Introduction:
Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor
Chapter Eleven: Shhh be Vewy Vewy Quiet
Disclamer: Not mine, I own nothing. I’m not making any money
WARNING: Harsh Language, adult themes, sexual situations (i.e. smut), bad spelling and grammar.
Author’s Notes: This story is a broad farce with over the top humor (a good deal of it is crude and sexual) and OOC actions (that’s Out Of Character if you don’t know). Also, this is my first smut-ish fic. If you don’t like sex and sex-based humor, do NOT read this!
Chapter Eleven Summary: We’re hunting howcwuxes
Harry and Hermione didn’t speak for nearly two and a half days, well, at least not with each other. Hermione was mad because Harry was being a child concerning her comments regarding adults and love. Harry was mad at Hermione because of her comments about parents and sex, as well as her off-color joke about Lily experimenting with Harry’s father’s animagus form. To Hermione, their conversation was about the happiness one should feel if adults, including those that were parents, were madly in love and willing to act upon their feelings. To Harry, it was a heated debate about unnatural and disturbing activities that some people shouldn’t do because had kids, and even worse, they were old. And that comment about his mum and Prongs made Harry feel a confusing combination of anger and revulsion.
It didn’t help Harry’s mood that the house-elves were still following Hermione’s orders and wouldn’t allow him cheese or any sweets. He even convinced Ron to sneak into the kitchen and fetch him some milk on the sly. Ron had no trouble in retrieving the milk, but as his friend went to hand the glass to him, an anonymous house-elf popped out of nowhere and snatched the cool beverage from Harry’s hands and disappeared.
For the first day, Harry did a very good job of ignoring Hermione. Whenever she entered a room that he was in, Harry would pretend to find something in the opposite direction of Hermione intensely interesting. For example, when he was in the Common Room and she entered through the Portrait Hole, Harry busied himself by inspecting the recently repaired hearth.
For that same day, Hermione did her best to break through Harry’s mood. She attempted to talk some sense into him, but he would either walk away from her or whistle loudly in hopes of drowning her out. When conventional methods of communication had failed, Hermione tried a more… primal approach. Later while Harry was trying to engage Ron in a game of Wizards Chess (the poor man was nearly comatose due to his own recent mental trauma), Hermione decided to read a book while sitting on the couch near Harry. Of course the book was Harry’s “special book”. And in an attempt to better break through Harry’s resolve, Hermione wasn’t wearing her normal clothes. She wore a two sizes too small pullover that hugged her skin; in fact, it hugged her so much that one could easily tell that Hermione wasn’t wearing a bra. The pullover had a very interesting design on the front. If anyone besides Harry or the House-Elves of Hogwarts saw the design, they would simply assume that Hermione liked cute Japanese cartoons. But as all of the House-Elves and Harry knew, Hermione had a bit of a naughty side. Due to the fact that the pullover hugged her so combined with her braless condition, the outline of Hermione’s nipples and areolas could easily be seen through “Hello Kitty’s” eyes. She didn’t stop there with her subtle assault against Harry’s stubbornness. To say that she was wearing a short plaid skirt was a bit of an understatement. It would be more accurate to say that she had tied a small plaid handkerchief around her shapely hips. Of course, when Hermione sat down near Harry, she made it a point to position herself so that her plaid handkerchief rose up slightly so that if Harry looked over he would’ve gotten a vice view of her bum. She wondered whether or not Harry realized that she wasn’t wearing her normal style knickers as added ammunition. She intentionally flashed him quite a bit of her unclothed bum.
But this was the first day and Harry was doing a very good job of ignoring Hermione. His stubbornness in his resolve to continue his childish anger made Hermione very mad. She had decided as she went to bed that night that if Harry wanted to hold a grudge, she would show him what a grudge truly was.
The next morning, Harry woke up feeling terrible. He had an unfamiliar pressure in his chest that was eating away at him. He couldn’t place what the painful sensation was. He sulked out of bed with his feet dragging behind him as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast alone (he had tried to wake Ron up, but his red-headed friend was mumbling in his sleep about something like “… trim that thing you nasty…”). As he was eating a bowl of cereal, Hermione came down to eat as well. The heavy sensation in Harry’s chest gnawed at him some more as she sat down at the Gryffindor table; mind you she made it a point to sit as far away from Harry as possible. Harry pushed his ponderings about the sensation in his chest to the side; he had a job to do. And that job was ignoring Hermione. He made of show of ignoring her by stomping his feet as he passed by her as he left the Great Hall. Harry was a little perplexed that Hermione seemed to be ignoring him right back.
Two hours later, Harry thought it was time to ignore Hermione some more. So he sought her out the Common Room where she was sitting on a squashy chair reading a book. He purposely threw himself down on the couch nearby with a thump, hoping to let her know that he was still ignoring her and as well as to agitate her. Apparently, his loud flop on the couch did not alert Hermione to his presence. She sat there on her chair, dutifully reading her book. Harry huffed loudly to indicate he was bored and had nothing to do, nothing besides ignore Hermione, that is. But how could Harry revel in his/ “ignoring Hermione”/ plan if she didn’t know that he was intentionally ignoring her?
The heaviness in Harry’s chest ate away a little more, while Hermione turned the page, completely oblivious to his presence. He huffed again, this time much louder and he accentuated his boredom by sighing heavily. Much to his chagrin, Hermione didn’t even bat an eyelash in his direction.
Suddenly, Harry found himself wanting to be just by her side while she read that book. He wanted her dainty frame pushed up against his body, as he sat there doing nothing but letting her pleasant scent wash over him, letting her warmth mingle with his. He was shocked to find himself desiring to turn the pages of her book for her as she rested her hands on his knees. He needed her to be by him.
Harry gulped as he realized that he was being an utter fool. Harry shot up and meekly called out her name, “Hermione?”
And Hermione turned the page. Again Harry tried to gain her attention, “Hermione?”
It seemed impossible, but Harry could have sworn that Hermione had redoubled her efforts to read the book. A thought dawned on Harry; he would show Hermione just how much he needed her by getting her a present, a flower perhaps!
Harry scurried out of the Common Room and headed toward the Green Houses, he was sure he’d be able to find a flower for Hermione there. Upon entering the Green House, Harry realized that his plan had one slight flaw; most of the flowers in the Hogwarts Green Houses could kill a person. Some would bite, others would spit venom, and still others would strangle their victims. It wouldn’t do for Harry to show Hermione how much he wanted and needed her by inadvertently killing her now would it? Thankfully, the gates leading to Hogsmeade were open and Harry trotted to the little village.
A few hours later, Harry returned to the castle with his prize. It was a lovely flower whose petals shone a different color depending on the angle of light. It would switch between shades of purple to red and to yellow, just by tilting it ever so slightly.
