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Revenge of the MHP	By : reddragon Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 51869 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters associated with said property. This is a work of fiction, and I do not intend or stand to make a profit. All resemblances are coincidental.

Chapter List
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This one is dedicated to all the lovely wenches!

                “Wake up, Ron.” Ronald Weasley stirred uneasily as he heard his friend’s voice. Had he over slept again? Were he and Harry going to be late to class again? He tried to shake his head to clear the fuzziness from his mind, but things just felt wrong. Something heavy was pressing down on his body, but not exactly down per se. In fact, it felt more like he was standing up, but his feet weren’t touching anything…

                “RONALD, WAKE UP!”

                “Wha- Harry?” Ron slurred as he opened his eyes. He could tell he was in the Gryffindor common room, but the entire scene was spinning before his eyes. Strange, there were reddish brown streaks all over the wall, like someone had tried to repaint the room by splashing the paint on straight from the can. There was something sitting on the mantle, something pale and round. As his vision cleared realized it was Neville’s head. The other boy’s mouth was locked into a shocked ‘O’, with his fat, purple tongue hanging loose between his lips. Streaks of dried blood crept down from his shredded neck, a clear sign that the head had been there for a while. “Harry? What the hell is going on?”

                “It is quite simple, Ron,” Harry replied from the chair he had set up directly in front of his friend. Ron’s eyes widened as he realized Harry was completely naked, and they nearly popped from his skull as he realized that Hermione was there as well. Not only was she naked as well, but she was seated on Harry’s lap, completely oblivious to Ron. The reason for that was more than clear – her hips were slowly rolling back and forth as she worked his cock. Harry was cupping one firm breast with his other hand, idly fingering one of her little brown nipples. Her own hand was busy between her legs, vigorously frigging her clit. Her chest heaved as her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps, a clear sign that she was nearing orgasm. Harry held a finger up to his lips to quiet Ron as he turned his attention back to the brunette, pinching her nipple hard as he sank his teeth into her shoulder. Hermione climaxed with a scream, her entire body going tight as scorching pleasure rippled through her. When it finally passed several minutes later she sank back against Harry, nuzzling his neck.

                “Oh, Harry, that was wonderful,” she murmured. She yawned and stretched, then looked up as she noticed Ron’s look of pure shocked outrage. “Oh, has he been awake long?”

                “Long enough!” Ron bellowed, yanking at the chains holding him to the wall. “Hermione, how could you?!”

                “How could I?” Hermione repeated mockingly. “How could I not? Power is the aphrodisiac, and Harry has always been the most powerful wizard of our generation. And what’s more, not only is he large enough for me to actually tell when he’s in me, but he knows how to use it as well! There is more to sex than just a few rude grunts and the collapsing on top of the girl, something a brutish oaf like you would never understand.”

                “But- but- why?” Ron moaned as he watched Hermione stand up and brush one hand between her legs. A small bit of Harry’s cum had already started to leak out of her pussy, and she wiped it away with her fingers. She held it up in front of her face so that she could play with the sticky fluid between her fingers, all the while wallowing in the look of bitter disgust on Ron’s face. She licked her fingers clean with pure delight, moaning, “He even tastes better than you do…”

                “As I said, it is quite simple, Ron,” Harry repeated as Hermione knelt in front of him. She brushed her long hair back over her shoulder as she grabbed a hold of his cock and began noisily cleaning it with her tongue. Harry grunted as he thrust his cock deeper into her eagerly waiting throat, causing Hermione to gag as he stretched muscles that had never been stretched that way before. He leaned his head back and let his eyes roll up as he felt the warm wet of her mouth engulf his cock. Every so often she would swallow and the muscles in her throat would squeeze the head of his cock, sending a straight shock up his spine, only for her to pull back until just the tip was resting between her lips as her tongue flickered across that one spot where skin met the crown. Having already just come, Harry knew she could keep this up almost indefinitely, keeping him paralyzed in his seat until he either eventually came again or until her knees got tired, whichever came first.

                “STOP IT!” Ron screamed.

                “Oh for heaven’s sake, be quiet Ronald!” Hermione snapped, letting Harry’s wet cock slap against his stomach as she stood up, reaching for her wand. “All you have ever done is bitch and moan when everyone else is trying to have some fun. You never did understand that it can’t be all about you!”

                Hermione’s wand had been jutting out of Angela Johnson’s scorched eye socket. It came free with a muffled pop, and a bit of steam wafted into the air as the Quidditch captain’s sockets oozed cooked juices and other ichor. Hermione flicked her wand with a snarl of disgust to clear it of the gore, and then raised it so that she was pointing at Ron. “Malferrous!”

