Keywords: M/F anal, oral
Author: W R Jenkins
Title: Potter: Spider's Web

  Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so
we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

Untold Hogwarts: Spider's Web - (HPspider.txt) - Fan fiction- wizard-
twisted wizard- fan fiction from the demented mind of an admirer, cum
jealous rival of Harry's. It is set in that misty land after
Voldemort's- oh don't jump- defeat when Harry is free of destiny, and,
according to this fan- free of restraint. M/F, oral, anal


Oh yes, the boy wizard, now man, is testing the limits of the pardon
granted him by his fame. No longer content with smoking and cursing,
(What the bloody hell is the bloody hell going the bloody hell on?)
Harry Potter has decided to flaunt every rule and decency of his
Wizarding heritage.

Some offer the excuse of the bite of a radioactive spider, but the
excuse does not alter his acts. Accompanied by his accomplice Ginny
Weasley in her biker's jacket, suspenders, black fishnets, no pants,
and knee-high boots, Potter takes to Muggle pubs, and pubs of the
lowest sort.

"Who the hell are you, scar-head? And- hold on, this tart's not got
no pants!" greets Harry.

It's a convenient entry to what Harry has come for. He doesn't care
what excuse he's given.

"Get out of it, scum," Harry snarls in warning as he swings his fist
at the Muggle.

Harry is a wiry boy and perhaps could make the unprepared Muggle reel
with the force of the blow, but such is not left to chance. The
impact is the Bump-a-Thump curse cast by Ginny, who has her hand in
her jacket, gripping her wand.

The powerful impact of the curse makes Harry's swing little more than
a follow-through, following the falling Muggle. It looks like it was
his fist contacting, however. This is the impression intended.

"What? You want a go as well?" Harry challenges the man's mate who
is coming forward. "I'll give you more of the same."

This is the intended target. In his madness, or cheek, Harry has spent
some days in pubs, not knocking about the patrons. He knows this is a
storied brawler, subject of admiration and the most outrageous lies
about his prowess.

"Then have that," Harry says as the man draws back a fist.

He swings at the man's mid-section and Ginny's curse drives the wind
from him. Harry swings again, left, right, and Ginny's curses knock
the man's head right and left as if Harry struck.

Like magic, the man falls backwards to thump onto the floor just as
his mate did before. Harry straightens himself with a shrug of his 
shoulders and strides over the man's body to the bar.

"I'll have a pint!" he demands of the keeper.

There is a hushed murmur behind them, but no one comes forward and no
more mention is made of Ginny's bum hanging out. Harry sees
appreciative stares, but is not fussed. Ginny has made clear her
enjoyment of the attention and he's willing to grant her the chance,
given the way she's assured him of his benefit.

It is not his intention to pummel every Muggle he encouters senseless.
He is only searching out the most challenging prey. Harry is out to
make a reputation for himself.

The man he came to humble is only beginning to show signs of life as
Harry and Ginny finish their pints and depart. His mate, who is trying
to revive him, shrinks away as Harry walks past, giving them a
contemptuous look, but is obviously too wise to interfere.


"Ooooo! My big, strong man!" Ginny trills as Harry makes muscle-man
poses in parody of their adventure.

They are giggling with the excitement which turns to a grinning intent
as Harry stalks Ginny and throws her onto the bed. As she lays there
he thinks how convenient her new attire is while he rips down the
zipper of his pants.

He lands on her, his throbbing member automatically seeking the red-
furred haven between her thighs. It is not too sudden. Harry finds
Ginny already excited and very wet as his penis probes her vulva.

"That's for you!" he announces as he thrusts deeply into her vagina.

"Just what I wanted," Ginny says happily.

There is no distraction with the leather jacket, open, but still covering
her breasts. She is still wearing stockings and boots. The
only naked part of her is crotch and bottom and Harry narrows his
focus to plunge in and out of her.

It is the only part that matters as they wriggle toward pleasure. They
share the excitement eye to eye as Harry's cock thrusts demandingly
in her. They have been excited since entering the pub and it is only
a few minutes work to finish it off in a gasping groan of orgasm.

"Now that's what I needed," Ginny sighs in content. "Just to take the
edge off. But you aren't done, surely?"

"That's for you to work out, innit?" Harry says cheekliy as he rolls
onto his back beside her.

He is damn understanding of her waving her parts at the world, he
thinks. Now it's her turn to be grateful. He lays back without the
least urge to aid her as she tugs at his pants. She has thrown off
her jacket to free herself and he ogles her pale breasts as they
swing with the exertion of pulling his pants down.