Harry found Hermione still in the Common Room, still reading, although Harry could tell it was a different book from earlier. He figured that it would be romantic if he would just saunter by and drop the flower on her open book. With such a perfect plan, Harry did just that. The flower’s stem landed in the seam of the book while the petals hung over the top of the binding. Harry reckoned that Hermione would be gushing (no, not that way – get your minds out of the gutter) over the flower in moments. However, Hermione’s reaction was somewhat different than Harry was expecting; Hermione quietly closed her book, trapping the stem in its pages. She then set the book aside, completely ignoring the beautiful flower sticking out of its pages, and retrieved another tome from her bag.
Harry’s heart plummeted to the floor. She ignored his thoughtful and beautiful gift. With his shoulders slumped, Harry sulked off to his room.
The next morning, Harry decided that because Hermione had cast aside his peace offering that he would continue to ignore his so-called girlfriend until she came to him. He decided that he would treat her the way she had him! He vowed anew that he would completely ignore her, even if she tried to make a similar, loving gesture. He decided that he would ignore her until she begged him for forgiveness. It was a matter of principle now.
Harry’s resolve lasted almost four full hours.
He walked into the Great Hall for lunch to find Hermione sitting across from a sullen looking Ron. Harry had intended to sit next to Ron, and do a wonderful job of ignoring Hermione. But the heaviness in his chest had become too much, and he found himself on his knees next to Hermione.
“Please, Hermione, please forgive me,” he pleaded. Harry’s pride was thrown to the four winds as he knelt next to the most beautiful witch in the world. He didn’t care if he was making an arse out of himself in front of her or Ron. He just wanted Hermione to hold his hand and smile at him while she said that all was forgiven.
But alas, Hermione’s resolve was much stronger than Harry’s. She continued to ignore him as she asked Ron to pass her the jam.
“I was wrong!” announced Harry. What he was wrong about he wasn’t sure, but something inside of him told him that it was the proper thing to say.
“Ah, that’s what I was waiting for,” stated Hermione and turned to Harry with a smile on her face. Of course it was an “I’m right and you’re wrong” smile but Harry didn’t care. All he cared about was that she was smiling and it was at him. The heaviness disappeared from his chest and warmth flowed through his veins. “I don’t understand why you reacted the way you did, Harry. I was only joking about your mother experimenting with your father’s animagus form.”
It was close enough for an apology to make Harry happy. He got up from the floor and took his place next to Hermione. With a smile on his face and one in his heart, Harry took her hand in his.
“I’m still right about you two being childish concerning parents and their sex lives,” added Hermione.
And the smile lessened in Harry’s heart and on his face.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Harry,” Hermione said softly, while caressing his cheek. “I don’t understand why you and Ron are reacting in such a way? It’s completely natural for Molly and Arthur to do such things. I think it’s wonderful that they still are going at it after so many years of marriage.”
“But they’re parents Hermione,” argued Harry, his hand going clammy at the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley doing /it/. “They’re not supposed to do such things.”
“Yeah, he’s right,” agreed Ron.
“Why?” asked Hermione. “Why aren’t they supposed to act on their love and be intimate?”
“Because they’re parents!” both Harry and Ron concluded. In their minds, the argument needed no further explanation. It was just the way it was, sort of like a Universal Rule of Parents. It was a clear-cut situation; parents kissed each other (and then only a light peck) and nothing more. Period. End of discussion. But Hermione didn’t understand that it needed no further discussion and pressed on.
“But why?” she asked.
“Because,” answered Harry stubbornly. If Hermione didn’t understand the Universal Rule of Parents, how was he going to teach her? He stood up and vented his frustration with his girlfriend’s unworldly-ness by pacing back and forth.
“Alright, let me ask you a hypothetical question, then,” began Hermione.
To which Ron asked, “/Hypo/-what?”
“Let’s say we get married,” Hermione said to Harry, tuning out Ron. “And we have kids.”
“Okay,” responded Harry immediately. He imagined the situation that Hermione proposed; he saw himself a few years down the line where he and Hermione had a couple of kids. Harry paused and reflected on this train of thought and his reaction, or lack there of. He wasn’t mortified at Hermione’s discussion of the two of them having kids in the least. Normally, when a teenaged male is in a discussion with his teenaged girlfriend and she starts talking about having kids, the male usually runs like hell; it’s the nature of things. But Harry was quite surprised to find that he wasn’t fearful of the thought of becoming the father to Hermione’s children. In fact, he found it pleasant. He felt his face heat up just at the thought of it.
“Ah, look, ikkle-Harry-kins is blushing,” Ron poked fun of his best mate. Apparently, his sour mood lifted slightly at the sight of his best mate blushing and more specifically, the opportunity to tease him about it.
Upon noticing Harry’s reaction to the thought of starting a family with her, Hermione started to blush as well. Harry assumed that she was just as happy as he was with the idea of becoming the mother of his children.
“Oh, wook,” Ron continued in a mock baby voice, “now ikkle-Hermione-kins is blushing too.”
The sight of his girlfriend’s cheeks turning red just made Harry happier. His imagination was now running rampant and started to create scenarios all on its own. Harry was now imaging bouncing their youngest child on his knee, while Hermione helped their oldest, home from Hogwarts for summer holiday, with her Transfiguration homework.
“Ah, now Harry-kins is glowing…” Ron started. “Um… Harry. You’re glowing. Really glowing!”
Harry couldn’t help but imaging what it would be like to read bedtime stories to his and Hermione’s kids. How proud he’d be when his son flew his first broom as he shouted, “Daddy, I’m doing it!” As Harry would beam with pride, he imagined Hermione would then walk up to him and tell him that she was pregnant again.
Ron was shielding his eyes to block out the golden rays that were emanating from his best mate’s body. He turned to Hermione to ask her what was going on, but was a little taken back to see her basking in the magical light. The look on her face was pure joy and love. The red haired wizard muttered a simple “wow” in awe.
“Don’t worry, Ron,” Hermione beamed as she relished Harry’s light. “Apparently Harry’s just inadvertently tapped into his love core.”
Finally noticing that he was throwing off light, Harry pushed the image of a family into the back of his mind and the glow slowly disappeared. In an embarrassed tone, Harry murmured, “Sorry ’bout that.”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione said, still blushing and looking like she was the happiest witch in the world. “I really liked it.”
“Whoa, this is weird,” commend Ron as he rubbed his chest. “I feel all warm and tingly… and happy. Why?”
“I think that’s Harry’s power,” explained Hermione. “I hadn’t consciously noticed it before, but in retrospect, whenever Harry taps into his love core and casts a spell, or in this case emits a magical light, the target feels a sense of deep, abiding love and happiness.”
