Tommy's Harem

By Stealacandy

Disclaimer: Omakes are fun, full stories are better. But if you write Harry Potter stories, you better not make any money from it, otherwise you'd be breaking the law. Unless your name is JKR. Then it's Okay. Obviously, my name is not JKR, otherwise this book would come in a hard copy with a colourful, illustrated cover, cost too much for what it's worth, and I'll have a very big bank account. Which I don't.

A/N: As I said before, this story started with an Omake by EsperJone. You can't post links on ffnet, so I'll leave you instructions how to get to it if you really want to read it. To read the Omake, search this site for an author called Rorschach's Blot and go to his personal profile. From there, follow the homepage link to his Yahoo! group and into the Messages section. Then go to (option at the top of the page) message #26745. To read the original Dark Squire Omake by Rors' himself, look down. Beneath the message, there are links to the other messages in that topic. The firs one should be it.

P.S. If you get a letter in the mail from the international Dark Lords Union, and it's not a mistake made by the postal service (happens to often for my liking), you are probably a very confused person, and you have my condolences. Or you pissed off someone on DLP. Then you're in BIG trouble. Better move away and let the postal service continue making mistakes…

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Tommy's Harem

2. Chapter 1: Letters

One year later

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Hall

Dear HARRY POTTER,

We, the board members of the international Dark Lords Union have reviewed your application for the position of Dark Lord.

Unfortunately, you do not qualify for the following criteria:

1. Your supporters must all be marked with a minimum of two loyalty runes.
2. You must commit at least 100 crimes monthly, for a period of two years.
3. You must use Dark Magic at least twice daily, for more insidious purposes than brushing your teeth. (Killing plaque is not considered dark, just hygienic.)
4. You must have your own Harem consisting of at least 20 willing witches.

Once you have met the following conditions, you may reapply for the role.

Sincerely,
Very-Dark Lord Deviousaurus, Secretary

Human Division,

International Dark Lords Union

P.S. We will be revoking Voldemort's Dark Lord status, as our informants have just told us that he does not qualify for the 4th condition.

"Drat", said Harry, "guess I won't be having my revenge on Toady then.", then went back to eating his treacle tart.

That Evening, Riddle Manor, Little Hengelton

Lord Voldemort was furious!

"Crucio! Crucio! Incendio! Crucio!"

It was short work and the writhing owl was burned to ashes. Which was not a good thing because Lord Voldemort wasn't sure of the return Address and the room wasn't ventilated, either. And the union had heavy fines for those members who literally, killed the messenger. Wormtail, also writhing in pain by the Dark Lord's thrown, was ignored.

What on Earth was he to do with an Harem? What was the point? Striving to become snakelike came hand-in-hand with having cold blood, and it's been decades since the last time he got any of this kind of urges. Even if he did feel like it, how could he possibly have an harem, wondered Voldemort. He simply didn't have the necessary equipment any longer. With all the rituals he went through to become near-immortal, he had to give up his reproductive system. He gave up his gonads in favour of lengthening the termination sequences in his DNA, to act like stem cells. Not that he thought of it in these terms. These are laymen's term. Lord Voldemort was versed in professional occult language that explained it all in words he (and possibly Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger and Fitsy the house-elf, too. Less likely, was Grogengath the go-go-goblin, but maybe, just maybe, he too,) could understand. At any rate, Lord Voldemort has lost his gonads, and without testicles, well, his penis wasn't doing him any good, so he lost it too in an obscure ritual he dug out from some hole, that allowed for the sacrifice of one "magic wand", so to speak, in order to strengthen the other.

Still, some past Dark Lord must have encountered that problem before Lord Voldemort, and one of the reasons Dark Lords had a union in the first place was to supply them with a support structure, for exactly that kind of situations. He might turn to them for advice. It was a good thing, the Dark Lord mused, that he paid his membership for the year in advance.

"Bella!" he called, summoning his favourite Death-Eater-of-the-month.

"Yes Master?" Bellatrix asked in ecstasy.

"Find me the address of the international Dark Lord Union."

"Yes Master", she replied, and was on her way.

"Wormtail. Wormtail! Wormtail? Wormtail!"

The diminutive Death Eater finally recovered enough from his torment to answer his masters call.

"Bring me a quill, ink and parchment. The good one, with the water-mark."

"Yes, Master, right away, Master." was the hurried reply.