                Ron howled in pain as two rusted metal spikes materialized out of thin air and impaled themselves through the palms of his hands. The jagged edges ripped through flesh and bone alike, pulverizing any bit of his body that attempted to get in the way. Fiery agony danced across his nerve endings, and Ron let out a shriek of utter damnation. Blood began to ooze from the wounds, dripping slowly down his wrists as it followed the curve of his arm, pooling momentarily around his elbows before taking the long drop to the floor below. He thrashed as he tried to escape his torment, but the chains around his wrists held firm, and all he succeeded at doing was tearing the wounds open wider. His mind froze as it was simply overwhelmed by the pain, the sheer hellish anguish.

                “Why?” he sobbed as the torture subsided to a dull ache. “Why, Harry, why?”

                “Why?” Harry repeated, his voice heavy with scorn. “Why? You dare to ask me why?! Because why not! I spent eleven miserable years living with the Dursleys, eleven long, bitter years. No friends, no families, just the occasional beating when ever that fat bastard Dudley did something wrong. Nothing I could ever do was good enough to wipe out whatever stigma my parents had left behind. And then it all changed. I was a wizard! I had money! I would have power! I was going to go off to a magical land where I was famous and people would be nice to me! And do you know what I got instead? I find out that there is a psychopathic bastard out to kill me, and not only that, but I have to share my head and soul with him. That he can cause me pain just by thinking about me. All the teachers at school either want to kill me or turn me into some sort of weapon, and even my own classmates turn on me at the merest hint of rumor or scandal. Naturally the only ones who I can rely on are the girl who also started as a muggle, and the fawning younger sister of the guy who runs off to have an emo pout anytime he doesn’t get to be as special as the person everyone is trying to kill! For the first time, I actually understand Voldemort – and you know what, he isn’t wrong, either. Foolish, yes. Evil, yes. I am going to have to destroy him as well, at least eventually. But that doesn’t make him wrong. Power is the end all and be all, and today I claim what is rightfully mine.”

                “Dumbledore will stop you!” Ron screamed.

                “Dumbledore,” Harry answered with an evil grin, “is already dead…”

*             *             *

                Harry paused as he reached the door to Dumbledore’s office. He could hear movement on the other side of the door, the faint rustling of robes and…moaning? He placed his hand against the door and whispered, “Gobstoppers.” He drew his wand from the pocket of his robes as he pushed the door open a crack and stepped through, peering around the corner. He was prepared for anything, Deatheaters, Snape, even Voldemort himself…ready for anything except that which he found.

                Snape was seated on Dumbledore’s desk, his robe hiked up to his hips and his hairy legs spread wide so that anyone coming through the door would be forced to look between them. Dumbledore knelt on the ground between those vile pillars, barebacked except for his cascade of white hair. His head was bobbing up and down quickly, almost as if he was- No, he couldn’t be, not with Snape! Especially not with Snape! Harry refused to believe the very thing before his eyes, and stumbled back in his shock, accidentally knocking over and old astrolabe. The heavy bronze device crashed to the floor with a stupendous bang, made all the more alarming for the suddenness with which it hit. Both men turned at the surprising noise, and Harry looked back in fear as he realized he had been caught. He stared with sick fascination at Snape’s penis, hard and shiny in the pale moonlight, still wet with Dumbledore’s saliva.

                “Harry!” both men cried at once, Snape’s voice filled with bitter anger, Dumbledore’s with sad surprise.

                “Harry, it isn’t what you think!” Dumbledore protested as he rose to his feet, revealing he was equally as naked – and equally as erect – as Snape.

                “Really, Professor?” Harry demanded in shock. “Because from here it quite looked like you were sucking him off!”

                “Harry, please…” Dumbledore pleaded, only for Snape to cut him off. The younger man had seized the chance to grab his wand and was now aiming it at Harry.

                “Potter you are going to forget that you ever saw anything tonight!” Snape roared. “Obli-“

                Something deep inside Harry snapped. His own wand was already ready, and he whipped it across the air with a vicious swipe as he screamed, “SECTUMSEMPRA!”

                Snape stumbled backwards against the desk, his own curse unfinished as a dozen invisible blades lashed out at his body. Each cut was like a jagged bolt of lightning lacerating his skin, and blood fountained from a dozen wounds. He clutched at his throat as a lethal strike hit home, slicing through his neck with the ease of a hot chainsaw through soft butter. Blood poured around his fingers as Snape tried in vain to stuff his mangled arteries and vocal chords back into his throat, while Dumbledore and Harry looked on in shock. Hot, thick blood rushed down his throat, filling his lungs, and Snape’s last act on earth was to crash to the floor of Dumbledore’s office, writhing and gurgling like a fish wrapped in a plastic bag and thrown onto dry land.

                There was silence in the office as the boy and the man stared in shock at Snape’s corpse, while the potion master’s blood quietly seeped into the thick carpeting. There would be no help coming, no last minute attempts to save him – the thick, sound dampening stone walls and remote location of the headmaster’s office made sure that no one had heard the fight begin or end. Some dark corner of Harry’s mind made note of that, even as a simpering Dumbledore turned to him and whined, “Harry. Harry, my boy, what have you done!”

