Grazhir :: Harry Potter :: CIA :: 09 :: Guidelines

09 • Guidelines

Harry was kept quite busy over the next fortnight what with having so many appointments with Wizengamot members. Some of them were conditioned to make regular transfers into one of Voldemort’s many holding accounts at Gringotts, while others were simply wired to always sell their votes to Lucius.

There were a few that Harry held off on, choosing to set them up with a trigger that would, when activated, cause them to appear at a designated location. People like the drunk nudist were included in that bunch. The trickiest one saw his mate joining him, and once the man was properly receptive, the Death Eater they had chosen to be a liaison was brought in long enough to be identified, then released back to the compound.

That being the case, they worked out a deal for sperm samples from the man’s stable of slaves-in-training, offering in return a new victim once a certain quota had been reached. As far as the slave trader was concerned the deal was nearly pure profit for him.

He was also one of the men who would be sending them the vote schedules, much like the self-styled master, so that Harry and Voldemort could impart their instructions in a timely manner. A separate bunch had been designated as those who would bring motions to the table to get them on the ballot.

Mind, what none of the affected people were aware of was that Harry left one other trigger in each of them, just as a failsafe.

By the time all of them had been handled Harry was feeling more than a bit ready to amuse himself with an entirely different task. He made his way to the training facility and fired off a few orders, then prepared to teach a class.

“Okay!” Harry said and clapped his hands together smartly. “Welcome, everyone, to Torture Training, and I’m sure we’re all going to have a lovely time. Now, there are two main reasons to torture a person. The first is because you want actual information, and the second is because you have permission and happen to be in the mood.

“For today’s demonstration we have with us one of the captured hunters, so we’ll be looking to interrogation. And, once we have him nicely revved up and pliable, you can all have a go at him and ask anything you like, such as whether or not he ever cheated on his exams while at school, or secretly likes for women to spank him with the bristly side of a hairbrush.

“There are two main types of torture, those being psychological and physical.” Harry stepped over to a chalkboard and made a few notes, then turned back to the class. A part of him wanted to giggle given that it was practically a scene out of his Hogwarts days.

“Psychological torture generally means giving your victim something I like to refer to as a mind fuck. For example, you can threaten to harm one of his family members. Telling him that you plan to rape his wife and daughter can go a long way toward getting him to spill anything you wish to know.

“In fact, and I can say from personal experience that this is an excellent tactic, you can find a second victim, or even just a helper, and employ polyjuice potion to make the victim truly believe your threat is real. Glamours can also be useful if you have any skill with those.

“Certain drugs can also be very helpful. Veritaserum becomes exponentially more effective if the victim is disoriented or scared, but that isn’t the only thing you can use. Muggles have come up with a number of fascinating little substances, but you’d learn about those in an optional class, so I shan’t be covering them today.”

Harry paused to shoot them all a nasty little look. “Be aware, people, that should it come to our attention that any of you are using these techniques on your fellow Death Eaters, we will become vexed, and you might just find yourself as the next floor demo model.

“Also falling under the heading of psychological torture is exploiting a victim’s fears. For example, if the victim has a fear of dogs, you could have several handy to snarl and generally act as though they might pounce at the slightest provocation. Granted, one must remember to prevent escape methods such as apparation, portkeys, and even animagus transformations.

“If you know their fears, consider using them. As an example of this we can look at a former friend of yours, Landsman. He used to be a part of the training staff, but sadly, betrayed us. Landsman was terrified of heights, so he died appropriately. He was taken to the top of a tall building in London, stunned, levitated over the edge, and released.

“Other people might be afraid of insects, those creepy little clown dolls, or any number of peculiar things. Catering to the victim’s fear will make them more inclined to do what you ask of them just to make it go away. Something that I’ve done personally is play on one victim’s belief in God, in heaven and hell, and all that.

“I had him convinced he was dead and awaiting judgment, then that I had saved his life, yanking him away from limbo and back into the real world. He was terribly confused at that point, and I was easily able to lead him straight into doing what I wished.

“Now, I’m sure everyone is familiar with physical torture. Pain curses, cutting curses, the unforgivables, whips, knives, axes, my very own scythe. It frequently isn’t enough to just lop off a body part and expect your victim to talk. If you’re not careful they’ll go into shock, and then you won’t be getting anything.