“Really?” asked Harry. He was stunned at Hermione’s revelation concerning his magic.
“Yes, I realize it now that when you hit me with the super-charged Cheering Charm, not only did I feel ridiculously happy, but I also felt so much love,” answered Hermione. She added in an undertone, obviously hoping Ron wouldn’t hear; “And I felt it as well when you added your love to your Parselmouth magic.”
“You did?” Harry asked, in an awed undertone.
“Well, yes in hindsight I noticed it,” breathed Hermione. “Of course at the time, I was kind of overwhelmed with other feelings.”
“Why would it matter if Harry added his love energy to his Parselmouth abilities?” Ron interrupted. Apparently, his hearing was much better that Harry and Hermione had given him credit for.
“Never mind!” both Harry and Hermione commanded.
“Alright,” Ron said looking confused. Harry and Hermione both breathed a sigh of relief.
“Anyway, back to what I was saying,” Hermione changed subjects, away from Harry’s talented tongue. “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that we have children.” Harry fought the joyous thoughts of starting a family with Hermione very hard as she continued. “And let’s say, after we’ve had two children, that I’m feeling a little amorous….”
“/Amo/-what-/us?/” interrupted Ron.
“Randy, Ron,” explained Hermione. Ron muttered an ‘oh’ in comprehension and Hermione continued. “Well, as I said, I’m amorous and I would like to perhaps give you another ‘birthday present’. Would you allow me to do that?” she asked, putting extra emphasis on the phrase “birthday present.”
A naughtily little grin appeared on Harry’s face at the recollection of the last ‘birthday present’ that he had received from Hermione. Even though his grin told Hermione his answer, Harry blurted out an overzealous, “YES!”
“Why wouldn’t you give him a birthday present, especially if you were married?” asked Ron, oblivious to the meaning of the phrase ‘birthday present’ when it came to his two friends. “It would be expected, I’d think.”
“That’s my point,” Hermione agreed, a knowing smile on her lips. Those luscious lips that made Harry and ‘Harry, Jr.’ so very happy.
Harry realized that Mrs. Weasley’s advice was moot concerning his aim when he considered Hermione’s version of a ‘birthday present.’ If Hermione swallowed, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting anything in her eyes.
“And what about Christmas presents?” asked Ron, still being Ron and not catching on.
“Oh well, Christmas is a very special occasion isn’t it?” Hermione asked. Her knowing smile abruptly changed into a naughty one. “Being his wife, I’d have to give him an extra special ‘gift’, wouldn’t I?” She emphasized her point by tossing her hands up into the air in a/ “why not?”/ gesture but then brought them back down rapidly on her own bum, causing a smacking noise.
To Ron, Hermione’s actions were completely innocent. But to Harry, it was less innocent and much more reminiscent of the “Smack my bottom” side of Hermione.
“And if he’s your husband,” Ron added, “he should give you birthday presents as well.”
“Of course,” Hermione agreed by subtly gesturing toward her groin. Of course, Ron didn’t catch the reference, but Harry did. Harry’s eyes glossed over at the memory of his lips on her flower.
“And don’t forget about his Christmas presents to you,” concluded Ron.
In a form of agreement, Hermione copied the same “why not?” gesture she had performed earlier and smacked her bottom again. She added, “I’d go as far to say that he wouldn’t need a special occasion to give me ‘presents.'”
A pressure in his boxers drew Harry’s attention. His fear about ‘Harry, Jr.’ not wanting to ever play again due to Mrs. Weasley’s advice and the accompanying visions was just proven wrong. Apparently, all the innuendos and imagery that Hermione was throwing out caught/ ‘Harry, Jr.’s/ proverbial eye. The organ woke up slowly as if from a deep and troubled sleep and began to look around. At first Harry was overjoyed because this minor action proved he wasn’t permanently scarred by Mrs. Weasley’s words, or even Hermione’s joke about his mum and stags. But Harry’s joy quickly turned to dread; he hadn’t worn his robes today, and ‘Harry, Jr.’ was starting to stand up causing a bulge to rapidly appear in his jeans. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a bad thing, but Ron was standing just a few feet away. And best mates shouldn’t see each other’s bits. Yes, Ron had unfortunately seen Harry’s bits, but Ron had not seen them… happy and ready for playtime/./
“But, I don’t get it,” started Ron, a confused look in his eyes. “I thought we were talking about our parents and sex, not presents. I mean…” Ron paused and his confused look was quickly replaced by disgust.
You see, Harry was in such fear of Ron seeing ‘Harry, Jr.’ at half-mast that he was too petrified to cover up.
“FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, MAN!” shouted Ron and his hand shot up in front of his eyes in a vain attempt to block the sight of a partially aroused /’Harry, Jr.’/. “You’re a perverted bugger, aren’t you? All we were talking about was presents, and you go and get a hard-” Ron halted his tirade and looked at Hermione who was practically in hysterics. Tears of laughter streamed down her bright read cheeks and she was biting her fingers, trying to stop herself from laughing out loud. “You were talking about sex weren’t you?”
“YES!” Hermione proudly declared and slapped the table with her hand. Her riotous laughter echoed off the walls of the Great Hall.
“Well at least I know Harry’s-” Ron began in a dejected tone.
“Yeah, yeah I know,” interrupted Harry, “I’m a true Gryffindor because I ‘dress right.'”
“I was gonna say that ‘at least you weren’t permanently scarred by my mum,'” corrected Ron. “Unlike me. I’ll die a virgin simply because, every time I’m with a woman I’ll either think about seeing my sister’s ‘/Wizard’s Sleeve/’ or my dad’s stuff all over my mum’s face.”
And with that, Harry’s erection vanished. He wasn’t sure if it was the mention of a cum-covered Mrs. Weasley or the mere thought of Gin-Gin, the Erection Killer that caused the sudden deflation.
“But I guess it’s good that you’re a ‘TrueGryffindor,'” added a sullen faced Ron. He pushed his plate away from him in disgust.
“Don’t worry, Ron,” Hermione attempted to comfort her friend. “I’m sure once you find the right girl, you’ll be a raging Hungarian Horntail.”
“I doubt that,” pouted Ron. He showed just how much he doubted that he would ever be able to “rise” to the occasion by poking his groin as if to check if it was alive.
“Trust me, with the right girl…” Hermione paused and shared a knowing look with Harry. “You’ll be so astonished by your virility that you’ll wonder if it’ll ever go down.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” mumbled Ron.
“How about you go back to the tower and take a kip?” suggested Hermione. “You’ll feel better after one.”
