The Sex Slaves of Potter

by Aeryn3

Seeing through the manipulations of Dumbledore and faced with the threat of Voldemort, Harry Potter creates his own army with sex slaves. Harry/Harem. Dark!Evil! Powerful!Harry

1. 1

Chapter 1

Harry shut his eyes tight, determined not to watch the disgusting scene in front of him. His arm still throbbed in pain where Wormtail had carved into his arm, and he could not stomach watching his own blood revive his greatest nemesis - not after witnessing Cedric's death. He fought down the urge to retch, when suddenly, he gasped, his whole body overcome with a powerful sensation, a jolting that seemed to reach down into the very depths of his heart.

His eyes jumped open, widening further as he saw his blood being added to the gruesome scene in front of him, and realizing that the raw.../power/ he was feeling could very well be aconsequence of this ritual. He quickly pulled himself away from such thoughts, focusing on just how he was going to escape, when just as quickly as the first time, he felt a flash in the center of his mind, obliterating all his senses for a fraction of second.

It was over as soon as it had begun...but it left a mark that remained much longer. Harry, tied to a gravestone and watching the reptilian figure rising from the cauldron, suddenly had an epiphany.

He was powerful. The figure in front of him may be the most feared Dark Lord of a century, but it was /his /blood that now ran through the creature's veins. Harry's scar began to sting, yet for the first time, he felt no pain. It was...comforting, pleasurable even.

Again, a flash - emotions began to pour into Harry's mind - hatred for the sheep that populated the wizarding world, contempt for those who sought to limit his undeniable power. Arevelation, an awareness of just how much power he contained, how great he could be.

For a brief moment, Harry fought these foreign feelings, but the temptation, the growing desire to not only accept them, but to flourish under their guidance...Harry's mind became a blur, and again with a shocking abruptness, everything was clear. There was no fear, no sympathy for his fallen co-champion. Only the need to escape, to live to fight another day.

Voldemort was addressing him now, and he was untied, forced to stand against this monster that was now his family through blood, a connection that had been forged thirteen years ago now completed. Death Eaters had appeared, presumably summoned while Harry was lost in thought. They were not important, only the one he now faced could be deemed an equal.

Even so, he would have to die. Though perhaps not today.

/Crucio/. Harry's thoughts were halted as every fiber of his being screamed in pain, his scream ringing out in the dark cemetery. Finally, mercifully, the pain ended, and Harry panted for breath. Now was not the time for idle thoughts. Fight or flight, whichever proved easier.

Avada Kedavra./Expelliarmus./Harry watched in fascination as the two wands met, a cage of raw magic surrounding the two combatants. Strangely, it seemed spirits...ghosts? were appearing, perhaps torn from their rest by this magical phenomenon. Two of the ghosts were his parents, he was certain. Another was Diggory. Again, there was no emotion, simply recognition - they appeared to be on his side. The ghosts seemed to attack his enemy, the wands' magical effect broken between the two.

Harry grabbed Diggory's body, and immediately summoned the port key. He realized he had changed, that he was not the same person who had entered this nightmare. He was not wholly different either. No matter, he had an entire summer, no doubt in isolation to figure everything out.

For now, he would return the body and keep his thoughts to himself. When he had time, he would evaluate his new situation, figure out how best to exploit it. With that final thought, the Cup flew into his outstretched hand, and Harry - with the body, disappeared from the graveyard. Cedric Diggory was dead, and perhaps, so too was Harry Potter.

"Dementors in Little Whinging?" Madam Bones said in tones of great surprise. "I don't understand –"

"Don't you Amelia?" said Fudge, still smirking. "Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided dementors would be a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see dementors, can they boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient... so it's just your word and no witnesses…"/

Oh how my blood boils listening to this incompetent twat. As if I would throw a patronus into the air just for shits and grins when it's obvious half the wizarding world is aching to see me taken down a peg or two, the Minister of Magic right in the thick of them. I may only have four years worth of spells, but if I was going to get myself thrown out of school I'd have at least taken Dudley down with a hearty dismemberment jinx, not some sodding patronus.

Dumbledore's still not looking anywhere near me, but it's obvious what his game is. Poor Harry needs the Great Dumbledore to save him from the big bad minister. Not anymore. I've tuned out the rest of Fudge's 'explanation'. He's winding down – time to stir this pot for good.

"I, Harry James Potter, do swear on my life and magic that I was attacked by two dementors near my home in Little Whinging on the 2nd of August, 1995."

Silence…Absolute silence. And then, pandemonium.

"Order!" screamed Fudge, quickly turning a shade of red that could very well challenge Vernon. "Mr. Potter, the magical oath is an extremely important procedure. An underage wizard like yourself…attempting to harness such powers… your sheer arrogance…"

He's spluttering now, and no one in the entire gallery is giving him any notice whatsoever. "Minister Fudge, I am well aware of the requirements and obligations of a magical oath. Magic, unlike bureaucrats, does not discriminate between age."

The whole lot of them are staring at me now…well except Dumbledore. He's tense, I can't see his eyes, but he's obviously against everything I'm currently doing. "Minister" I add in a sickeningly sweet tone. "As my continued existence verifies my defense, might I have your oath that the Dementors are in fact under ministry control?"

Gasps all around. No one, butno oneeverdemandsan oath, least of all from the Minister of Magic. I'm quickly found to be out of order, but it doesn't matter – no one here is going to find against me now, not today anyway. Rather quickly I'm rushed out of the courtroom, catching mutterings from Fudge about "investigations" and "impossible situations".

To be honest, I'm tempted to take an oath about seeing Voldemort return, but I hold my tongue. Fudge was right about the value of oaths, and it wouldn't do to see me as the boy-who-swore-every time-he-was-right. Could set a dangerous precedent, and I've still got a much greater and certainly much smarter, manipulative old goat on my tail.

Professor Dumbledore was, to say the least, concerned. He had spent the summer reflecting on the previous encounter between Harry and Voldemort. Naturally, he assumed the boy would be upset, but his wariness at the strengthened connection between the boy and the Dark Lord led him to place Harry in isolation. If Voldemort could readily access Harry's mind, then any letters from his friends, however harmless in content, would nonetheless alert Voldemort to those people whom Harry held close to his heart.

However, none of that compared to his current feeling of uneasiness. Gone was the insecure boy he had expected to find. This Harry had stood up to the Minister himself, in front of the Wizengamot no less, and had defended himself more effectively than Dumbledore had hoped to have done. Now, more than ever, it was necessary to keep the boy close – anything less could result in the destruction of the world Dumbledore had been cultivating for close to a century.

"Harry my boy" Dumbledore said in a low tone, daring to meet his eyes if only for a short moment. "I cannot say how pleased I am that you have been cleared of your charges. However, your actions were foolish and rash. You must learn to control your emotions. I am here to help you anyway I can, it is not necessary to lash out at those around you."

"Yes, Headmaster" Harry answered demurely. "I just…after seeing my mother's ghost and thinking of her sacrifice…it hurts so much to see all her hard work mocked. I'll try harder sir."

Ah, so that was the case. Undoubtedly the boy had spent three months internalizing his grief. No matter, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasly would be helpful in having Harry stable by the semester's start.

"It's no problem Harry. I understand your grief, but we must not let our grief consume us. If you ever need to talk Harry, there are many of us who always have time for you, myself included."

"Thank you sir," Harry muttered, eyes downcast. The two had by this time left the outer wards of the Ministry of Magic, and Dumbledore handed Harry a keychain, stated the keyword "Bubblemint" and as Harry disappeared, lost himself to coming up with a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, they were so very hard to find these days…

One moment Harry was crashing down into the dark kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The next, he was being bombarded by a mass of redheaded faces.

"Harry! What happened –"

"Oh you poor dear, I hope everything –"

"Mate, what's going on?"

"Harry, are you ok?"

Harry winced at the cacophony of these people. Just because they appeared to be a gang of inbred hillbillies surely they could have some semblance of manners? /I bet Malfoy doesn't have to put up with the likes of this/. Harry snorted, imagining Lucius shouting in a high pitched tone while Draco jumped up and down.

"Everything's fine" said Harry in what he hoped was a grateful tone. "I've been cleared of all charges, so I get to go back to school." Deciding not to tell them exactlyhowhe got off – the two Weasly women had done more than enough screeching in the last five minutes, Harry mentioned he was tired from the ordeal and would like to have a quick nap, leaving behind a gang of smiling faces.

After I left that gawping house of monkeys in the kitchen, I headed up the stairs to the room I'm sharing with Ron. I'll have to talk to Sirius about that – I've got things to accomplish before school starts and having some idiot go on about quidditch and chess isn't going to help any. Maybe I could pull the'how I wish I could live here with you'and wheedle myself into my own room – hell I can even play up the idea of never having my own room, which isn't really a lie at all. My own cupboard maybe, but not my own room.

Speaking of which, where is Sirius, and for that matter, Hermione? Ungrateful lot, I almost get thrown in the clink and Sirius can't be get out of bed to see me home. Hermione's probably got her nose in a book somewhere. Can't really fault her for that anymore – I've been doing the same all summer, trying to learn what I should have known years ago. You'd think three attacks on my life would have made me a quick learner – guess number four was the charm. Even so, the girl could stand to be a little more…compassionate.

I close the door to the bedroom. Part of me wants to lock it, but to be honest I'm not sure how the Fidelus works with Ministry magic detection. My ignorance knows no bounds. Even if I could get away scot-free, the others might find out, and seeing that I was just threatened with expulsion for non-essential magic, probably not a good idea. But then…

"Kreacher!" I bellow. The disgusting little elf comes into the room with a pop. "Filthy little half-blood, worming into Mistress's house. Nasty Mudbloods reading Mistress's books…" Well I was right about Hermione. "Kreacher" I say a little softer, could you please lock this door for me; I feel we need to talk." The elf stops his murmurings, surprised at my tone, but his eyes glare with hatred, so it's obvious politeness will not win him over. He does as he's told, locking the door and turning towards me. "What does the filthy boy want?"

Time to try another tactic. "You will call me Master Harry; I want the same as you – to restore the noble and most ancient house of Black, and to rid this house of the Mudbloods and blood traitors. I offer you a place under my lordship." His eyes open wide – gullible little shit. "Boy will respect Mistresses wishes?" I nod. "Kreacher accepts Master. What would Master have Kreacher do?"

I grin; I like to think it can be described as 'cold' or 'feral'. "You must continue to act as you have previously done. You are forbidden to acknowledge me as your master in public. You are forbidden to mention any part of our arrangement. But most importantly, you must allow me entry into the Library in the House of Black, and forbid entry to all others." The elf nods. This is far easier than I anticipated.

After Kreacher left, after assuring the young master that no magic could be detected through the wards, Harry unlocked the door and lay down on his bed. He had been upstairs for no longer than ten minutes, and undoubtedly the gangly Weasly idiot and his equally annoying sister were searching for the bookworm to bludgeon Harry with even more useless questions – never mind it was they who had insisted on obeying Dumbledore to the letter and leaving him alone all summer. Sure enough, he soon found himself again tackled by two witches, and another grating round of patented Herwhining.

"Oh Harry, I'm so pleased you're alright. Really, it's dreadful! I've spent all morning looking up the Statute of Secrecy and it's barbaric! Not to mention its obvious prejudice to muggleborns…" Hermione rambled. "Hermione, calm down. I'm fine, just a little tired and all."

"Are you sure? I could get you something if you w-want? Maybe some soup?" Ginny offered. Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry's tired Gin, not sick. Mate, when you're up for it, how about a chess match? It's been bloody awful here really – cleaning every day,without magic.If it wasn't for the muggles, I'd have offered to switch places with you in a heartbeat."

Harry sighed, they really were predictable. "I really appreciate everything – really. But for now, I just want to sleep a bit. But…I want you to know that I'm really thankful. After what I've been through today, it's nice to know I have friends who will stick up for me no matter what."

The three of them seemed to blush a bit, before telling him to call if he needed anything and that they'd let him rest for now.

Harry woke up a few hours later, and trudged downstairs, past the screeching portrait of Mrs. Black. Her uninterrupted ranting led Harry to presume she was still ignorant of his current situation, which was small comfort. Knowing what little he did it was obvious that this painting held complete control over the ugly elf. Heading into the kitchen, Harry plastered an enormous grin on his face, running to Sirius and giving the man a hug.

"Heard you got yourself out of that mess quite nicely Pup – taking after James, eh?" Sirius grinned back at the boy. "Now that you know how it's done, I suppose I'd better let you in on a few pranks we used to play – no underage magic rules back at school are there?" Harry did feel a sincere sense of joy when listening to Sirius, if nothing else seemed to genuinely care about his happiness, and while Harry couldn't say much for the man's backbone (it had been two years since he'd been promised a place in the house, and still nothing from Sirius' end), he did feel that Sirius did have his well being sincerely in his heart.

Molly was far too smothering, as evidenced by her current glare. "Harry, the headmaster mentioned a few things you didn't…we're thrilled you got off, but what you did was by no means –" "What my wife means, Harry", Arthur interrupted with a look of apology and a tinge of fear toward his spouse, "is that the minister, regardless of his attitude, deserves some level of respect, if only for his position."

"Ah, like Snape then" Harry replied innocently. Ron and the twins attempted to stifle their chortling, while Sirius bellowed a deep laugh. "Harry, you really mustn't be so impertinent" Hermione sighed.

With a shrug, Harry began to dig into the dinner laid before him. He ignored Molly's fussing over his being too thin – really the cure was obvious – remove him from the Dursely's. As that seemed to be beyond their aptitude, he didn't bother bringing up anything about it.

After he had finished seconds on everything, and after waiting for Ron to shovel down an extra helping on top of that, Molly shoed the children out of the room, causing Harry to send a questioning look to Ron. Ron simply nodded and jerked his head towards the stairs.

Arriving at the top of the stairwell, Harry turned to the rest of the group. "Right then, what is that lot up to that we had to suddenly leave for?"

"It's called the Order of the Phoenix" Ron put in excitedly. "It's a group to fight back against you-know-who. This is Headquarters – s'why Dumbledore put up the Fidelus Charm."

That was important to remember, Harry thought. Dumbledore had not hidden Sirius's home so he might have someplace to stay. No, he had done it to protect his little club.

"Dumbledore is in charge, naturally" Hermione added. "He started the group in the first war, and now it's being brought back ever since…" Hermione stopped, obviously trying to not think about what had happened during the third task, and obviously failing.

"Anyway", George added, picking the conversation back up,

"Fred and me came up with–"

"Extendable Ears, so we can listen in on what's being said –"

"Unless they put up privacy charms –"

"Which they do from time to time –"

"No idea why –"

"But anyway –"

"We get a good idea of most of what's going on" the two twins finished together.

"So what is going on?" Harry asked, genuinely curious to find out what was being done in the fight against Voldemort.

"Ah well…not much" the twins had the grace to look abashed. "They're still recruiting obviously, but with the Prophet slandering you and Dumbledore and denying everything…well there's only so much they can do."

"But Harry" Hermione broke through the twins' battle of words, "After today, somethinghasto happen, the Ministry knows you were attacked, so either Voldemort is behind it or else someone in the Ministry is attacking you. Either way, it shakes their credibility…"

"Nice to know it takes my death to do that" Harry grumbled.

Hermione frowned. "Harry you know I… that's not what I meant…"

Any potential bickering was thwarted by shushing from the twins as they handed out the flesh colored strings. Watching the others, Harry placed it next to his ear, listening to the hushed voices coming from the kitchen. He couldn't make out the individual voices, they all sounded fuzzy and mechanical, but as the twins had promised, he could gain the gist of the meeting.

"…the brat should be expelled for his impertinence alone!"

"Now Severus, one can hardly blame young Harry after the trauma he has faced."

"Albus…perhaps it would have been wise…at least on his birthday?"

"…Safety must be our first concern."

"Moving on…"

"Our agent at the Prophet seems to believe that Mr. Potter's outcry will force the ministry to backpedal on its more aggressive stances…about time"

"Albus…Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yes good news…the Minister has backed off from appointing a candidate…no doubt due to young Harry's attack…Professor Slughorn…out of retirement. Professor Snape—"

Suddenly the conversation was cut off, and the group snuck back into the bedroom Ron and Harry currently shared. After the twins locked the door and added privacy charms, /can't have us being given back our own medicine, they began to discuss what this news meant.

"Reckon this Slug character is out new defense teacher – funny name. Still, I wander what he was going to say about the Greasy Git."

Ron snorted, "Dunno mate, maybe he's being sacked for lack of hygiene"

/Oh, the irony, thought Harry.

Hermione harrumphed at that but said nothing except, "I imagine the Professor was simply moving the meeting forward again. Really, it's not as though Professor Snape is going to do anything to us that he hasn't already been doing for the last four years."

"Yes, like making life in general a living hell" Harry muttered darkly.

Hermione sighed again, and Ginny finally spoke up again, pointing out that they should probably get to bed if they were going to be woken early to clean the house.

With that, the group said their good-nights and went to bed.

At first I thought leaving the Dursley's would have made for a better summer. Now, I'm not so sure. Dumbledore is watching me, I'm sure of it. He knows I'm up to something. My first morning after the trial, I went to talk with Sirius, asking about maybe having my own room. He agreed, but only after I poured out some sob story about hoping to be a real family. And when I brought up the fact I wanted to spend more time with him instead of cleaning the house for Molly, he started to fidget and said I should help for, and I quoteif nothing else but to spend time with your friends.That has Dumbledore all over it.

Not to mention, I know that we can all use magic in this house, but we have to do everything the muggle way. I know how to better than anyone else – thank you very much, Vernon, but it still galls – I'm a servant for a different master.

Ron brought up something to this effect, and Hermione started whining about House Elf Rights. I'm thinking of making my own counter group:

/Magic Users Deploring Biased, Ludicrous and Unfound Dissertations/. I could call it Mudblud for short. Hell on that basis alone I could get a quarter of the school to join, which is about a quarter of the school more than Spew will ever get.

The one success I have had is with Kreacher. Disgusting thing he is, he is veryverygood at doing what he does – namely, being a sneaky little shit. Nobody is onto our informal alliance, and he has been going through the library, arranging it into a hideaway for me as soon as I get out of open sights for more than half a second. He even found me a few books that he mentioned all "Young Black Masters" are expected to know by heart. Most are rather dry – family law, English wizarding law, pureblood law, etc. but even I can acknowledge their value and begin improving my basic knowledge of wizarding culture.

Far more interesting however, are the two other books. The first is rather small, and very worn. It's titledThe Arts, Sciences, and Magiks of the Mind.Turns out that trained wizards can read the minds of the unsuspecting if sharing direct eye contact with the person in question. The fact Dumbledore has been specifically looking away from me makes me suspect something greater is at work here, but regardless, this is undeniably useful.

The other volume is much larger, and is a basic book of black magic. Who would have guessed that even a sadistic bastard like Lucius would have started with such classics asVirtrosso, the 'Brittle Bone Curse' or the Insomnia Jinx, /Amorphi.I'm tempted to give Ron a quick dash of /Profugus, my personal favorite (in theory I suppose, as I've yet to see it in action). Still, I like the idea of cursing Ron with a migraine the next time I wake up to the pain of "just my scar".

I've started formulating a plan for next year. It's going to be a pain in the ass to execute, with Dumbledore or one of his gophers being a hop, skip and jump from my arsehole every time I turn around, but something I've read in the pureblood laws has me thinking. Magic attracts magic.

It makes sense, but it's far more profound that the book realizes. The connection between me and Voldemort was strong, even before he took my blood. Hell, even the fact that blood is magic is a giveaway. Basically, I'm beginning to think that Magic is itself a primal force, a semi-sentient being. It searches for an alpha, and clings itself to the greater source. Why else would a group of purebloods grovel before Voldemort in the pathetic state he was in after his resurrection? Why else would so many seem to trust Dumbledore for no reason other than his word? And why am I kept under such close watch?

It's because I have power, power that Dumbledore recognizes, power that Voldemort pointed out to me at the end of first year. Twice now, Voldemort has taken from me but in the process, has given me parts of himself as well. I can feel it thrumming through my blood, through my scar. I am going to prove that I am not weak, but that I have the strength to seize the power that is my gift, my right. And so, next school year – two weeks from today – I am going to begin the creation of my own circle, and destroy the two who oppose me.

