Grazhir :: Harry Potter :: CIA :: 05 :: Perversions

05 • Perversions

“I am feeling rather peculiar at the moment,” Harry said as he led his lover through the door into the back garden park.

“Hm?”

“You’ll see.” Beneath his favorite shade tree Harry spelled the existing table and chairs out of the way, then conjured up a new, larger chair. He made short work of stripping off his clothing, then his lover’s, and said, “Sit down, please?”

Voldemort did so, slight confusion showing on his face, then sighed in appreciation when Harry knelt before the chair and began to fellate him to hardness. It was several minutes later that his mate released him and stood, then turned to face away.

Harry whistled sharply. Moony and Weatherby appeared seconds later, at which point Harry said, “Pet, I want you to fuck your bitch for me, right now, right here.”

The werewolf looked mildly surprised, but nodded, and lunged at the redhead, beginning things off by getting Percy to suck his cock.

Harry purred and backed up, and slowly impaled himself on his lover’s penis. Once Voldemort was fully sheathed Harry leaned back and spread his legs wide, then raised his arms so he could grasp the top edge of the chair. “Please play with me,” he whispered.

Voldemort could not quite decide if he was upset or not that his beloved was initiating sex with others present deliberately, as he did not particularly like the idea of sharing, but shrugged it off as a pregnant incubus thing. Better this than bizarre food cravings, he supposed. He repositioned himself somewhat in the chair, then reached down one hand to stroke his mate’s cock as he gently fucked him, his other hand moving to twist and pinch Harry’s nipples.

“Do you like that so much,” Voldemort whispered, “watching your pets fuck?”

Harry moaned softly and nodded.

“And is it different because that’s what they are? Pets?”

“Yesss.”

“I see,” he whispered while his hands continued to move against the flesh of his beloved. “Look at how Weatherby’s cheeks hollow as he sucks so diligently. I’m sure you can imagine how Moony must feel to have that mouth wrapped around his cock, that tongue gliding against his hot skin. And shortly your pet will be sinking that cock into Weatherby’s waiting ass and fucking him like an animal.”

Harry nodded again, jerking his hips to both work the cock in his ass and gain more from Voldemort’s hand around his own, his breathing somewhat ragged.

“Ah, you like being so open for me, don’t you, love. Spread wide and willing so that I can tease you into a frenzy. There are times when I wish there were two of me, so I could fuck both your ass and mouth at the same time. Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

His mate’s head dropped back against his shoulder as a throaty groan ripped from him, and Voldemort immediately said, “Oh, you aren’t allowed to look away, all right? Moony is performing for you, at your command, so you must watch.” When his beloved didn’t respond immediately Voldemort pinched one of his nipples with more force than usual.

Harry moaned loudly, but did not raise his head, so Voldemort repeated the action, adding an extra twist. He was quite surprised when Harry began to move his hips more quickly, more wildly, as though the treatment was actually inflaming his desire.

“Yessss, yesss,” Harry whispered, “I won’t break.”

Perhaps he had been a touch too concerned about his beloved’s fragility, and had assigned too much psychological damage at the hands of Severus Snape. With a purely mental shrug he pushed the matter aside and concentrated on bringing his beloved incubus to completion, continuing to whisper wicked things.

Harry was hungry, so it did not take much longer for him to orgasm. Voldemort speculated that he had only lasted as long as he had due to having to consciously control his thrall in the presence of others. And of course, his mate’s delightful expressions of pleasure set him off, and he held Harry close against him as he thrust as strongly as he could in his own throes.

He spent the next minute or so recovering, then, out of pure curiosity, lifted his semen covered fingers to Harry’s lips. His mate licked him clean, that wet mouth making Voldemort consider going for a second round as his spent cock valiantly tried to twitch to life again.

“As much as I hate to say it, my sweet, we should probably rejoin the world,” he whispered, and smiled when Harry made a petulant noise.

“Okay,” came a return whisper, “if we must.” Harry slowly removed himself from the chair and produced a wand so he could cast a few spells to clean them up. He sighed and spared a glance at his pets, who were still engaged, then fetched up their clothing so they could dress.

By the time they were ready to re-enter the house Moony had lost himself in orgasm, collapsing afterward over Percy’s back. “Excellently done,” Harry said softly. “I might give you a special reward for this, pet.” Then he vanished the conjured chair, put the furniture back the way it had been, and took Voldemort’s hand before heading toward the house.

Marius and Armand were passing through the hallway, headed toward the stairs, when they stepped back inside. Both men had somewhat shifty looks on their faces, making Voldemort wonder if they had been inadvertently spied on during Harry’s lunch.

“I am going to summon Lucius and send him here to you,” he said to Harry. “You can mention that trip. If you want to use him this afternoon, that’s fine. Aside from that I will be in my office if you need me, my sweet.”