“Lord Voldemort gave us all a fine example of physical torture when he used those snakes during a recent revel. Yes, I can see many of you remember. His example shows you that it isn’t strictly necessary to exhaust yourselves in your enthusiasm, though if you have the stamina and the inclination, something more like I did is always good for amusement.

“In any case, physical torture for the purpose of interrogation should be more geared toward a steady escalation of threat and pain. You might begin by slicing thin, shallow lines into their skin, someplace where the pain tolerance level is naturally higher. Then move on to either deeper cuts, or even to places like the stomach or inner thighs, which are much more sensitive.

“Personally, I tend to favor a combination of both methods. Now, today we have with us one of Scrimgeour’s hunters, courtesy of Giovanni Blanton, so be sure to thank him later.” Harry paused to gesture at the hunter, not that anyone could possibly have missed him, as he happened to be racked up naked at the front of the room.

“I happen to be curious about the deal struck between our beloved minister and the hunters, so that will be the focus of today’s demonstration. And I’ll begin by waking him up and showing him a taste of pain before I get into the whole bit about answers.”

Harry produced a wand in his left hand and woke the fellow up, then swapped out for a delicate blade and approached his victim, saying, “Some of the areas most able to stand pain are the back and buttocks, though you should be careful around the spine itself.”

He stopped in front of the hunter and smiled, then said cheerfully, “Hello. We’re going to have ever so much fun together, I just know it.” Then he turned the rack around and lifted his blade to begin carving a lovely little pattern to one side of the man’s spine, absently informing the class, “Always choose a nickname for your victim. It helps to degrade them, and you won’t have to bother yourself with remembering what they were given at birth.”

After matching the cuts on the other side he spun the rack around again and said, “I’m sure you’re already feeling the effects of my handiwork, and that’s just one example. There’s something I want to know, and you’re going to tell me.”

The man opened his mouth to speak and Harry slapped him silent. “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, peapod. If you have any sort of brains in that head of yours you’ll refrain from wagging your tongue unless I ask you a question. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the man whispered.

Harry reached down to grasp the man’s balls and squeeze. “What was that, peapod? I don’t think the class could hear you.”

After moaning in pain the man repeated, “Yes.”

“Good boy.” Harry reached up to tweak one of the man’s nipples roughly. “You happen to be one of those people working for Scrimgeour. We don’t like you. Neither does my knife.” He started carving a new design, this time just below the collarbone. When he was satisfied with it he said, “What is your name, peapod?”

“M’not telling you anything.”

Harry backhanded the man brutally. “Not a wise decision, peapod. The more uncooperative you are, the more it’s going to hurt before this is over. So let’s try this again, shall we? What is your name?”

“Lysimachus Rideaux,” the man gasped.

“Brilliant! And now, because you’ve behaved, you get a small reward.” Harry reached down and began stroking the man’s flaccid cock, coaxing it to harden. “See? Doesn’t that feel nice, peapod?” He waited until the man moaned before readying his knife again and starting a new carving, this time around the man’s nipples.

To the class he said, “Alternating pleasure and pain can really fuck with a victim’s head. Also, it never hurts to have an assistant who can keep your victim conscious should they be inclined to pass out, hand you things you need, and also warn you if your victim comes too close to death.” A short time later he asked, “And are you married, peapod?” There was another bit of resistance, which occasioned another belt across the face, and then the man answered him, so Harry once again stroked the hunter’s cock until he moaned in pleasure.

A bit later on the man was answering without resistance so Harry turned to the class and said, “And as you can see, he’s now much more pliable. But, we will remind him again of what awaits him if he resists.” Harry’s knife moved down to the man’s lower stomach, but he made sure to brush the man’s cock frequently as he worked.

“Now, peapod, why don’t you tell me about the deal you made with Scrimgeour, hm?”

The hunter babbled out the details quite easily, the words practically slurring together as Harry worked his cock with one hand. Once he had what he wanted Harry released the man and stepped back. “All right, class, who would like to come up and have some fun? And if you like, you can do this in groups. One of you could be causing pain, another pleasure, while the third asks questions.”

The demonstration ended when the hunter was induced to orgasm, despite his myriad wounds. He had been very cooperative. Harry waved the current set of students back to their seats. “I think you all have the hang of this technique,” he said approvingly. “We now have the choice of healing our victim up so that he’ll be ready for more playtime later on, or killing him. What you do at this point will be determined by your actual orders.