Ron nodded his head dejectedly, and sulked off to the Common Room. Ron muttered as he walked off; “I hope I don’t dream about my sister’s thing…”
“Poor Ron,” moaned Hermione. Harry nodded his head; he himself was nearly traumatized by seeing Ginny thrashing about on the floor naked, let alone Mrs. Weasley’s comments. Even though Harry tended to look at Mrs. Weasley as a mother-figure, and Ginny had a physical resemblance to his actual mother, Harry was not actually related to them. Ron was however, and Harry could only imagine what his friend was going through right now. Upon noticing Harry’s concerned look, Hermione said “Don’t worry, Harry. Once we set Ron up with Luna, he’ll forget about what his mother said and even about seeing Ginny’s bits.”
“I don’t know, Hermione,” said Harry worriedly. “I can’t see Luna’s feminine wiles chasing Ron’s demons away.” Harry liked Luna and he thought that she was rather pretty; it was just that Harry couldn’t see the petite Ravenclaw curing Ron’s mental state.
“I have a plan,” Hermione countered cryptically.
Still dubious of using Luna to boost Ron’s feelings, Harry offered, “Maybe we should consider the Patil twins for Ron after all?”
“Which one; Padma or Parvati?” asked Hermione.
“The twins – both of them,” Harry knew that it would be doubtful to bag both witches at the same time, but he also believed that they would be the only way to alleviate Ron’s predicament. Harry knew, just as every man knows, the sun seems to shine a little brighter when twins are involved. “Once Ron sees them play for a bit, he’ll forget all of his worries and join in.”
“Wait a minute,” began Hermione. Harry could tell by the look in her eye and the tone of her voice that she was about to enter “lecture mode.” “Ginny looks like your mother to the point that just the thought of figurative incest makes you run in fear. But you’re suggesting that two sisters stimulate each other for Ron’s pleasure. And you’re not bothered by the idea?”
“Course not.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they’re twins,” Harry answered a touch perturbed. Even though she was the brightest witch in their generation, sometimes Hermione’s simplicity could astonish Harry. Didn’t she even know the world-famous “it’s always better with twins” theory?
“You’re telling me that you would find an act of incest exciting? The mere thought of Padma… going down on Parvati is sexy to you?” Hermione asked, which was a mistake. It was a mistake because the image that she had described had entered Harry’s mind.
His eyes glossed over and he felt a pressure build up once more in his boxers as ‘Harry, Jr.’ started to wake up. At first Hermione didn’t notice Harry’s reaction and she continued to rant. “I mean, could you imagine Parvati sticking her finger in Padma’s quim?” And that is just what Harry did, and he imagined it quite well, thank you. Hermione finally noticed Harry’s state.
“For heaven’s sake, Harry!” she scolded.
But Harry didn’t hear his girlfriend. He was preoccupied with the very intriguing image of a twin getting a sticky finger from her sister.
“Harry, they’re sisters!” hissed Hermione. But her arguments fell on deaf ears, Harry was lost in his thoughts and judging by his bulge in his shorts, they were happy thoughts. There were two ways that Hermione knew would bring Harry back to reality. The first was to hit him with a Cold Water Charm, aimed directly at his groin. The sudden jet of frigid water to the crotch would probably enrage Harry, but it would end his perverted thoughts. The second way was one that Hermione knew to be much more insidious. Seeing how much of a prat he was being, she opted for the second.
Hermione walked up to Harry and whispered in his ear, “What was it like to have Ginny’s lips wrapped around your balls?”
The wonderful image of the Patil twins frolicking was destroyed by the image of Gin-Gin, the Erection Killer joining in on the fun. Harry groaned pitifully while ‘Harry, Jr.’ ran in fear.
“Incest is bad,” Hermione said in a patronizing way. “We’re not pure-blood bigots.”
She alleviated his quickly developing sour mood – a perfectly good fantasy dealing with the Patil twins and a jar of peanut butter was ruined forever thanks to Hermione mentioning Ginny – by kissing his lips. Harry’s bitterness evaporated completely as Hermione kissed him. Who could care about twins when someone as perfect as Hermione was around. Harry decided to change his fantasy so that, instead of the twins, it would feature him alone with Hermione and the jar of peanut butter. Yes, that’d do quite nicely.
“Let’s go write a letter to Luna,” breathed Hermione. “We need to ask her if she’d be willing to go on a date with Ron.”
After writing the letter which asked Luna to meet with Harry and Hermione, the pair walked to the Owlery and found Hedwig. After Hedwig showed her anger for being so unused in recent days, the snowy owl took the post and flew off.
**
The next day, Hermione decided to begin the hunt for the Horcruxes in earnest.
“Well, we definitely know the location of one Horcrux: Number Twelve,” Hermione stated as Ron and Harry listened. “And we can be fairly certain that it won’t have any traps surrounding it.”
“Okay,” Ron said glumly. He apparently was still in a deep depression because of his recent traumatic experiences. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Harry felt bad for his friend and hoped that Hermione’s plan would pull him from his stupor.
“Alright, let’s go,” announced Hermione. “Harry, go fetch the Sword.”
“Sword? What sword?” asked Harry.
“Don’t you remember, the Sword of Gryffindor?” reminded Hermione. “We need it to destroy the Horcrux.”
“Oh yeah, that,” Harry said, finally remembering the ancient weapon currently stashed in his trunk. “I’d forgotten about it.”
After fetching his sword, Harry met up with Hermione and Ron as they were making their way to the Headmistress’ office.
“About yesterday,” began Ron as the climbed the stairs to McGonagall’s office. “When Harry tapped into his love magic… well you said that you felt love when he hit with the Cheering Charm.”
“Yes, I didn’t notice it at first, but in retrospect, I do believe that I felt love,” explained Hermione.
“Okay then,” Ron continued. “So did Harry use his love magic when he used that super Stunner to knock out all those Death Eaters at Godric’s Hollow?”
“Yes,” replied Harry while Hermione began to open the door.
“Well, doesn’t that mean they would’ve felt Harry’s love when they were knocked out?” asked Ron.
Both Harry and Hermione froze as that question filled their minds. ‘Did the Death Eaters have a sense of love as they were stunned?’ Harry’s ponderings were abruptly ended when a pink haired witch greeted them.
“Wotcher, kids,” Tonks heralded with a wicked grin on her face. If Harry had not been so preoccupied about Ron’s question about the effect of his love magic on the Death Eaters, he would’ve been concerned about her grin. “Where’re you three off to?”
“Oh, just a little adventure,” Hermione responded a touch cryptically. Both Harry and Hermione knew that they could trust Tonks with the secret of the Horcruxes, but they also realized that the fewer the people who knew, the less trouble there’d be. “What brings you here?”