He is pleased their recent go has left him unable to rise at that. He
wants Ginny to take as long as possible to revive him. He feels
entitled to the pleasure, but more, it amuses him to see her so busy
at his groin, showing what she will do for him.

She squats over him and bends down to take his penis in her mouth.
Harry puts his hands behind his head to watch. As her red hair goes
down to seemingly merge with his crotch, he gets glimpses of her arse,
framed so enticingly by her suspenders. That is a nice view to help
him pass the time as her mouth works to restore his stiffness.

He vaguely wishes he was Harry 'two dick' Potter, the doubly-endowed
boy. If he was, he'd be behind Ginny, taking her from the rear as she
sucks on his penis. The thought is arousing, but having less effect on
his resurrection than Ginny's wet mouth- and that is doing little
enough good.

Harry is impatient. Ginny' active tongue is bullying his organ quite
as much as anyone could want and better than most have the skill to
use. He couldn't have a better cocksucker and even less one more eager
to restore his penis to usefullness.

In this, Ginny's desire and intent are one. She wants to feel the hard
penis fuck her to ecstasy again, but her desire to feel it is from her
desire for Harry as much as sucking his member is. She wants him in 
her every way possible because she is mad for him. Because she is mad
for him, there is no greater pleasure than to have him in her in every
way possible.

"Oi! Anyone home?" Ron calls from down the stairs.

"Up here," Harry calls back.

"Well, Harry what are you... Gaacckkk! Merlin's wandering eyeball!
What the fuck! Why didn't you warn me?" Ron recoils in horror and turns
away as he is confronted with Ginny's bum bobbing as she sucks Harry.

"Don't be such a prat," Harry goads Ron, laughing, "It's only your 
sister sucking my cock. What's the harm?"

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Harry," Ron mutters as he
shuffles away, still trembling with disgust.

"It's not me. It's Ginny that's being gotten into," Harry calls after
Ron, "But it is me that gets into her!"

He enjoys confronting Ron with that. It is as if Ron's inability to
face the fact makes Harry more eager. It more than amuses Harry. It
makes Harry think that it would be extra exciting if he could arrange
to shag Ginny while Ron was forced to watch.

Hermione is a different matter. She refuses to show the proper
cowardice when finding Harry and Ginny so engaged. She stares with
steely determination at some distant spot while delivering her
information or asking the question that brought her.

She does not restrain her disgust, but Harry knows it is not at all
the same and that Hermione can only dampen the ardor he wishes to
fuel by forcing the sight upon her.

"Showing your bum to your brother, what a cheeky tart," Harry turns
to Ginny, prodding her in hopes of arousing her as well.

Ginny does not relinquish her mouthful of penis to reply. She does not
see how that can revive Harry faster and that is her only intent. Her
reaction to Ron would be greater if she could feel there was the
faintest chance the sight would drive him mad and he would rush to her
and take her.

The thought is a contrary one. She has no particular desire to shag
Ron. On cold reflection it is repulsive, but in the heat of arousal and
hope of the future resolving of it, any such infamy cannot help but
heat her desire.

She stays at her task until Harry begins to stiffen. As he regains his
erection, she stays at his groin, licking from balls to tip along the
stiff stalk until he groans at the pleasure of it.

"Is this what you want then?" she teases.

"I want you to suck it until I spend or come up here so I can stick it
in you," Harry says with some irritation. "Don't play like that or I
might give you something you don't like so well."

That is impossible. There is nothing Harry can do with his erect penis
that Ginny doesn't like so well, unless it is show it to her and not
let her have it. She knows she is making him spare with her teasing and
continues, seeing what it will goad him into doing.

"All right then," Harry roars and springs up.

Ginny is forced out of the way and they both are on their knees, facing
each other. Harry lunges and Ginny swerves to avoid him. There isn't
room on the bed and Harry catches her around the waist and throws her
down.

Ginny twists as he does and lands on her stomach. Even as she does, she
thinks of her mistake. Uh-oh, she thinks as she feels Harry swing a
leg over her and straddle her.

"If that's what you want then," Harry says and lowers himself.

"No, I don't!" Ginny says defiantly, "Don't! Don't you dare!"

She knows it will do no good. She feels Harry's penis already exploring
the crease between her buttocks. Her moment of pique in trying to avoid
him is going to get her buggered any second now.

Harry finds the dimple between the smooth, round mounds of her bottom
and presses. He can feel her arsehole clench.