"And Wormtail?", said Voldemort, evilly, "Crucio! Now go. And be quick about it this time. Don't dally, or I will turn you into a wormtongue!" Peter should have seen it coming. It always happened to him! 'Damnit!' he thought to himself.

Lord Voldemort was left pondering his problem.

When Wormtail returned, Lord Voldemort discovered he didn't have a desk to write on. That was simple enough to solve, for a transfiguration master like himself, and soon he was immersed in writing, on a polished, Victorian mahogany desk which, oddly enough, sprouted one silver leg.

By the time Bellatrix returned, Lord Voldemort's letter was ready for her to bleed on, for him to sign, and for her to attach to a nervous raven and send him off to Anachreon.

The following day, a swarm of hummingbirds came to his Dark Lair, a few of them carrying an envelope between them, the rest keeping them company. Apparently the people in the union weren't happy with him obliterating their imposing regal owls. Using such tiny birds for a delivery suggested the recipient of the letter wasn't significant enough to send an owl to. To add Injury to insult, those blasted hummingbirds racked havoc on Lord Voldemort's chamber as efficiently as any pack of pixie. And thrice as loud. While Lord Voldemort was licking his finger after receiving a nasty parchment-cut (which he suspected wasn't natural), round about half of the hummingbirds had somehow taken hold of Voldemort's decorative writing desk and lifted it up in the air. Lord Voldemort, who was eagerly trying to read his letter, found that rather distracting.

"Wormtail! Get this table and stick it somewhere else that is not my throne room. Then get rid of all these pesky parasites and clear the room. Take McNair with you, he works for Comity of Disposal of Annoying Creatures! Might as well let him do his job."

A few seconds later, and the table was still there, hovering just feet away from the Dark Lord's face. Lord Voldemort called for Wormtail again, but for no avail. Frustrated, he pulled out his wand and blasted the table, with the hummingbirds groping it, to smithereens, with a well aimed and extra juicy "Reducto". 'No decent help these days' thought Lord Voldemort to himself.

"Wormtail!", Voldemort tried again. 'Where is the little blighter?', he wondered, as Wormtail didn't appear. Voldemort decided to call a house-elf to clear the mess.

"Potsy!" he called. No one came. "Itchy! Binky!" No one came. What was the blasted house-elf called? "Poppy!" Nothing. "Zooby! Shilly! Shitty! Snity! Snipy! Skipy! Skrapy! Snoopy!". 'No?' he thought. 'Try try again'. "Doogy-Dog! Puffy! Daddy! Betty! Boopy! Shlompy! Binky! Britney! Bitemy! Spitemy! Cooky! Tibby! Tabby! Tubby! Tobby!" That did the trick. A house-elf appeared, a steaming potion in hand.

"Your name is Tobby?" Lord Voldemort inquired.

"No Master sir, I is not being named Tobby." said the house-elf, shivering.

"Then why did you come only now?" demanded the Dark Lord.

"Master Lord Voldie called, So I is coming, Master Lord Voldie sir." answered the elf, trembling.

"But I thought you said you weren't called Tobbyy?" Lord Voldemort was confused.

"Yes Master sir, I is not being called Tobby." answered the shacking house-elf.

"So why did you come?" Lord Voldemort wanted to know.

"I is thinking Master sir has nasty cold, so I is bringing Master sir a Poppy-Upy Potion, Master sir." replied the elf, scratching his little arm. These goose bumps were really annoying.

"Why would you think I had a cold?" Lord Voldemort didn't understand.

'That Master sir is really stupid,' thought the house-elf, and said "because you called for Tobby, Master sir." wasn't it obvious? 'How did that guy ever become a lord? Someone has to be even more stupid to follow him!'

"But your name is not Tobby!" the Dark Lord was frustrated. He really didn't get it, and he hated when that happened.

"No Master sir, I is not being named Tobby." said the house-elf, who by now was scratching behind his ear.

"Then what is your name, for Mordred's sake?" asked Lord Voldemort impatiently.

"Why, Tommy is Tommy, Master sir," answered the elf, scratching his crotch.

"What?" demanded his master. "Crucio! Crucio! Merlinmensonio! Crucio! Crucio!" By now the elf was smoking from his ears, though that may be because he drank the potion in his hand to elevate the pain. 'finally that itch went away!' he congratulated himself.