“Okay, Tom. And I’ll get started on a letter to Bill about Charlie.”

*

They did, actually, go that afternoon. There was a short wait while Armand and Marius were getting ready, and they came back downstairs looking incredibly relaxed, which made Harry pause in thought briefly before shaking his head and outlining a vague itinerary.

Lucius was terribly agreeable, not that Harry expected any other response, so they stopped at Gringotts first so that his two new friends (and technically, employees) could open a local account, and so that Harry could transfer in rather a lot of coin, both for a salary and in expectation of any kind of expenses related to his own pregnancy such that Armand might need to make purchases.

After that he mainly let Lucius play guide, with his greater experience, and settled back to learn a bit himself about things that had more or less always been denied to him in the past. All in all it was a nice afternoon, and everyone enjoyed themselves, even Lucius, who looked to be pleased that he could be so helpful.

A week later they were gathered back at the house in France and Harry was waiting just inside the wards for the arrival of Bill, Fleur, and Charlie. He went through the usual things like verifying identities before keying them into the wards temporarily, then repaired to the house much as before.

Charlie, as it turned out, was quite the pragmatist, or realist. Perhaps it was the years he had spent with dragons, but his view on life leaned toward being somewhat disgusted with the human race given that they tended to do things like hunt for sport, not need, which included their own kind. As a result, he easily fell in with his brother and sister-in-law, and made an oath without any fuss. And then he said something very interesting.

“Harry, look. I have been following the news from the UK, mainly to keep myself up-to-date, so I know what’s been going on with regard to you and this whole ownership thing. And, maybe I’m not seeing this clearly, but what is to stop you from switching citizenship to a country that doesn’t have those same laws?”

Harry blinked a few times and looked at his lover in surprise, then over to Armand and Marius.

“He has a point,” Marius offered. “If you were a citizen of, say, France, no one in the UK would have a legal leg to stand on. France just doesn’t work that way when it comes to our species. You wouldn’t even have to make noise about it. Just arrange it, and only bring that to light if you must.”

“Pull the rug out from under them,” Bill said with a grin.

“Um, but if I did that, wouldn’t I supposedly have to live in one of the settlements here? I wouldn’t actually be here, of course, because Justus Bane”—he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers—“isn’t an incubus, but. . . .”

“Consider it a legal fiction,” Armand said. “It may be that Rialis would cover for you. Aside from the people who were in Dumbledore’s inner circle, and they’re all dead, nobody has any real idea where you’ve been for the past four years. You could have been living in France all that time, and no one could prove otherwise.”

Harry frowned. “And like someone couldn’t dose a resident of the village with veritaserum and try to pry the truth out that way?”

Marius shot him an apologetic look. “It never occurred to us to mention it, but our species is allergic to veritaserum. It won’t work on us. And no, you aren’t required to live in a settlement, but it’s incredibly rare that one of us doesn’t. Most of us need the support of our own kind, and of a matriarch and/or patriarch.”

Harry shook his head. “That doesn’t cover human bond mates, or other races. I won’t even think about putting Rialis in that kind of position.”

“Harry,” said Voldemort, catching his attention, “I have other properties in this country. You could apply for citizenship within the magical community here and show your place of residence as one of those. I would prefer not to have this one brought to light in any official sense. It is possible that the ministry here won’t pry into the claims about your species. In fact, they might consider it a coup to have you as one of their own, regardless of your motivation or provocation.”

He ran that through his mind a few times, then said, “I don’t know the first thing about stuff like this.”

“If you will permit,” said Fleur, “I will find out for you.”

“But people know of the connection between us,” Harry protested.

Bill chortled and started nodding, obviously aware of what his wife was thinking.

Fleur smiled wickedly. “Sure, Harry, but how many people are going to remember properly if I turn on the charm? I’ll get the information you need, and they’ll be so busy falling over themselves to indulge me that all they’ll remember is being dazzled by a pretty girl.”

Even Voldemort was moved to laugh.

Two weeks later Harry was sidling into the French Ministry, a buff-coloured hooded cloak helping to conceal his identity. Fleur had given him very exact instructions on what to expect and where to go within, so he was shortly standing before a counter in fairly small room.

One look at the man behind that counter had Harry feeling suspiciously confused. Long flame-red hair framed a face of angelic beauty, and the man’s skin was flawlessly pale.

“Hello!” greeted the man, whose nametag read ‘Luc’.

“Er, hi. I’ve come to see about obtaining citizenship in magical France,” Harry said softly.

“Of course you have, lad. Just hand over that paperwork and I’ll get you set up,” Luc said cheerfully, extending one hand expectantly.