“In peapod’s case, I already have something in mind for him, so he gets to live.” Harry twisted slightly and snapped his fingers; a member of the medical staff rushed forward and bowed, then hauled the victim away. “Your orders, or permission, should always include the disposition of the victim. If you are not told, ask. If we find out that a victim was deliberately killed because one of you didn’t bother to clarify. . . .”

Harry whipped out a wand, causing a number of the students to flinch, then scourgified the blood off the floor. The wand was tucked away a moment later, and Harry simply quit the room without another word, heading back to the house, though he did make a side trip to convince his lover to take the rest of the day off with him and relax in the garden.


Voldemort was sitting in the shade of the tree while Harry was sprawled on a blanket spread on the grass, soaking up the sun. Voldemort didn’t think much of when Harry stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside; he simply went on reading and sipping his wine.

The next time he glanced over it was to realize, with mild surprise, that his mate had somehow changed clothing entirely and was wearing only a skimpy little bathing suit. It made him wonder. He knew Harry preferred to be naked whenever possible, and he had been forced, more or less, to wear clothing ever since the two Frenchmen had arrived.

Voldemort wrestled with himself for quite a while as he gazed at his beloved, trying to come to a decision on whether or not it would truly upset him if Harry flounced about in the altogether in front of those two. At that, he was aware that Malfoy’s stint as Moony’s bitch was nearly up, so he would shortly be out of the picture as another set of eyes, though given things Harry had said, he might show up on a semi-regular basis.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Armand, who asked somewhat tentatively, “Are you all right?”

“I must wonder,” he said softly. “Harry truly dislikes clothing, possibly because of what they did to him. Is it nature or nurture?”

Armand looked surprised at the question, and Marius leaned in to say, “I think I should field this. Maybe it is possible that his torture had an effect, but there are plenty of people out there in the world who love to run around naked just because. As for our species, I can confirm that any incubus or succubus will always feel more comfortable nude. Clothes get in the way, you know? They’re stifling.”

“Harry lost that freedom, didn’t he,” Armand said shrewdly, “when we came here.”

Voldemort nodded, his eyes back on his beloved.

“I don’t know if this helps any,” Marius said, “but we don’t care if he regains it. Actually, I wouldn’t mind knowing I could as well.”

Voldemort sipped more of his wine, then nudged his beloved’s mind, causing Harry to look over. He crooked a finger and waited until Harry was standing in front of him curiously, then pulled him down onto his lap. “Love, if you wish to dispense with clothing in the house and garden again, I shan’t get upset with you.”

Harry’s eyes went quite wide at that. “But. . . .”

“It’s not fair of me to restrict you like that, even though I never actually asked. I know you started wearing them inside because you thought I’d want that given that we have people living with us now and I don’t like to share. In contrast, I would get upset if you wished to invite our friends to a ringside show of us making love.”

“I would never!” Harry protested.

“I know, love. Perhaps I worded that badly. It’s just an example to illustrate the difference.”

“Oh. It’s really all right?”

When Voldemort nodded Harry leaned in to capture his mouth in a deep kiss, nearly causing him to forget they had company and take his beloved right there on the grass. Then again, there were always privacy wards.

Harry pulled back with a brilliant smile, then frowned and shot him a look. “You forget how good my hearing is, Tom. What about Marius?”

“Him too.”

Harry leaned in for another kiss, further threatening Voldemort’s control, then slipped off his lap and grabbed his hand. “Excuse us,” he said, then practically dragged Voldemort out of the chair and up to the bedroom.

Over dinner that evening Harry was given to say, “I’ve been thinking. I haven’t actually done anything yet about making a name for myself. I was thinking I could personally lead a raid on the Ministry to gather up some of the people on our list.”

Voldemort set his fork down with a frown. “Harry, you are carrying our child.”

“I’d be careful, and it’s not like I’ve been adversely affected yet. I’m just as deadly as ever. You know that from our spars.”

“Yes, our spars. Spars in which I am well aware of your condition, visible or not. Not a situation where you could have several score of aurors attempting to take you down. Is it really so important to you to give the public a second dark lord to fear that you’d be willing to take that risk? Love, I know, you have no intention of bringing harm to our child, and you have every reason to be confident in your abilities. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Harry sat back with a sullen expression, then sighed. “I so hate it when you use logic against me.” Then he scowled. “Have you been going easy on me?”