"You won't! You know I'll fight you!" Ginny warns.

In response, Harry puts his hands on her shoulders as he lets his
weight bear down. To make at least a show of resistance, Ginny tries
to push her torso off the bed. She knows too well that any more violent
action will only help Harry force his penis into her rectum.

He's doing a good enough job of that by himself. Ginny cannot bring
herself to squeeze down to make it more difficult. It won't halt him,
she knows, and it will make it hurt. The best she manages is not to
push out and open for him, bearing the feeling of him forcing her anus
open as he enters her arse.

There is nothing Harry can do with his erect penis that Ginny doesn't
fancy. Buggering her is no exception. It is only that she fanices it
in a different way than normal shagging. The brutal, it can't help 
being brutal to force something so large into so small a hole, invasion
sparks helplessness, sparks infamy as she must endure and also feel
quite the tart to allow him to use her so.

Both the sacrifice and the giggle of shame make her squirm as Harry
presses deeper into her rectum. Harry is growling happily as he pushes
on, feeling the tight band slip farther down his penis as the tip is
treated to the heat of Ginny's arse.

"You can't fight, I see," Harry taunts her, "I think you must like
it."

"NO!" Ginny argues. "No, I can't! No decent girl ever can!"

Harry chuckles. He has succeeded in pushing to the hilt. His belly is
on Ginny's firm bottom and he swings his hips to make his penis stir
in her bowels. He likes the idea of Ginny as his own harlot, but not 
as much as the sensations of being so deep in her arse.

Ginny knows she has him all in every fiber of her being. That, for the
most part, is the most exciting thing. Yes, there is the stimulation of
her sensitive anus, but that hardly pays for the tension of the
stretching. It is knowing she has taken him, that she yields to his
every use that is exciting. She can feel every inch of him, how he
possesses her, and how she possesses him. It is extremely erotic.

It is extremely involving when Harry begins to move. Ginny's mind can 
hardly entertain any thought but that Harry is fucking her arse. It
is all she knows as the thick cylinder pumps in and out of her arse.

It feels so good Harry almost wishes he hadn't started, but it is an
almost as far from does as almost can be. His regret is that it is
so good that he won't have long to enjoy it. If he'd turned her over,
he could draw it out, but that is impossible in her hot, tight arse.

There's naught for it, Harry thinks as he thrusts hard and fast into
Ginny's arse. Ginny's squeals at the stiff thing stuffing her behind
becomes a squeak as Harry stabs hard into her and ejaculates.

They both feel a regret he has done for her so quickly, but no
disappointment in what he's done. The, call it ache, in Ginny's arse is
a fond reminder of Harry's unrestrained and hopefully unrestrainable
desire for her and also a reminder of her own naughty surrender to his
every lust.

For Harry, the way Ginny's arse can incite him so fully, so rapidly,
makes the lingering heat of his climax a reminder of how lucky he is
to have someone so suitable to tend his lusty needs. He needs no
reminder of how much pure fun it is to bugger her.

"Now I'll never put my mouth on *that*!" Ginny says contrarily and is
a bit disappointed Harry seems disinterested in contradicting her.

He is a bit dazed and it was the second go in a short while, but if she
feels naughty giving up her arse, then she knows how much more it would
be for him to force the cock that has been there into her mouth. He
doesn't pursue it, however.

"I'll give you more- but when I want," Harry says as he climbs, a bit
unsteadily, off the bed.

He's taken with the need to have a piss and walks down the hall to the
loo without bothering to dress. It is his house. He can walk about 
however it pleases him, he reckons.

He doesn't remind Ron and Hermione of his station or their dependance 
on his generosity, but he is clear on it in his actions. He does what
he wants- let them mention it to their cost.

Unfortunately, Harry goes in and has a piss and returns without
shocking anyone in the hall. He was hoping to encounter Hermione and
have a grin at her for being confronted with Harry Potter in the flesh.

He doesn't *fancy* Hermione, he considers, but the idea of having a go
with her is intriguing, perhaps for that reason. It would shock her and
he likes that idea. It might repay him for her refusal to recoil when
seeing him shagging Ginny.

When he returns to their bedroom, Ginny is propped on pillows with her
legs in the air, frigging herself like a woman possessed. He smiles.
She knows how randy that gets him. She's looking for another bit.

She is, but Harry is ignoring how nice it feels. Ginny wants him to 
jump on her and shag her, but she is having quite a nice frig for
herself in the meantime.