Just as the residents of Grimmauld Place sat down for breakfast on the 15th of August, a flock of owls came flocking through, upsetting the jug of milk and generally causing a disturbance to the awaking group. However, all eyes suddenly shot up – well aware that these were the annual Hogwarts letters.

Grabbing his from the small grey barn owl which had landed neatly besides his plate, Harry opened the letter without trepidation. He was not anxious about being a prefect, and so was not at all concerned when his letter contained nothing more than the standard list of required texts and supplies as well as the formal acknowledgment/warning that he was entering his O.W.L. year.

His musing over the texts was interrupted from a shrill shriek next to him.

"I did it! I made prefect!" Hermione screamed, oblivious to the eye rolls around her. "Good on you dear", Molly smiled, and then glared as she caught the twins trying to knick her badge. Looking to his left, Harry noticed that Ron was not any of his usual shades of red – rather he was looking quite ill. "I…I got one too."

The silence gave Harry a shocking sense of déjà vu – but the resulting pandemonium was far more cheerful than that at the ministry.

"Oh, my baby boy – I'm so proud. That's four prefects in this family." Mrs. Weasly beamed with pride. "Yes well, coming from us", Fred (or George) commented, "that's not a compliment befitting a Weasly." Molly glared, but was still too overcome with joy to truly get upset. Ginny muttered jokingly about Ron using his position to encourage pranking as opposed to stopping it, earning an exasperated huff from Hermione.

Harry sat there, grinning and praising his friends, and slightly relieved at how well this worked out.Old goat probably wanted to punish me for the ministry, but in fact he's given me a bit of breathing room.Harry's smile was sincere, but its reason was not what those around him assumed it to be.

After breakfast, Molly mentioned that she would be buying the years supply of texts, as it would be too dangerous for them to leave the protection of headquarters. Harry hid his eye roll,as if Death Eaters are going to pick out the Weasly's out of hundreds of shopping families in the center of wizarding London.However, Harry was ill at ease to part with his Gringott's key, and he was interested in buying a number of…extracurricular reading material.

"Mrs. Weasly…I appreciate the offer, but I thought I'd just order all my supplies through Owl Order this year."

"Now dear, that won't be necessary. It's no trouble for us to pick them up with the others."

Harry hid a scowl – the stubbornness of this woman! "Thank you but…I would rather just get my stuff separately."

Mrs. Weasly frowned but said nothing more, and Harry was thankful when Tonks took that moment to come crashing through the front door, saying Dumbledore had alerted her of today's plans and that she had arrived to escort Mr. and Mrs. Weasly to Diagon Alley.

As soon as they left, Ron turned on Harry. He had been cold ever since Harry had moved out of their room, when Harry reasoned they shared a room all year, and it would be nice to have privacy if only for a little while. The apparent rebuffing of his mother's offer had Ron quick to judge – as such things often did.

"Harry, just what was that about! Mum's offer was reasonable…not like she was gonna steal your key –". "Ron!" Hermione gasped, "I'm sure that's not what Harry meant – is it Harry." Hermione was tiring of having to play the arbiter between the two boys.

"No, of course not…Ron, I'm sorry if you think I've been turning my back on your family what with the room and all. It's just…my clothes. I thought this year I'd buy myself some proper clothes, not just wear my cousin's rags under my robes. And through the catalogue, I can pick everything myself – I've never got to do that before. Even in first and second year I only got what was on the list..."

Ron had the sense to look embarrassed. "Sorry mate, no hard feelings right? How about I turn a blind eye if I catch you snogging in the broom closets?" Harry grinned. "Yeh mate, no hard feelings."

The remaining two weeks before September 1st flew by. Harry was, on the surface, returning to his old self. He talked quidditch with Ron over chess, even going so far as to throw out the opinion that the Cannonsmighthave trouble this year against the favorites – The Pride of Portee. It was ludicrous, the Cannons would finish in last, but it was enjoyable banter none the less.

Hermione talked about their assignments, and was impressed that not only had Harry finished all his summer work long before the final week of holidays, but he had gone the extra mile, reading ahead in potions. She may have disagreed with his reasoning, /that'll show that greasy git, but it was a positive step in the right direction, even if poorly motivated.

These last two weeks have been a nightmare. I've finished all of Kreacher's selected reading except the dark arts book, which I really can't think of a way to get to school. I've been practicing Occlumency, a skill to protect one from prying minds. Don't know if it really works, as Dumbledore is still avoiding me, but my nightmares are less vivid – though again I don't know if that's due to my end or Voldemort's.

Even so, I've only managed to get done a fraction of what I wanted. I've tried hinting to Sirius that I should be able to do practical magic here, but he hasn't budged from the Dumbledore line. I've reread four years of theory, but it's going to take more than that to accomplish anything.

Kreacher has prepared the library, but I have yet to actually see it, let alone learn anything in there. Again, someone is always watching me, and while I have my own room, I'm nervous to lock it for any real length of time.

Small steps, painfully small steps of progress. Both Hermione and Ron being prefects is a massive boon in my opinion. Not that Ron deserves it, but there you go. Having done all my summer work also had the pleasant result of Hermione getting off my back and onto Ron's, which disturbing images aside was a nice change of pace. I've even made an attempt to get ahead in Potions.

Won't to any good as far as grades go I expect, but buyingBasic Laws of Potion Makingcertainly improved my general knowledge in the field, and will at the very least allow me to give as good as I get in the annual "sabotage-the-other-house-potions" brawl that inevitably breaks out from the word 'go'.

Buying my own supplies also turned out to be like pulling teeth. Honestly, how anyone could make such a big deal overthatjust proves what a twat Ron really is. I really can't wait to see the look on his face this morning. It's true I wanted to buy some real clothes for once, but it was more so that I had an excuse to buy other, less acceptable items.

My potion kit has a couple of items that one wouldn't find out of place in a junior apprentice's store – powdered thestral hoof for instance. Not to mention the bezoar that I've decided to keep on me at all times, Constant Vigilance and all that. I've also bought a new pair of glasses. They look identical to my previous pair, as I don't want word to get out that I've got them. They're the right prescription though, and are charmed to repel dirt and water, as well as summoning charms. It's a small wonder Malfoy never pulled an "accio glasses" on me, but then I never have accused him of being sharp.

The other reason I needed to do my own shopping is that it's high time I started acting like the pureblood I'm supposed to be. A look at the Potter family tree found inPureblood Genealogyshows I'm the last Potter of a line that magically dates back to the 1300's – and it's about time I showed it. A healthy supply of nutrition and growth potions should start the process of getting my body into the shape it needs to be in, and my new robes are not the ordinary cut, but woven from Egyptian black cotton, a high quality without being ostentatious.

Personally, I'm making bets on just how long it takes Ron to make a snide comment.

Harry woke up early on the morning of September 1st. He had packed everything last night, not wanting to risk leaving behind any of his more unorthodox purchases. He donned a set of his new clothes, enjoying both the comfort of the fit and the material – pleasures he'd never truly experienced. His robes would have to wait until he arrived on the train, but he had tried them on the night before, and was left wondering why he hadn't made such purchases long ago.

Opening the door, he heard the first of what was sure to be many frantic shouts and mutterings of last minute packing. Harry took his trunk down to the kitchen, where he had asked Tonks to shrink it for him (best to keep the self-shrinking charms a secret if he could). Hedwig had been released the night before, allowed to hunt and fly herself to Hogwarts after spending much of the previous week flying packages to Harry from various merchants in Diagon Alley.

As such, Harry was able to enjoy the rather humorous exhibit of 5 children and an angry mother rush around picking up spare socks and cauldron ladles. The twins secretly confessed to Harry that they were smuggling the first of what promised to be many shipments of Weasly Wizarding Wheezes, culminating in nearly 200 individual packages of 'Flatulence Fudge'.

Leaving the house to King's Cross was a crowd of the six students, Mr. Weasly, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks (under the guise of Mrs. Weasly), and Mad Eye Moody – apparently under the guise of a man in a trench coat and a fedora who just decided to go for a stroll with a group of kids.Inconspicuous indeed,thought Harry.

"You lot stay safe this year, no adventures!" Mr. Weasly said as they prepared to board the Hogwarts Express.

Yes, because I'm always up for a round of 'find the death eater'Harry thought to himself.

"Constant Vigilance! Now more than ever before." Moody bellowed.

Tonks it seemed proved to be the happy medium. "Watcher, Harry. I know how it is. Stay safe but hit first if trouble finds you, yeh?" Harry smiled and with a nod and smile to Remus, followed the others into the train. Entering an empty compartment, Harry sat down in the opposite corner from Ginny, whose eyes seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time focusing on him.

Harry had to repress a shudder. The most emotion he could possibly muster for the smallest Weasly was sibling affection, but he feared that that alone may well be enough to make her actively pursue him. As opposed to the passive pursuing she's done thus far…incestuous little hussy. Repressing his second shudder, Harry waited for the opportunity to open to begin phase one of his greater plan. And sure enough…

"Harry, Ron and I…we have to go to the Prefect's carriage. Sorry to leave you but it's the rules and…" Hermione began to babble. "Hermione, its fine – I understand and am happy for the pair of you. I think I'm gonna go find Neville and see what he got up to this summer, walk around a bit. We'll talk later." Ron and Hermione both smiled in relief.

"See you in a bit mate. I bet it's gonna be dreadful, all those rules and stuff…" Chuckling, Harry watched Ron and Hermione leave. Perfect.

I didn't even bother looking back at Ginny when I walked out. I could practically feel her ogling as I left. Again, the fates are smiling, as a blond haired girl enters into the compartment, and she seems to know Ginny. I find an empty compartment and unshrink my trunk. A minute later, and I'm clad in a very classy robe that's a darker burgundy than the average Gryffindor robe. A good thing too – after four years of red and gold it's been getting a bit garish. Not as bad as Hufflepuff true, but miles behind Ravenclaw and dare I say it, Slytherin.

I walk down the train, and actually run into Parkinson and Malfoy heading to the Prefect meeting. Marvelous. They seem shocked to see me dressed as immaculately as them, though they cover well. Instead of the usual quip I just get ignored. Fair enough I suppose.

I stop and peek in the carriage next to me – perfect. My soon to be three favorite Slytherins – they just don't know it yet. Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis, along with three or four younger students I don't know. I step in, trying to look as if I own the place – rather difficult as a Gryffindor in a crowd of snakes.

"What do you want, Potter? Come to grace us with your presence?" Daphne taunts. I take a good look at the girl. I've never had much to do with these three. Well in all fairness, I've never said more than a dozen words to any Slytherin outside of Malfoy, but these three aren't part of the inner death nibblers, I know that much.

All three scream pureblood nobility. Daphne is quite the golden princess. Shoulder length dark blonde hair with high cheekbones and a nose that seems to naturally snub you. It's fitting – from what I've seen of her she's a sadistic bitch.

Tracey is shorter and stockier – though basing that on Daphne isn't really saying a lot. Her hair is the same color as mine, though much better trained.

Blaise is taller than Ron and probably just as gangly, but the look seems to work on him. He's dark skinned, and from what I've heard, his mother is pure-veela. Veela powers don't manifest in male offspring, but his features definitely support what I've heard.

"No" I say slowly, deliberately, after looking around the compartment. I jerk my head towards the younger years. "Greengrass, Davis, Zabini – a word please." The three seem to debate silently, before nodding and wordlessly kicking the younger ones out of the compartment. Seven glares become three, though it's not exactly a comforting thought.

"Right, now out with it Potter, what are you doing away from your pet mudblood and weasels." Blaise asks in an overly polite tone.

"My friends, to use another term, are at the prefect meeting. I've decided to…expand my rather narrow horizons."

Blaise nods, seemingly in thought. I'm sure they want to know why I so casually accepted their insults or what I'm really trying to do. Tracey attempts to rile me up.

"So the Gryffindor Golden Boy lost the prefect position to the weasel. Disappointing."

"Not so much. Seems the headmaster believes they share common traits with Malfoy and Parkinson." That stops them cold. Eyes narrow at me.

"Again Potter, what is it you want." Daphne's tone is deceivingly neutral. Oh how delicious this is going to be.

"Consider this a warning from…a friend. Sides are being drawn – and I imagine being in Slytherin there is already quite a bit of pressure to declare one's allegiances. If one were to side with the Dark Lord, I would have no reservations against killing them."

Their faces flash with indignation and shock before they are wiped clean of all emotions. Finally Blaise speaks. "Thank you Potter for this…warning. We'll be sure to consider it and remind you the inverse is also true." I nod and prepare to walk out, only to be met head on with a tiny scrap of a girl who must be one of this years firsties.

"Mr...MR P-P-Potter!" she squeaks (ah, so not a muggle-born then) "I was told Mr. Zabini was in this carriage." Blaise nods curtly. "A…a professor wants to see both of you in the front car" she runs off blushing furiously. Blaise and I exchange a look before walking in silence to the front.

Ron and Hermione are just coming out the Prefect's carriage, I suppose to begin first rounds, and look at me oddly. "Professor called me up front" I reply. They nod but the confusion is plainly written all over their faces. As we approach the front-most carriage, we are met with Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan. Upon entering, I see a dozen of my class mates, ranging 4th year to 7th. In the middle of the carriage is an enormously plump bald man with an equally enormous moustache.

"Ah now we're all here!" he replies jovially. "Welcome to what I like to call the first unofficial meeting of the Slug Club. I'm Professor Slughorn, and I can't tell you just how delighted I am to meet you all."

Professor Slughorn had a smile befitting the cat that ate the canary when he realizes just who was among these final four. "Ah, Mr. Potter, so wonderful to finally meet you. Terrible what the Prophet has been spouting. I didn't believe for a minute that the son of Lily Evans could turn out that way, not at all."

All this was said while attempting to subtly direct Harry to take the empty space across from him. Harry managed a polite smile, while sizing up the other occupants of this room. It was obvious that the Professor had brought together students of some of the most influential families in wizarding England. "Ah and Mr. Zabini, I do hope your mother is well. Ms. Bones and you must be Mr. McMillan. How is your father – I always knew he'd do well for himself. Yes, yes – welcome all of you."

Harry spent most of the meeting in silence, listening to what was being said and appraising the potential that sat within this room. He discovered that their first conception had been wrong. Professor Slughorn was the new potions master, and Snape would take on the Defense classes. /Greasy Git must be dancing, Harry smirked.

The most obvious point Harry learnt was just how connected this Slughorn fellow was. Even if half his stories were true, he had more connections to the higher ups than Lucius Malfoy, and that was saying something. Speaking of which, the younger Malfoy was conspicuously absent from this meeting, much to Harry's delight.

Whatever else happened this year, it was going to be most beneficial to maintain a relationship with this highly excitable character. When the cabin began to empty, Harry made his first move.

"Professor?" Harry asked "You said you knew my mother?" Slughorn grinned. "Horace, please, call me Horace my young friend – may I call you Harry?" Harry nodded. "Your mother was one of my best students. A wonderful witch and a stunning mind for potions. No doubt you inherited that from her." Harry smiled bashfully. "My potions grades haven't always been the best sir, but I've put in a lot of extra study this summer…" "Course you have my boy, I wouldn't expect less from you!" "Sir…Horace" Harry tried again, desperately trying to move the conversation forward. "I was wondering if perhaps…throughout the year…I might be able to talk with you privately... about my mother. Everyone else tells me how I resemble my father, but I've never heard anything about her."

Slughorn looked at Harry as if he were a winning lottery ticket. "Harry my boy, no problem, no problem at all. You go back to your friends now, wouldn't do to show favorites", a rather not-so-subtle wink. "but consider yourself possessing an open invitation to come by for a chat whenever you feel the need."

Harry smiled, "Thank you Sir." Harry closed the door to the sound of a hearty chuckle, and made his way back towards his original compartment, wondering what tale he'd have to weave for his so-called friends this time.

Naturally, Harry's arrival caused a small riot within the now crowded compartment. Seeing Harry's new robes clearly for the first time, Ron went into a frenzy about his new "Malfoy look". Combined with Hermione's inquiries as to what exactly he was doing with a Slytherin and heading towards the prefects car inevitably led to Ginny squawking as well. Finally Harry had enough.

"Ron" he stated coldly, "I already told you I was sick of being forced to wear my cousin's hand-me-downs, and I just thought I'd treat myself, God knows I need it the way the last year has been."

In a slightly,slightlyfriendlier tone, he addressed the girls. "I was just walking through the train when a first year told me a professor wanted to talk to me, Blaise just happened to be there at the time."Not quite the truth, not quite a lie.Deciding to change the subject away from /that, Harry threw in, "Also, we were wrong. Turns out Professor Slughorn is the new potions professor, and the Great Greasy One is taking over defense."

That very quickly hooked everyone's attention, and brought Ron from a pique of jealousy to a show of camaraderie. "Sorry mate, bet he picks you for all the demonstrations…still, be nice to not have to worry about Malfoy throwing dung bombs into my Sneezing Serum for a change."

Harry grimaced at the notion of Snape firing off concussion hexes at him under the guise of /education, and idly wondered if he'd be able to counter with a stomach exploding curse in the name of self defense…

Into the Heart of Darkness

The rest of the train ride passed quickly enough. They disembarked and waved at Hagrid as he called the first years to the boats. Harry jumped into a Thestral-drawn carriage which slowly made its way towards the door. The sorting and subsequent feast was as exciting as always, with students exchanging summer stories and greeting old friends, but Harry barely noticed.

Even when Dumbledore made his opening speech, Harry continued to lose himself in his own thoughts. Slughorn was potentially a very useful – not ally per se – but…tool. Yes, a very useful tool. The so called Slug Club would give Harry a front with which to influence the more influential of his peers, and with any luck the man would prove to be just enough of a sycophant for Harry to manipulate.

A glance at the Slytherin table allowed him to briefly catch Tracey's eye, and while she revealed nothing, Harry was convinced that she and her companions were at least intrigued.

Thinking back to his most unexpected ally, Kreacher, led him to thoughts of Dobby. The latter was far too excitable and willful. He would have to be dealt with. But first, the lackeys needed to be dealt with. Jolted out of his musings, Harry turned to Hermione.

"Harry, are you alright? I've been calling you for the last five minutes."

"Sorry, just thinking of the year," Harry replied.

"The feast is over. Honestly Harry, are you sure you're alright? Perhaps you should see Madam Pomphrey." "Hermione, he's fine," Ron interrupted. "Prolly coming up with ways to jinx the great git –" "Ron! You're a prefect!" Hermione shrieked. With a chortle, Ron followed behind, leading the new first years toward the Gryffindor Common Room.

Arriving at his familiar bed, Harry immediately went to bed, unwilling to listen to whatever mindless chatter his roommates seemed intent on filling the hours with.

Today's a Sunday, which would be fine if I could do something useful. I had been forced to spend all yesterday milling around this common room, listening to Ron and Hermione prattle on about classes and quidditch and god know what else.

Just when I thought I'd finally put to practice some of the curses I've learnt the Creevy brothers came bounding into the room. Little fuckers. I swear here and now that when I finally get round to the Avada Kedavra, those two are the first to go. I wanted to snoop round a bit, maybe catch up with one of my pet snakes, but come evening Ron suggested we sneak down to the Kitchens. Right – filching a couple of tarts at 15.

Voldemort was controlling giant glare-killing snakes at that age. Fuck have I got a long way to go.

Only positive step this weekend was stopping by McGonagall's office this morning. Seemed she was a bit confused by my selection of 3rd year Arithmancy and Runes and dropping Divination. She's got no reason to be wary of me though, and it is a fairly harmless change. If anything she seemed pleased.

The next day started as the first of term always does – fighting to get Ron out of bed, watching Neville almost piss himself in anticipation of having to see Snape after a two month respite, and generally trying to get to the great hall at a reasonable time in the face of all the early hustle and bustle. I plunk down next to Hermione who's currently rereading herPrefect's Guidefor the umpteenth time while attempting to eat toast.

Eventually McGonagall comes around with the schedules. Basic stuff, though Ron's miffed that I'm not going to be having Charms with the rest of Gryffindor, as that's when my new Runes class is. I point out that the end result is I'm now having Charms with the Slytherins and the 'Puffs, and he mollifies – if only slightly.

