilities with sex and magic were nearly endless.

Granted, there were scores and scores of disclaimers on almost every spell, mostly saying that only the most powerful wizards were capable of pulling them off, but Dumbledore himself had expressed his belief that Harry was above average in that department. As long as he followed the instructions to the letter, he could probably do almost anything he wanted from these books. Needless to say, the Headmaster's reminder to only use his wand when absolutely necessary went out the window before he was done with the first chapter of the first tome.

The misgivings he first had in regards to fantasizing about his female schoolmates disappeared in a subsequent puff of metaphorical smoke. His mind ran wild with images of him driving each and every one of them to mind-blowing orgasms where they would eagerly scream his name in the throes ecstasy.

How had he not heard of these things at school? How could these types of spells exist without every boy in school passing around notes on how to use them? Surely it couldn't be just a power issue? There had to be hundreds of rich purebloods throughout the world that could afford these books and at least a few of them had to have enough power to implement them, right? There was something about this whole thing that just wasn't adding up. What was he missing?

His answer came in reading the third and final book. Harry knew from Dumbledore that your ability to use magic, for the most part, was based largely on intent and willpower. Yes, you had to learn a spell before you could cast it, but if you didn't really want to cast that spell in the first place, your magic would be greatly weakened or it might not even work at all. You had to WANT the effect to happen in order to bend the magic to your will.

Along those same lines, most of the spells listed in the three books required those individuals performing the spells, or those being subjected to them, to be at least partially willing to go through with it, sometimes even requiring outright desire, in order for them to work correctly. If Harry cast the charm on a girl that made her nipples more sensitive to his touch, it would only work if she actually wanted him to touch them. If someone tried to use a spell on a person they knew to be an unwilling participant, that spell would likely backfire on the caster, sometimes with fatal results.

With the level of trust required, it seemed that the only people that would truly able to take advantage of these kinds of spells were those that were married or those that were already in long-term relationships. But then...he was the Boy-Who-Lived, wasn't he? Didn't Hermione mention once that there was a group of girls at school that had started a Harry Potter fan club? Didn't Ron always get jealous when he caught sight of some random fan-girl staring at him? Didn't more than half the girls in school grow up reading stories about how brave and courageous the legendary Boy-Who-Lived was?

Never had Harry been so happy about his unwanted fame. If he could get even a fraction of these spells to work, and as long as he picked a girl that had at least some interest in him, he could probably live out his fantasies in real life. The idea of being able to see that same look of orgasmic bliss he saw in the magazines, plastered on the face of a girl in real life, made him harder than he'd ever been in his life.

But first...he had some practicing to do. The consequences of performing some of these spells wrong were often severe enough to turn most wizards and witches away from even making the attempt. Harry had every intention of being a master at them before even setting foot on the Hogwarts Express...