It only takes a few repetitions of Harry's new sport before Hermione
becomes suspicious. Following the pair, she sees Harry humble a huge
Muggle and then slop down a pint. Harry has taken to wearing a denim
jacket on which, Hermione wisely reckons, the applique clowns represent
Muggle Duels he has won.

Having no clear evidence, Hermione nevertheless suspects that Ginny is
involved rather more than walking about with her bum hanging out. That
is disturbing enough to Hermione, who has unresolved issues concerning
Ginny, but she suspects not only that Ginny aids Harry in his duels,
but that Ginny is affected by whatever madness has taken Harry.

Hermione can guess no cause- radioactive spiders are the stuff of American
graphic novels aka comic books and she's a Brit. She can no
more suss out a solution because that, like the cause, could only come
from a Muggle mind.

She won't let it rest, however. It is Harry after all and she is
devoted to him. That devotion likely figures in her mad assumptions.
She despairingly lets her mind wander beyond the real to fix on the
idea that it's Ginny's fault.

We can ponder all we want about repressed desires to have Harry for her
own, but the operative part is that Hermione comes to the wild conclusion
that Ginny is an evil agent- or has been brought under the
control of an evil agent- and is corrupting Harry.

"It's not right, you know," Hermione confronts Ginny. "It's beyond all
bounds and you will be called into account. It's best to give it up 
now and confess."

"I confess you're barmy," Ginny snorts, "We have a bit of fun. Are you
going to turn in your darling Harry? We both know you won't."

Ginny is a bit prickly over the way Hermione fawns on Harry. She
notices, what woman wouldn't? She suspects this is an attempt to get
her out of the way.

"But, you see, I've figured it out," Hermione says smugly. "I know it's
you. You're the one making Harry mad. And I will stop you."

That only confirms Ginny's suspicions. As well, it is a confrontation
Ginny relishes. Hermione is such a superior little bitch Ginny has
long longed to take her down a peg.

"I can't imagine how," Ginny says first. "You're mental in the first
place. You just don't want us to have fun because you don't like it.
And, for stopping us, you and what army?"

Hermione senses she has waited too long to strike. Her sense of fair play
and not striking without warning have played her false in this
confrontation. She raises her wand and is not prepared for Ginny's
response.

Ginny has absorbed too much of Harry's new game for Hermione to fathom.
Ginny punches Hermione square in the mouth, splitting her lip and
making her mouth fill with blood. On the heels of the blow, Ginny takes
Hermione by the head and throws her to the floor.

Ginny is holding Hermione's wand arm out and away from herself while
she wraps her legs around Hermione's head. Hermione is distractedly
disturbed by having her face pushed into Ginny's naked crotch and 
is quickly disarmed.

Ginny lets Hermione up, but only to take hold of her again and throw
her about. Ginny is not only taller, she has studied this sort of 
Muggle confrontation and Hermione is disoriented and then pummled as
Ginny attacks her with her fists.

Vanquished, bruised and bleeding, Hermione looks up, one eye already
blurred with swelling, to see Harry grinning at her.

"Not up to it, eh?" he says merrily. "Finally found something you can
be bested at, then?"

Hermione wants to beg Harry to listen, to be reasonable, but her plea
becomes a shriek as Harry pulls at her clothes. He isn't interested in
geting them off. He rips open her shirt and paws at her bra to expose
her breasts. He throws up her skirt and only slides the crotch of her
knickers out of the way.

He is grinning like a madman and Hermione doesn't doubt his intent.

"Nice ones," Harry says as he grabs her breasts and mauls them, "You
ought to show them more."

She can only scream "NO!" and beg incoherently as she feels Harry
thrust his hard penis into her. He's raping her. It isn't the way she
ever wanted it- even in moments of weakness when she wanted it.

He doesn't even finish the act. He stabs at her for a while, all the 
time turning to trade japes with Ginny, who is standing on her hair to
make sure Hermione does not escape. He pulls out of her and Hermione
screams again as she is turned into her belly.

"Now that's nice," Harry says mockingly, stroking Hermione's firm,
smooth, round buttocks, "You have to say that's nice, don't you Ginny?"

Ginny doesn't deign to answer as Harry extends Hermione's torture by
mocking her. She knows his intent. What else could it be? And he only
makes her fear greater as she anticipates the brutal stab.

It is as horrendous as she could imagine, but at the same time so
unremarkably mundane. It hurts, of course, as it was intended to, but
it's only buggery. It is not the act itself, but the very callousness
with which Harry defiles her that affects Hermione most.