“Actually, I need to ask you lot a question,” Tonks began, her normally chipper mood suddenly became serious. “We were able to rennervate the Death Eaters Harry stunned….” Harry found it oddly coincidental that Tonks had mentioned the Death Eaters right when he and his friends were doing the same. “But we can’t revive my bitch of an aunt, Bellatrix.” Harry, Hermione, and Ron all shuddered at the mention of the unnaturally hairy witch. “She isn’t unconscious, but she isn’t responsive either.”
“Oh,” Harry replied nervously.
“That what Bellatrix says. A lot,” Tonks continued. “She just stares off into space and every once in a while she mutters an ‘oh’ and shivers.”
Harry looked over at Hermione who looked back at him. Whereas Harry’s look told Hermione that he was nervous and worried that Tonks would find out that he didn’t hit Bellatrix with a Stunner but actually made her have a mind blowing – literally- orgasm, Hermione’s look clearly told Harry that he was never allowed to use that specific ‘Pleasure Point’ technique on her; the repercussions were obviously too much.
“The Healers at St Mungo’s have been trying to revive her, but can’t seem to find a way,” Tonks explained. “She isn’t stunned. She isn’t unconscious; she’s just there, totally unresponsive to the world. As I said, the only thing she does is say /’oh’ /every now. And then her whole body just… shivers. Right after that, she gets the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on a person. Every time. It’s weird. Did you hit her with something other than a Stunner?” she asked Harry.
“NO!” Harry replied, a little too vehemently.
“Oh, well then, I’ll just head back and give the Healers an update,” Tonks stated and made her way to the fireplace. “I was hoping that maybe you might have an idea as to what was wrong with her. Not really a big loss, if you ask me.” She threw in a pinch of floo and said in a clear voice “St. Mungo’s!”
Before she disappeared, Harry could’ve sworn Tonks smiled wickedly and winked at him. Whatever the reason for this, Harry had no idea.
“Might I ask where this adventure of yours will take you?” asked McGonagall who was sitting behind her desk shuffling through some parchments.
“Oh, we’re going to Grimmaud Place,” Hermione replied.
“Why in heaven’s name are you going there?” inquired McGonagall.
“Um… we…. Ah…” Hermione stuttered trying to find a plausible excuse that would mask their real intentions for going to number twelve.
“We’re going to find… Kreacher…?” Harry offered very weakly. It wasn’t the truth, but he couldn’t tell McGonagall that the three of them were going on a mystical scavenger hunt, now could he?
“Kreacher is missing?” the Headmistress screeched and shot out of her chair. “How did that happen?”
“I kinda… told him he could…leave,” Harry admitted even more weakly. “And then he… kinda… told those Death Eaters to attack us at Godric’s Hollow.”
“That house-elf is too much of a loose cannon to be left wandering around,” McGonagall said. “Summon him here right now.”
“How can I do that?” asked Harry.
“That house-elf is your property, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall explained. “He is bound to you. All you have to do is call for him”
In that moment, Harry felt very slow witted; he had completely forgotten that he could call for his house-elf and that Kreacher would be compelled to obey. But in Harry’s defense, he had forgotten about the traitorous creature shortly after he had realized that it was Kreacher who had told Bellatrix to attack. Of course, the reason that Harry had forgotten was that was the time that a fairly nude Gin-Gin, the Erection Killer had molested him. Any thoughts he had regarding the house-elf had been quickly pushed to the back of his mind.
“Kreacher!” Harry called out in a clear voice. With a small pop, the dirty little house-elf stood in front of him.
“No! No! No! Master Harry Potter brat is supposed to be not living!” Kreacher cried out. “Mistress Bella said you’s be as good as not alive!”
“Where have you been?” asked Harry.
“Kreacher has been preparing the most noble house of Black for its proper owners,” answered Kreacher. Harry could tell that each word that the house-elf spoke was agony; it was obvious that Kreacher didn’t want to respond, but the bond forced him.
The vile house-elf threw himself to the floor wailing, “No! No! No! No!” as Hermione directed her attention to Harry.
“I hate to say this, but I agree with Professor McGonagall; he’s too dangerous to be allowed to roam around,” she said, ashamed to admit that this house-elf couldn’t be saved. “A simple slip of the tongue, and he’ll interpret it as a command to run back to his favored masters.”
“We could tell him that you are the Great One,” offered Harry. “And that he has to…”
Harry paused his line of thought because of the icy glare his girlfriend was giving him. It told Harry without words that she was very uncomfortable with being the prophesized savior of the house-elves and didn’t want to use any power that came with it. The glare also told him that if he ever wanted her to touch ‘Harry, Jr.’ again that he should shut up.
Added to Harry’s fear from Hermione’s expression was a little resentment. Hermione wasn’t opposed to using her status of the Great One to make sure Harry didn’t eat the foods he’d like, but she wouldn’t use them to control Kreacher.
As Harry shrunk from Hermione’s cold stare, Kreacher decided to show how displeased he was that Harry was still alive by biting Ron’s shin.
“You lousy little…” Ron screamed while trying to kick the offending vermin off of his leg. “Call him off Harry!” pleaded Ron.
But Harry had to carefully word his command because, knowing Kreacher, the little shite would take it as an order to leave. If only Kreacher was like Dobby; Harry never had to worry that any order that he gave Dobby would be misinterpreted as “go to the Death Eaters and tell them that they can kill me or someone I care about.” Of course, Dobby tended to be a little overzealous at times, taking the order to extremes much like he had when Harry had asked him to trail Draco last year. Harry’s mind wondered to a very disturbing thought in concern to his “overzealous” nature; Dobby admitted to “finishing off” his former mistress, Narcissa, when his former master, Lucius, had fallen asleep after sex. He imagined poor Dobby being yelled at by Narcissa for his lack of style and talent in the sack.
Then a clever, devious, and very nasty thought came to mind.
“Kreacher, come here,” Harry commanded. The house-elf did try to follow his master’s order, however, his master had not told him to let go of the red haired one and he attempted to drag the screaming wizard by his mouth.
“MAKE HIM STOP!” hollered Ron as the wrinkly house-elf tugged at his leg.
“Let him go and come here,” Harry ordered calmly. With a cross between a whimper and a growl, Kreacher released Ron and crawled over to Harry. “Now, Kreacher , I have something very important for you to do…”
“Be careful, Harry,” implored Hermione.
“Now, Narcissa Malfoy’s husband has been in Azkaban for over a year now,” Harry began.
“Master Luci only there because Master Harry Potter brat put him there,” interrupted Kreacher.
“Yes, I know it’s my fault,” agreed Harry. Ron, McGonagall, and Hermione looked at Harry as if he had lost his mind. “So I want to make it up to Narcissa. She has been very lonely these past few months and I want you to keep her company. But you have to keep her company in a very special way.”
