A/N: Due to some requests, I've added another section to this rather gruesome story. Please take heed; it's as bad as the other section. Thus, your warning and thus no flames. Please.
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Chapter 2
Dolores Umbridge sat behind her pristine oak desk in her small oblong office. Everything around her was in perfect order—papers neatly stacked, quills in the stand, books placed crisply on the shelves. Most of the doilies had disappeared, they reminded her too much of the-the—centaurs and the Forbidden Forrest.
The night she returned to her immaculate home she threw out the heirloom grandfather clock with its incessant ticking. Clip-clop, tick-tock…
Dolores never left her home very often; the images came to her too much with the plants and shrubberies on every Shoppe doorstep. She flooed to her office at the Ministry every morning and apparated to her office at home every night; the concrete routine brought some sanity back to her life.
Grudgingly, a few weeks ago, she admitted the returned presence of Lord Voldemort, yet she still seemed more frightened of the half-breeds than the darkest wizard in one-hundred years. She had more reason to fear the centaurs, those who could and actually have committed damage, than the distant and indifferent Dark Lord.
Slowly, she rose from the plush leather armchair and grasped the short candlestick on the waxed surface of the desk. Her nightgown shimmered around her toad-like form in waves of pure disgust. The flame flickered as the woman maneuvered around the glossy furniture to ward to door. She kept that closed: open spaces still terrified her.
Glancing at the wall to her right, Dolores caught the gaze of her mother's portrait. The woman had a stern face and hard eyes. Unlike most portraits of the wizarding world, Madame Umbridge did not like to smile and converse with her daughter, or anyone else for that matter. She stood elegantly in her purple silk robes and matching silk under-dress as still as a Muggle portrait with only her eyes to betray her. Dolores stared at the person who made her the woman she was today. Her smile was a bitter one and she humphed firmly. The painting just stared back with empty orbs.
Snapping the trim of her gown, Dolores turned angrily from the picture and walked toward the entrance to the office. Before she ran into something solid.
Something that laughed when she stumbled back.
Someone who grasped her shoulders and tossed her casually onto the couch behind her. The candle blew out as it fell to the floor, obscuring any image she might have gained from its feeble light. Not even the moonlight from the un-curtained window gave any hint as to the identity of the tall figure in the middle of her office. In truth, it only put his face into more shadow.
"Wh-What are you doing here? Who are you?" Umbridge demanded in a trembling accent.
"Good evening…" the voice hissed from within the depths of his hood, "Dolores." A high-pitched laugh pervaded the room as the figure came stalking forward. Dolores screamed.
"G-get away from me!" She shouted fruitlessly as she scrambled back on the couch, all her toad-like features exemplified in the half-light, attempting to move as far as possible from the cloaked man before her.
He laughed again, with a solid amount of mirth. "I love it when they scream. It only hastens their departure." He spoke more to himself than the wobbly female huddled in an upright fetal position.
It was true however. Lord Voldemort became highly aroused from the screams and pleas of his victims. Only, tonight he would have to abstain from this… woman, if one could call her that. He would not taint his reputation with her soiled body. He had better plans for her, better plans indeed.
With a flick of his wand, he had her roped tightly to an armchair to the left of the couch. He kept her mouth unobstructed, just to hear the shrieks and entreaties to let her go, she would give him anything he wanted.
Only, what he wanted was her, nothing else.
"No, dear. I came for you. None of your petty possessions." And with the grace of a prince, the Dark Lord released the clasp on his cloak and elegantly tossed it over the bare side-table. The rustling of the fabric brought Dolores' eyes wide and her mouth to go completely dry. She began to wonder, what foul thing did he have in store for her?
"Have no fear, I will not touch you," Voldemort, the accomplished Legilimens, could contrive the thoughts of the awful woman. Never would he dream of coming into contact with her. Filthy beast.
Dolores began to cry, not certain of what else to do in this situation. Her hands tied to the arms of the seat, and her torso bound to the back, she had limited movement and couldn't wipe the tears away. It seemed her skin decided to match her inner turmoil and took on a sickly green colour.
"Now, now, Dolores; don't become discomfited just yet. We still have your trial to attend to." Voldemort taunted gleefully, smiling a pointed-tooth smile.
He advanced on her, gliding forward, his feet hidden by the long black robes. The light played over his face, the pale silver light giving and ethereal glow to his white skin and scarlet eyes. The shadows within the room danced across his sunken cheeks and needle thin nose. He moved right up to her, merely millimetres from her face, and swept around to the side of her head.
"Prepare yourself, Dolores." He blew hot air into her ear; she whimpered in response.
It seemed like the father of Satan stood before her.
"And what would woman such as yourself want…" Voldemort played with his lips as he thought viciously. "An, yes. The perfect action."
The smile he flashed her was enough to extinguish the flames at the center of the earth.
"Come, Dolores." Her stiffened body moved toward him, and he positioned her on her knees, the chair bonds left behind. Her whole person trembled with fear, fueling his desire to see the thing suffer, as well as his now rising desire…
A few more Latin phrases, and she lay completely naked, leaning on her elbows, shackled to the floor at the wrist and forearm. All wrinkled and flabby skin exposed to the most ruthless man alive shivered with every breath she managed.
Shamelessly, she began to dampen with fear and arousal at being so exposed. But the enjoyment lasted only so long. The next spell blew away any thought except extreme terror and dread from her now frozen limbs.
-Clop- -Clop-
Voldemort had transfigured the couch into a shape resembling a centaur. However, there existed no face or defining features, just the perfect shape of an excited male centaur during mating season.