Who is he? Has she ever known him, really? That preys most heavily on
Hermione's mind as Harry's penis ravages her bum. It is nearly enough
to make her forget the pain, nearly but not quite.

Sobbing and bereft, she suffers the final indignity as Harry
straightens up his pants- and laughs. Of course she is quite a pitiful
figure, bloodied, exposed and mewling, but he laughs! 

The coldness goes beyond chilling. Hermione feels she has faced evil in
its most distilled form. She is somewhat amazed she is allowed to crawl
away, but she knows even that is a show of contempt, their way of
saying she is no danger to them, whatever she might do.


"What's this, then?" Ron is blunt when he finds Hermione curled in bed,
nestled in the covers.

His look is troubled as she turns and he sees her beaten face. It is
the last small comfort for Hermione as she sobs out her woeful story.

"So you followed them. Why?" Ron asks. "Nothing better to do that see
what Harry's up to? Or is there something you're not telling me?"

As she has kept her suspicions from Ron, he is dubious about this so
suddenly occuring. He is little prepared to respond. He feels
humiliated, personally, that someone could have Hermione, as if they
had played with his toys. Hearing it is Harry, he is unconvinced,
though that might be his only real assessment showing through.

He must know, whether he will admit, that Harry is too estimable a
wizard for him to oppose. It may well be it is easier to face Hermione's
disappointment than the prospect of humiliating and possibly
fatal defeat at Harry's hands.

Whatever his reasons, Ron comes to a conclusion.

"You must have led him on," Ron says. "I don't mean you meant to, but
sometimes women can without knowing what they're doing."

"I didn't!" Hermione protests. "I didn't go to see him. I went to see
Ginny! She beat me and then Harry came in."

Hermione couldn't be more crushed. Her last hope has deserted her. She
cannot soothe herself by remembering Ron sometimes speaks rashly and
then reconsiders, not now, not in her condition.

She is robbed of its comfort when she is able to remember Ron's unfortunate
tendancies. When she seeks him to see if he has thought it
out with clearer and more reasonable conclusions, she finds Ron has
deserted her in body as well as spirit. He's done another runner.

Hermione must follow. Not follow Ron, there's no way of knowing where
he's gone, but flee the house. She fears, not without reason, that
remaining will only seem acceptance of her abuse and that she will
become sport for Ginny and Harry's perverse intents.

Even then, Hermione is haunted by the smalllest sound, shrieking at a
stick breaking and dissolving into sobs without warning and, seemingly,
without cause.


"That's it for women, then," Ron resolves. "All tarts and whores.
Nothing for it but to seek them and desert them. That's all they're
owed."

Ron is surprisingly successful with his new philosophy. There are, it
seems, more witches than might be suspected who are vulnerable to a
reckless approach and the appeal of a rogue.

It can also be said that Ron is not as strict about a nose being dead
center as he was in inviting a partner to the Yule Ball at 14. 

"So then, fancy a go? I'm Ron Weasley by the way," Ron gets right to it
in his hunt.

Rejected, he moves down the bar to the next likely subject. Accepted,
or hearing a giggle, he presses on.

"I'd take you to my place but my roommate, Harry Potter, is being a bit
of a prat right now. Jealous I'd guess," Ron knows his strengths, "We
could find a room here as well, I suppose."

It will be a room his current love will pay for, but more likely she
does have somewhere to stay and Ron comes along. He's not a total
dunce, and to be fair, practice improves him.

"You like that, do you? Then I have a real treat in store," Ron boasts
as he demonstrates what he's learned of snogging.

Remember now that she's yielded to his raw sexual urge in the first
place. That's she's drunk or not the sort to often have such attention
makes no difference in that. It makes her find Ron's single-minded
course to the bed appealing, if not romantic.

"Cor! Now look at that!" Ron is enthusiastic as they fall on the bed.

That he's admiring his own erection doen't dent the idea that the witch
inspired it. Happily burying it in the nearest vagina sets Ron on a
course to hump and thrash to his own amusement.

That some witches are easily satisfied or have low expectations is a
lucky chance for Ron. That he joins a majority of wizards that make
witches think that way would only amuse him- if he took time out from
shagging them for his own pleasure.

"Fancy a bugger?"

Some manage to delay him a day or two, a week, with unusual
reasonableness or gifts, but in his self-inflicted bitterness, Ron
moves on before he can develop an attachment to their firm, white
breasts or the joy of delving so deeply into whatever part of their
anatomy he has become most attached to delving into.
 