“What kind of way would Kreacher have to keep mistress Narci company?” the house-elf asked dubiously.
Harry paused for dramatic effect before replying; “Amorous company.”
“What?” everyone in the Headmistress’ office screeched (including every single magical painting).
“Yes, amorous,” repeated Harry. “I know for a fact that Narcissa likes the touch of an elf.”
Kreacher shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. Everyone in the office could tell that the house-elf wasn’t keen on the idea of bedding a witch, but he liked it over the idea of being at the castle with blood traitors, the unclean witch, and his half-blood master.
“There are a few rules, though,” added Harry. “First; you must not communicate with anyone in any way. No speaking, no making sounds what-so-ever, no hand gestures, no writing, nothing. Second; you must be affectionate and amorous to Narcissa every waking moment – that’s your waking moments, not necessarily hers. Third, you can only be affectionate and amorous to Narcissa’s lower part of her right leg, her shin or calf only.
“Do you understand?” concluded Harry to which Kreacher nodded his head pitifully. “Repeat my orders.”
“Kreacher mustn’t be talking or nothing to anybody…” the house-elf gulp nervously before continuing. “And Kreacher must be making fun-time with Mistress Narci’s leg.”
“The lower part of her right leg,” corrected Harry.
“Yes, Kreacher must be making fun-time with Mistress Narci’s lower right leg all the time,” the surly elf repeated angrily.
“Fine then, go and do your duty” Harry commanded. Kreacher frowned and disappeared with a crack.
After staring dumbly at Harry for a good minute; Hermione asked, “Let me get this straight,” she began. “You ordered Kreacher to hump Narcissa Malfoy’s leg?”
“The lower part of her right leg,” Harry corrected.
“Constantly?” questioned Hermione.
“Yes, constantly,” answered Harry with a devilish smile.
All at the same time, Ron, McGonagall, and Hermione shuddered. Harry assumed that they were quite disturbed by the image of the wrinkly old house-elf rubbing his bits on Draco’s mother’s calf while kissing her knee.
“Alright,” Harry said, drawing everyone out of their disturbing images. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Wait a second,” interrupted McGonagall. “Why are you still going to Grimmauld Place if you’ve already taken care of Kreacher?”
“Um…” Harry began. He was all out of ideas so he turned his left to Hermione.
“Err…” Hermione muttered and turned to Ron on her left, because, apparently, she was out of ideas as well.
Ron didn’t even try to hem or haw, he just immediately looked to his left. Unfortunately, no one was to Ron’s left, which left him in a pickle.
Now, it was very unfair for Harry and Hermione to do this to Ron. When he was under pressure, Ron tended to either lock up, babble incoherently, or sometimes scream much like he did when he asked Fleur out to the Yule Ball. This time, he managed to do all three at the same time.
At first, he spent a good ten seconds staring at McGonagall in shock. The Headmistress watched Ron with a calm demeanor for the first five seconds of silence, but then her appearance became quite stern because she was obviously upset that Ron wasn’t answering. This caused Ron to become even more nervous and made his blood pressure spike – mind you; Harry and Hermione were looking at him expectantly as well, which just increased his blood pressure even more. Ron’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red and sweat poured off of his body.
Then, he finally forced himself to speak. Which was a mistake.
“I like kittens,” he mumbled at such a low voice that his audience of McGonagall, Harry, and Hermione leaned in very close to Ron. Which was unfortunate on their part seeing that Ron was about to enter his shouting phase. “I HAVEN’T GOTTEN WOOD IN DAYS”
All three of the listeners recoiled and began rubbing their ears in an attempt to ease the pain – that and vainly try to physically remove the sad image that Ron just gave them.
“Aw, that’s too bad, boy,” a gruff voice sounded from somewhere in the shadows. “Might I suggest a good ol’ fashioned ‘Hogwarts Express Pleasure Train’? Granger can be the engine, Potter the coal cart. Minerva can be the passenger compartment, Weasley the luggage compartment. And I’ll be the caboose!”
“Don’t you bother anyone else?” Hermione hissed irritable as the ghost of Gryffindor stepped out of the darkness.
“I bother a number of people, love,” Gryffindor said proudly. “You lot are my favorite, though.”
“Did he… did he just offer to bugger me?” asked a now very white face Ron. You see, it wasn’t everyday that a ghost stated that he wanted to bum-shag him. In fact, no one ever had; living or dead.
“Any port in a storm, boy,” Gryffindor confirmed with a very scary smile causing Ron to shudder.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Harry. He hadn’t realized when had moved, but he found himself standing in front of Hermione, shielding her from the lecherous spirit.
“I’m a ghost, I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, I get bored,” explained Gryffindor.
“We’d like to stay and chat,” began Hermione. Harry turned to see her throw some floo powder into the fireplace. “But we have to leave.”
Once the flames turned green, Hermione stepped in and announced her destination in a loud and clear voice, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.” And she disappeared.
Harry tried to follow directly after Hermione but Ron halted him. “Let me go first,” Ron offered nervously. “That way I can catch you when you fall through the floo.”
Harry could tell that wasn’t Ron’s real intention by the fearful look in his eyes. Even though Harry wanted to put as much distance between Gryffindor’s ghost and himself as soon as possible, he allowed Ron to go first. Harry reckoned that with all the troubling images that Ron had suffered lately he deserved to get away from the ghost who wanted to part of a McGonagall/Ron/Gryffindor sandwich.
After Harry nodded, Ron hopped into the floo and shouted, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!” and disappeared.
Harry grabbed a pinch of powder and stepped into the green fire. He looked apologetically at McGonagall whose face was a mask of dread. He could tell that the Headmistress was pleading with her eyes; saying something along the lines of “Don’t leave me alone with Gryffindor!” Harry hated to abandon McGonagall with the perverted specter, but he had to go and destroy the Horcrux. “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he declared and began spinning.
Ron was true to his word and caught Harry when he came flinging out of the floo. However, this only caused both wizards to go crashing into the kitchen table causing a very loud racket which woke up the magical painting of Mrs. Black.
“WHAT GOING ON?” the painting screeched. “WHO’S THERE?
“I hate that thing,” said Hermione as she covered her ears to protect herself from Mrs. Black’s unnaturally loud voice.
“WHO DARES TO ENTER MY HOUSE?” shouted Mrs. Black.
“Let’s shut her up before we find the Horcrux,” said Harry.
“ANSWER ME OR FACE MY WRATH!”
“I agree,” replied Hermione.
“KREACHER! KREACHER, MY FAITHFUL SERVANT, WHERE ARE YOU?” the painting called out. “IF THEY ARE OF GOOD STOCK, WELCOME THEM! BUT IF THEY ARE BLOOD TRAITORS, OR WORSE, THROW THE FILTH OUT!”