Pushing Ron away may be the easiest thing I do all year, and best of all, it'll have his fingerprints all over it.

The first week was…tedious. Uniform lectures about O.W.L. years, followed by an inane spell or other. I'm sure death eaters will cower as I turn mice into teapots. And note, I even took the time to customize the design. Arithmancy and Runes – while a necessity, are hardly going to entertain – especially surrounded by all these third years. Fuck, my Runes partner spends half her time doodling little hearts with my initials in it. Vane something. Mind you she's cute, well certainly better looking than the little Weaslut. She might end up being worth a lay or two in a few years time.

Most of the other classes are just as dull, though Defense proves to be a rather unexpected diamond in the rough. Say what you will about the man's antisocial tendencies, I imagine I'll actually come out ahead this year, even if I haven't yet found a suitable place to train. The bastard takes a sadistic pleasure in making me the class dummy.

Right off the bat he mentions nonverbal incantations being a useful dueling tool, and the next minute I'm hanging upside by my ankle. Bad enough my legs are still pathetically thin. Bastard went for the cheap laughs then – see how you'd like to be malnourished for the worse part of two decades.

Top it all off, the git wouldn't even tell us the incantation. Hermione was more upset withthatthan my misfortune. That settles that one – Hermione gets to be my test subject when I figure out just where the fuck that curse came from. Maybe I'll vanish her knickers at the same time…/show the school just how bushy-haired she really is./

Harry awoke Friday morning with a gasp as a surge of pain ran through his forehead. /Great buggering fuck, Harry thought dryly, /so much for Occlumency/. Vowing to not grow complacent on the subject, Harry ended the silencing charms on his bed curtains and with a grumble in Ron's direction, started off to the Great Hall.

Potions at last,Harry thoughttime to test the waters.Harry met up with Hermione, and made yet another attempt at civilized conversation. The relations between the two had continued to be strained, and Harry's seeming desire to match Hermione's efforts in class was certainly doing nothing to close the rift. The morning seemed peaceful enough, though Harry's lack of tension towards Hermione was due more to his musings on the nest part of his plan. He had yet to find a private locale in the school and in truth had not had much time to explore.

Glances at the map however, informed him that no part of the school was very private, and Filch was rather adept at moving between chokepoints within the school past curfew. However, Harry felt that time was passing to quickly, and thus while he couldn't reveal his hand; he could nudge some things in the right direction.

Walking towards the dungeons, Harry had his wand hidden in the folds of his sleeve, and prepared himself to nonverbally cast the tripping jinx. He wasn't very proficient at nonverbal spell casting – as Snape has so judiciously informed him within the first attempts, and in truth his out of class practice had proven nearly fruitless. However, the tripping jinx was a first year spell and having practiced this particular spell almost exclusively, he was confident he could pull it off.

As anticipated, the Slytherins suddenly came into view. Harry turned towards them as Ron was muttering to Hermione about the lack of value in potions. Meeting Daphne's eye, Harry shot the tripping jinx towards her. It was weak – much weaker than had he said it verbally, but her lack of focus and the bustle in the hall caused her to stumble, losing hold of her satchel. Harry stopped as if to help her with her books, and by the time the others had noticed, they were through the door of the Potions class room.

Daphne glared venomously at Harry. After his rather thinly veiled and truth be told, poorly executed threat on the train, the Gryffindor golden boy had not said so much as a word to any of them. She had seen him in defense and surprisingly in charms, but he had sat with the 'Puffs, and made no attempt to garner her attentions.

Now apparently, he was making his move – subtle enough to appear accidental, but still cause her some amount of humiliation. /Purebloods do not stumble, such acts of gracelessness are for cows and muggleborns. Scowling she looked at his smirk while moving towards her own wand. The others had not noticed yet – perhaps she could castrate the bastard and none would be the wiser.

His smirk suddenly went cold and he gripped her wand hand by the wrist, applying pressure until it physically stung. This was new – no one had attacked her physically before. Unbecoming. Her look of shock must have shown, as his smirk reappeared, and he mouthed the word, /mine/. As he continue to stare at her, Daphne Greengrass found herself unconsciously doing something she would never have accused herself capable of – she nodded.

As he handed her back her potions texts, he took on the air of just another helpful student. It wasn't until they entered the Potions Lab itself that she realized the true deviousness of his actions. Ever student within the room was already partnered – a typical Gryffindor/Slytherin rift. The bastard was going to be herde factolab partner for the term, and the greatest irony of it all, he'll probably get sympathy for it.

Perhaps,Daphne thought, as she sat down next to the boy who suddenly appeared demure as half the class looked pitifully in his direction,the Gryffindor Golden boy truly is more than he appears.

Just as Harry sat down, Professor Slughorn waddled into the room. "Ah good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I've looked forward all week to meeting my OWLs classes. Wonderful to see some of you breakout out of your houses and working together…"

Harry rolled his eyes – the man may have his fingers in more pies than Dudley on his birthday, but he certainly wasn't subtle. "…if you don't believe that, just ask Ms. Matilda Hopkins of the Holy head Harpies – taught her myself not ten years ago..." There he went again. Then just as quickly as he told an antidote about himself and the former minister of Macedonia (capital fellow – and not the least bit shy about enjoying a stiff drink), he became silent. Harry was impressed – the man knew how to captivate an audience.

With a flourish, he pulled a vial out of his pocket. "This," he exclaimed. "Is a day's worth of Cornicopus Solution. Can anyone tell me what it does – yes, Ms…" "Granger sir", Hermione simpered.

"The Cornicopus solution will take on the nutritional and sensual aspects of any liquid the drinker desires." "Excellent work, Ms. Granger – five points to Gryffindor. Can anyone tell me why it's called the Cornicopus solution…yes Mr.… Weasly?"

"Well, it never runs our does it?" "Ah not quite Mr. Weasly – but that's the idea – the potion will continue to replenish itself within a specific timeframe. Five points for Gryffindor. Now while I certainly wouldn't condone any of you using this potion to make your own firewhiskey" another not so subtle wink –maybe the man has an eye twitching disorder?Harry mused. "This is obviously a useful potion and we will be spending the next month attempting to brew it. In the meantime, we will begin with a much simpler potion that works on the same principle – transforming a set quantity of one solution into a second solution of one's choice. You will find the instructions on page seven of your text books. The group with the best result will be given a one hour sample of Cornicopus."

Immediately most of the class began to scamper around the room, lighting cauldrons and collecting school provided beetle eyes and powdered goat horn.Firewhisky virgins thenHarry mused, though not particularly scornfully, as he wouldn't mind a taste of the stuff himself.

Turning to Daphne he asked, "Shall I prepare and you brew, or the other way round?" The girl gave him a long look before answering; his earlier scheme had obviously earned him a sliver of grudging respect.

"You prepare, she said slowly. I know what my hand's like at potions, not sure about yours." It wasn't quite an insult – Harry's past in potions was beyond pathetic, but she seemed to be looking at him as an empty slate – or at least a shrouded one.

Harry nodded, and began to cut the Dandelion roots as noted. The lack of Snape and the presence of a Slytherin partner mean Harry was not distracted by sabotage attempts, and for the first time he was truly able to devote himself to the work at hand.

While admitting this advantage of working with a snake would only later serve to infuriate Ron, there was no doubt Harry benefited. Harry had often wondered how his own skill and expertise in cooking seemed to never materialize in potions. Oh they were obviously different, but surelysomethingwould have shown through.

Now it finally was, and with Daphne's own skill in potions, by the end of class, their potion was the proper shade of dull green, matched only by Malfoy and Nott, much to Hermione's obvious displeasure.

"Close – very close. Hmm, well I suppose I could share the prize between the teams – Mr. Nott, Mr. Potter – I'll give you each half and leave it to you to divide it with your partner. Well done the lot of you."The old Walrus really knows no shame.

The next few weeks passed much in the same way. It seems my quick temper is giving me a wide berth from my housemates. Good riddance. Practicing Occlumency is frustrating to say the least. The Dark Lord is still fucking with my head, and it seems that any Legilimancer worth the word would be able to break into my mind with me none the wiser.

Earlier I would have asked Slughorn for help, but where my thoughts have been for the last few months, that venue is out. However, with Hermione and Ron, and even Ginny giving me space, I've had time to explore a bit, and I've come into the habit of bumping into Blaise and Daphne at semi-regular intervals. Tracey is much more elusive, but I only need a toe hold, and I can get that through the other two.

Slughorn seems bound and determined to keep me happy in Potions, along with Nott, Zabini, and to a lesser extent Hermione. For the first time I can think of, Hermione and Malfoy are twisting their panties over the same thing. That's something to think about – nice way for me to know if I've truly masteredImperioor not – these lovely little ideas just keep coming.

A month into school. September 30th. 13 years and 11 months since my parents took a green bolt to the gut. First quidditch game of the year – it's been moved up a month this year, seems they want to get it over with as quickly as possible – fair enough I suppose.

It's against Slytherin of course, so naturally the tension over breakfast is tangible. Ron looks ready to shit himself – he made the team not so much out of any talent on his part but the remarkable lack of it coming from anyone else. He was, in a nutshell, less awful. Malfoy's been jeering him up all week, and I imagine he's got something planned for this game. The boy maybe as sharp as a quill feather, but that's about as sharp as you need to be to get under Ron's skin.

Sure enough, Slytherin wins the coin flip, and rather than choose to lead with the quaffle, they elect to have Ron defend the Slytherin posts. This could very well end up like the Quidditch World Cup – though I imagine my housemates won't see it that way.

Just as predictably, Slytherin scores twice within the first minute. I suppose Angelina is to blame for the second for dropping the quaffle, but theyweresoft shots. Just goes to show you Ron reallyisuseless at everything. Suddenly from the Slytherin stands, singing. No one ever sings at quidditch matches – fuck, what's the point – Lee shouts over everyone even without theSoronuscharm.

But there they go, and they even have the nerve to do it to the tune of /Wizards, Witches, Blood of Blue:

Weasly Weasly here's to you

Defender of our hopes and dreams

If ever we had cause to doubt

Your lack of talent- how it gleams

Perhaps if you'd been born

Not in a flock, not in a bin

You'd have the grace, you'd have the skill

To keep the quaffle out, not in

But as you are a hopeless case

Your lack of talent is no choice

To you as one we all shall stand

WEASLY WEASLY WE REJOICE/.

Well that's a basket of puppies. Ron's brilliant response is to turn red and allow another three shots to go through. We're down by forty and the game's not five minutes old. A quick glance over my shoulder shows that Gryffindor is trying to heckle the Slytherin keeper, but the effect tends to be lost when the ball never seems to cross the halfway marker.

Fred and George are now focusing exclusively on Slytherin Chasers, though I think George is sorely tempted to send one or three down towards Ron. Angelina is furious, and it's showing in her performance. Katie and Alicia manage to two more shots a piece, but Slytherin has made a dozen in that time, and that's despite everything Fred and George can throw at them.

The Slytherin's are now in uproar, yet another round of Weasly, Weasly here's to you. Looking over at the snakes, I see a speck of gold – just below the first row in the student gallery. Malfoy is a fair bit above and behind me, enjoying watching Ron make an absolute ass of himself.

I lean forward and head straight towards it, desperate to get this game over with and then get a front row seat to what should be a bollicking made of magic from Angelina. The little golden bastard is not 20 meters away now…10…5… and the fucker disappears. Not just flies away or goes into some inaccessible corner – just fucking pops out of existence.

I look up to see Greengrass and Davis smirking at me. Bitches the pair of them, but fuck was that a good bit of charm work. And to make it visible only to me – as it becomes apparent everyone else thinks I'm feinting – well somehow they managed to get hold of one of my hairs – I'm going to have to do something about that. I turn around only to see Malfoy screaming towards the ground…and the fucker has done it.

Four years after out first game, he's beaten me. Oh, he had help from the snake pit – maybe even help he doesn't know about – but that won't protect me from the judging lot that I live with. Can't really blame them though, sheep only following their nature and all that.

Daphne though….she'll pay. I've been slowly working on her for a month, even proved to be a capable potion maker in my own right – and this is what I get. I'm moving far, far too slowly, it's time to bring my sadistic princess into my shadow.

But first, to extract myself from the bollicking previously reserved solely for Ron. I imagine he'll still carry the brunt of it – losing by a strong 230 points is definitely a team effort.

As it turned out, Harry got off rather lightly. Although Angelina lost no restraint in demanding just why Harry was half a field away for no reason when Malfoy caught the snitch, she was absolutely livid with Ron. After reaming out the youngest Weasly until she was almost in tears, Angelina dismissed the team and they began the trek back to the Gryffindor common room.

It had been four years now since Gryffindor had lost to Slytherin, and many in the house had begun to take it for granted that the match would end in victory. Not wanting to face a horde of angry faces, Harry peeled off, wandering through the halls – keeping quiet but not truly caring if he got caught.

Although he currently lacked his cloak, he had taken to keeping the Marauder's Map on his body at all times. Stopping on a hallway on the seventh floor, Harry let out a deep sigh and sat down against the wall. He was exhausted. Quidditch matches always left him tired and the Slytherin match more so. On top of which, he felt he was falling further and further behind in his extracurricular activities, unwilling to risk discovery in Dumbledore's stronghold.

He had been keeping ahead of his current class work, and was sincerely delighted to discover that his current top classes – potions and charms – were both areas of aptitude for his mother. It seemed that Slughorn truly did know quite a bit about Lily Evans, and Harry was pleased to have inherited something from her other than her eyes.

Nonetheless, his current workload was taking its toll on Harry, and nutritional supplement potions did nothing to help his current bout of fatigue. Harry was jolted out of his thoughts by a voice whispering loudly down the hall.

"Harry, Harry – are you here? Are you alright?"Fuck, Harry thought, /leave it to Ginny to come looking for me like a lost puppy. I need to find someplace that little twat can't find me.As if on demand a doorway appeared behind him.

Stunned, Harry jumped up, seeing a door he was certain had not been there before. /Well this is interesting/. Harry found it unlocked and quickly went inside. The interior was bare, but the wall he had come through was now transparent. Harry watched as Ginny walked up the hallway. She stopped at the door leading to this mysterious room, and Harry cursed under his breath.

She turned the knob and – it seemed to be locked. She certainly didn't open it, and after a moment continued down the hall. Harry grinned;finally, something's gone right today. If only this room were more comfortable…In a pop, the room was suddenly much cozier. A warm fire dominated the room, and an overstuffed chair sat facing it from a comfortable distance.

Harry let loose a long cold laugh. It seemed that patience was in fact, a virtue. His smile turned cold – now to make the little bitch responsible for this miraculous find pay. Harry Potter was about to induct the first member of his inner circle – she just didn't know it yet.

The next evening found Harry lurking outside hallway leading from the Great Hall towards the Slytherin dungeons. Harry had commissioned Fred and George to spike the Slytherin desert platters with Bowels-be-gone Butterscotch flavoring. A quiet (he still didn't trust himself on such precise non-verbal spell casting) switching spell and Daphne was guaranteed to be the only Slytherin to bypass the tainted food – though Terry Boot from Ravenclaw would not be so lucky.

As the sudden stampede of stricken Slytherins made their way past Harry's spot, he saw Daphne walking slowly and a good distance away. She was not fooled – she could not see Harry, but it was obvious that someone had attacked the Slytherins with the intent she alone be spared, and there wasn't anyone else who might fit in that category. Her own attack on Harry yesterday led her to believe his motives were not altruistic.

As prepared as she was though, she did not expect for a silencing spell to appear out of nowhere, nor did she expect an invisible hand to grab the back of her neck, and a cold voice whisper "Follow me" into her ear.

Nodding slightly and resisting the urge to shudder, she was half dragged-half led up several flights of stairs. Unable to see exactly where her invisible opponent's wand was, she was compelled to obey Harry's instructions. The material on the back of her neck betrayed that he had access to an invisibility cloak, and despite the situation she had to admire his resourcefulness. She wasn't truly afraid. Harry was obviously not the perfect child he was made out to be, but he certainly wouldn't hurt her. Even if he tried, she knew a thing or two about cutting curses that would put any man off the idea of attacking her.

Out of nowhere, a door appeared to her right. Now, for the first time, she felt tendrils of fear. She had passed this particular corridor hundreds of times in her Hogwarts years – and yet never before had a room been here. It opened, and she was pushed inside.

The room was small, and held nothing but a pair of steel manacles that were bolted to the wall. Daphne was now beginning to feel real terror. This was no longer a joke and a far cry from reasonable retaliation for her stunt during the match. She reached for her wand, only to hear that cold voice again "stay still you little bitch".

She froze. In that split second, she heard a whispered "Perfectus Totalus" and she fell over like a block of wood. She was turned over by the invisible hands, and with a flourish, she was greeted by the sight of a now visible Harry Potter, green eyes hard and calculating.

"Daphne" he said, "I've played your little games, but last night was the last straw. From here on out, you're mine and you will play by my rules."

Not my best work, and I'll be the first to admit it sounded a little cliché, but I think she was far too shaken to think straight. Her glare was nowhere as menacing as it has been, but her eyes still sparkled with hatred and pride.

"Daph, can I call you Daph? Pet name for my pet." If anything her glare intensifies. "I love that glare of yours Daph", I say as I pick her up and lean her against the wall. Leaning in, I shove my pelvis into her frozen body. "Can you see just how much I love it?"

There – the glare is still strong, but it's now tainted with real terror. Poor girl thinks I'm going to rape her. Not at all – I still have morals after all. Anyway, it'll be far far more satisfying when this one-time sociopath begs me for my attentions and affections – and we all know just how zealous the newly converted are. I wonder if Voldemort feels this way when the pureblood elite grovel at the hem of his robes, or Dumbledore when the unwashed masses look to him with nothing but admiration. Perhaps I'll ask them both the moment before I kill them.

So many things I have to do – and now I have finally reached my true beginning, my turning point. As I tie the chains around her wrists, I lift both spells on the girl, but cast a muffling charm on her. I don't know how this room works entirely, and though I want her to be able to talk, I certainly don't want her screaming her pretty little head off – well – not now anyway.

"Let me go you bastard" she grits through her teeth at me. Oh this girl has spunk. I tell her as much, and she lashes out at me. "My my Daph, losing your touch aren't you?"

"Don't call me that Potter! If I'd known you'd become such a psycho over a quidditch game, I'd have called off the damn prank. I didn't even know it would cost you the game." Her voice is becoming more desperate now – higher pitched. "Potter, I'm sorry…really. Just let me go."

I laugh – her naivety is too cute. "Daph…Daph. This has nothing to do with the quidditch game, though I won't deny that it certainly sped up events. This is about you, and your future. I lied to you on the train Daph. I told you you have a choice. You don't, I've already made it for you. You're going to serve me."

Her eyes widen, and suddenly the fire resurges through them. "I will never, never serve anyone. Not Voldemort, and certainly not a filthy Half-blood like…" I slap her. As hard as I can.

"Don't ever, ever insult my mother in front of me again. Is that clear?" I whisper. She nods, far too quickly. It's only too evident that the little pureblood princess has never experienced physical pain. I'm sure any punishment she received at home was either magical or most likely non-existent. Oh Vernon would have torn her apart within a week.

She's shocked now, absolutely stunned. I grab her roughly by the neck, and stare deep into her eyes. They're green, almost like mine, but not quite. Suddenly, I loosen my grip and trail my hand softly down her neck and then brushing across her chest and down the side of her breasts. She inhales sharply and I smile. I was right, magic truly is a primal force, and I'm full of it. I really should have taken Voldemort's advice to heart at the end of first year, but I'm paying it back now, and in spades.

I can feel the magic rippling through my body. My scar tingles, but it's a pleasant feeling, and for the first time I realize that I'm the one causing it. I can quite literally sense the magic flowing to my eyes. My hands continue to work subconsciously on Daphne's body, and her shivering increases. They work their way under her robes, and she only lets out a slight mewl of protest – she's far too absorbed in my eyes.

And then, as quickly as it starts, I can feel what can best be described as a flash within my own head, and I look back at Daphne. Not just into her eyes, but at her in her entirety. My hands are now firmly holding her sides, and I note that she is looking down, her entire position one of submission – something I've never seen from her before.