Harry fetched out an envelope and passed it over slowly. “Maybe I’m imagining things, but do you have a twin who works at the British Ministry? I could swear I’ve seen you before.”

Luc aimed a brilliant smile at him and shook his head. “I get around.” He whipped the paperwork out and examined it, then snatched up a pen and made completely unintelligible scribbles on each page. The pen was tossed aside in favor of a stamp, which was thumped onto each page, and Luc looked back up with a coy smile.

“I’ll just need to make some copies. Don’t you disappear on me now, lad.”

Harry was left to wait for several minutes, not even having seen where Luc had gotten off to, and occupied himself with wondering how long it would actually take to get approval, and when he would need to return to finalize things, assuming his petition was accepted.

Luc breezed back in and pushed some papers across the counter. “There you are, lad. Full citizenship in France, magical and muggle. And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my break!” A second later he was gone.

Harry blinked a few times and picked up the papers almost cautiously, then exited and headed for home.

*

“Harry, my sweet,” Voldemort asked as his mate entered the kitchen, “why do you look so . . . perplexed?”

“Oh, uh. . . .” Harry handed his lover the papers. “Could you read that over, please, while I prepare lunch?”

He frowned faintly, not happy that his beloved was acting rather out of it, but began to read as requested, his brows rising in fractional increments as he absorbed the contents. By the time Harry had slid salads onto the table he was mightily confused himself.

Voldemort set the papers down and picked up his fork, absently nodding a greeting to Armand and Marius, then said, “According to that paperwork, love, you’ve been a citizen of France since you turned eighteen.”

“Uh huh.” Harry continued to work his arcane culinary magic, not bothering to turn around.

Voldemort squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “This is reminding me all too alarmingly of how Justus Bane has existed for longer than is humanly possible.” He opened his eyes and forked up some greens to munch on.

“Yup, just like that,” Harry offered in a vague voice.

“May I?” said Marius, nodding at the papers. When Voldemort simply shrugged he pulled them over to read, gasping softly a short time later. “These were signed by ex-Minister Ghislain Telesphore? Two weeks after he allegedly approved your citizenship he died in a freak accident.”

Harry paused in his work and looked over his shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yes. He was a man inordinately fond of paperwork. Rumor has it that most of the Ministry workers absolutely despised him for making them maintain a paper trail in sextuplicate. In any case, somehow a whirlwind ended up in his office one day, probably a malicious prank played by one of the disgruntled workers, and it stirred up the papers on his desk so violently that some of them sliced across his throat with enough force to cut open his carotid artery. He died instantly. You know, proving that death by paper cut is actually possible.”

“I see,” said Voldemort. “How . . . convenient.” He looked up as his mate arrived at the table with plates of food and said, “Love, was there anything odd about your visit to the French Ministry?”

Harry slid into a seat with a slow blink, then nodded. “Yes, actually. The man behind the counter at the immigration office was the same man who helped me out at the British Ministry archives. As I recall, I had to describe him to Nitpuff in order to gain access to Justus Bane’s vault at Gringotts.”

Armand did a slight double take and said, “Harry, could you describe the man?”

“Oh, sure. He’s got super long red hair, like flames, really, and frightfully pale skin. Ethereally handsome. Very cheerful, too. And his name tag said Luc on it.” He furrowed his brow. “I can’t quite seem to remember what colour his eyes are, though.”

Marius and Armand exchanged a very long look, one jammed full of silent communication. “Harry,” Marius said gently, “I think you should leave well enough alone and just accept this . . . development.”

“And why would he do that?” Voldemort questioned suspiciously.

“Er, well, there’s a legend, you see, a myth, among our kind,” Marius said. “About a patron saint, of sorts. Harry’s just described him. And, well, he does seem to be able to work miracles on your behalf. I couldn’t even begin to speculate on why you’ve come to his attention, but. . . .”

Harry nodded while drumming his fingers on the table. “Right. It’s gone clean out of my mind. I can’t deal with this sort of thing, so I’m just not going to think about it, okay? How’s the food?”

“Then let us talk of other things, such as how Scrimgeour has been voted in as the new minister,” Voldemort said.

“I don’t trust that man,” Harry commented. “I think he’s up to something.”

“If so, we shall simply have to find a way to neutralize him. And we still need to go over the information that Skeeter has provided.”

“I looked over some of that,” Harry said. “Some of the Wizengamot members are . . . very naughty. Do you think there’s like a monthly game of Dragon Poker where all the whackos get together to discuss the best ways to cater to their perversions?”

Voldemort rolled his eyes and sighed. “I shall have to become inured to these shocks. Harry, love, I would not be surprised if that were so.”