Having disposed of the burden in hand, Tommy bent down and started wiping the floor with a dirty cloth.

"Who named my house-elf Tommy? How dare they? Avada Kedavra!" yelled the Dark lord in pent up fury. The Killing Curse passed where the house-elf's head was seconds before, continued it's course all the way to the wall, bouncing off it to the floor, where it hit the scattered mahogany and silver debris that used to be a writing-table, splattering them over Tommy the house-elf and knocking him off his feet. The rag he held flew out of his hand in a ballistic course to land directly on his master's face.

The Dark Lord wiped the rag from his face in rage and threw it at the house-elf in disgust.

"You gave Tommy cloth! Tommy is freeeeeeeeeee" whined the house-elf, and with a pop he was gone, only a soft "god damn-it" echoing after him.

The Dark Lord was left with out anyone to kill except for the annoying surviving hummingbirds, and that was to much work to do and was to be left to underlings. So he "Repairo"ed the blasted table, which had the interesting effect of it's three wooden legs sprouting feathers, not that the Dark Lord noticed, then commenced to reduce it to bits and pieces again with a powerful "Reducto", followed closely with an "Incendio", an "Evanesco smoldering ash" and a "Augamenti".

Giving up on Wormtail fo now, Lord Voldemort called for "McNair!" McNair didn't hear him. So He tried a different approach. Pointing his wand at the door, he yelled out "Accio McNair!". That seemed to do the trick, as McNair, who was chatting with Nott in another wing of the mansion, started flying in his master general direction. His master, however, was not privy to that fact, and commenced to cast the spell no less then four more times, with growing frustration and growing power into it. That had set McNair accelerating in dangerously high velocity towards the Dark Lord. Fortunately for Lord Voldemort, while the charm took care to avoid obstacles like walls, furniture or people on the way, there was one obstacle that couldn't be avoided, as Lord Voldemort had forgotten to open the door through which he summoned McNair. Thus a minute later McNair, who by no means was a small men, was trying to squeeze into the keyhole at the Dark Lord's door at top speed, an attempt that ended with him blasting through the door and zooming towards his lord. The door had absorbed most of the Death Eater's momentum, cushioning the blow at the price of splattering the Lord of Riddle Manor with debris of his door (ain't Karma a bitch?) and then McNair hit. Lord Voldemort stumbled and fell backwards, McNair on top of him in a compromising position, their legs entangled. A train of hummingbirds circled over their heads, humming at them mockingly, as only hummingbirds can.

"Get off me, you fool! Gerrof!" The Dark Lord moaned. McNair wasn't moving. Lord Voldemort, now fast developing a headache, pushed him away and came from under him, disentangling his legs on the way. He watched McNair's limp form, poked him in the ribs a little. McNair writhed a little, then lay still. There was nothing to do for it, so he decided to call Severus to take a look at McNair and give him some medical help. He lifted McNair's left arm and pulled up his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark. For some reason, it appeared to mock him to day, but that may have been a trick of the eye. Touching his wand to the Mark, he whispered "Morsmodre" and waited for Snape to arrive. And waited. And waited. And waited. Then, he waited some more, until he was blue of waiting and, becoming angrier and angrier, he went out to look for Lucius. He found him shaking Rabastan Lastarange's, not his hand. That struck the Dark Lord as odd, but he was undeterred.

"Lucius," he called out.

"Yes, my lord," said Lucius, always eager to please his master (and every pretty boy he could put his hands on, but that's another story).

"Lucius, I have been summoning Severus for the past twenty minutes and he fails to arrive. Please contact your son and ask him why does Severus tardy."

"Yes my lord. I will see to it at once." offered Malfoy

"See that you do." agreed the Dark Lord dangerously. As Lucuis made his way out, Lord Voldemort turned on Lastrange, smiling evilly. "Crucio!" was the only legible thing anyone standing outside the room could have heard coming out of it for a while.

Lucius Malfoy made his way to the grater, threw in some Floo powder, stuck his head in and called "Hogwarts School, Headmaster's Office".

In his office, Albus Dumbledore was surprised to receive a call from Lucius Malfoy, of all people.

"Hello, Headmaster," greeted Malfoy, muttering to himself "old coot."

"Why, Hello, Lucius. What can I do for you this fine day?" inquired the aforementioned coot.

"Could you please call my son here, I have some urgent family matter to discuss with him."