"All under my control," the wicked man whispered to himself. It may be inanimate, but the spells made the shape move just like the real thing.
"Oh, my dear—it's about to come." The gleaming smile, the epitome of malicious evil, spread like honey across his face.
Stealthily, he moved toward the nearest chair and unzipped his trousers, pulling them down as he sat. His hand drifted to grasp his long hard length and squeeze gently, bringing just the right amount of pain to his pleasure. Just the excitement of watching the centaur and the woman-toad was enough to make the flesh scorching and solid. The sensation was amazingly overwhelming. The cool night air caressed him like the cool saliva of a mouth releasing him.
And the screams. They fueled his fire; he closed his eyes and increased the pressure to his throbbing erection.
The centaur moved quite close, too close. Way too close. Her space felt invaded. She knew it was when leathery flesh touched her own. Already she felt violated, knowing what was in store for her.
That touch soon turned into a caress, rounding her buttock, nearer and nearer to her body's betrayal. She whimpered between squeals as thick fingers slid within the folds of her dripping pussy.
Voldemort pressed harder, arching and gasping. The pre-come was immense and he used it as lubricant to stroke faster and harder.
"Stop it! Stop it, you MONSTER!"
Two heads whipped around to see Madame Umbridge shouting and flailing frantically from within her portrait. Voldemort's proceedings took on new urgency as now both women pleaded for mercy.
His hand moved faster and faster over his erection, bringing ecstasy with every thrust of his hips. The erotic nature of sitting half-dressed, masturbating to a live rape and the mother watching from across the room made the steely length in his hand even more rigid, burning hot and the man stroked faster.
The voiceless centaur removed his fingers from her and stood back for a moment, seeming to observe his handy-work, except he owned no organ to see, and the gesture just seemed odd. However, in good time, the creature mounted Dolores and began probing the intimate area with his own sopping groin. The cock was at least four inches in diameter and nine inches long. It rubbed and prodded, poking and taking it's time before the animal instinct took over and the centaur slammed his cock into her totally vulnerable entrance. The impact was so sudden and swift, Dolores had absolutely no time to stretch and her vaginal tunnel shredded instantly, blood pouring everywhere. The centaur took no notice; he didn't stop.
The intense shriek that sounded from those lips brought another wave of pleasure to the Dark Lord, Madame Umbridge still protesting in the background.
The movement of such a large creature as a centaur bruised and sliced her flesh, most of the inflictions immediately visible. Her body was slowly being pounded into oblivion.
Voldemort's hand gained an unsteady rhythm and his hips sporadically bucked into his curled fingers. He was close, so close. With skill, his limbs moved to meet his own demands and soon he cried out in release, pouring his seed over his taut stomach, the floor and the chair, just as the centaur, too, relieved himself into the butchered womb of Dolores Umbridge.
Sobbing could now be heard in surround sound as Voldemort slowly regained himself.
Task complete, the centaur transfigured back into the couch, covering half the pool of crimson and white splayed over the wooden floor and rugs.
The man grinned wickedly. Standing and approaching her fully dressed.
"I do pray you've enjoyed yourself," he mused sarcastically as he procured his wand before her eyes, "this part won't be much fun."
He shot spell after spell at her, mincing her skin and producing more lakes of blood on the floor. Stones, lamps, furniture and anything he could get his hands on were tossed in her direction, shattering her bones in a thousand places. Screaming filled the night air like an opera and Voldemort gained momentum and encouragement.
When nothing in the room remained unbroken, Voldemort turned his flaming red eyes on her and pointed his wand sharply.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He looked on rather sadly, "Over and done with. A pity I couldn't have sliced you a bit more." He stared bemusedly at the puddles of fluids Dolores now lay tormentedly in.
Voldemort turned on the pale portrait and smirked.
"Rojo Inflamare!"
Within seconds, a streaming shower of flames fell where Madame Umbridge once stood.
With an air of non-chalance no ordinary being could possess, Voldemort grabbed his cloak and turned to leave. Only to be confronted with the one man he wanted most in the world.
"Goodbye, Voldemort."
There was a gloomy expression in the man's tone not lost on the Dark Lord, who looked somewhat confused.
"Care to join me, Harry?"
A smile crept into those amazingly green eyes and red lips. Harry moved closer. Voldemort waited for him.
"I've wanted this for so long, Tom. Why have we wasted so many years?" Harry whispered breathlessly as he sauntered closer still.
"All in the name of torture, lover. Or you soon will be."
Harry rushed the last steps into Voldemort's open arms and kissed him hungrily. Voldemort opened his mouth and slid his tongue past Harry's parted lips. He tasted like cream and peaches.
A duel of a different sort ensued: that of the tongues. Voldemort was sure to win and the two parted in panting anticipation, foreheads against each other and arms wrapped around the other's torso.
"You know, you are rather stupid." Harry murmured huskily.
Before Voldemort could reply, or even process Harry's bold statement, he lay dead upon the rug, staring uncomprehendingly at the ceiling.
Harry wiped his mouth disgustedly with the back of his hand, still holding his wand. But that wasn't enough. The slime still slithered on his lips, and so he spat.
"I don't think I'll ever recover from that, Harry. You snogged the evilest man in the universe." Ron came into the room by way of the window.
"I know. I think I'm traumatized for life."
"I'm positive I am," Ron replied. "Hermione's going to kill you when she finds out."
Harry moaned painfully.
-Fin