“Well, a number of them practically built their fortunes on the black market,” Harry confided. “One of them is closely related to the fellow who owns the place we planted Dumblefuck in, and another one owns and operates a very popular and exclusive brothel in Blackpool. A third has a thriving business training and selling human sex slaves. And in a related sense, another one lures humanoid magical creatures in with promises of sanctuary, then sells them to people in the Middle East as slaves.”

He paused to flash them all a quirky smile. “The vague suspicion is forming in my mind that our government is a touch corrupt. Now, on the less kinky side of things, a handful of them sell their votes to the highest bidder on a regular basis.”

“Those we could use,” Voldemort interjected.

Harry nodded. “I thought so, too. They’re practically harmless, considering. Hm, let me think. One of them likes to get drunk and run around his estate while naked, not to mention fly around the surrounding countryside. Certain people at the Daily Prophet have been heavily bribed by his family to forget to report about his activities. You know, I take it back. Most of them are kinky bastards.

“One in particular is very strange. During the meetings he’s all very pompous and overbearing and opinionated, but Skeeter says that once he gets home he becomes the submissive of his own personal master, who is actually the one making the vote decisions. Preparation for that guy before a session apparently involves being paddled until he can barely sit down without crying. Maybe that’s what keeps him awake? I’ve heard the meetings are supremely boring.”

“Is there anyone normal?” Armand asked.

“Um. . . .” Harry appeared to ponder that for a minute, then murmured, “That one likes to get high and let his dogs lick him to orgasm, that one wears women’s hosiery under his clothes, one of them is systematically embezzling from orphanages and other charitable organizations he helps run. . . .

“Oh! Yes, actually, there is one. He’s very new, which might explain why he takes his job seriously. Well, unless you count the guy who refuses to take a bath in anything but champagne.”

*

The next morning the Daily Prophet revealed that Aberforth Dumbledore’s inadvertent bid for control of Harry Potter had won out. The day after that a new decree was made public, which stated that Dumbledore was required to bring his new charge into the Ministry to be properly registered, and failure to do so within a week’s time would result in ownership of Potter defaulting to the Ministry itself.

Harry’s reaction was to sneer. “Fat lot of good that’ll do anyone. And at that, nobody even has proof that I am an incubus. Idiots.”

“Yes, well, Dumbledore will not be able to comply, which means it is likely that Scrimgeour will set up a detachment of men to hunt you down.”

Harry then snorted. “Maybe so, Tom. And if that happens, well, I’m going to find an excuse to start killing people again. I hope you don’t mind.”

Voldemort shook his head. “Of course not, love. I’ll even help you.”

Armand cleared his throat. “Shall we repair to the infirmary? Enough time has passed that I can now determine just how many children Harry is carrying.”

“Oooo, okay. Just as soon as you’re done eating, then. And speaking of which, what about you two? Any news?”

Marius wrinkled his nose playfully. “Very likely, yes. Armand will be checking after he takes care of you.”

So it was that they relocated a short time later to the infirmary and Armand began his spell work, eventually looking up with a smile to say, “You are carrying a single child, which is probably more than enough for you to deal with the first time around.”

Harry practically glowed with happiness, which made Voldemort equally pleased. Granted, he would not have minded had his mate been carrying twins. He helped his beloved up so that Marius could take Harry’s place on the examining table, and was instantly wrapped in an exuberant hug.

“I’ve been thinking,” Marius said as he settled into place. “When I was in my teens I had briefly apprenticed to a sculptor. Would either of you mind if I were to practice that craft in the back garden? I could use your pets as models to assist me.”

Voldemort deferred to Harry on that, who promptly said, “I don’t mind at all, and I will make sure they’ll obey your commands.”

For some reason Marius flushed a faint shade of pink, but Harry did not seem to pick up on that.

“I mean, I suppose they do get a bit bored out there since I rather think it’s not a good time for me to move ahead with my original plans for them, so this might be nice for them as well. You won’t be able to clothe them or anything, but. . . . Though, I suppose, if you needed that, I could let you use Moony’s toy.”

Marius tilted his head to the side so he could see around his mate, who was busy casting spells. “Toy?”

“Mm, yes. I purchased, quite a while back, a sex golem as a reward for Moony. You could put clothes on that if necessary, but you’d have to position it manually, as it only really understands commands that deal with sex. At any rate, I can provide the key for the shed if you wish, but you must always remember to make sure that Moony doesn’t play with it. Erm, well, unless he’s been a huge help to you, in which case I suppose it would be all right.”

Marius flushed again, which Voldemort found inordinately amusing. He only wished he could see Armand’s face, as he was curious if he was reacting similarly.

“I’ll just set things up so that Moony and Weatherby see you as a designated handler, okay? Then they can’t disobey you lest they risk punishment.”

Armand cleared his throat, distracting them all, and said, “I am extremely pleased to say that we’re going to be parents.”


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