My hands leave her sides and rest under her chin, forcing her up to look at me. Her eyes have changed. The passion that was once hatred and anger are still there and still manifests itself in those emotions. But they are no longer directed at me. Instead, I see desire and…lust? A thirst for power that seems to have become much more primal and open in this gorgeous creature in front of me.

That's what she is now – a creature. Her humanity – that cloak for those base instincts – seems to have vanished. For the first time I can read her clearly.

I smile and with a speed I didn't know I possessed, I kiss her. It's not tender or caring, but it is passionate. Her lips crash against mine and my tongue teases the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. Immediately she complies, and our ritual for dominance continues in a similar pattern of her resisting and me unrelenting in victory.

I bite down on her lip, just hard enough to almost draw blood, and she whimpers against me. Her whole body is screaming with tension, and it's obvious that her arms are craving the physical contact they cannot have. I pull away, making it clear that I am fully in control of this dance.

"You're mine" I say, "Mind, body, magic, and soul – you belong to me." She sighs. "Yes…yours." I smile. "My most loyal." Her grin matches my own. "Yes, your most loyal…always." I unchain her arms. "Swear to it" I demand. My wand is ready – if she so much as hesitates for an instant, I'll bind her up and figure out how to do this process again.

Without any pause, she reaches for her wand and pointing it at her own heart, exclaims, "I, Daphne of the House of Greengrass, do swear upon my life and magic to pledge my body, my life, my soul, and my magic to you, my Lord and Master, Harry James of the House of Potter."

I'm stunned. Absolutely speechless. True, I had demanded her to do the very same, but I didn't expect it to actually work, much less to the absolute degree to which she has given herself. After a deep breath, I look at her, as she awaits my response, the gleam in her eye betraying her anticipation, even as she holds herself proudly in her humility.

"I, Harry James of the House of Potter, do recognize your claim, and take you as my first – my most loyal." This girl truly is insane – I couldn't have made a better choice. The look on her face is as if I had just handed her the deed to Hogwarts – awed. I place my hands on her shoulder, letting her robes slide down her back to reveal her breasts.

They're firm and supple – from what I can gather they're obviously smaller than Lavender's, but I'd wager they're definitely larger than Hermione's. A beautiful, golden cream color, with soft pink areolas around pert nipples.Like rosebuds.

"Daph" I coo, and she looks at me with nothing short of total admiration. "As much as I'd love to ravish you right now, I will not." She looks down, as if she is to be shamed for this turn of events.

"A week from today, you will meet me again in this room. I will expect you to have a hair from the head of each Slytherin in our year. I will not tolerate failure – I know you somehow procured a hair from my own head." She blushes prettily. "If you fail, I will realize that I made a poor judgment in making you my own."

She blanches in horror. Of course this is complete crap – if nothing else she would make an excellent subject for losing my virginity, and making myself all the more knowledgeable for more…worthier servants. She doesn't need to know this.

"If you succeed however, I shall know I have chosen well. I shall mark you as my own, and afterwards will consummate my right over you, making you mine forever."

She looks as though nothing could please her more. In truth, I really want nothing more than to ravish her here and now, but it's getting late – and I have absolutely no intentions of rushing my first experience in this particular sin. I'll have to come up with some cover story, but within a week I should be able to come up with some reason as to be out all night. I have no worries over Daphne's absence – the Slytherins aren't about to chat with the Gryffindor and realize the two of us were out at the same time.

Secondly, I found a branding spell in my dark arts book. TheCruor Vincotorqueo- the blood branding spell. Basically, it creates a rune of eternal servitude made from the blood of the victim. To the rune the master can attach any number of charms – much like the dark mark – as well as a second rune that functions as the visible symbol of the master.

I imagine Voldemort came up with his own mark to avoid the spilling of his own blood – a necessity within the ritual. However, I'm not above such necessities in exchange for such a powerful brand. Symbolically, I like the idea of consummation following the branding – gives it a nice "till death do us part" feel about it. Now that I've found this room, I'm confident I can learn the spell. The description says its not difficult, but rather very dangerous as it requires a sincere desire for casting from both master and servant – anything less would be fatal too both parties – another reason I imagine Voldemort wasn't too keen come to think about it.

I've already come up with the symbol I intend to use. The Blood Rose was used by wizards during the primarily muggle War of the Roses. Although not siding with either house, the wizards who took the symbol did so under the declaration of keeping England pure. Naturally, they were the most twisted of the lot.

Even so, they've gone down as heroes of myths and legends, and the House of the Blood Rose is still revered among purebloods today. It seems…fitting.

So, with a slower, more tender kiss to Daphne I bid her adieu for the evening. She bows her head, and with a final look of adoration leaves my newly christened "Room of Desires" and heads toward the dungeons. A glance at my map tells me it's safe to return to the tower.

When I arrive, I note Ron is still up, but with a smile that's actually sincere for once (though for other reasons, obviously) I tell him I was trying to hunt Hermione down in the library. I know she wasn't there – how I love the map, but Ron accepts it, even though he feels the need to point out even Hermione leaves the library at curfew. Bossy know-it-all is rubbing off on the boy.

I nod and grin sheepishly, then yawn dramatically and we head to bed. For the first time this year, my dreams are not about Voldemort's machinations or nonsensical ramblings.

No, tonight, my dreams are filled with nothing but the face of my sadistic princess, dancing up and down on the length of my cock.

Two Angels

Monday could not have been a better day as far as Harry was concerned. His mood was outwardly happier than it had been since school started, and even the weekend's loss could not dampen his euphoria as he headed to breakfast.

Sitting next to Neville and Hermione, he could even tolerate their chatter about Professor Sprout's assurances that they would in fact be working with Flesh-eating Thistulas this coming week. Even Transfiguration proved to be exciting, as Professor McGonagall seemed ready to allow them to practice partial self-transfiguration. Granted, giving himself a beard wasn't in and of itself useful, but having met Tonks, Harry could see the usefulness of changing one's appearance, even if not to her capacity.

Even better, Ron managed to give Parvati a beard, earning him glares from the female segment of the class and snickers from the males.

It was afternoon charms that proved to be what Harry would later use to fuel his more powerful patroni. Sitting in the midst of the Hufflepuffs, Harry was practicing the 'Sticky Fingers Charm' with Susan Bones when the room was filled with an agonizing scream coming from the Slytherin side of the classroom.

Startled, Harry looked up – to see Malfoy staring at the stump that which to be his hand, the extremity in question lying limply on the table. For a reason Harry was going to immediately question her about, it was obvious Daphne Greengrass, the girl who had given herself in every way but one to Harry just last night, had gone beyond even her own psychotic tendencies and /cut off Malfoy's wand hand/.

Oh, the curse wasn't dark – the hand could be reattached, but the audacity of said action almost had Harry running across the room and shagging Daphne then and there.

Daphne took on a reasonable look of horror and appalled. She screamed an apology and exclaimed that Malfoy's fingers had stuck to her rather unexpectedly, and she had fumbled the incantation and wand movement. Professor Flitwick, as always a trusting man, tried to calm the distraught girl while firmly directing Pansy to aid Draco in rushing to the hospital wing.

The class was dismissed early, and Daphne recognized Harry's look as a summons to stay behind. As their classmates filed out ahead, Harry and Daphne entered an abandoned classroom next door. Upon entering, Harry forced Daphne against the wall, and without further delay, pressed her into a toe curling kiss. Harry knew his abilities currently were found wanting, but practice makes perfect, and what the two lacked in experience they made up for in desire and the rapture of the moment.

"Daphne, as…completely bloody brilliant as that display was, you are going to have to control your sociopath tendencies. Don't want anyone trying to de-claw my deadly kitten do I?"

She raised her head to look Harry in the eye. "He tried to grope me – thought he'd get an extra cop under the excuse of the sticking charm…No one touches me – I'm yours." Her conviction, her absolute faith in that statement was too much for Harry. Another kiss, just as long and fierce as the first, and Harry broke away.

"I'm still going to wait till Sunday to ravish you properly my wicked little witch, but you most certainly deserve a reward for that act. On your knees."

Daphne purred, and with the same cat-like quality gracefully knelt onto the floor, her head even with Harry's crotch. Needing no further prompting, she began to undo his robes. As his robes opened, she grabbed his zipper, pulling it down forcefully and freeing his growing erection. Cooing, she leaned into it, slowly brushing her fingertips down its hardness, as if trying to memorize every part of her master's length.

"Now pet" Harry whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. A rising wizard he may be (apparent now in more ways than one), but he was as much a virgin as she was, and could not fully contain his nervousness or excitement and what these next moments would bring.

Slowly, unsure herself, Daphne folded her hand over the base of his cock, and placed a chaste kiss on the tip of its head. Then, with a burst of speed, she began to pump him with her hand. Taking his hiss as a sign of approval. She began to take him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock.

"Daphne…Daph…bloody fuck…" Harry quickly became unintelligible, but the tone of his garbled ramblings was obviously supportive of her actions. Quickening her actions, Daphne attempted to deep throat the engorged organ in front of her, and after three failed attempts succeeded in taking Harry until her nose brushed against his pelvis.

The feel of the throat muscles and the other hundreds of sensations rushing through Harry's body proved too much, and when she looked up at him – a paragon of innocence in her mischievous eyes, Harry was unable to control himself any longer, his knees buckled as he shot himself down his dark angel's throat.

The climax of her master sent Daphne past her own sexual peak, and the two broke apart with a wetpopas Daphne separated herself from Harry's appendage, causing another shudder to run down Harry's spine. After a moment of silence, reflecting on their newfound passion.

Harry weakly pulled Daphne off the floor and with a strength he could not say how he mustered, attacked her mouth viciously, the taste of himself on Daphne's tongue sent erotic thoughts flashing through Harry's mind, and he wondered if perhaps next time he could have Daphne rub his scent just under her nose, so that she might wear him in open sights.Another timeHarry thought through his stupor.

Reluctantly pulling apart, Harry could hear the other classes ending for the day, as students began pouring into the hallway. When all was quiet again, Harry looked down at Daphne, and with a gentle grazing of her lips, whispered "Till Sunday, pet."

With a nod of her head, Daphne made to leave the room. Just as she reached the door, Harry called out, "Daphne?" She turned around, hope and excitement in her eyes. "Don't forget the hairs – wouldn't want to have to dismiss you after that performance."

Her eyes widened in horror and sadness, and even Harry had to marvel at the sheer coldness of his statement. With another nod, more submissive this time, Daphne walked out the room, Harry following minutes later.

Leaving Arithmancy class late that same afternoon, Harry rushed to the Great Hall for dinner. The fervor that evening was tremendous – everyone recounting the story of the Charms class, and becoming progressively more outrageous to the point where Zacharias Smith was telling a group of first years that Malfoy's hand had on its own accord tried to kill him, and Malfoy had been forced to take such a drastic action to save his own skin.

As Harry was the only Gryffindor to have seen the event fully, he was naturally the center of attention at his own table. Harry naturally had no desire to tell anyone Daphne's real intents, but even a glossing over of the event itself was more than entertaining enough for a group that lived, breathed, and ate anything negative that occurred in Slytherin House.

Even Hermione pulled no punches, observing that perhaps karma does exist after all. It was, in the end, a rather contented Harry that went to bed that evening.

Nothing compares to Monday, but this week has certainly been very good to me. I've been able to sneak of to my Room of Desires more than once, and am quite confident I can pull off the Blood Branding Spell. I also tested the Brittle Bone Curse I discovered earlier this summer, as well /Lamakirbas, a spell of Turkish origin that turns one's wand into a magical lash. It was used by Sultans to punish eunuchs guarding the harem, and I'm sure I'll find a way to put this to use.

I've had Daphne help me test the door – seems like the room is exactly what one needs it to be. I can keep specific people out, make it soundproof, hell – I can even make the door such that someone standing three feet away won't actually notice me coming out – it'll just seem that I appeared out of nowhere. Not very subtle, but it keeps the room hidden.

Ever since her little search and rescue, Ginny is becoming far to open in her intentions towards her. I can't hex my own housemate without garnering unwanted attention, and especially not one with three siblings nearby. Honestly, why Ron and Ginny can't just shag one another like every other generation of Weasly's is beyond me.

Nonetheless, the point is I need to get a girl friend – or at least one I can openly show off. Until recently, I'd still been harboring a lingering crush on Cho. Funny, how having a golden beauty between your legs can lay such things to rest. The girls still cute, but I'm going to need to date someone in this house, as the whole point of this exercise is to drive Ginny away and up the wall. So Cho is out for now.

To be honest, I approached the whole thing on the seat of my pants. I needed someone to grope and snog in front of the weasel, but I wasn't too keen on some clinging tart. Granted, in time and another shot of magic I could do whatever the hell I want, but altered personalities in the public eye are not going to keep me out of the spotlight. Not to mention, I've got to play a balance – at least while I'm at school.

As tempting as it would be, if every good looking girl in school suddenly swore off men, someone would notice something, and I know just how sneaky people in this place can be if they want to find something out. So patience is again going to have to be my friend.

Everything came together on Friday. Quidditch practice was a bust…/yet again/. Ron's proven himself unable to play in front of a crowd, so Angelina has recruited all of Gryffindor to come to practices in an attempt to get Ron over his predicament. Hasn't worked. No matter what the rest of us do, practice always ends just before Angelina breaks down in tears.

Desperate to get out of her sights, the rest of the team is quick to bugger off and lay low for the weekend, and I decide to stay behind, enjoy the peace and quiet and the warm showers by myself. Half an hour later, I emerge from the locker room, refreshed and slightly less pissed at Ron. As I head out, I hear a stifled sob coming from the girls shower room. I head over and pause outside the door. Sobs again. I swear if I wasn't so pissed at Ron for making a girl fall to tears I'd probably be grinning. Perfect.

Harry cautiously stepped inside the girls' end of the locker room, to find Angelina sitting on the floor, her arms over her head, sobbing quietly. She looked up to see Harry, and rubbed at her eyes, trying to hide her sniffles. "

Angelina…are you ok?" Harry asked soothingly. "Yeh…yeh I'm O.K. Harry. Thanks." She responded with a watery smile. Harry smiled tightly back and then without a word, leaned against the wall and slid down next to her.

Still not speaking, Harry tentatively placed an arm around her shoulder, and Angelina lost control, beginning to sob again, louder into Harry's shoulder. Harry pulled the girl into a sideways embrace, and for several minutes the two just sat their, Harry serving a towel for Angelina's tears.

"I got your robes wet." Angelina finally declared softly. Harry chuckled. "S'alright. Just got out the shower anyway." With a short laugh, Angelina began to calm down. "I don't know how you do it Harry. All you adventures, all the public screaming at you one way or the other. You must think I'm really pathetic to be this bent over quidditch and exams."

Harry looked into her eyes. "Nah…I think you're a strong person, and to be honest, I still break down – my secret to success is silencing charms." A chuckle escaped Angelina's lips. "Angelina…I know Ron's my best friend but…you shouldn't be like this. NEWTs, the quidditch captain, seventh year – you should be enjoying your last year at Hogwarts, not crying in the locker room corner. What I'm trying to say is…if you decide to pull Ron off the team, I'll support you. I'm sure Fred and George will, at least deep inside. This isn't fair to you…" Harry trailed off.

Angelina let out a sob, then sniffled again. "Harry, when did you get so sweet?" "Always have been" Harry quipped, "It's just now that I've acquired this devilishly handsome body that you've begun to see it."

Angelina laughed again. "Angelina…maybe this isn't really appropriate right now but…well Hogsmeade visits begin in two weeks and I thought maybe…If you wanted to…" Harry mumbled. Angelina laughed, "Harry, are you asking me on a date?" Harry grinned, "Well, yeh."

Angelina smiled, sincerely for the first time. "Harry I'd love too – just promise me your not trying to wheedle yourself into your captain's good graces," she joked. "Oh I am, just not because of your captain title."

With a shared laugh, Harry got up and gently hoisted Angelina to her feet. Walking together through the castle, the pair stopped in front of the Fat Lady, and with a slight moment of hesitation, Harry leaned in and kissed her gently. It lacked the passion of his times with Daphne, but there was a deceptive softness as their lips met in that brief moment.

Stepping through the portrait hole, Angelina and Harry said goodnight, and made their way towards their respective staircases. At that moment, Ginny came flouncing down the stairs, smiling and Harry and not so coyly ogling him in his training robes.

Already on a mood-swing rollercoaster and just finally feeling content, Angelina turned around, walked up to Harry, and attacked his mouth with her own. Harry's own shock disappeared in an instant, and he returned the kiss, deepening it as his arms slid around her waist.

Angelina smiled into his mouth, placing her own arms around his neck and began to grind slightly into his body. Pulling away only when she had heard a loud huff and a rather ungainly stomping back up the stairs, Angelina smiled brightly at Harry, and with another smile, gave him another quick kiss. "Good night Harry" she whispered, before turning back towards the stairs, hips swaying slightly as she went.

Harry grinned. /Little minx, he thought /you have no idea just how perfect you are/. As Harry walked up the stairs, he flung himself on the bed, relieved that Ron was obviously not yet in the common room. Taking a night off from his out of class studies, Harry cast the silencing charms on his bed, and drifted off into another night of bliss.

Saturday can't go by soon enough. Ginny's glaring daggers at me, which is a pleasant change of scenery, though I'll be fucked sideways if Hermione's showing signs of jealousy that lead me to believe our relationship isn't as platonic as I always thought.

I'm still far too skinny for my age, but I'm growing a bit – my training in the Room of Desires is wholly magical, and I've been eating well at school as well as aided by potions I'm keeping stocked via owl order. Nonetheless, it seems that I'm no longer the frightened little boy that entered this school, but I do have to wonder just how much of this attraction is the due to the raw power of my magic. Something to think about I suppose.

Halfway through the afternoon, I meet up with Angelina for a snog and cuddle. Oh the looks on their faces are priceless. If Ginny and Hermione were envious before, well – this just kicked it up a notch or three. Fred and George start hooting, and Ron appears to be torn between being happy for me and jealous that no one would snog a little fuck like him. He's going to blow his top if…well when…Angelina pulls him from the team.

I image she'll wait a few weeks – we don't have another game for a few months at least – but I can't imagine him actually improving. No longer my problem.

Sunday – I've been testy all day. I'm reallyreallylooking forward to tonight, and after my little tryst at the beginning of the week I haven't spent any time with my vicious princess. I've also been preparing a little 'entertainment' before I get down to business. I've even come up with just how I'm going to get out all night.

Angelina 'convinced' me to meet her after curfew in the Astronomy Tower. What she doesn't realize is Daphne has let Filch know that a few Gryffindors are planning a romantic tryst this evening. In short, I will be trapped in the tower, Angelina will be caught, and I will be stood up, and after a few hours fall asleep.

Just after nine, I head towards the tower. Got to cover my tracks after all. Sure enough, from beneath my cloak I can see Filch hiding around a corner, looking for all the world like a wrinkled parody of that muggle spy film Dudley likes to watch. I can hear Angelina coming – girl needs to work on her stealth.

As if rehearsed, Filch jumps out from behind his hidey-hole and Angelina screams, and a minute later he's escorting her to McGonagall's office. Ten minutes later they reemerge, and Angelina sullenly heads back towards the common room, looking longingly towards the tower. I really am a bastard, setting up my girlfriend to take a fall, just so I can play with another girl. Makes me feel all fuzzy inside.

When Filch turns a corner, I stupefy him from behind. With a quick levitation charm, I take off my cloak and sling it over his body. Taking out the map, I begin my slow quest towards my secret Room, an invisible Filch floating next to me.

I enter the room, and am pleased to see the room has taken the appearance of a hospital room. Not what Daphne has in mind I'm sure, but I'll change it just as soon as I've had my fun. I place Filch on the bed, but leave the cloak over his body. I'll have to learn just how one washes invisibility cloaks – greasy little squib.

Daphne enters the room and I immediately embrace her, pulling her into a searing kiss. It's thrilling to do this knowing my "girlfriend" is sulking in her room, thinking I'm waiting for her in the astronomy tower. After a few minutes of dueling tongues. I kiss her forehead, and ask her in a soothing tone one might reserve for a puppy, "Did you bring what I have demanded my little one?"

She nods and grins, though it's obvious she is still confused as to the purpose of my request. She hands over eight small vials, each holding a few strands of each Slytherin in our year. I pull out a small box from my pocket. With a quick flick, I enlarge in till it's a box about a cubic foot in size.