Voldemort shook his head. “No, but I take extreme care in what I use and where I aim. Harry, my sweet, if you can think of a way to make yourself known as a terror with the least possible risk. . . . I don’t think a raid on the Ministry fits that criteria.”

His mate pouted adorably and shook his hair back, then scowled at Armand. “You’re going to agree with him, aren’t you.”

“I’m afraid so, Harry. The risk is too great.”

“Bugger. It’s not easy being a pregnant dark lord, you know. Hey, don’t make me reimpose a moratorium on speech during meals.”

Voldemort hastily picked up his fork and resumed eating, not at all fond of that idea. After several bites of food he sought to change the subject and inquired, “Armand, have you determined yet how many children you two are expecting?”

“Yes, just prior to dinner, actually.”

Harry went from scowling at nothing in particular to expectant, which was rather Voldemort’s hope.

Marius said, “Twins.”

Harry clapped his hands together in delight. “That’s wonderful! And I think that calls for a pay rise.”

Armand arched a brow and said, “That makes it sound like you’re paying us to procreate.”

Voldemort watched as Harry’s expression changed to something like surprised horror, though his mate relaxed as Armand started laughing. Harry huffed and said, “Uh huh. I just meant that you’ll have two little ones to take care of, and I want to be sure you’ve enough money to do so.”

“Harry,” Armand pointed out gently, “I’m already ridiculously overpaid just for looking after you two.”

“I put too much money in?” He shook his head. “I don’t care. You two have become family, damn it.”

Armand shot a look at Voldemort, then said, “All right, Harry, I’ll not argue with you about it.”

Harry scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now you’re just humoring me.”

“Yes,” said Marius, “he is. But given that you’re eccentric, that’s perfectly all right, hm?”


Harry was sprawled on a blanket in the garden, soaking up the sun, when he sensed someone approach him and take a seat.

“Can we talk?” he heard.

He opened his eyes and squinted at Moony, nodded slightly, and closed them again.

“I wanted . . . to apologize.”


“Well, I’ve had lots of time to think. Can’t help but, really. I was wrong, all the things I thought about you. I know, at the time, I listened to you tell me you were so sorry about what happened to Sirius, and I did know you weren’t to blame, even though you seemed determined to take it.

“And over time my grief made me a bit crazy, that and feeling helpless and downtrodden so much of the time. I started blaming you, maybe because it was easy. I know damn well that Sirius deserves a lot of that blame. Granted, he did exactly what I would have expected of him, which was run off to your aid. He loved you deeply.

“And he was foolish. He certainly didn’t live up to his name, and didn’t take the fight seriously. And it doesn’t help that I’m pretty sure Snape never taught you properly, how to close yourself off. And the Dark Lord used what would hurt you most, be most likely to spur you into action.

“Dumbledore was at fault, too, for never making sure that Snape was doing his task properly, and hell, for setting you up with an instructor he knew despised you. I guess that’s not so strange considering what he did later on. And despite all of that, with me failing you so badly, you’ve been a kind master to me. I apologize. I am sorry. And no, I don’t expect anything to change until my term is up. I just wanted you to know.”

Harry rolled over and pillowed his head on his arms. “Moony, you might be interested to know that I never saved your life.”


“You were never in limbo, either. You see, once I had learned the extent of your apathy, I latched onto something about you that I thought I could exploit as a weakness, that being your uncertain belief in God. So I set you up in a facsimile of limbo, and then played the part of your friends, telling you all the things I think they would have said.

“After that, I beat you, to further drive home the illusion. There were never any Death Eaters having fun with you. For that matter, it wasn’t Ron who kidnapped you. At any rate, it really was your choice which way to go. Had you chosen the other pill, you would have died in the most nasty, painful way I could have thought of. But you didn’t, and you’re here with me now.”

He heard a snort, then laughter. “You really did a number on me.” Moony’s tone was almost admiring.

“Yes. I was rather proud of myself at the time. The question is, does knowing that make you want to retract that apology?”

There was a short pause before he heard, “No. I am sorry, and I know I was wrong.”

“I sort of think, Moony, that you just made a huge step toward earning my forgiveness. I am fond of you, actually, but. . . .”