Albus Dumbledore was saddened. "My! I hope nothing unsavoury has befallen you, Lucius." he said.

"No, no, nothing of the sort. Just please call my son, I am pressed for time."

"Very well, I shell." answered the headmaster, and summoned a house-elf to summon a student to summon young Draco.

Draco Malfoy was affronted at being pulled out of his class (which happened to be potions, and he had already set in motion a chain reaction that would blow up Potter and Weasley's cauldron and cover them, and the Gryffindors near them, with gooey, sooty, yacky stuff.) to see the headmaster, until he came in and so his father.

"Hello Father," he started. "I trust all is well with you and with mother?"

"All is well, Draco, but I wanted to ask you - the Dark Lord wanted to ask you - he has been trying to summon Snape for the past twenty minutes, yet Snape doesn't come. I want you to find out why, and either report back to me, or, if possible, send Snape ahead to our Master's lair." ordered his father.

"Yes, father. I will not fail you".

Albus Dumbledore was saddened to see his young pupil running errands for the Dark Lord. There was nothing he could do, save letting him get away with any misdeeds he did, in hope that he would see the light and realized that crime did not pay, thus leading to his repent, remorse and redemption.

Down in the dungeons, in the potion lab, a cauldron exploded just as Theodore Nott pretended to stumble, fall and knock it down. With no professor Snape around, it was up to Madam Pomphrey to fish out pewter chunks out of his body. Some of the smaller bits, however, made it into his blood stream and started circulating. Theodore Nott would later suffer from a lead-poisoning-derived insanity, but no one would notice the difference, until the day he would throw himself off the buttresses on top the Divination Tower, only to get caught in his collar by the window sill of the divination classroom. Sybil Trelawney, who had been "Seeing" the Grim only moments before, got the scare of her life from his shouts, and had her first, and sadly, last, heart attack. As she collapsed, dieing, on the cold stone floor, her head hit the closet holding her delicate china, sending four dozen tea-cups sailing through the air, going through the window, crashing all over Theodore Nott, who plummeted down to his death, only to have his fall cushioned by a thorny bush. The bush was currently serving host for a swarm of very angry billywigs, who took the wrong turn on the way to Australia and somehow ended in Scotland. The all stung Theodore now, and the boy started levitating up in growing and growing speed, hitting his head on the window sill on his way, and was never seen again. But that's another story entirely.

Draco Malfoy was disappointed when Potter showed up relatively intact.

Fifteen minutes after Draco Malfoy called on him, a very harassed Severus Snape was examining the remains of one Walden McNair, recently deceased, while recovering from a long spell under the Cruciatus Curse himself. He was able to determined that McNair was dead for over half an hour (which Is why the Dark Mark on his forearm failed to function), having drowned in his own blood after a broken rib punctured his lungs, and told his master there was nothing he could do. Apparently, he missed his basic Death Eater training, and forgot that telling his master he had nothing to do was not a wise thing to do. He ended up having to clear and clean the Dark Throne room on his own, and without magic.

When he came back to Hogwarts, he made Potter and Weasley do the same to his classroom. He just knew - he didn't know how he knew, but he knew instinctively - that had to be Potter's fault somehow.

Surprisingly enough, for the first time in his life, he was actually right. In some twisted, roundabout way, it had all been Potter's fault.

Finally alone in his clean and quiet throne room, Lord Voldemort settled with a heavy heart to read his letter. The letter turned out to be several letters.

The first said,

Dear no first name applied Voldemort, squire,

The Union postal service notified us you are subjected to subset 17, clause 6 of the Forrest Life Preservation act. You are to pay a fine of no less then seven thousand, three hundred and six gold galleons and sixteen bronze knots to the Union coffers, as well as one low-level magical follower who would volunteer to have our R&D department do experiments on him, to be possible concluded with his death, and probably quite some time after. That, of course, is in addition to restitution to the postal service directly, to the amount of no less the one hundred and thirty seven gold galleons, three silver sickles and two knots.

Meuhahahahaha!

Hahahahaha!

Signed,

Percival Ignatius Wetherby, Dark-and-Moste-Sadistic-Lord-of-the-Desk

Department of Chancellery and Goblinish Machinations

International Dark Lords Union

The next one read,

Dear no first name applied Voldemort, squire,

The members of the board of the Union directed your letter to my desk at the RD&D department here at Anachreon. What in the name of Anachronous were you thinking? Our team debated about your disposition, then we asked the help of our expert. We turned to Insane-Evil-Chaotic-Extremely-Dangerous-Treat-With-Caution Master Dark Lord Rorschach for advice, and he came with the following suggestions. You will need five male subjects, or victims if you may, and have…

Lord Voldemort continued reading, his hopes and prospects growing with every word.