"This", I smirk, "Is a full cauldron's worth of Polyjuice Potion. Seems Professor Slughorn did a demonstration for the sixth years, and thought it wise to keep such a potent potion lying around his classroom." Fred and George had bragged about their victory in obtaining a vial of Felix Felicis. Why Slughorn thought it prudent to keep a love potion, a luck potion, and Polyjuice in such close proximity as scores of hormone riddled teenagers is beyond me, but his idiocy is my gain.

With a flourish, I pull the cloak off of Filch. Daphne's face is marred with disgust and confusion. I chuckle. "No worries Daph – the night's young, and we're going to have a little fun before we get to the good stuff. You've passed the test Daph – after tonight, you're mine, for now and forever."

Her face lights up at this proclamation, and I've already got a raging hardon. Taking a hair from the jar labeled 'Malfoy' and put it in a sample of the potion, turning it cloudy silver. Forcing Filch's mouth open with a quick /Mala Obvia, I pour the contents down his throat. He grimaces and I have no doubt he's in great pain...but he's also unconscious, so there isn't a lot he can do about it.

After a minute, I have a replica of Draco Malfoy wearing Filch's greasy rags. I should have brought Creevy's camera along for this. "Lift his sleeves" I call to Daphne. She complies and suddenly she realizes just what we're doing. Polyjuice works to render a magical glamour onto the individual who consumes it. As it's tied to the magic and well as the physical essence of the person, something as magically ingrained – such as the dark mark, should in fact reveal itself on a Polyjuiced individual.

I honestly have no idea whether blood magics will show themselves, as in my desired tattoo, but I've obviously got to make sure none of my followers can be so easily revealed.

Malfoy proves to be clear. When I tell Daphne to prepare the potion for Theodore Nott, she pauses. "Harry…Master… a Polyjuice potion taken when in another form…I don't know how safe it's going to be."

I snort, "The bastard could end up stuck between Goyle and Bullstrode and it would still be an improvement." She smiles, and returns to her work before I have to ask her again…good girl. Nott, Zabini, Davis all end up clear, and I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps the dark mark is not as parasitic as I assumed. I really should have taken something from Snape's to act as a testing base, but there you go – hindsight and what have you.

Success! Goyle has the mark! I've got one pegged within the boundaries of the school. Bullstrode and Crabbe both have the mark too, though Parkinson comes up empty. Looks like those three aren't worth the effort of keeping hidden. This is a start – as long as I keep my name out of it an attack on those three is going to become a new priority of mine – if not at the moment a very urgent one.

Still posing as Crabbe, I take the now trembling and very pale Filch out and dump him in a broom closet a floor down, before returning to Daphne. Bastard will be out of it for a while longer, and he's such a hated git, he won't know where to look for the perpetrators. Odds are he won't even tell Dumbledore, too humiliating. I love pride, especially in other people…

Harry opened the door to the Room of Desires, and the room began to change as he stepped inside. The clinical nature of the room disappeared, and the room grew out slightly, leaving a room a rich shade of burgundy. A fire stood against the wall opposing the door, but the dominant feature in the room was the large Victorian-style bed, decorated in a dark green, in stark contrast to the rich burgundy walls.

Daphne gasped, and looked longingly at Harry, who was grinning and ogling her with a feral glint in his eyes. "Disrobe, Daph" Harry said in a quiet, almost reverent tone. The girl slowly removed her Robes, and stepped forward as if treading across sacred ground.

Removing her clothes, she was left standing before Harry wearing only her bra and panties, a sight then and there he decided he would make sure to see over and over again.

Lowering his wand onto his hip holster, Harry ran his hands over Daphne's skin. Slowly running his hands over her arms and up her back, he undid the clasp, freeing her breasts from their constraints. Stepping back, Daphne, in the epitome of pureblood grace slid her hands into her knickers, sliding them down her legs and stepping out of them, standing in all her nude glory in front of her master, allowing his eyes to roam over every inch of her body.

Harry drank her in. She was perfect, and she was his. His eyes traveled down between her breasts, over the gentle curve of her stomach, landing on a scar on the side of her hip. Her skin was unblemished, and Harry again felt a thrill of pleasure knowing that all of this, all ofher, belonged exclusively to him. Daphne, his most fierce angel. /It's where Apollo had it wrong,Harry musedDaphne craves darkness, not the light.Harry pulled out his wand, and in a voice of whispered awe, he incantedCruor Vincotorqueo.

On her left breast, right over her heart blood began to pour from no visible wound. Daphne hissed, though from pain or pleasure Harry was unsure – perhaps both. The blood began to take shape, becoming a rose flower, spreading across the sides of flesh. When the pattern was complete, the rose seemed to shimmer, and then darken becoming a red so deep it was almost black. Before it reached that final stage, it began to lighten again, becoming the faintest pink – almost,almostblending seamlessly with the pink of her areola.

Harry was deep in thought, whispering the multitude of charms that would give the brand a practical function. As he grew silent again, a stem began to sprout from the rose, a dark green. Halfway down, the stem began to change, meta-morphing into a snake, and shifting to the same emerald green of Harry's eyes. The snake began to curl back on itself, opening its mouth and poised to attack the nipple just beside it.

Just before it could bite, the snake froze, and Harry opened his eyes to inspect his handiwork. Daphne moaned, still riding an invisible high.

Harry was pleased with the result. The deed was now permanent, and the Blood Rose looked exactly as it should. The stem was of course his own design, and he was happy with the finished product.

He would not test the charms right now, as Hogwarts' wards would annul the most critical of them, but he expected no problems from his brand. Daphne opened her own eyes, and the total obedience towards him made Harry almost come on the spot. "My most loyal", he whispered. 'Your most loyal", she whispered back.

"Undress me Daph", Harry answered in the same soft voice, unwilling to break the enchantment of the moment. Moving towards him, she undressed him quickly, though not hurriedly. The moment was too powerful, and they still had hours to go before they needed to return to their respective dorms. Harry's last thought pertaining to anything other than this beauty in front of him was a quick,I need to wake up at 6 o'clock.

As his pants pooled around his ankles, Harry lost any awareness of conscious thought.

The tender moment was rapidly descending into a far more frantic frenzy. Lips locked, Harry and Daphne fought their way towards the bed, hands moving everywhere and nowhere all at once. Falling in a tangle of limbs amongst the sheets, Harry began placing fierce kisses down Daphne's jaw line and collar bone and down to her breasts.

Lifting his palm to her right breast, Harry began teasing the nipple, as Daphne arched into his touch, desperately trying to increase the friction between the two, trying in vain to satisfy the heat that was coursing through her.

Slowly at first, but faster as he gained confidence in his actions, Harry began to knead her breast, watching in awe has her nipples grew hard due to his teasing. His gaze turned to her other, currently ignored breast, and was overcome with the desire to suckle on the nipple that was forever out of his mark's reach.

Curious as to what effect this would have on Daphne, he lowered his head and flicked his tongue; subconsciously stimulating his parseltongue abilities. The reaction was instantaneous. Daphne moaned loudly, shouting incoherently around her own gasps.

Continuing to tease her, Harry's other hand worked its was down her body, stopping at the patch of soft, golden curls at the entrance of her sex. Her hips arched upwards, demanding his entrance.

Harry continued to trace the swollen edges of her pussy lips. Daphne was shuddering now, twisting and turning in this new dance of pleasure and torture. Releasing his hold on her breast, he ignored the mewling from Daphne at this loss of contact and brought his hand, now wet with Daphne's desire to his own lips.

Licking his fingers, he sighed deeply. "Taste like magic Daph." Harry mumbled. Daphne whimpered again, and Harry was not sure just how much longer he would survive.

Taking Daphne's hand, he guided Daphne's hand to his straining cock. Needing no further prompting, she wrapped her hand around his dick and guided him to the entrance of her sex. "Look at me." Harry choked out, and with a final breath, thrust himself into Daphne, tearing past her maidenhood – the last barrier of his total domination of her being.

Daphne hissed, momentarily overcome by the pain of having this previously virgin territory suddenly torn asunder. Harry stopped his thrust, allowing her to become accustomed to his size, and then began to pump in and out, each time pushing himself deeper and deeper with Daphne's urging as she thrust up to meet his attacking hardness.

The tempo of their lovemaking increased, and both were taking frantic ragged breaths when at last, Daphne came, her orgasm only sending Harry into a spiral of ecstasy. Seconds later, he pulled out of Daphne, and with a grunt and incomprehensible cry, sprayed his seed over Daphne's outstretched belly. Daphne mumbled what may have been 'Protection Charm', but Harry was lost to the world, just coming down from the dizzying heights of carnal pleasure.

The two lay in silence for sometime, unable to express in words the experience they had just shared. Deciding that perhaps no words were needed, they spent the remaining hours caressing and exploring what in their frenzy had been missed, and eventually fell asleep with Daphne spooned deeply in Harry's chest, lying contentedly in her master's arms.

Seeing Red

Chapter 4: Seeing Red

Harry awoke at exactly six the next morning as a harsh sounding siren filled the Room. Opening his eyes slowly, he found Daphne nestled into his body, his right arm handing limply over her chest and his morning erection pressing against the warm flesh of Daphne's ass. The siren immediately stopped, and Daphne too awoke, yawning and turning towards Harry, a smile glowing across her face and awe in her eyes.

She ground herself into Harry's growing bulge, and Harry grinned lazily thinking about the night's events. "Not now Daph," Harry whispered. "Time to get you back to the snake pit." Just as the disappointment reached her eyes, Harry continued. "Suppose I've got time for a quickie – just to make sure that trick of your tongue wasn't a one time thing."

Daphne wasn't satisfied, and her desire for more…conjoining activities was obvious, but she did not hesitate to slide herself down Harry's body, stopping as her faced approached his crotch. Maintaining eye contact, she took one hand off his stomach and began to play with his balls, grazing them with her fingers before fondling them with a greater force.

She began to play with his head with her tongue. "Hmmph", Harry grunted. "Got a game for us pet." He mumbled, "If you can bring me off in under five minutes, I'll return the favor before we leave. Removing one of his hands from Daphne's hair, Harry grabbed his wand and managed to stuttered "Video Tempo".

Immediately, a counter appeared above him, counting up the seconds. Nodding his head, Harry then fell down, prepared to begin his next game with his precious toy.

Daphne, to her credit, recognized the power play and did everything in her power to win this little match. Oh, her servitude to her master was undisputed, but is was obvious that it was her fierce independent and competitive nature that had brought her the honor of her current position, and she had no intention or desire to stop now.

She began to consume him greedily; her cheeks hollow and she lapped and sucked in a determined effort to make her master come within the allotted time. Pushing herself further down her shaft, she drew herself to her limits – thrusting her nose deep within his pubic hair as her throat muscles squeezed his pulsing member. She was confident she could pull this off, for as…equipped and energetic as her master was, he was as new as this as she, and in this tiny endeavor she could gain some small prize.

She almost succeeded, and in truth it was Harry's burning need to win more than anything else that determined the outcome. Harry watched with faraway eyes as the timer indicated a second over the limit had passed.

At that moment, Harry allowed himself to come, and as Daphne swallowed his seed, he attempted to bring himself back under control. Finally, he looked at the girl with a face of mock sympathy. "Sorry Daph – maybe next time if you're a good girl."

Daphne pouted, and for a moment Harry thought she would outright defy him. The thought threatened to make him hard again. She did not – in the end she merely sighed, and following Harry's lead, began to redress herself. With a chaste kiss that opposed all the previous actions of the night, Harry walked out the room, howling with joy inside his head. Daphne Greengrass, the Wicked Slytherin Witch of East Anglia was totally, indiscriminately, and undoubtedly his – and he knew she would be the first of many.

Despite my morning foray with Daphne, I still make it back to the common room by six thirty. Normally I'd have another hour in bed before heading down to breakfast, but a quick snooze isn't going to make any difference – once I get off this high I'm going to be exhausted all day. It's probably best if I go ahead and shower – wouldn't do to have Angelina seeing me when I'm smelling of sex.

Thatin itself requires a master piece of acting. Angelina comes down into the common room at seven, just as I've come out the showers and am lying down on one of the many sofas in the room. She immediately babbles out an apology, explaining she had been caught by Filch and just feltawfulwhen she found that I was no longer in the Gryffindor Room. I think she believes I'm going to blow up and dump her after three days.

She's pathetic really. So high strung over exams and quidditch that she's insecure talking to a boy two years younger than her with knobby knees. Mind you, I've got a reason to feel a bit cocky this morning. But I smile, say I understand, and had just been worried thatshewasn't interested in /me/. Like I said, pathetic.

Malfoy made it back to Charms today, all limbs and digits attached. Good thing too, everyone was so busy glancing at the little ferret that no one notices the satisfied dozing faces Daphne and I both are sporting. I can't really blame the 'Puffs for being clueless – I honestly think when I get around to claiming any of them…Hannah perhaps, she'll have to have my fucking mark explained to her twice overafterit's on her sodding chest.

But the Slytherins, fuck for a house that's supposed to exhibit guile and cunning they more often than not show a level of tact comparable to Hagrid. Malfoy's already bitching about not being able to hold his wand properly, and having Ernie do the day's assignment for him. Fucking pansy. Ernie that is, not Draco. Draco's a tosspot. There's a difference.

The week passed quickly for Harry, and he soon found himself sitting in Friday's Double Potions, working through the first phase of the blood replenishing solution. Much to his displeasure, Slughorn had decided that the class ought to "follow Harry's fine example", and had rearranged the class into partnerships consisting of both houses.

Malfoy, much to Harry's astonishment, had asked if he might be paired with the mu…muggle-born Granger. Slughorn had jumped at the chance to attempt to redeem such a potential influence on society, and had beamed at the spirit of cooperatively growing between the houses. Even Harry had to admire how Malfoy had played this one, as he now spoke to Hermione in faux civility, asking if she might cut the pickled skrewt livers, his hand still far too shaky for the disgusting task.

Unfortunately, Harry was caught in this new train of thought, and was now paired up with Malfoy's sycophant, Pansy Parkinson. Harry had never had much to do with the girl, except for an occasional sneer exchanged by both parties.

Within a day of spending an hour in her presence, Harry had every right to hate the spoiled brat. She complained, she bossed, she moaned, she demanded, she mocked, and she did nothing all at once.She's like an unproductive Hermione,Harry mused,well except for the perpetual sneer and an undoubtedly much looser twat.

Daphne wasn't faring much better, having been paired up with Neville Longbottom. For all the complaints about Severus' Snape, Neville was proving to simply be a case of a bad workman blaming his tools.

"Potter, you can't add the lotus petals untilafteryou've stirred in the rat's milk…" Pansy moaned. "Parkinson", Harry gritted out, "If you know just what to do, then kindly either take over or toss off." Harry's potion was not perfect, but it was very close to the translucent pink his textbook described.

Pansy huffed, but didn't respond, as if dismissing him. Livid, Harry mumbled that he was going to weigh out the ten grams of tortoise scales that were the final step of the day's assignment. Before leaving, Harry took the lemon juice he had knicked from the kitchens earlier, and quickly poured the tiny vial into the cup of water standing beside the potion.

Walking loudly over to the golden scales in the back of the classroom, Harry began to add the tortoise scales to his plate, when from behind he hear a loud whistle. He turned around just in time to see Pansy standing wide-eyed over the cauldron, the measuring cup of water in hand. Too late she jumped backwards, and the darkening potion bubbled out of the pot, splatters hitting her arms and potions robe.

Pansy shrieked, as the affected areas began to turn a rather noxious shade of yellow. Harry had intended to sabotage Malfoy's (and bonus…Hermione's) potion, but her royal pain in the ass had convinced Harry that he was better off losing his own potion if it took her down a peg. He was well rewarded for his efforts

Slughorn jumped up. "Oh dear! Ms. Parkinson, you cannot add water until the acidity of the solution has settled. Nothing to fear, Mrs. Pomphrey will be able to have you back in shape in no time – nothing to worry about. Mr. Potter, if you'd like to come by this evening and redo your potion in light of Ms. Parkinson's…mishap, you are more than welcome."

"Thank you Professor, I will." Harry replied. If looks could kill, the glare Pansy graced Harry with would have had him dead faster than Avada Kedavra. As it was, Harry tried to look sympathetic, and could barely contain his howls of joy at this most delectable of situations.

Harry returned to the Potions lab later that evening. The potion, at least this first step, was not very complex. The only process that required any thought was maintaining a steady pH once the lotus had been added. Of course, the simplicity of it only served to heighten Pansy's embarrassment, and Harry could not help but enjoy a private smile several times throughout the day thinking back on it.

Within an hour, Harry had finished the day's assignment, and Slughorn happily informed him he had earned an E for the day, "Unfortunate, but I can't give an O for a retaken assignment…bureaucratic nonsense…" Slughorn announced. "S'Alright Professor" Harry reassured him, earning a toothy smile from the walrus-like potions master.

"Almost curfew Harry, you did well tonight, I look forward to seeing you again next week." "Actually Professor," Harry said, "I was wondering if…if I could ask you for a favor." "A favor you say?" Slughorn asked, suddenly straightening up. "By all means, ask away my young friend."

Harry smiled gratefully, "I was wondering if I might ask you for extra tutoring." Slughorn frowned, "Harry my boy, rest assured you're doing fine, I know today's mishap was no fault of yours." "No Professor, you misunderstand" Harry gently corrected the older man, "I meant in addition to class, like new material…I want to learn about antidotes."

If anything Slughorn's frown deepened. "Harry, antidotes are Newt level, surely you have no need…" Harry interrupted, "Professor, I'm scared. I know that the Death Eaters are regrouping and want me dead. Please sir, something only you can teach me may very well save my life."

That turned Slughorn's frown to a look of deep thought. However morbid, the thought that the Boy-who-lived could one day owe /him, Horace E.F. Slughorn a life debt…why, it would be on par with the time Nicholas Flamel had personally recommended him to the Austrian Minister at the 330th Annual conference of the European Apothecary Guild. Not that he wanted harm to befall the boy of course…

"Well Harry, I suppose we could jump start your education – working you through the curriculum a little early won't hurt anyone. Mind you, antidotes aren't taught alone – you'll have to learn how to brew the poisons that go with them too."

Harry appeared to be thinking hard. "I don't like the idea of brewing poisons professor…" Harry began slowly, "but if that's what I must do to protect myself…to fulfill my mother's dying wish that I live a long life, then I will do it."

Slughorn smiled at the determined youth – such dedication to learning, just like his mother. "I'm sure she could not be prouder of you, Harry my boy" Slughorn declared as if stating some profound truth. "I think I could clear a time for you to work with me – say Tuesdays and Fridays at 8?" Harry nodded, a look of relief crossing his features. "So it's no problem then. Now you best be returning back to your common room – don't want a detention just for being a model student!"

Harry laughed along with Slughorn, and with a another Thank you (/not a problem Harry!/) and a good night, Harry left, on his way to a quick snog in the common room with Angelina before sneaking out and shagging Daphne good and proper…/And to think I used to hate being me…/

The last week and a bit pass quickly, and again I can't complain about the turn of events. Angelina is still making sure to mollify me after she stood me up the week before, and quite frankly it's almost absurd how I have to actively stop snogging one bird just so I can make time for another. She hasn't let me in her pants yet, so really she's fortunate I'm not angry, because she's certainly isn't doing anything to actively rectify the 'situation'. What she is doing though, she is doing very, very well.

Ginny's face is a perpetual scowl these days, and Hermione has taken to spending all her time in the library. Good riddance to bad rubbish. With a majority of Angelina's time taken up with the captaincy and preparing for her exams anyway, I've got all the 'free' time I want, most of which of course is spent getting spent, which brings me to Daphne.

The girl pleases me to no end. Half the time, I'm gentle and tender, and then I turn it all on its head and act like a right bastard.It's fun!Last Friday, there we were, lying tangled in the sheets after another round of violent sex. Just as we were cuddling, I decided to tell Daphne about just what a great kisser Angelina is. I've never felt so warm – I think I could orgasm just watching Daphne think about murder if I pushed her hard enough.