“I know.”

“Why don’t you give me a report on Peacock?”

Moony sighed softly. “He’s still somewhat willful. I’m beginning to wonder if he likes being dominated, like if he’s always been so cocky as a way to attract someone ready to take him in hand.”

Harry rolled onto his side and propped his head against one hand. “I still have a little something in store for him. A minute ago I would have said with certainty that he absolutely will not like that demonstration of my power.”

“Dare I ask what you plan to do?”

He smirked nastily for a moment. “Ah, just haul him off to a little club I know of in London and hand him over for an hour or so to the regular patrons. The catch is, he wouldn’t be able to fight back like he does with you. Just a little phrase whispered in his ear and he’ll turn into a randy bitch ready for anything, like Weath, but he’ll be completely aware of what’s happening to him. I should think that sort of demonstration would drive the point home that he really needs to give up his foolish defiance and act like the Death Eater he’s sworn to be.”

“And if he fucks up again? Will you really kill him?”


Moony shrugged. “I hope he lives. But then, I also hope you’ll let me have him on occasion to play with.”

Harry smiled. “I’ll tell you what. You put on a fabulous demonstration for me, and perhaps Armand and Marius, of just how well you can dominate Peacock, and I’ll do a bit of digging in his head to see if he actually likes the idea of you doing it, and just can’t bring himself to admit it.”

His pet broke out into a huge smile.

“Speaking of which, are you getting on with my two friends?”

“Yes. I think you know I’ve done some modeling already, and when they wish for something more intimate, I’m happy enough to accommodate them.”

“That’s nice,” he said mildly. “Now, I should like to get back to my sunbathing, so run along.”


Several days later Harry was sitting behind his desk and Draco was standing before him (sans wand, of course). “Draco Malfoy, you have miraculously survived bitch boot camp and are now ready for the graduation ceremony. Of sorts. So, we’re going to take a little trip, where I have a pointed little demonstration for you.” He got up and morphed into a different face, then said, “Let’s go.”

A short time later they were standing inside the reception area of a club, and Draco was bidden to wait quietly while Harry spoke with the girl behind the counter. Cash changed hands after a few minutes and Harry was presented with a ticket, a key, and a collar.

The collar he handed to Draco, saying, “Put this on.”

Draco did nothing, so Harry stepped up close and said, “Were you hoping to keep all your teeth, Peacock? Or are you so fond of the idea of being castrated?”

A hand shot out to take the collar; it was fastened around Draco’s neck a minute later, and the blond was sporting a very sulky expression.

“Good boy.” Harry unhooked a lead from his belt and snapped one end onto the ring of Draco’s collar, then jerked it and led him away. He spent quite a while parading his prize around the outskirts of the room, pausing every so often to let his eyes wander. Eventually he took a seat at an empty table and leaned back.

Within minutes there was a fairly large group of men seeking his attention. “So,” said a rather burly fellow.


“What’s he game for?”

Harry looked at the man and said lazily, “So long as it falls within the guidelines set up by this club, anything.”

“How many?” asked another.

Harry propped an ankle on his knee and replied, “Well, that depends. You see, I’ve already placed a reserve.” He jerked his head at the door behind him. “How many depends on how many people decide to go ante up for their share of the room cost. I figure I’ll just sit here for another five or ten minutes, then take everyone in for a little party.”

“He looks rather sullen,” one said in an uncertain tone.

Harry waved a hand negligently. “He’s just a little cranky, gentlemen. He really needs some attention.”

One of them laughed uproariously and headed off toward reception. He was quickly followed by quite a few more. Ten minutes later Harry was unlocking the reserved room and ushering in every man who held a ticket. Draco was led to the center of the room as Harry said, “By the way, gentlemen, his name is Peacock.”

A redhead laughed and said, “We’ll see just how well he shakes his tail feathers for us, eh?”

Draco was beginning to exhibit signs of extreme nervousness given the number of men who had opted in, so Harry stepped up close to whisper in his ear. “Just remember, Peacock. What’s about to happen is something I can do at any time, in any place. Or, for that matter, anyone I clue in. Peacock, prepare to be boarded.

Harry unsnapped the lead as Draco moved to begin undressing, and stepped back. “He’s all yours, boys,” he said, and retreated to a chair in the corner.