It is at first hardly a ruined wake of disappointed witches, but as
the weeks flee by, the occasional witch angry at being spurned becomes
a few and then many. There are still, to be sure, those happy to see
him go and those not so fussed, but the furies begin to add up.

These are joined somewhat later, when the problem becomes evident and
threatens to become known, by the witches left pregnant. Magic may
make care easier, but it does nothing for the whispers behind an unwed
witch's back.

A gathering hoarde begins to track Ron as he seeks new adventures in
his sexual quest to have all the tarts and whores he perceives witches
to be. It doesn't take long for him to become aware and, being Ron,
no more than that for him to cower helplessly and decide there is
nothing for it but to hide.

In this, Ron escapes lightly. Poor Hermione is beset with a much more
dire fate.

One may think the madness was transferred to her as Harry drove his
penis into her. As he thrust and she screamed, it might have crept from
him into her. But it is sufficient to think that the very betrayal of
all she thought and hoped was enough to send her around the twist.

Proud and capable, Hermione is still left little more than homeless in
the wake of her ordeal. Wandering the streets, looking for those that
might welcome her, her condition brings unwanted attention.

"Hey there, ducky, fancy a drink? I'll be kinder than the last, I
promise," comes from leering men outside pubs.

Dispirited, Hermione can barely fight off the advances of those that
think her bruises and black eye are an invitation- or at the least an
indication that she is fit for their sport.

As fondled and groped as she may have been in all her life together,
Hermione seeks the refuge of the Leaky Cauldron, paying with some of
the piddling remains of her savings. She is not only noticed, but
recognized by one sly seducer.

"Miss Granger, isn't it? Been through the wars from the looks of you,"
he says politely in the hall.

Politely as may be, Hermione senses his intent from the way he crowds
too close, closer than necessary in the wide hall. She is too tired,
too disheartened to care much.

"I'm tired and I just want sleep," Hermione cannot keep the pleading 
tone from her voice as she tries to escape.

"And that would be the best medicine," the man says. "But mind you,
I've got some potions that would put you to rights faster. If you'd
let me help you, that is."

It is fatigue rather than hope that he means to help her that makes
Hermione open the door and allow the man to follow her in. He is
a slippery one, however. He sets to with salves and balm that do
soothe the cuts and bruises.

He gently ministers and provides relief that tricks Hermione into a
faint hope he means well. She is lulled by his manner and doesn't
notice as he loosens and draws back her clothes until she feels the
chill air of the room on her nipples.

"Am I hurt there as well?" she timidly questions him as he draws off
all but her knickers.

"You should be better able to tell than I," he says, "But as you said
nothing, I thought I'd have a look for myself."

There is a bit of the rogue in his words, but they could be taken as
reasonable and Hermione is still too depressed to fight. She has
known his intent since the first, but she chose to mistake it and
chooses to continue that course.

She mustn't think. That's all. She needs to block out pain and
betrayal. And his hands do continue to be gentle as he runs them over
her exposed skin. She must close her eyes and allow him. It cannot 
harm her more and perhaps it can bring her some peace.

Her eyes come open and she feels the first twinge of reluctance when
she feels him draw down her knickers. He has stripped off in the
meantime and she sees he is erect and ready to have her. For once,
Hermione knows uncertainty.

She has let him touch her, arouse her. She paid no heed as he took off
his clothes as he touched her. Is she to balk now? She is excited from
his attention. She knew his intent and ignored it.

But it is a different thing to give in, Hermione finds. She feels 
strangely honor-bound to not resist him, but that is not to say she
finds it pleasant.

That is also oddly contradictory, because there is nothing in the
strange penis entering her that is painful or untoward. It is only the
realization that she has come to this that haunts Hermione.

She feels a contrary need to find him repulsive, to salvage her pride
at being seduced in this way. She finds that even more difficult as
his penis is exciting and much of her craves the pleasure to make her
forget her trials.

She screams in shame and ecstasy as she is unable to prevent her
traitor body from responding to his skill. Her need for solace has won
out. Hermione responds, although with as much confusion, as he slips
his tongue into her mouth and kisses her.

"There, you seem to feel better," he says with a conceited pride as he
lays beside her.

"Yes," Hermione says reasonably in spite of her turmoil. "Your potions
have done me much good. I suppose I should thank you."

"You've thanked me well enough," he says cheekily, "But I could thank
you back if you'd like that."