Especially when I mentioned just howpureAngelina is – my little white Angel. I've no idea, hell chances are more than good she knows her way around the bedroom, but the sheer hate pouring out Daph's eyes was just too much. Honestly, I couldn't tell if it was directed towards myself or Angelina. I'll have to do this more often.

Hogsmead trip today. 'Bout bloody time – I swear if Angelina doesn't start acting like she fucking should I'll just put claim to her and start fucking Bell. Seems like Angelina's the kind of girl who believes a guy should take her out once before he gets under her skirt. Didn't have problems like this with Daph. Fuck, from what Daphne tells me even a toss like Malfoy didn't have to deal with this from Parkinson. Course…neither did Nott, Pucey, or Ashbury if all the gossip circulating the Slytherin common room holds water, so maybe she's not the best comparison.

"Harry, you ready?" Angelina's voice called out. Harry bolted up from where he had been slouching in the common room. "Yeh…yeh I'm up and about." Harry grumbled good naturedly as he stood up and smoothed his robes.

Smiling brightly Angelina walked over and gave Harry a quick kiss, and the two began to walk towards the portrait hole. The end of the school week had been rather tense, as Hermione and Ron had deduced that for the first time, Harry would not be going with them to Hogsmeade. When Harry pointed out that theyhadin fact gone once before without him, at the beginning of third year, Ron had claimed that wasn't the point and Hermione had merely sulked, mumbling how Harry was never around anymore.

Saturday morning, Hermione had claimed that she had no reason to go into town anyway, and would content herself with reading ahead in charms…/somebody's jealous, mused Harry with a smile.

Harry enjoyed the trip, taking pleasure in the fact that, for today at least, he could take time off from his rather strenuous extracurricular activities. Not that he minded them for the most part - getting a quickie from Daphne was quickly becoming the top ten things he'd ever done, but the extra attempts at training, the newly commenced tutorials with Slughorn, the slow infiltration of the other houses – yes it was good to have a day off.

Harry's mind however, proved quite averse to simply stop plotting. Angelina had insisted on meeting Katie and Alicia at the Three Broomsticks for lunch, and Harry concluded that this was the first time he'd seen the three of them together without their school or quidditch robes.

He'd always known they were attractive, hell he was dating one and he did have a pair of eyes in his head, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere as Harry began to devise new and outrageous schemes, including a fantasy of shagging all three of them whilst flying his Fire-bolt. /Gives new meaning to the phrase 'riding the broomstick', Harry thought, allowing a grin to cross his face.

Harry returned to the conversation at hand. "…How about you Harry, any preference this year?" Angelina asked. Harry blinked, trying to recall what they had been talking about…ah yes, quidditch.

"I reckon the Harpies have a good shot, if they beat Bristol and Potree, they've got a fairly easy ride the rest of the season." "Harpies", Katie scoffed. "You men are all the same – put seven girls on brooms and off you go."

"Don't need seven, three up front is good enough for me" Harry teased with a leer. The girls giggled, and Harry ordered another round of Butter Beers.

The good mood was shattered, for Harry at least, when he caught glimpse of the pub door opening, and Lavender Brown stepped in, accompanied by none other than the Little Red Weasel who shouldn't, but with Lavender, apparently /could/.

Harry was furious. How was it possible that Ron, who had proven himself incapable in every field he attempted, could convince a girl as good looking as Lavender to be seen with him, in /public/? Back burner they may have been, Harry had plans involving Lavender, but he would be damned if he was going to take Ron's ragged remains – hand-me-downs were supposed to work the other way round.

Trying to contain his fury, Harry toyed with Angelina's hand and returned to the conversation, making sure not to crush his drinking glass in his anger. Finally, Lavender excused herself, and with a peck on the cheek to Angelina, Harry headed towards the bathrooms in the back of the establishment.

Taking out his wand, he placed a small confounding charm on the women's door, and with a quick look behind him, he entered.

There she is, powdering her nose. Who just who the fuck powders their nose in a public house. Same type a girl who would flash Ron some tit I suppose. I've got myself in an ironic situation. What I really want to do is punish the girl, beat some sense into that empty bag of air she uses to hold up her pretty little face.

On the other hand, most people would see my actions today as just and kind, preventing such a delicious morsel from falling into the abyss that is the Weasly family. That's how it works, I'm sure of it. One minute, you're probably a decent looking girl, and then a Weasly looks at you. A minute later, you're shitting out kids like there's no tomorrow, and your boobs are swinging like the pendulum in the Great Hall. Hell, stupid chit may very well owe me a life debt for this.

"Hello Lav," I sneer at her. "Harry!" She shrieks, her face a masterpiece of righteous indignation and shock at my sudden appearance. "This is the ladies room! Get out!"

I laugh sarcastically, "Lav, I know what I'm doing…something I'd be willing to bet my last GalleonWon Wonhasn't a fucking clue." I grab her arms, her satchel falling off the counter as she tries to get away. "Look at me," I hiss. She's looking away, eyes down.

She starts to scream, and I curse my stupidity for not putting up silencing charms earlier. I clamp my hand over her mouth and force her face up to meet my gaze. Too close…far too fucking close. It's happening again, the magic pulsing through me, my scar – winding its way out and bending Lavender to its, to my will. She stops struggling, and her eyes lose there fear entirely, slowly being replaced by a look of serene contentment.

Odd, Daphne was still ready to murdersomeonewhen I was finished – I guess the end result is personal. Not a bad thing though – last think I want is a bunch of interchangeable whores. No, my girls arespecial.

"Lavender, you're mine now, aren't you pet?" She looks at me in confusion, as if no other possibility has ever crossed her mind. She nods, and moves in to kiss me. I pull away – she still needs to be punished.

"Not yet pet – you've been a very, very bad girl, and you've made me angry. You shouldn't make me angry." She nods, and suddenly appears to be on the brink of tears. "No crying Lav – I hate seeing a woman's tears." Well not quite true – I once spent half an hour lapping at Daphne's tears when I was testing her threshold for pain. Makes her stronger, my games do.

"Now my pretty face, you have to undo your mistakes." She nods, but still appears clueless. Christ, if she's always this slow I don't know if I'll have the patience. Course, I did claim her due to circumstances that should have given me warning signs. "Ron Weasly, the idiot you thought you'd lead on for a bit? Ring any bells?" She looks down, presumably with shame for angering me.

"I don't have time now pet, Angelina's gonna get antsy. As soon as I walk out, you are going to go back to Ron. The next time,the very next time, he tries to touch you /anywhereor says something remotely insensitive, you're going to slap him and storm out. I presume the weeping charm from second year is still lodged in that empty space between your ears?"

Her face betrays that she does in fact recognize that as the insult it is, but she nods anyway. "I swear Lavender, if any girl, even one as thick as you even looks at Ron from now till Christmas, they'll be hell to pay." With that I storm out, removing the Confundus and heading back to the girls I left behind.

Harry walked back to the table, apologizing for being gone so long and then changing the subject. After agreeing to pick up another round of Butter Beers, Harry headed to the bar, leaving behind the hushed giggles, /he's just so sweet/.

Harry rolled his eyes, thinking on just how sweet they'd find him if they knew a fraction of what he'd done…course, if they knew more than a fraction, he'd be their bloody God – funny how things usually did come round full circle.

Just as Harry balanced the four jugs as the girls reached out to help him, a resounding squawk filled the tumultuous pup. Harry looked over just in time to see Lavender hit Ron with a harsh sounding slap. Without warning the girl burst into tears, grabbed her bag and ran towards the door. All eyes were now on Ron, at best shocked and at worst appalled.

Ron turned a very amusing red, and with a muttered "No idea what I did" ran after the girl he had been getting along just fine with minutes before. Harry bit back his laughter, turning a confused face to the girls, who had unanimously decided to find out what had happened to the poor girl when they returned to the tower later in the afternoon.

That evening, which by when Lavender had told anyone within earshot that Ron had told her just how easy she was (/I said how easy she was to talk too!/) and had tried to grope her, Harry snuck out of the dorms and once again headed toward his secret Room of Desires.

He had informed Lavender earlier that he would require her presence on the sixth floor stairwell for the continuation for her punishment, to which she had nodded meekly. Harry took the five minutes of quiet to reflect on his last week. Something was not quite right about his first tutorial with Professor Slughorn. Harry had mentioned he did not possess a NEWT level potions textbook, and Slughorn had told him not to worry – that the school provided him with a number of returned books that should be more than adequate at the moment.

Slughorn had taken a book off the shelf at random and opened it as if to make sure it was indeed the correct book. Suddenly, he had appeared pensive, and frowning, he had returned the book to the shelf, handing Harry the much newer-looking version that had been next to it. There was obviously something there that the Professor had not expected to find, and Harry was determined to figure out what.

His musings were stopped short by the arrival of Lavender Brown, who not seeing Harry, had stopped by the banister and was now looking around like a lost lamb. Sighing at the lack of initiative or self-awareness in his newest acquisition, Harry pulled looked around to make sure she had not been followed, and removed his cloak, earning a high pitched squeak from the blonde in front of him.

"Next time," Harry drawled, "Take an effort to make sure you're not being followed. Didn't know you liked a crowd."

The girl looked shocked, but again, nodded meekly and followed behind Harry up the stairs. The door appeared, and Harry beckoned her through. She showed no fear, though Harry suspected that was no so much due to her bravery but her complete lack of anything other than obedience in regards to himself.

Unlike his first time with Daphne, the room held no implements nor had taken an intimidating atmosphere. Instead, this room was…comfy. A large, overstuffed chair dominated the small room, and Harry threw himself into it, instructing Lavender to kneel before him.

"Here's the game pet." Harry finally threw out with a nasty grin. "You have to get me off with only your mouth, no hands. If you make any noise, /any whatsoever, before I give you permission once you start, you lose. You'll still give me the best head you possibly can of course, but I won't brand you – I won't make you mine. S'what you want though isn't it?"

Lavender nodded emphatically. "Get ready then, but one quick addition – /Profugus/." Lavender suddenly whimpered in pain. "Don't like it pet? It's a migraine curse I had been planning to use on Ron but honestly, I think it's high time someone gave your pretty little head a jolt of something. Don't you?" Lavender nodded, and immediately winced at the pain the slight movement caused. "Well Lav, get too it." Lavender slowly, gingerly, crawled between Harry legs, and began to bury her head into his robes, trying to separate the material without causing herself further pain.

Finally creating an entrance, she bit at his zipper, at long last freeing his straining erection. Without any attempt at foreplay what-so-ever, she began to take Harry in her mouth, moving her tongue and driving him further down her throat.

/She isn't very good, was Harry's first thought, though he supposed the pain could have something to do with it. She soon proved otherwise however, and it became obvious that at the very least, Lavender had put in many, many practice sessions with a banana.

Lavender came to the realization that the faster she could make her master cum, the faster she might find her own relief. Taking him down her throat, she began to time his thrusts to her own need to breath, using the tight passage of her throat to massage all parts of her master's cock. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and quickly amended his previous statement.

Daphne may be his vicious angel, his sadistic princess. She may be the murderous psychopath that could get Harry hard solely with her eyes, and she may very well one day become his alpha consort. Lavender gave better head, and that was in spite of the pain he was sure was ransacking her skull. The spell in question required a very specific desire from the caster, and Harry had no dearth of terrible headaches on which to focus on when casting the curse.

Both of them lost conscious thought, one from pleasure and one from pain. At that moment Lavender whimpered, and the thought of his own high coming at such torture threw Harry over his threshold, and he shot thick strands of cum down Lavender's throat.

She recoiled, the pain proving too much, and Harry's seed began dribbling out her mouth, even as she desperately tried to swallow it down. As Harry came to, his spoke in a cold and hard voice. "You failed."

Lavender whimpered again. "I thought you wanted to be mine, Lav. You do don't you?" At this last question, Harry's voice became soft, almost loving, and he stroked the side of Lavender's face. Despite her pain, she couldn't help but smile at the affection in her master's voice, and she nodded slightly.

Suddenly, the softness was no longer their, but he was squeezing her breasts roughly, threatening to make her bleed as his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her large, creamy mounds.

"Really?" he asked snidely. "Because it seems to me you'd rather I sent you back to be Weasly's whore." She blanched in fright. "I gave you a simple task Lav, and you failed. I have no use for worthless jewelry, and that's all you are Lavender – eye candy."

The girl nodded again, agreeing with her master even as his words pushed her to tears. "I'm a fair man Lavender, so I'll give you another chance in a week's time – on Halloween. But fail me again Lav, and it will be the last time you have such an opportunity."

That, of course, is the greatest heap of bullocks I've ever dished out. Even if Lavender proves to be totally and wholly useless, I can think of millions of things I could do if she just spent every minute sitting between my legs. Still, nice to keep the girls on their toes – builds up character and all that rot.

"I really want to mark you Lavender, to make you mine for eternity." I say with a smile that twists my intentions. "But I'm not going to mark you unless you really want me too – and you're actions today say you don't."

With that, I get out of the chair and walk out the room, leaving a crying girl behind. Don't cry. That's how the Dursley's raised me and look how I've ended up. She'll get better.

I pull out the map, making sure the coast is clear before heading back to my room. True, I've got the cloak, but you can never be too careful. Being out at night is against the rules, and I don't want to be thought of as a trouble maker. It's really all shits and grins though – Dumbledore is deliberately avoiding me this year, and I'm deliberately avoiding him. Works out well for both sides.

I watch as Lavender walks out, her eyes still red and puffy but otherwise she's fine. I hope everyone thinks Ron's the reason she's so upset. Rosy, rosy day.

Instead of following her, I decide to head back into the Room of Desires, and now it's a study. I've decided I like this environment when I just want to be left alone to my thoughts. Makes me feel all important. I've got a lot of things that need to be done. Blaise is coming along nicely – seems I can actually say "Zabini" and he doesn't have to resort to narrowing his eyes and gritting out "Potter." I even mentioned the weather the other day. We'll be best friends before too long.

Tracey's still a bitch, but that's good, as that's what I want.

The mystery book in Slughorn's office gets me thinking to just what other bits of contraband are hiding in this school that no one knows about. Shrugging the thought off but vowing to put more time to the question later I standing up, picking up my map and cloak and head back out the door, when suddenly it hits me, like a truly blinding bit of inspiration. I must have my own muse.

/The Marauder's Map/. Seven years ago, Fred and George found the map purely by chance, and they found it during detention. In Filch's office. In a cabinet that was marked specifically for dangerous contraband.

I let out a short bark. I'm going to break out every sodding document in that office, and the chance to take another cheap shot at Filch is just a bonus.

Day of the Dead, Part I

Despite his near constant scheming, Harry was unable to bring any of his plans together until late Thursday afternoon. Leaving Charms, Harry sent Daphne a piercing pain across her mark, delighted to see that she outwardly made no sign of what had just racked her body.

Meeting in the classroom down the hall, Harry prepared to test just how useful Daphne was in practical pursuits…practical,nonsexualpursuits, as he already had a very good idea of just how useful she could be.

After casting a number of privacy charms, Harry turned to Daphne and pulled her in a kiss, grinning when she melted against his body. He was becoming quite adept at foretelling just how far Daphne would push things when they ever were alone for any length of time, and Harry could tell from her face that she was looking forward to a ratherintimaterendezvous.

Harry chuckled, "not this time I'm afraid Daph, time to take a few things forward." Daphne pouted prettily, jutting out her lower lip in a way that demanded Harry's attention. Giving in to his lust, Harry captured her lips with his own, his hands reaching through her robe and caressing her breasts on their own accord.

"Not now pet. Scheme now and shag later." Again Daphne pouted, but Harry was determined to follow through. "Who in this school is most likely to be able to cast /Imperio/?" Daphne's pout turned into a slight frown, and her eyes took on a far away look as she thought hard.

"Even in Slytherin,especiallyin Slytherin, one doesn't boast about knowing Unforgiveables, much less being able to throw them" Daphne remarked slowly. "But…you remember Marcus Flint?" Harry nodded, uncertain where Daphne was headed. "His cousin, Ophelia, is a seventh year. Her father and two of her uncles were openly sympathetic with the Dark Lord in the last war. She's quite bright; I imagine she's as good as anyone…"

"It doesn't matter if she can't maintain it or if it's weak – I just need an opening against Filch – he's not exactly the strongest minded person here" Harry interrupted, "As long as she can't be linked back to me, I don't care what happens to her."

Daphne simply nodded, but Harry could tell she appreciated the complexity of this newest development. In the back of his mind, Harry began to realize just how important the Unforgiveables were. Oh, he certainly wouldn't risk one personally against a peon such as Filch, but in the future he would need to operate without such complications.

Just before he left, he turned back round to Daphne. "Princess?" he said, "Come by the room Saturday evening – I've got you a present." Her eyes lit up, and her face took on a seductive innocence. "I can't wait to open it, and maybe you'll open one from me too?" Harry grinned, "Next time pet, next time." Harry turned around and left, Daphne following close behind.

So lost in thought was Harry that he did not recognize the storm brewing as he headed to the Great Hall for dinner that evening. Sitting with Angelina, Alicia, and the Weasly twins, Harry was happily engaged in a conversation about the twins' future enterprise, when a very red face Ron came storming towards them.

"What do you mean; I'm going to be replaced!" Ron shouted, oblivious to the looks he was getting from down the table.Ah,Harry thought, /a little earlier than I thought, but there you go/. Angelina looked over at Harry, before turning back to Ron. "We made the decision because you simply can't play in front of a crowd, and it's not fair for the rest of us to be so on edge and not have a real chance, especially when there are other people who want to play."

Ron seemed to have tuned out the majority of the explanation. "/We/. What do you mean – WE! Harry, mate – you know I'm the best man for the job – she's your girlfriend, set her right."

Harry winced. /Fuck/. "Ron…I talked to Angelina, and as far as the team goes…we can't play favorites." Even Harry was appalled at the flatness of his words. He had not been expecting this. Yes, he had supported Angelina, but he didn't expect her to bring him directly into this so early. At least the twins were looking down, so apparently they had in some form voiced agreement with their captain.

"You wanker! You're just so bloody righteous these days, never talking to us, never time for a game a chess – and now you go and stab you best bloody mate in the back…you're parents –"

Thankfully, for Ron's sake, professor McGonagall took this moment to step in. "Mr. Weasly! That is quite enough! Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention this evening with myself. Now, kindly return to your seat." Ron turned an awesome pink, but stalked away, sitting with Hermione and Ginny, the rest of the table giving him a rather generous berth.

Though the crisis was averted, the conversation afterwards remained noticeably tense, and it was a somber group that retired to the Gryffindor common room that evening. Inside, Harry was dancing.Little bastard calling me a backstabber – let's not forget last year…

The cold atmosphere continued to follow the Gryffindors the following day, and Harry was completely oblivious to Pansy's constant nattering. It seemed a week had been enough time twice over for the girl to regain her confidence, but Harry was content to allow her to criticize his final production of the blood thickening solution, daydreaming instead about pouring the entire cauldron down her throat, and if perhaps the result of her blood taking on a consistency to porridge would serve to adequately refute her comments.

That evening, Harry headed back down to the dungeons, preparing for another potion tutorial with Professor Slughorn. He was currently learning how to successfully brew the Draught of Living Death and The Expanding Serum – a particularly nasty potion that solidified and expanded to ten times its original size when in contact with acids of the stomach.

Harry was surprised to find not his cauldrons, but merely Professor Slughorn, sitting at his desk, a tumbler of…/something/… in his hands. "Ah, Harry – so good to see you, wonderful performance in class today. How are you this evening?"

"Fine professor", Harry responded automatically, looking around the room with a look of confusion. "Sir…you are aware that I was supposed to come by for tutorial…" "Ah! Of course, of course – forgive me my boy, but I thought we might have a quick chat. The potions have waited three days; no doubt they can afford another five minutes!"