                “What have I done…?” Harry repeated dumbly. “What have I done? Why, I have become exactly what you have always wanted me to be, Dumbledore. I have become a killer. I have become a weapon. I have faced my foe upon the field of battle and I have struck him down before he could do the same to me.”

                “No…” Dumbledore protested feebly as he threw himself, sobbing, over Snape’s body. “Harry, that is not the fate meant for you!”

                “Isn’t it, though?” Harry asked as realization dawned. “I have always been your weapon of choice. Even when I was just eleven, and did not even understand the extent of my powers, you saw fit to throw me and my friends through a gauntlet designed by our teachers to thwart the most powerful force of evil they knew about! Little good that did, of course. They couldn’t even stop three first years, let alone Voldemort himself. Did you know that? Were you counting on them failing? Was I the plan all along, that it would be me to have to face him down there? Oh, the Chamber I think I can give you a pass on. That one was entirely the Malfoys, a crime for which I will make sure they pay. But when Remus went mad? You came back and gave us the Time Turner yourself! You knew exactly what you were doing, knowing that we would have to deal with not just a psychotic mass murderer but a feral werewolf as well! The Triwizard tournament? You could have removed me, could have had me throw every match to the legitimate contestants, but no! You made me compete! You made sure there was no option left to me! And even as Crouch was setting up his plans, the same plans that got Cedric killed and revived Voldemort with my own protections; you just sat back and watched! SIRIUS DIED BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T WANT TO TELL ME ABOUT THE DAMNED PROPHECY!”

                “No, Harry, those were your own-“

                “Don’t tell me they were my own actions!” Harry raged. “You made sure they were the actions I would take! You made sure that each and every step was carefully laid out before me, and that anyone who might actually be able to solve the problem and keep the damage to a minimum was removed to that I would have to face it! And for what? So that you could have your story, so that you could have your weapon and your legend. And all this because of one man. Because of Voldemort? No. Because of Dumbledore.”

                Harry pointed his wand into the air and declared, “Accio Colt .45.”

                He squatted down on the balls of his feet as he waited for the spell to complete. “You know the Dursleys abused me as a child. Don’t pretend that you didn’t. Was it deliberate? Was that another part of your scheme, to try and make me a better person by forcing me to deal with such petty meanness, day in and day out? Don’t wizards know that abused kids tends to become abusers themselves? No, I am sure you didn’t. It wouldn’t even occur to you that your special plan might backfire.

                “When I was still living in the cupboard under the stairs, there really wasn’t much I could do to escape their brutality. The best chance I got was in Dudley’s old books. Thank god the lout wasn’t much of a reader; he never even noticed when they disappeared. I really liked the Westerns. American books about cowboys and Indians and wide open land that promised all who explored them a good happy adventure. There was a line in one of them, a line that I couldn’t help but enjoy just because of how nice and simple it was. According to one of the cowboys, `God made men, but Samuel Colt made them equal.’ I wonder if the same holds true for wizards?”

                There was a faint whistling sound as something small and metallic came rushing through the air, and Harry reached up with his Seeker’s grace and snagged the flying pistol out of the air. Dumbledore looked the shiny, blocky gun in confusion. His questions only lasted a moment, however, before Harry pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a deafening roar and a blinding flash, and Harry cried out with a shock of pain as the recoil nearly broke his wrist. The heavy bullet had been designed to pierce SWAT quality body armor, and Dumbledore’s brittle old skull was no match for it. Bone, blood, and brains exploded outwards as the steel tip smashed through at a little over 1100 feet per second. Quite a bit backwashed over Harry, soaking his robes in gore and splintered fragments of Dumbledore’s head.

                Harry dropped the pistol from his numb hand, breathing heavily as he stared down at the carnage he had wreaked. He couldn’t help but think that the office looked to be in remarkably good shape for the site of two different murders. Hell, Fawkes was still asleep under the blanket covering his cage, at least as far as Harry could tell. He looked down at the two broken corpses and shook his head. “You two deserve each other.”

                Turning around, he stumbled through the door, leaving the mess for someone else to pick up later.

*             *             *

                “You really killed Dumbledore?” Ron asked meekly, shaking his head. This had to be a bad dream. It had to be. Dumbledore had been like a second father to them there was no way…

                “I did,” Harry replied, still smiling viciously. Hermione was back on her knees, Harry’s cock buried deep in her throat once more. “And the more I think about it, the more I wonder why I didn’t do so earlier. Everything that bastard put us, me, through! He deserved it. He deserved it ten times over! Of course, that’s nothing compared to what Hermione did to the Malfoys…”
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Revenge of the MHP