The trio scampered out of the kitchen and into the hall. Harry had hoped to draw the heavy curtains to muffle Mrs. Black, but he was surprised to see them missing.
“Where the hell are the curtains?” Ron asked, apparently he had the same idea as Harry.
“VILE COMTEMPTUOUS VERMIN!” Mrs. Black screamed even louder upon noticing Harry and his friends. “YOU FILTH ARE NOT WELCOMED HERE!”
Hermione whipped out her wand and began to wave it in front of the painting as Mrs. Black continued to scream and holler. A curtain made out of some kind of thin fabric appeared in front of the bellowing Mrs. Black. Unfortunately, it did little to stop the dead woman’s screams. In fact, her screams tore the curtain to threads.
“She’s distracting me too much,” admitted Hermione. “I can’t concentrate properly to make a strong enough fabric!”
“THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE A MUDBLOOD AND A HARLOT!” called out Mrs. Black.
“I am not!” defended Hermione.
“ARE TOO!” retorted the painting.
“AM NOT!” counted Hermione.
“ARE TOO!”
Hermione took a step back and a calming breath. “I cannot believe I’m having such a childish argument with a painting of a dead person!” She turned to Harry and simply said, “Make her stop.”
“How?” asked Harry.
“I don’t know,” stated Hermione. “You’re the most powerful one here. Just tap into your love core and cast a spell on her.”
“I’ll try,” Harry said dubiously. He leveled his wand at the painting.
“DO YOUR WORST, BOY!” Mrs. Black taunted. “BETTER WIZARDS THAN YOU HAVE TRIED AND FAILED! AND YOU”RE NOTHING MORE THAN A HALF-BLOOD!”
Harry tried to focus on his love, but it proved rather difficult. The mad witch in the painting did a good job of pissing him off, and therefore he had too much trouble focusing on loving thoughts or memories. Hermione must have realized that her boyfriend was having difficulty because she placed her hand in his. Harry turned and looked into her lovely hazel eyes. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips and Harry felt a tingle wash over his body. He turned back to the portrait and pushed that tingling sensation through his wand. A flash of white light erupted from Harry’s wand and Mrs. Black’s eyes glazed over.
“What was that?” Hermione asked as she looked at the still form of Mrs. Black. “What spell did you use?”
“I dunno,” muttered Harry. He turned his attention to his girlfriend and tried to explain. “I just focused on my power is all.”
“Oh, Harry,” a sing-song voice called softly from the portrait. The trio of friends all turned back to the painting and gasped at what they saw. The overall picture had not changed; it was still an elderly Mrs. Black sitting in front of a bookcase. But what had changed was her demeanor and expression. Her cheeks were flushed and she had a twinkle in her eyes; one might even argue that it was a loving twinkle. “Hullo, my dear, dear Harry,” Mrs. Black greeted with a cute little wave. Harry cringed. “It’s been so long since my husband passed away. I’m in need of a good rogering!”
Harry felt very dizzy. Here was a painting of an old woman asking him to shag her.
“I know I’m just a painting,” Mrs. Black continued. “But you can rub your willy against the canvas and we can pretend.”
Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione for help. But both of them were staring, open mouthed and in shock at the painting.
“Here, let me give you something that will stimulate you, my beautiful Half-Blood,” Mrs. Black offered and began to pull down her blouse. Harry ran like a bat out of hell before Mrs. Black could reveal even an inch of pasty flesh! He tore around the corner and was up the stairs before he heard Ron and Hermione scream. Thunderous footfalls announced that his friends had finally come to their senses and ran. Hermione dove at Harry and wrapped her trembling arms around his chest. Ron slumped against the wall and muttered, “So saggy… so very saggy…”
“Did you see the tattoo?” Hermione murmured with fear evident in her voice.
“Tattoo? I thought that was a birthmark,” replied Ron in a dead, lifeless voice.
“No, it was a tattoo of the Black Family crest,” corrected Hermione. She buried her face into Harry’s chest and cried softly. “Why would anyone do that to their own tit?”
Harry gently ran his fingers through his girlfriend’s hair in an attempt to sooth her troubled mind. Of course, while he was doing that, he was valiantly trying not to imagine the Black Family Crest tattooed on any part of Mrs. Black’s body much less her so very saggy boobs.
The three friends sat in silence for a good long time… well mostly in silence. Every once in a while, Mrs. Black would call out things like “Harry, I’m waiting for you,” “I know what a wizard really likes,” and Harry’s personal mind scarring favorite; “I’m so wet I need a mop!”
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Harry stated with just a sight tremble in his voice. The trio came up with the ingenious plan to sneak by Mrs. Black’s painting with their eyes shut (so they wouldn’t see the wrinkly hag) with Harry in the lead. Harry bolted by Mrs. Black (who was shouting “Harry, my heart of hearts; look what I can do with my fist!) with his eyes firmly shut. He was hoping that his memory would lead him to the kitchen. This, as many things in Harry’s life, didn’t go as planed. He ran into a wall twice (Harry was fairly certain it was the same wall), tripped over Ron’s feet when he had tried to backtrack (he knew that it was Ron’s feet because of their size), and bumped up against Hermione a grand total of three times (the first two times were accidents — the third time, however, was a blatant boob squeeze moment; Harry couldn’t help it, he really did like her boobs and he was a teenager after all). The trio finally came crashing into the kitchen with Mrs. Black still calling out; “Oh, Harry, my wondrous love, imagine your trouser basilisk in here instead of my fist!”
Hermione slammed the door and cast several Silencing Charms on it, finally blocking out the wretched old witch’s cries of passion.
“Why didn’t you just do that before?” asked Ron as Hermione put the finishing touches on her charms. “Why did we go up there and try to quiet her when we could’ve just Silenced the door?”
“I didn’t see you offer to do it!” Hermione shot back.
“I’m not the brains of-” countered Ron.
“That’s obvious-”
“Stop it!” shouted Harry. He knew that Hermione and Ron were a little on edge because of Mrs. Black’s antics and that they were just venting their frustrations on each other, but they had a mission. “Let’s do this.” Harry finished by pulling Gryffindor’s sword out of his robes.
At first, it seemed that Harry had lost control and was slashing the sword about madly. It swung in Harry’s hands this way and that; it was if the sword had a will of its own.
“Watch where you swing that thing,” Ron warned as he dodged behind the kitchen table.
After a brief moment of panic, Harry remembered that Gryffindor had told him that the sword would act like a divining rod when it was near one of the Horcuxes. “Don’t worry,” announced Harry. “It’s just searching for the Horcrux.”