There's too much of Ron in his manner, but not in his bedroom skill.
Oh what the hell, Hermione tires of her questions, perhaps I need
something for myself.

She smiles at him and turns on her side to stroke his chest. Everyone
else has turned from her. She might as well have the pleasure of this
one before he does the same.


Slowly devolving into this madness as she recovers from her injuries-
the physical at least- Hermione only then realizes her duty as regards
her late friend. He is out of control and it doesn't matter he is
Harry Potter.

Reports to the Ministry are reluctantly taken, but rumors given the press
seem to bring better results. Spurred by the reports or finally
stirring the great beast of bureaucracy into action, the Ministry
investigates.


"You'll never take me alive, copper!" Harry shouts out the window of
the upscale rental. "I've got a wand and I know how to use it!"

He is joined, with insane glee, by his red-haired counterpart, who
sends curses randomly into the bushes. It is the stand-off of stand offs,
right in the middle of Muggle London. Good luck explaining this as a gas
explosion.

The gathered Aurors hesitate, for their hexes have revealed quite a
number of people in the rooms which Harry and Ginny occupy. There are
others at risk and the new government is quite stern about treating
even Muggles as persons.

Harry feels beyond this new decree. "I said suck it!" he bellows at a
trembling teen who is, beyond her understanding, unable to move despite
not being restrained in any way she can see.

Ginny looks on approvingly as the terrorized girl takes Harry's penis
in her mouth and moves back and forth on it.

"It goes for all of you," Harry announces to the women he has
collected, "I will have you all and have you as I wish. You had just as
well get accustomed to it. I'll rape you to death if need be."

It seems he is already on a fast tube to this destination. The poor
girl sucking his penis is fast becoming exhausted, already sore in the
jaw and aching in every muscle as she bobs fruitlessly on Harry's
engorged organ. She doesn't seem to satisfy. Harry will not be content
until she does.

He is feeling the full maniacal enjoyment of his mastery, but it is not
translating into desire. His erection is an instrument to dominate, not
a sex organ at the moment. He continues to shove it in the girl's face
as her eyes roll up in the last vestiges of consciousness.

"Well, that's for her then," Harry rages as she falls onto the floor.
"How about you, granny?"

Unkind is hardly to be remarked upon as Harry turns to the 40-something
woman cringing nearby. Being taunted for her age is kindness next to 
the way Harry snatches her naked and then falls upon her. She has seen
his cruelty to the girl and does not bother to beg for mercy. She sobs
in despair as he rapes her.

"You want some too?" he turns to Ginny when he is tired of terrorizing
his prey. "You fancy a go?"

"I'm dressed for it," Ginny says cheekily. "I'm amazed you have
anything to offer."

What fear the other hostages might have had for her safety and
flinching at her careless jape, turns to befuddlement and deeper
despair as Harry leaps atop Ginny and thrusts. He seems quite as
reckless with her, but the red-haired accomplice moans with pleasure.

Harry and Ginny have a most savage coupling in front of their
prisoners, groaning and moaning, and the fury serves to only predict
even direr fates for the captives. They are like animals as Harry takes
Ginny, biting her and prompting her to rake bloody grooves in his back
with her nails.

They are not quickly done neither, maintaining the fevered coupling 
while their horror-stricken audience faints from the sheer fury.

It is a premonition of their fates. Harry is not to be quickly done
with them either. The Aurors cower outside, paralyzed by the hostages
so brilliantly gathered to provoke that very response. Hermione howls
in frustration, shrieking most dire threats. She is finally stunned
as the Aurors fear she will attack on her own.

It might have been as well. Harry succeeds in raping one hostage to
death, with the aid of a weak heart, when he outrages her beyond her
will to live by ramming his penis in her arse as the others watch.
This, to him, victory sets him on an obsessive course to rape the
others to death as well.

Pausing only to cut strips of skin from his first victim, which he
adds to the clown appliques on his jacket as another badge of victory,
Harry selects 'gramma' as his next victim. He finds it very difficult
to rape her to death. She is surprisingly resilient to both his vicious
invasion of her vagina and her rectum.

After some hours, he despairs of his method and tries to disguise the
fact he is actually strangling her with loud exclamations and even more
active bouncing upon her belly. No one will, of course, dispute him in
his claim. They only scrabble, traumatizingly it will prove, to avoid
being his next victim, hoping only to offer someone else.