Harry nodded, recognizing Slughorn's game for what it was. "Anything you would like to talk about sir?" "Horace, m'boy – understandable, just like your mother, always showing respect… Harry…I recognize this is rather late notice – no doubt a young lad like you has a number of ladies to see to this weekend" /You have no idea, mused Harry, "But I am having a number of students by tomorrow – a pre-Halloween get together if you will. A number of your classmates are going to be there – Mr. Zabini, Ms. Bones…are you acquainted with Ms. Chang, her father runs an import-export business between London and Hong Kong? No matter, lots of fun to be had all around…"

"Of course, professor – I'd be honored to attend." Slughorn smiled toothily. "Well with that out the way, perhaps you'd like to get on with our two lesson plans…"

Today is an absolute madhouse. Ron's pissed, Hermione's waffling, and Ginny has taken the stance of ignoring me completely, for which I am eternally grateful. Grateful…Greatful – guess I'm both really… Slug Club this evening, which leads to an absolute ton of problems. Naturally, I invited Angelina to come with me this morning. Ungrateful bint – second date and I've gotten no further than a couple of lingering cops.

Under the robes, granted – but really, she's gonna have to move forward a little faster if I'm going to stay around. Funny to think that I'm actually pissed a girl two years my senior is taking it slow, last year I couldn't work up the stones before Diggory asked Cho to the bloody ball. Beaten by a 'Puff. Still – he's dead, so I suppose I got the last laugh.

I'm getting off topic – something I shouldn't do. So Angelina is giggling with Katie about going to the Slug Club – naturally it's become the thing to get into seeing as how you can't get in – fucking sheep mentality. Angelina will spend the afternoon primping, which frees me to meet with Daphne and Ophelia. I saw Ophelia yesterday, thought I'd check out the goods. Fuck, but she's ugly. Between her and Marcus, I imagine they'll have three teeth by the time they hit twenty. They're purebloods damn it, either come up with a spell or fucking get off your high horse and visit a dentist. Course, Hermione's parents are dentists and look how she turned out – took a school nurse to do their jobs for them.

No, the real problem is afterwards. The 'club' is breaking up just before curfew, but I've got to somehow throw off Angelina in order to get to Daphne and Lavender. It would be easier if I just seduced her proper right now, but her innocence is my favorite toy. That, and Daphne's murderous tendencies towards just about everything. I ought to let the two of them take me on my first ménage-a-trois.

After lunch, Harry returned to the dorm room just long enough to pick up his invisibility cloak and stuffing it into his robes, he headed back out. His predetermined excuse of needing to pick up something from the library was unnecessary, as all his friends – /former, as he thought of them now – seemed intent on ignoring him.

Sneaking down a corridor, he slipped the cloak over his body, and headed towards the Room of Desires. He needed the room to be prepared long before Daphne arrived, as he could not afford to waste time. He was slightly nervous about the entire operation. Up until this time, Harry had only been able to bind others to his magic during bouts of extreme anger. He had been practicing summoning his magic, and was finally confident he could reproduce the familiar thrumming on will. It exhausted him greatly, and he was loath to attempt it repeatedly too quickly, but he /could, and that was ultimately what was important.

"Exactly why, Greengrass, are you leading me by the nose through this damned school." /The game begins, thought Harry. He heard a sigh from Daphne, "Because, Flint – I'm paying you five sickles a minute for your time, and God knows I need your help. As to what, I'm not telling you till Dra…" Daphne paused for a split second "till he arrives." "Didn't take you as one of Malfoy's puppets" Ophelia sneered. "I ought to raise my price – any plot that idiot wants me to hear out is an abortion before it's conceived."

Daphne sighed again, arriving at the Room. Ophelia in her rant thought nothing odd of a door out of place, and entered the room, which to all appearances was another empty classroom. Suddenly from behind, she heard a /Silencio, followed by, in a much louder voice, /Funis Ligatio/. Immediately, thick purple ropes bound her arms and legs, leaving her immobile. Then the voice turned mocking, and she recognized it as /Fucking Harry Potter/. He suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his voice a portrait of amusement and mockery. /Expelliarmus/. In an act purely deigned for additional humiliation, her wand slipped out of her front pocket and into Harry's waiting hand.

"Only half wrong – still a bitch, just a different master." Ophelia ground out, attempting to stifle her fears. Harry grinned. "Yep, that about sums it up…well 'cept for thedifferentpart – I'm the one and only…Normally I'd play a game with you Flint, but today's going to be hectic enough without trying to think of some way to make your mouth pleasurable. Body's not an easy task either…so really…"

Harry grabbed her, his nails drawing blood from her cheeks. She tried to look away, but the force of his eyes stopped her cold. Looking back, she realized just howcleverhe was, even so far as to have Daphne attempt to stop herself from throwing out a fake name. Yes this man…God?... in front of her was truly a sight to behold, a Titan amongst the unwashed flock.

In the back of her head, Ophelia realized she was gushing. At the same time, she could not bring herself to care. She looked up at her master, His face no longer mocking, but looking at her with an odd mixture of emotions – satisfaction and…disgust. She cringed at the thought. She knew she was not attractive, but had spent the last seven year finding other niches for herself, surely she could be among her master's best.

Harry looked down at the girl. Although satisfied that this most dangerous of steps had been passed, he could not help but feel a sense of self-loathing. Ophelia served no greater purpose to his plans, yet he'd enslaved her just the same…such habits could be dangerous. There was nothing for it, as soon as he could, he'd improve his repertoire in the Dark Arts.

Unbinding the girl, Harry kept his voice cold and aloof. "Let's find out Flint if Daphne was correct, and you are in fact not entirely useless." That was horribly unfair Harry mused, as the girl had never done anything to him to indicate otherwise. Nonetheless, such motions had to be made.

"Can you throw the Imperius?" The girl looked up, a speckle of hope in her eyes. "Yes, yes Pott—, Master." Harry nodded, effectively dismissing her even as she lay bound on the floor.

Harry's eyes turned towards Daphne – "Right again, Pet – seems I'll have to reward you this evening. Daphne purred, before looking maliciously towards the girl on the floor. Harry continued, "When Daphne gives you word, you will Imperius Filch, and have him remove all contents within the cabinet marked for dangerous contraband. You will take every document, and will keep them hidden until either myself or Daphne retrieves them. Is that clear?" Ophelia nodded.

"Under no circumstances are you to ever betray Daphne or myself, or to ever reveal anything I tell you." Again the girl nodded and Harry removed the bonds. "Daphne's word is mine – obey it or else I'll be upset. You don't want to upset me, do you Flint."

Despite the continued usage of her surname, the end of his directions carried a softer tone, and Ophelia realized how distressed she'd be if her master was even the slightest bit unhappy. She nodded, and when Harry dismissed her, she fled the room – lest her master take offense to her continued presence.

A minute later, much to Harry's chagrin, he too was sneaking through the halls. His own desires would have to wait till this evening, sacrifices for the greater good, Dumbledore would say. Arriving once again in the Gryffindor tower, Harry looked around at the nearly empty common room.

Sighing, Harry decided to finish his transfiguration essay, /Manipulating Life, figuring he had another two hours to kill before he and Angelina head out to the party.

Transfiguration wasn't boring /per se, but it seemed the curriculum focused on minutia. At least in potions, ingredients had qualities and reactions that worked in different potions. Transfiguration more often than not ended up being rote memorization of a massive list of spells to turn one specific object into another specific object. Angelina assured him that after OWLs, the class did indeed become far more creative and interesting, but for now he simply had to deal. Shame.

Finally, the day's true test began. Harry was jolted out of his Transfiguration-induced trance by a giggle from Angelina. Looking up, he smiled, drinking her in. While her semi-formal robes did not show off the figure he knew hid beneath, they were a vast improvement on her normal wear, and from the smile that graced her lips. Harry's face betrayed this fact.

"Something you like, Harry?" Angelina asked, unable to keep the teasing inflection out of her voice. "Might see a thing or two" Harry responded cheekily. With a grin, he offered his arm, and Angelina took it, making a show of extravagance. With a quick kiss, the two left, heading towards the classroom Slughorn had commandeered for the occasion.

After greeting Slughorn and formally introducing Angelina (/ah, Ms. Johnson lovely to see you tonight. Tell me, how is your uncle faring these days.../) Harry took a moment to survey the scene before him. The number of students within the 'Slug Club' had grown from the meeting on the Hogwart's express. Hermione was present. She was accompanying McMillan, though Harry suspected Slughorn had invited her in her own right.

Nott and Zabini were also present, and Harry was unpleasantly surprised to see Parkinson with them – though Malfoy was still happily absent. There were also a number of younger students that Harry knew he had not seen on the train, as well as a few older years who perhaps had not realized the potential of Slughorn's club at that first meeting.

"Potter", Zabini's voice called from over his shoulder, "would you mind terribly if I speak to you for a moment, /in private/."

Harry looked at Angelina, her face a mask of confusion. Harry turned back to the dark skinned Slytherin and nodded. "Angelina, I'll get some drinks. What can I do for you Zabini." Blaise waited until he was out of earshot of Angelina, and then gritted out softly, "whatever the hell you're playing at Potter, I want to know. I'm sure your girlfriend would be interested to know that Greengrass is suddenly absent after Charms class, as is her tossing boy-who-lived."

Harry inwardly cringed – it had been stupid to constantly meet at such a common time, and he had known better, years of experience with Dudley taught him not to hide in the same place twice. Angelina finding out could be dealt with easily enough, but it would not do to have Blaise attempting to blackmail him. No, it wouldn't do at all.

"If you are willing to wait till a week from now, I'll give you my word to let you in on what Greengrass and I are working on." Harry replied calmly as he poured two pints of Butterbeer. "However, if you are simply trying to blackmail me…" Harry paused, and smiled at the taller boy, and then said in a very soft voice, so soft Blaise had to strain to hear it. "I'm sure your 'Claw know nothing about your 'Puff – and Brocklehurst is in this very room."Thank you, Daphne.

Blaise took the statement remarkably well, merely nodding and pouring his own drink. Harry made a curt good-bye and headed back to Angelina, the questions rolling off her tongue before Harry could say a word. "Zabini and I have to work on a potions project together – seems he doubted I'd be willing to work hard with a snake for a partner."

It wasn't a complete lie; they were indeed set to work together for the following month. Angelina seemed mollified, contenting herself to muttering about how at least Snape never made the two houses work together. Harry remained silent, instead casting silently a mild intoxication charm he'd looked up for the occasion. Unfortunate, but Angelina could not be allowed to have her wits about her once the gathering dismissed.

The next two hours were, as far as Harry was concerned, terribly dull. His final farewells to Slughorn came not soon enough, and Harry quickly led a teetering Angelina back towards Gryffindor tower. After taking advantage of her state long enough to enjoy a grope and snog, Harry cast a slumbering charm as she turned her back to him to enter the portrait. Harry grabbed the girl, and to anyone who may have seen, Harry carried a passed out Angelina back into the common room.

Grabbing a quilt that someone or other had abandoned on a lounger, Harry made some effort to make her comfortable. She was his /girlfriend, after all.

Checking his ever faithful map once again, Harry headed towards the seventh floor.Now, the real games begin.Harry arrived at his room, the door already in place.Looks like Lav is already here, perfect.Harry entered the room, and was immediately bombarded with an offensive display of Lavender's description of 'Perfect'.

The room was a soft pink, with a massive…/massive/ bed in center of the room. Other than the small path Harry was currently on, every part of the floor was covered in vast displays of candles. Lavender sat on the bed, eyes bore curiously on her master.

Harry sighed, and without a word to the blonde…/the vapid, much more frustrating blonde, Harry concentrated on the room. Lavender shrieked as her bed became the same clinic-esque bed from the first part of Daphne's induction, and the candles disappeared, the walls becoming a soft white.

"Put this on" Harry demanded, holding out his invisibility cloak, not giving his newest,second newest, toy a second glance. The room was an exact replica of the Polyjuice incident, though Harry thought Daphne's reaction was sure to differ when she saw just who was under the cloak this time. /Foreplay, Harry mused, /nobody appreciates it anymore.

If Daphne doesn't get her tight little ass here quick I'm going to just sod this whole plan and shag Lavender, ritual be damned. I'm making a great effort to not even look at her – can't see her anyway, but I know she's under the cloak, looking at me like a bloody god.

Finally! Girl's getting cheeky. "Daph", I coo, "Ready to open your pressie?" She looks at me appraisingly, and I can tell by the way she looks around the room she knows something up. "You first or me?" she asks coyly.

I smile, god I love these games. "You first pet, always doing good for my girl." She smiles and heads over towards the bed. At least one of my girls has half a clue just what's going on. If Lavender isn't dead by the end of the month I'll call it a plus – bets are on Daphne eating her alive.

There we go…cloak's off and Daphne's looking absolutely homicidal. "Do you like it pet? I've decided to get a new toy." A growl escapes her throat and Lavender whimpers in fear. That gets a smile from Daph. Not a smile I'd like being directed at me, but beggars can't be choosers, and Lavender doesn't seem to be much more than a beggar. Good little doggie.

"Daphne", again in that faux nicety I'm adopting more and more often these days. "Lavender wants to join our little party." Daphne's eyes are beyond cold now. "I think the two of you should play." She smirks. "What do you have in mind Harry", she asks in an innocent voice. Still waters run deep and Daphne's living proof.

"I think the two of you should duel, every wizard's wet dream that, two witch's, going at it." Daphne's smirk blows into a full out smile. Yep, Lavender is about to be eaten alive.

I'm not actually going to make them duel, not yet anyway. Lavender wouldn't even manage a /stupefy, though I'd wager Hermione's virtue that's what she'd go for. Fucking waste of breath.

I've watched Daphne practice – learn more from real life than you ever can in a book, something Hermione should try. Daphne doesn't hold back – she's got a larger spell repertoire than I do, and she uses it fiercely. I ought to start dueling her, keep us both fresh. Point being, Lavender, and more importantly, Lavender's body, simply wouldn't survive the experience. I'm still going to have fun though.

Daphne jumped up, ready to duel the witch that Harry intended to share his affections with. Harry grinned ferally. "No real point is there. Lavender knows you're the alpha between the two of you, don't you Lav?" Lavender nodded, willing to do anything to escape the venomous glare the other girl was giving her.

"Seems like Daph's not to keen on you joining us pet, and you still have to make up for your last failure." Harry was enjoying himself immensely. "Why don't you show Daphne just how useful you are – use that hot little tongue of yours between her legs?"

Daphne was no longer angry, she wasincensed/. For the first time since acknowledging Harry as her master, she outwardly opposed him, a dangerous sparkle in her eye. "No fucking chance! I'm a witch Harry, not some whore of a /wicca–"

"I know that" Harry interrupted, his eyes suddenly laced with a dangerous cold – a vivid contrast to the heat emanating from Daphne. "But I also know you're mine, mine entirely. It doesn't matter if you want it, or like it, but you will obey me." Harry continued in an eerily calm voice devoid of all emotion. Daphne cowed, unused to seeing her master so lifeless and yet so fearsome. "Perhaps", he added, the barest emotion in his voice, "you are not my most loyal after all."

The notion sent a jolt of shock and terror down Daphne's spine. "Harry…Master…I meant no offense. The order surprised me…I am loyal, yours…I swear it." Her voice took on a panicked tone, and Harry could not help but smile. "Never again Daph. I chose you for your vicious independence, but I will not tolerate such lack of respect. Is that clear, my defiant angel?" "Crystal", Daphne whispered breathlessly.

"Anyway Daph", Harry continued, his voice returning to its normal inflection, "If history prevails, I'm sure you'll be more than satisfied." Daphne nodded, but if the anger had been sated, the humiliation had not, and she turned a soft shade of pink, a tone similar to that of the blood rose that hid beneath her clothes. Speaking of which… "We've wasted enough time, disrobe – the pair of you."

Both girls hurriedly removed the clothes, standing in front of Harry eyes cast downward. Again, Harry stopped to observe and appreciate the beauty before him. Daphne was not a new sight, but her image did not cease to arouse him, and he drank in the delights of her flesh as they lay before him. Slowly, he turned towards Lavender.

This was his first time seeing the girl in the nude, and he could not deny that she was certainly as pretty as Daphne, and some might say more so. Her hair was a lighter blonde, and her face was softer, gentler – it maintained a sense of innocence and freedom that Daphne's look of haughtiness could not capture. Her breasts were noticeably larger, and her body seemed to highlight her gentle curves, as if she were perpetually an art piece on display. Her skin was fairer, a pinker hue. They were both beautiful, but other than the most cursory glimpse, there were no deeper similarities.

"On your knees, my vapid little whore," Harry remarked – the sting of his words soften every so slightly by the open look of appreciation on his face. Lavender sunk to her knees before Daphne, who stiffly but without noticeable hesitation leaned against the bed behind her.

Gradually, Lavender moved herself towards Daphne's sex, her tongue cautiously experiencing female flesh for the first time. Both girls were blushing at this forced act of lovemaking, and Daphne bit the inside of her lip, determined to take no pleasure from this experience.

:You'd better make it good Lav." Harry exclaimed, his voice full of glee. "This is your final test – if Daph's not satisfied, then I'll find another fucktoy." With that, Lavender quickened her ministrations, her tongue darting deeper into Daphne's folds of flesh, while her fingers began to delicately trace Daphne's pussy lips. She did not flinch when she could suddenly taste Daphne in her mouth, and she began to lose herself in the act, determined to become a permanent fixture by her master's side.

Daphne too, found herself fighting mixed emotions. She was still decidedly angry at Harry, and though she had quashed the emotion, she could not control her own humiliation or general unease with the situation she now found herself in.

But a part of her, a treacherous voice in the back of her head, could not help but admit that this felt so good. Perhaps Harry was serious when he called Lavender a fucktoy. – her own dominance in this harem of sorts was not threatened, and playing with Lavender could be fun…especially if she did that again. Daphne's train of thought was utterly derailed as Lavender began to plant light kisses on her clit, teasing her and bringing her a spike of arousal and pleasure. The sensation of completeness that she felt when Harry filled her was noticeably absent, but she was nonetheless unable to bite back a moan as Lavender worked her magic.

Harry could not help but stare in awe at the scene before him, and was greatly relieved when Daphne screamed, the climax rattling her body as her hands clenched themselves in Lavender's golden hair. As much as he had enjoyed the poetry he had just witnessed, his own sexual lust had skyrocketed, and he was no longer willing to simply stand passively by the side.

When Daphne returned once again to this world, she looked downward, humiliated by what she had just done, and ashamed at just how much she had enjoyed it. "Seems you pass Lav – Daphne appeared to enjoy herself – didn't you pet." Daphne nodded slightly, unwilling and unable to meet Harry's eye.

"You still need to be punished though kitten. I had intended to let you watch while I branded Lavender and took what remains of her virtue, but I think you'll have to wait for your reward. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Reeling from both the humiliation for her recent actions and still fearing Harry's anger from her prior refusal, Daphne merely nodded again, and demurely left the room. As soon as she left, Harry changed the room in an instant, again replacing the clinical look with a more luxurious setting. Finally, Lavender and Harry were alone, and this time – Lavender would take his mark…and everything that went with it.

"Waste no time pet – we've got things to take care of," Harry remarked with a lecherous sparkle in his eyes. Lavender scampered in front of Harry, her posture submissive despite the obvious pleasure at seeing her master so happy. Harry took his wand and again whispered the phrase, Cruor Vincotorqueo. Lavender winced, but made no noise – it was obvious even to her that her master took great displeasure at her distress, and she would not make him angry again.

Harry watched as the blood pooled on her breast, again taking the shape of the rose. It was only his second time seeing the ritual, and much of the first had been ignore in favor of concentrating on the spell work at hand. This time, Harry watched spellbound.

Again the rose darkened then faded away, as if becoming intimately entwined with Lavender's body. Again, the stem and snake twisted away from the base, twisting back on themselves until the snake froze, forever tormented by the lush nipple that remained out of reach of its attacking mouth.

Remembering the result on Daphne, Harry shook off his outer robes and then raised his hand to Lavender's breast, his fingers barely tracing his mark. Lavender shuddered, a soft mewl coming from her throat as she arched herself back, desperate for Harry's fingers to quench the fire that consumed this specific spot, this proof of her servitude. Finally, it seemed, her waiting was to be rewarded, and as Harry continued to trace the soft bundles of her breasts, he kissed her fiercely, devouring her.

If tasting himself on Daphne's tongue had been erotic, the lingering taste of Daphne while kissing Lavender brought his already growing erection to full mast. Without a second thought, Harry scooped Lavender up in his arms and, ignoring her contented sigh, threw her roughly onto the bed.

As soon as she hit the bed, Lavender scrambled after Harry, frantically trying to remove the remains of his clothing. Harry helped her along, needing to satisfy the heat that ran through his veins, demanding his plundering of the ripeness that lay before him.