Just as Harry finished his statement, the sword stopped swinging and pointed at the cupboard. Hermione stepped in front of Harry and opened the door. There, on the floor on top of a pile of rags, sat the golden cup of Hufflepuff.
“What do we do now?” Ron asked after the left the protection of the table and stood next to Harry.
“We destroy it,” answered Hermione as she too took her place next to Harry as well.
“Yeah, but how?” Ron wondered.
Harry was baffled. Gryffindor told him that the sword was supposed to be used to destroy the Horcruxes, but he didn’t say how to do it.
“Maybe it’s like a wand,” offered Hermione. “Try using a Blasting Hex using the sword as a wand.”
Willing to try anything at that moment, Harry pointed the sword at the cup and incanted; “Reducto!” and squinted his eyes. Harry was prepared for just about anything to happen. But nothing happened all. No destruction of the cup; no blasting hex; the sword didn’t even twitch or move in the slightest.
The cup sat unmoved and unscathed on top of the pile of rags, oblivious to Harry’s actions.
“It didn’t work,” Hermione stated aloud.
“Of course that didn’t work,” a gruff voice sounded from behind them. Harry groaned as he recognized the voice of the ghost of Gryffindor. “It’s not a wand. It’s a sword for Merlin’s sake.”
“He followed us?” Ron asked when the trio turned to face the perverted specter. “How’d he get here so quick?”
“I used the floo,” answered Gryffindor.
“But ghosts can’t do that,” Ron said frantically. “It’s impossible!”
“You’ll find that this ghost can do a number of things other ghost can’t do. Unfortunately,” Hermione informed. And as if to prove Hermione’s point, Gryffindor tweaked Ron’s nipple.
Harry ignored Ron’s yelp and demanded; “Well then, how the bloody hell do I use it?”
“It’s a sword,” Gryffindor said in a perturbed manner. “Its got a point: you stab with that end,” the ghost continued, speaking in a slow cadence to underscore his sarcasm. “It also has a cutting edge along the length of the blade: you can cut things that way.”
“Oh,” Harry, Hermione, and Ron all muttered at the same time. Of course, Ron had his hands pressed firmly over his nipples in order to protect them from the nasty ghost.
“‘Oh’ they say,” Gryffindor mocked. “Don’t they teach common sense at that school anymore? Thinking that a sword is more than a sword. Why would I create a sword if I was going to use magic through it? That’s what a wand is for.”
Harry tuned Gryffindor’s insults out and concentrated on the golden cup. His heart was beating like a drum as he held the blade hung over the Horcrux. ‘What will happen?’ Harry wondered to himself. ‘/Will it explode in fire and sparks? Will thick black smoke billow out of it?’ / Resolving himself to find out, Harry shut his eyes and let the sword fall toward the Hufflepuff relic. The edge of the blade tapped the cup gently and it broke apart with a barely audible “clink.”
That was it.
There was no explosion, no fire, no smoke, nor any bright lights; nothing. The Horcrux just laid there on the pile of rags, cut cleanly in two. Harry stared at it dumbly, waiting for something spectacular to happen, to confirm in a way that it had worked and more importantly that the fragment of Voldemort’s soul was destroyed. But nothing happen.
“Well, that’s a bit anti-climatic,” Ron stated, ending the silence, “wasn’t it?”
“Shouldn’t there have been an explosion or something?” asked Hermione.
“That’s what I was thinking,” answered Harry while still looking at the broken Horcrux, expecting it to do something… anything really.
Then it happened. At first it was a quiet sound, something that Harry had to strain his ears to hear, but slowly it grew. It was a scream full of agony and misery. It was pitiful to hear and Harry turned away from the horrible thing that was emanating the sound. Only to find that the scream wasn’t coming from the ruined Horcrux, but rather from the ghost of Godric Gryffindor. Apparently, the list of annoying talents the ghost possessed included the ability to throw his voice.
Even though the ghost was screaming pitifully, Harry could tell that Gryffindor was on the edge of a fit of laughter.
“Would you please stop that?” asked Harry mirthlessly.
Gryffindor abruptly stopped screaming and started laughing. Silvery tears of joy streamed down his face as Hermione spun around with a stunned look on her face. “That was you?” Hermione asked, scandalized. “We thought it was coming from the Horcrux!”
“Why would an inanimate object scream?” Gryffindor asked in-between peals of laughter.
“Because…. Because it’s a Horcrux!” Harry answered passionately.
“Big deal,” retorted Gryffindor. “What were you expecting? Something like the fragment of Voldemort’s soul taking shape and begin to jump around? Or even a flash of lightning? Why think small: why not have the walls come tumbling down around you?”
“Well… yes,” Harry replied sullenly. He had in fact, expected something along those lines to happen.
“Even if Voldemort had put a curse or hex to protect his soul fragment, my sword would’ve protected you from it,” informed the ghost. “Remember, I told you that already.”
“That’s no excuse to make fun of us,” Ron stated.
“Yes, it is!” Gryffindor replied, before another bout of laughter hit him.
Harry shook his head and signaled for Hermione and Ron to follow. As the trio made their way to the kitchen fire-place, Gryffindor asked, “Wait a tick, where are you lot going?”
“Back to Hogwarts,” answered Harry.
“All right, let me tag along,” Gryffindor said and fell in line behind Ron.
Harry and Hermione sighed while Ron gulped. None of them wanted the perverted ghost to follow them, they had had enough of his antics for a while. Then Harry got an idea; one that would hopefully entertain Gryffindor for a while and leave them alone.
“Oi, Gryffindor, there’s a magical painting of an old bird out there,” Harry started.
“So? There’s plenty of those paintings back home,” Gryffindor replied, dismissing Harry’s statement.
“This is different. She’s randy,” Harry said.
“Really!” Gryffindor said gleefully, reversing his stance on returning to Hogwarts. “Where’s this lovely lass?”
Harry pointed to the door and the ghost – somehow – threw the door open and scurried out. As Hermione disappeared in the fireplace; Harry could hear Gryffindor greet Mrs. Black. “Well, hello there, luv. NICE TATTOO!”
“Who are you?” Mrs. Black screeched. Ron practically jumped into the green flames and couldn’t say “Hogwarts” fast enough. “Where’s my beautiful half-blood, my prince of princes, Harry?”
“Oh, he’s a bit busy, poppet,” Gryffindor said silkily. “But he told me to entertain you for a bit.”
“Really?” Mrs. Black asked and Harry stepped into the flames and grabbed a pinch of floo powder. “Well I guess that’s fine then.”
“Hogwarts; Headmistress’ office!” announced Harry. But before he left Grimmauld Place, he heard Mrs. Black moan lustily and Gryffindor exclaim, “WOW! I’ve never seen anyone do that with their own fist before!”
To Be Continued

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