The letter concluded, signed by

Frighteningly Dark, Thank-You-Very-Much, Lord Tinki-Winki

Mind and Nerve Damage Magic Division

Research, Develop & Destroy Department

International Dark Lords Union

By Now, Lord Voldemort was smiling evilly.

He called some of his Death Eaters and summoned some more.

"Bella, go and find me five well endowed muggle men and bring them back here. Do not play with them Belle, I need them unharmed and intact. Lucius - " Bellatrix Lastrange interrupted him. Luckily for her, he was in a god mood and let it pass. For now.

"What do you mean endowed, Master?" she had to ask.

"What do you think? Find me people that have great, large, long, thick, girthy penises. Comprehendesque?"

Bellatrix wasn't sure what he said exactly, but got his intention,. She made her excuses and left to her home.

"Lucius, I want you to be on the lookout for young, pretty witches of proper blood and families and find everything you can about them. Also, get me a bloody house-elf."He paused, thinking. "No, don't make it bloody," he added when he saw the nasty smile gracing Lucius Malfoy's lips. "just get it here."

"Crabbe, Goyle," Lord Voldemort paused. "go to Knockturn Alley and get me a new door. And get yourself some decent first names to go by, How can anyone know If I'm calling you or your soon-to-be-initiated sons, anyway?".

The two half-trolls nodded.

"Severus, I require a shrinking potion, have it ready by eight a clock this evening."

"Yes, my lord", answered the harassed potion-maker.

"Bruce, I understand you have a young daughter at the age of 16?"

"Yes, my lord, her name is Daphne", answered Mr. Greengrass.

"And you, Flug? Ollie?"

"Yes my lord, Pansy" said Mr. Parkinson, followed by "Yes my lord, Milicent", from Mr. Bulstrude.

"Good, good. I expect the three of you to send the to me before the end of the week. Dismissed."

"And the Dark Lord sat to have a drink, happy and light-hearted. "Wormtail" he called, but no one answered. He thought about trying to "Accio" Wormtail, then thought better of it. Having McNair on top of him was enough for one day. He didn't need the rat too. "The Rat!" Lord Voldemort suddenly exclaimed! He could summon the rat to him, surely, a rat is small, soft and furry, if he'll drop on him, he would squish it right back! "Meuhahahahaha", he laughed evilly at his plan, and started casting "Accio Rat". At that same moments, The Dark Lord's pet snake, Nagini, slithered from under his throne. Lord Voldemort, upon seeing her, reflexively slipped into Parseltounge, and so the last word came out sounding more like "Ratsssss".

Half a minute later, a great mass of furry, grey, brown and black, squeaking, shifting something has flown over towards Lord Voldemort, knocking him on his behind on impact. Even with a house-elf, the old mansion was very big and hard to care for, and harboured many a hungry rat in it's hollowed halls. Right now, most of them were scampering to get away from an enraged Dark Lord and a very pleased snake.

"sssOh, Masssster! ssssss You do the besssst thingssss for me! ssssss" hissed Nagini, happily pursuing the rats around the room.

Over the apparition point, Goyle asked Crabbe, "why does the Dark Lord need a doll?"

Later that evening, when Severus Snape returned with the shrinking potion his master asked for, he was pressed, again, to wipe the remains of so many blasted rats from the floor and walls of the Dark Throne room. When he was finally done, he had a last service to do.

"Severus, hand me your arm," commanded his master.

"What?" quipped the bewildered Death Eater.

"Your arm, man, your arm. Hand me your arm! Good gracious, what don't you understand?" Inwards, the Dark Lord was seething. What on Earth has possessed him to say "good gracious"? Losing his membership at the Union and revoking his Dark-Lord status was beginning to affect him. 'Damn compulsion charms!' he cursed silently.

A "Morsmodre", "Stupify" and three minutes later, and Lord Voldemort had a shrunken, stunned Montague in his hands. He conjured a box and some sponges, placed Montague gently inside, closed it and wrapped it neatly. No one in the Union would accuse him of not paying his dues.