The Aurors do not lack for vigilance. With their lack of decisiveness,
there is little left them. The glows indicating humans have decreased.
As the second blinks out, there is a general conference.

"Stopping here isn't preventing them being killed," one fiery Auror
points out. "If going in gets them killed and staying here gets them
killed, I say let's let them die doing something!"

The address is cleaned up a bit on being repeated, but it does contain
a salient point. It's better to hope to save some than let them all die
before acting. Accordingly, they storm the building.

Ginny finally has the answer to the question she asked Hermione. It's an army
of Aurors that will stop her and Harry. Harry is happily buggering the teen-
she squeals so delightfully- when the Aurors burst in. Sending wands flying
doesn't help him this time.

Enough remain that he is paralyzed, wrapped in cords and hanging by one
heel in a trice. He weeps a tear as he watches one of the Aurors adjust
the teen's memory. She won't even remember sucking his penis, much less
his buggering her.

"I'm all right," Harry announces on the heels of this, the tear
prompting his professsion, "One of the spells you- so understandably-
threw at me must have done it. I'm cured now. I'm myself again. I regret what
I did- whatever it was- because I certainly don't remember-
and can say without doubt that I'd never do anything like it- whatever
it was- if there wasn't some evil influence on me."

"But it's gone now. I'm cured. You can let me down," Harry says.

"Me too, what he said," Ginny puts in. "I'd like some pants. I really 
would. I don't want to show you my bum anymore."

The only evidence the Wizarding community has of what was discussed behind
the closed doors of the Minister is the statement that came
from it. Harry had a virus. Ginny had to pretend to be his accomplice
so as to not arouse his suspicion, but was working tirelessly to apply
the only cure she knew- Muggle dueling and raping Muggles to death.

Harry is a hero again. It was only a momentary lapse. Ginny is owed- perhaps
the Order of Merlin First Class for her actions.

"So then, awkward, eh?" Harry says on first seeing Hermione. "I hear I
did some horrible things to you."

"As you well know, arsehole!" Hermione retorts. "I know there was no
virus. And you remember. I saw where you were looking."

As hard as it is to convince Hermione, who is too close to Harry for
him to deceive, it is as easy to distract a dissatisfied populace from
the easy pardon of Harry. The Ministry gives them another victim.

Ron Weasley, with no redeeming virus or anything of the sort, has been-
gasp!- playing witches false all over Britain. He has ruined a mutitude
and left his stain on an appreciable number. The Ministry waves Ron in
front of the people to distract them from what it's doing with the
other hand.

Scandal is always satisfying and the mix of private jealousy at dipping
so much wick, or having the wick dipped in them, and public outrage at
something kinda arousing does its job. People are all atwitter and
on to guessing who might be among the victims.

Getting to tar innocent women for whom they have a grudge with the
infamy of being among the ruined is unfortunately, for those caught up
in the ruined-witch hunt, cut short. Ron is discovered in the lowest
point in England- wherever that is- hiding under a sink in an abandoned
farm sometimes used as a set for movies.

The clamor for answers is so pervasive that what might be deemed a
civil matter is dragged into a full-scale proceeding of the full
Wizegemot. No one is absent. Were there one who does not wish to hear
the details, they would feel compelled by public opinion to appear.

"I didn't do nuffink!" Ron claims.

"It was them! They made me! They worshipped me! I feared for my life
if I didn't give them what they wanted!"

In some support of this claim, several witches in attendance have
carved "R.W." and in fewer cases, "R.B.W." on their foreheads. This
argues mania if not madness as long as spectators are not aware none
of the witches have actually had sex with Ron. They hope to, that's
their motivation.

It hardly being within the scope of the inquiry to sentence Ron to
Azkaban, the charges being murky at best, the Wizegemot recommends
he do community service- making demo records for once famous American
producer Terry Melcher- whether Melcher wants them or not. They are
wizards. They can assure a certain kind of cooperation anyway.

"Oo baby I love your way" comes from this- answering a multitude of
questions. Ron hit upon this formula- unfortunately or fortunately-
your call- while entertaining a woman with "R.W." carved on her
forehead. Actually, the entertaining was more in the form of howling
into the microphone as the witch was busy somewhere south of where
the producer could see.

A chasened Harry has since resolved to mend his ways. He was last seen
walking the streets of Mayfair, stumbling and mumbling as he accosted
women. It can only be hoped he does not attract the attention of deadly
little Miko and her Hattori Hanzo blade.

But that's another story, another graphic novel and still too American for
Harry to see coming.
	###