Savagely, Harry began to kiss her anew, while his arms kneaded her skin, creating a friction that only served to heighten the lust and desire between them. Wasting not another minute, Harry grabbed his wand, chanting a protection spell he had discovered immediately after that first time with Daphne.

Precautions taken, Harry plunged himself into Lavender, ignoring her whimper as he broke through her unbroken (/surprisingly enough/) hymen. /Two for two, Harry thought crudely, though again, he paused – he was a noble soul, and he did want Lavender to share his pleasure.

As her whimpers became those of pleasures, Harry pulled out of her eager sex, leaving only the head of his erection inside of her. She mewled again, this time in protest, and Harry again pushed into the eager blonde. The game of seduction could not continue, as Harry found himself desperate for release. He began to push harder, more furiously. Lavender matched his movements, her own arousal forcing her vaginal walls to grip at Harry's cock, pulsing and massaging over every inch until Harry could no longer contain himself.

With a final thrust and a shouted grunt, Harry gave into his primal urges, spending himself deep with Lavender. This additional sensation, combined with her own pleasure, sent the girl on her own climax, leaving the couple utterly ignorant of the world around them. Exhausted, the two of them set to gentler games, and it was hours later that two finally fell asleep, an interesting replica of Harry's first conquest, as yet another beautiful blonde lay limply in his embrace, his hand gently holding the breast that proudly proclaimed his conquest.

/Yes, Harry thought as he closed his eyes, /a lad like me certainly stays busy/.

Day of the Dead, Part II

Unfortunately, Harry's blissful sleep was interrupted when he was awoken to a piercing pain wringing through his scar. Choking back a scream, Harry jolted up, ignoring the girl wakening next to him, clearly confused by this abrupt end to her peace.Sod it to hell!Harry thought angrily. He tried to remember what he had simply dreamt – the image was blurred and distorted – the Occlumency was obviously having some effect, though now Harry began to doubt its usefulness, if it prevented him from spying on the greatest threat to his existence.

Voldemort was angry, of that much he was sure. He had been speaking to a Death Eater, not Peter – he would have recognized him certainly. There had been an attack, a raid of some sort, though Harry could not recall any details. Perhaps, he mused, it was time to enter the lair of the beast, and see if he could glean any of its secrets.

"Get up pet," Harry spoke, addressing the girl directly for the first time since rising. "Time to get you back into your nice warm bed." Lavender stretched, and even with his mind elsewhere Harry took a moment to appreciate her nude form as she raised her arms over her head, her body taut across the bed. Standing up, she began to dress, as Harry quickly pulled his wrinkled robes over his body.

The two snuck out, heading back to the Tower. Outside, Harry recognize a new complication.Bloody Angelina could very well still be down here, wouldn't do to have her catch me now…

Thinking quickly, Harry turned quickly to the girl he held snug against him under the Invisibility Cloak. "Time for us to part ways pet, go on in. If Angelina's awake, giggle and say nothing,nothingmore than 'Ravenclaws'." Lavender nodded, and Harry surmised that in this at least, the girl more than likely had a plethora of experience to draw from.

As Lavender slunk back inside, Harry made a beeline to the Headmaster's office. It was a risk, granted, but far too much was happening that Harry was wholly ignorant on, and perhaps now he had a scrap of knowledge with which to trade with the Headmaster.

Arriving at the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's Office, Harry swore. He was Harry Potter dammit; he would not be caught shouting asinine candy names at two in the morning.

When a minute of glaring mutinously at the gargoyle had no visible effect, Harry gritted out, "Chocolate Frog…Blood Pop…Cauldron Cake…/Walnut Sodding Wands!/ –"The door opened, and Harry's eyes widened in shock – until he noted the cause.

"You would find, Mr. Potter that unless the situation demands otherwise, a simple "May I please visit the Headmaster" does the job well enough." Harry flushed, before smiling sheepishly at the Deputy Headmistress. "I assume Mr. Potter that your sudden appearance has to do with the night's events?" Aha, so something indeed had occurred. Harry nodded, and Professor McGonagall beckoned Harry to follow her into the office.

When Harry arrived at the top of the winding stair case, he was surprised to see so many people here. In addition to McGonagall and Dumbledore himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasly, and Nymphadora Tonks were present.Metamorphmagus, thought Harry as his eyes scanned the participants of this impromptu council, /sounds like a bloke could have a fun time with that skill.

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind for now, Harry turned to the Headmaster.

"Ah Mrs. McGonagall, I see you've brought Mr. Potter up from his rather impressive glaring at my door." Dumbledore chuckled, though still not looking at the boy in question. "What seems to be the problem, Harry?

"Sir…my scar – Voldemort's angry – angrier than I can recall in a long time. I thought I'd let you know…though I suppose you already do." Harry added, looking around once again at the hodgepodge collection of Order Members.

A collective sigh could be heard in the room, and Shacklebolt spoke, his voice grim. "One of Voldemort's Death Eaters managed to Imperio an Order member this evening. We don't think they realized that, simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our fellow was discovered by the head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour thought his behavior and locale were odd, and the result was anImperiousedminister employee attacking the Chief Auror. Needless to say, Scrimgeour subdued him easily. The end result is neither us nor Voldemort is very happy about tonight's actions."

No one spoke, uncomfortable in the fact Kingsley had told the boy far more information than they had over the entire summer. Finally Dumbledore cleared his throat, "No doubt you will hear all about this in the Sunday /Prophet/. Thank you Harry for bringing this to my attention, it is a small comfort that Voldemort is indeed frustrated by tonight's happenings." Harry recognized the dismissal for what it was, and McGonagall led him back towards the tower.

The walk was made in silence, obviously there was much that he had not been told. Why exactly, was an Order member in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it seemed that the attack on the Head of Aurors, while a clever move on Voldemort's part, was not the intent, but merely something that happened.

Harry lost himself in thought, but was unable to think of any plausible theories before reaching his bed. Exhausted, Harry immediately went to sleep, deciding that reading the Prophet the next morning was the best plan of action.

Harry awoke the next morning, and was immediately assaulted by a once again vulnerable Angelina. Harry's first thoughts were how often he could push the already weak girl into blaming herself for Harry's sins – especially when she did not know what those sins were. Smiling, Harry assured the girl that her 'being pissed out her head' would not strain their relationship, and that he was certainly not about to judge her. Crisis averted, Harry headed to breakfast.

The morning's paper proved to be rather interesting, immediately filling Harry with a fiery rage.

Sirius Black Infiltrates Ministry, Attacks Department Head

By Alexander Stevenson

Last night Sirius Black returned once again in a veil of terror as he attempted to murder the Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour. Sirius Black was well known to be an avid supporter of You-Know-Who, and it appears that perhaps driven further into the depths of insanity at Azkaban, he is unable to comprehend that his master is now well and truly dead.

Mr. Black did not enter the Ministry personally, the security being far too tight even for one as fiendish as him. Rather, Mr. Black is believed to be gathering a small cult, one such member who in fact worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Robert Hastings, 52, was caught sneaking into an unauthorized region of the ministry, when he was discovered by Mr. Scrimgeour, who immediately demanded to see proof of 'right to entry'. Instead of complying, Mr. Hastings (known for his radical opposition to the Werewolf Treatises) attacked the Head of Aurors. Fortunately, Mr. Scrimgeour was able to subdue the intruder, showing once again a level of competence and expertise we have come to expect from our Auror Department…

Harry stopped reading, the rest of the article filled with quotes either vilifying Sirius or praising Fudge and the current class of Aurors. The paper was tripe, the only 'fact' the name of the attacker. Harry wondered how wizarding Britain could stand to read such drivel, or at the very least why they never questioned it – surely there were other sources of news.

"Hermione", Harry asked "What other papers are out there, other than /The Prophet/?"

Harry had decided that he needed to patch his relationship with Hermione, at least for the time being, if he was on a more permanent outs with Ron. Such a meaningless question was sure to boost her ego. Surprisingly, Hermione frowned. "I don't know Harry…I've always just assumedThe Prophetwas it – it's all anyone talks about anyway."

Harry nodded, clearly unsatisfied. Excusing himself, he headed towards the library, determined to discover just how backwards the British Wizarding World really was.

Despite the steaming pile of shit I was force fed this morning, a number of things have come to light – most of them positive. Wizarding Britain is not in fact as backwards as someone like Hermione claims it to be, nor as rigid as I imagine Fudge would like. A free press is very much alive – it's simply disregarded by most of the masses.

Looking through the library I came across a number of newspapers, all of which the school actively subscribes too. Granted, theDaily Prophetis far and away the largest paper in England, butThe Flying Scotsmanis also a daily, coming out of Aberdeen.

There are also a number of weekly papers, headquartered in Cambridge, Bristol, York, and Liverpool. Cardiff houses a Welsh only bi-weekly, and Cork and Bangor both publish weekly Gaelic-English papers. All of these are regional papers, but it's something I am certainly going to look into – fighting fire with fire.

I really don't like Hastings begin caught while underImperio– far too close to what I'm planning. The only solace is that it appears that Scrimgeour didn'tknowhe was under Imperious and the Order only because he was one of them.

On the other hand, nobody had a fucking clue about either of the Crouches last year, so maybe I'm worrying too much. Really, it's all academic. I'm not going to throw the curse, and if Flint ends up rotting in Azkaban I won't give two fucks…provided I get my hands on those damned documents.

Bugger it, fortune favors the bold and what have you. I go ahead an summon Daphne, she arrives a quarter of an hour later – not too long that I can call her on it, but slow enough to let me know she's still furious about last night – though I'm confident we've moved passed theLavender being herestage toFucking Lavender senseless after dismissing her.

"Daph," my tone normal, betraying none of the thoughts inside my head. "Send the word – it's time." Daphne nods, but I can see the conflict going on inside her. She wants proof, proof she's still my most loyal, that I am not wholly displeased. She won't show it though – not after I verbally admired her independence. Poor girl, but I can't help but enjoy a shiver down my spine at the sheer pleasure I take now in my twisted games.

I lean in to kiss her – we're in an awfully dark and musty corned of the library – won't harm anyone to have a quick snog with my sadistic princess. Not ten sodding seconds later, just when we're starting to go at it properly, some bastard starts clapping slowly. /Typical, it's bloody Zabini.

"It's good to see patience is still a virtue you hold in high esteem." Harry gritted out. He was concerned – true, nothing had been revealed, but if the boy had suspicions of a relationship between Harry and Daphne, he had just confirmed it. Blackmail could not be tolerated, and the damnable boy was grinning like a loon.

"Yes, just as stealth seems to be one of yours." Blaise sniggered. /Touché/. "What exactly, are the two of you up to then?" Daphne and Harry shared a look, before Harry responded, "We've decided to put our heads together…Golden Boy persona lets me through a lot of cracks you lot can't slip through, especially with three quarters of the school watching your every move."

Harry grinned, "I think, Blaise, it would be more than obvious what I get out of the arrangement."

Blaise took a long moment to think about what he'd just heard. He had not pegged Daphne as the type of girl who was whore her way up the social ladder. Especially not to a Gryffindor. On the other hand, Harry was obviously not the little golden boy everyone seemed to portray him as, and it was more than possible that Daphne was using the boy far more than he could guess.

Blaise nodded, he had learned from watching his mother just how deeply a woman could get under a man's skin and still leave him with the image that he was in control. Potter may have a darker heart than many, but he was kept out of the snake pit for a reason. Still, no reason not to take advantage of the matter at hand.

"Tell me Potter, these cracks of yours…do they include merchandise?" Harry stopped, his face pensive. "Depends what you want I suppose…not going to be shelling over cursed mummy hands when teachers look the other way… what are you looking for?"

Blaise grinned. "I've been thinking for some time of setting up shop – getting things up from Hogsmeade for the babies or those too stupid to properly ration themselves. Having a hard time actually getting into town though, much less getting that stuff back."

Harry thought about it, and realized perhaps he was being disingenuous. Being perfect would only arouse suspicion he was up to something, especially from Hermione. Angelina didn't sound convinced about his cover story about Blaise either. Harry knew Fred and George had been sneaking stuff into the school for years, perhaps it was time to profit from that.

"Zabini, if you're willing – we'll go at it as equal partners. I'll supply and you'll sell. Provided you don't swindle me, we'll get along famously."

Blaise scowled. "I'm not a thief Potter, I may be a sneaky, cunning little shit – just like you I might add – but I keep my word." Harry nodded, attempting to appease his …friend? partner?…and held out his hand. Blaise, his face still stony, shook it. Mollified slightly, Zabini left, agreeing to touch up the details later, and mentioning offhandedly he had a rendezvous to keep.

Harry sighed; perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He had handled the situation well, but it should never have happened in the first place. Daphne left, obviously they would have to make a better effort to hide their meetings, romantic and otherwise. Zabini was not to be trusted yet, but he could be bought. Harry had no doubts as to what would happen if Dumbledore caught wind of his machinations…

Two days later was Halloween. The school as always was decorated marvelously, jack-o-lanterns spoke to one another in the corridors, and the Great Hall was charmed into a perpetual star-filled night for the occasion. Harry had just finished double Herbology on his way to Runes when he was stopped by Ophelia Flint.

Noticing with relief that none of his fellow classmates were with him – he was after all heading to a 3rd year class. He allowed himself to be taken into the deserted classroom. As soon as the door was closed, Harry lashed out.

"You will never dare to summon me on your own time! Your situation is dangerous enough; do not presume to move at your own leisure." Ophelia flinched, before whimpering, "Master…Sir…the deed is done – everything is hidden." Harry grinned, though no affection or gratitude shone through.

"Very well, I will come for it when it is safe to do so." The girl looked up – odd how though she was at least three inches taller than him, her posture demanded she meet his eye… "Harry", a growl "M-master…I'm scared – if I'm caught…my family is not as influential as most…" Harry interrupted her pleading.

"Flint, listen very carefully, I do not care if you end up rotting in a flea-riddled cell in Azkaban. What I care about, is you obey me – /to the letter/. Do not attempt to save your skin by sacrificing mine. Is that absolutely clear?" Harry's voice was almost a hiss by the end of his rebuke.

The girl nodded, her face still gloomy – despite her success on such a task her foolishness had lost any hopes of gaining her master's affections. Ophelia came out of her thoughts to see Harry leaving the room and after giving his departure a reasonable berth – it was only too clear his desire to not be seen with her – she headed out, returning to the dungeons that where once she flourished in the shadows, now she felt only coldness.

It seemed that news of the attack, even if blame was given to Sirius, gave courage to the Death Eater's among the students. Malfoy had been unbearable for the last two days, and Harry had only had to suffer through an hour of Charms and Defense with the snot-faced prat. They had gained confidence in the terror, despite theProphet'sassurances things had never been better. Arriving at the Runes classroom, Harry encountered Malfoy and his usual minions harassing a group of Ravenclaw girls who had just finished the class.

"…The time of mudbloods and the purebloods who tolerate them is ending." Harry could literally hear Malfoy's perpetual sneer.

"Ugh…Mudbloods."Thateloquent response came from Crabbe, which left…

"Yeh" to Goyle.

The girls as a whole had taken silence as their best solution, though one girl, a blonde with a dreamy expression responded as if discussing the weather. "Daddy says muggles descended from Unicorns. Really there blood is much purer…" The girl was stopped at that comment, as Pansy pushed her, knocking her belongings out her arm and scattering them across the floor.

The Slytherins left at that – undoubtedly the increased commotion would bring along a teacher. Much to Harry's disgust, the other Ravenclaw girls walked away to, leaving the girl to pick up her belongings alone. Harry walked up to her, bending down to pick upThe Number 7: An Approach to Arithmancy.

"Sorry you have to put up with those goons." Harry remarked with a smile. The girl looked up, the dreamy expression from before still shrouding her emotions. "It's not a problem, it's not my fault they don't believe in unicorns." Harry chuckled uneasily – this girl was either sharp or seriously unhinged.

Deciding not to delve deeper into this conversation, he chose to introduce himself. "I'm Harry Potter" he said with a smile. The girl just stared back. "Well yes, I suppose you are." Harry stared back with puzzled expression, but the girl seemed unfazed.

"Course, I suppose we all are…I've never stopped being me, least as long as I can remember…If I had been someone else do you think I'd remember?" Harry shook his head, attempting to clear his mind, but the girl apparently took it as an answer. "No I suppose I wouldn't."

Giving the book back, Harry began to walk into the classroom, as the girl called over her shoulder. "But if you simply wanted to know what to call me, you can use Luna Lovegood. Daddy named me that, though how he knew before I could tell him is beyond me." With that, she disappeared, leaving Harry to wonder weather perhaps someone at this school was more twisted than him.

Regardless of the girl's…questionable mindset, Harry recognized the power play by Malfoy./Learning a thing or two about power plays these days…Harry smirked. After dinner, the usual extravagant feast served on this evening, Harry made arrangements for Malfoy to be taken down a peg. He would attack from beneath, undermining Malfoy's regime of terror. Trivial in the whole scheme of things, but it would have to do for now.

And so, two days later, Harry was once again lurking in the shadows, preparing for the evening to end and the Slytherins to head back towards the dungeons. As they began to make move back towards their common room, Harry watched as Ophelia forced Crabbe and Goyle to stay behind, the excuse of a minor bollicking for "eating habits yet again unbecoming of a Slytherin" seemed to be a rather normal part of their day.

Dismissed, the two headed back, only to be stupefied and levitated into a storage space, at which point Harry paused. He was not at all looking forward to this next step, but it was the best he could come up with to ensure the two thugs took a smaller part in Malfoy's bullying.

Throwing again the precautionary charms, Harry took out his last remaining veil of Polyjuice Potion; /have to see if Flint is capable of brewing more, and taking a hair from Crabbe's head, mixed the two. Bracing himself, Harry gagged, then convulsed as he became a likeness of the pudgy boy on the floor.

When the transformation was complete, Harry looked himself over, viewing his image in with a wave of his wand and aPondero/. His image was not perfect – he lacked Slytherin robes – but he had taken the foresight to exchange his Gryffindor one's for a neutral black and, confident nothing compromised his identity, /EnervatedCrabbe.

Crabbe woke up, startled to suddenly find himself sprawled on the floor, his friend next to him. Justifying it to himself with a simple /guh, Crabbe looked up, his eyes filling with confusion and then shock and finally horror at seeing himself, staring down from above him.

Harry smiled cruelly (though he imagined with his current visage he merely looked foolish), and laughed at the look on Crabbe's face. Finally, Crabbe grunted, "who...who are you?"

Harry laughed louder, "Eloquent as ever, aren't we Vincent." When Crabbe moved to protest, Harry pushed his comments aside, continuing. "We have a secret, don't we Vincent? How do you think people here would react to seeing the Mark on your arm?"

Crabbe's eyes widened further. "I…I dunno wut you're talkin' 'bout." Crabbe, in a fit of stupidity or confidence, pushed up his sleeves, revealing his arms to be absent of the accused marking. "Really Vincent, no doubt you wear glamour under the eyes of the headmaster, but you and I share the same look."

With that, Harry pulled up his own sleeve, revealing the offending blot. Harry then grinned at the Dudley-esque boy, like a predator descending on his prey. "That mark Vincent, it means I get to kill you."

That remark seemed to penetrate the boy's thick skull. "No" he eeped, a sound that would have been hilarious coming from the hulking mass had not it contained so much fear. Harry continued his assault. "Not so important are you, if the Dark Lord is willing to thumb you under Dumbledore's nose." Certainly much of this conversation went over Crabbe's head, but he certainly got the basic gist.

"I'll make you a deal Vincent; you will remove yourself from Malfoy's gang, no more bullying ickle mudbloods. Time to let Draco stand on his own two feet, don't you think."

The boy merely nodded, relief beginning to penetrate the mask of fear. "And if you don't, I'll kill you – there are no second chances." With that, Harry left the room, immediately covering his enlarged mass with his cloak before silently heading back towards his own bed, leaving Crabbe to enervate his friend before trembling back to the dungeons. Harry was curious as to what the result would be, before deciding that ultimately, the idiot would probably follow his father, and Harry would have the enjoyment of killing him anyway. All in all, it was a Halloween well spent.

Afterword

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