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Bella's Harem	By : Mamacita Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 28885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
15: Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

There was an air of suppressed frenzy in the Great Hall the next morning. Bella stood just inside the doors and observed the various occupants of the room.

Harridge and Lyttelton stood off by themselves whispering furiously. Narcissa was laughing with Violet Dabney and Louise Stimson, who looked as if they were savoring some particularly toothsome bit of gossip; Lucius, across the room, was watching Narcissa and tapping his fingers impatiently on the wall where his hand was propped. At one point she looked over at him and then looked away again with her nose in the air, deliberately turning her shoulder to show that he was not welcome. Lucius’ face was like thunder. Narcissa snickered. Oh...trouble in paradise? What a pity.

There were other little groups of men and women standing about, all of them talking in low voices, but their tone was clearly incredulous, even worried. Bella wondered what was going on. She moved toward the throne and beckoned to Snape, who stood off to one side of the dais. He stalked over to meet her as she ascended the steps.

“Your Majesty, good morning.”

“What’s going on, Severus?” Bella asked. She waved at the little knots of whisperers around the room. “Everyone seems rather tense this morning.”

“Except you, Your Majesty,” Snape said. “Did you pass a pleasant evening?”

Bella just looked at him. “Why—do you wish you’d been there? Have a yen for the Weasley boys, do you, Severus?” She smirked.

He thought better of his teasing. “Er—no. Absolutely not. You just—I thought you looked rather...refreshed...this morning, that’s all.”

“If you must know, it didn’t go terribly well last night. The younger one was most uncooperative,” she complained. “Really, between him and Stuart...I don’t know what I was thinking when I included them in the harem. You know, Severus—” her voice changed immediately and became interested, even excited— “I’ve had the most wonderful idea. These boys all need to learn some control. They see a whip or paddle and just...deflate! Such a bother, having to do all that work to keep them in any kind of shape to perform. I think they could do with some training—you know, teach them to maintain a ready state even while they’re being punished. I think some of them might even come to enjoy it, but at least they need to learn to tolerate it.”

“And by ‘a ready state’ you mean...?”

She looked at him coyly. “Oh, come, Severus. You know what I mean. What do you think of the idea?”

Snape looked quite alarmed. “Am I to understand that you wish me to—to undertake this...training?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as horrified by the idea as he felt.

Bella’s laugh tinkled lightly. “No, silly. I’ll have the eunuchs do it! It’s the perfect thing. They have nothing but time on their hands anyway—and they are at my disposal, after all. What could be better?” She looked very pleased with herself. She beckoned to Lucius, and he left off his mooning after Narcissa and strode toward the throne.

Snape imagined Arthur’s face when he found out about this proposed addition to the eunuchs’ duties and his lips twitched just the tiniest bit. Then he thought about how Marshall would react, and a full-blown grin threatened to take over his face.

Lucius bowed—but not very low—and said, “Good morning, Bel—Your Majesty. You certainly look in the pink of health today.”

Bella pouted. “Well, if I am, it’s no thanks to those harem slaves. Lucius, we must do something about them. They shy away at the least little sign of anything they’re not used to, and then they’re no use at all. They need to learn better control. I was just telling Severus I’ve decided the eunuchs shall teach them. The slaves simply must be able to maintain a state of readiness—” Snape found it amusing that Bella, of all people, appeared unable to bring herself to say the word erection— “no matter what I’m doing. I don’t care if it’s not pleasurable for them, that’s not the point.”

Lucius managed to keep an admirably straight face as she spoke. “And your solution is to have the eunuchs do...what, exactly?”

“Well, train them, of course. Get them used to the idea of seeing whips and paddles about so they don’t go all soft when I want to have a little fun with my toys.” She pouted.

“Ah. You do realize, Bel—Your Majesty—that some people simply do not possess the predisposition for such things? That they may not see your ‘games’ the way you do but as physical violence directed at them? Indeed, I think for the majority of people this would not be considered ‘fun’, and I can well understand their being unable to maintain a state of arousal while being—as they would see it—victimized.”

Bella’s face darkened and Snape sighed inwardly, wondering if they were to have a repeat of yesterday’s tantrum. He surreptitiously drew his robe a bit closer about him.

“Are you telling me they are all—all—so stupid as to be unable to learn, Lucius? I would certainly believe it of some of them,” she said in disgust, thinking of Ron’s uncooperative manner the night before, “but surely not all. No no, we must at least try. You are the Harem Overseer, Lucius. See that they are told, and supply them with anything they need in the way of whips and...whatever.” She waved her hand for him to go and do her bidding, and Lucius bowed again (a very shallow dip this time, hardly a bow at all) and whirled to leave.

Bella peered more closely at the Death Eaters as the buzz of conversation grew louder and the sounds of incredulity and shock became more noticeable. “What’s got them all so upset?”

Snape had been dreading this and had cravenly hoped he could distract her and then make good his escape on some errand or other before her mind fastened on it again. He sighed.

“Four people are missing,” he said reluctantly. He did not elaborate. Yet.

“Missing? Whatever do you mean? Who's missing?” Bella crossed her legs and jiggled her foot as it dangled in the air. Her choice of royalty-appropriate footwear this morning was rather startling; she had abandoned her usual all-black look today in favor of a pair of shiny red pumps with six-inch heels so thin he was amazed she could walk on them without them snapping off. Perhaps she liked the added height, and he imagined she was well aware that combined with the frothy, slit-to-the-hip concoction she wore the high heels made her legs look impossibly long. Which was, he supposed, the whole point. He thought many of the foibles of female dress ridiculous, including high heels; but even so he could hardly tear his eyes away from the flash of red that peeked out from under her gown at each swing of her foot.

“Severus!”

He jumped. “Oh—yes, sorry. Er, the Notts and the Dunstans have all gone missing,” he said.

The foot stopped in mid-jiggle. “Exactly what do you mean by ‘missing’?”

“Just that,” Snape said. “Caroline Nott and Livvy Dunstan went shopping yesterday in Diagon Alley; when it got dark and they hadn’t returned, Ted and Harold got worried and went off to find them. None of them have returned. This morning Lyttelton and Harridge went down to London to have a look for themselves. They found no sign of any of them around Diagon Alley or at their estates—both couples seem to have disappeared into thin air. No one’s seen them, no one knows anything.”

Bella’s eyes narrowed. “Nonsense. Someone knows something. Keep me informed, Severus. I can’t have my Death Eaters doing whatever they want, coming and going as they please.” She lowered her voice. “You won’t believe this, Severus, but there are actually some people who don’t accept me as Queen of wizarding Britain!” She sounded incredulous. “If my Death Eaters are perceived to be abandoning me left and right, it hardly strengthens my position.”

She looked around at the considerable number of people in the room. “They all promised loyalty to Voldemort—swore it by all they owned, on their very lives! If anyone thinks to back out now, they will find they have another think coming.” She tapped her fingernails—painted to match her shoes, he noticed—on the broad wooden arm of the throne.

Snape wondered if she realized what she’d said. It was true enough that the Death Eaters had sworn undying loyalty—but to Voldemort, not Bella. Lucius and he were the only actual traitors among them, but he knew for a fact that there were those who, even when Voldemort was alive, had indulged in second thoughts—and third, and fourth, and more—but knew they would be unable to escape his hold on them without the harshest of consequences, possibly even for their entire families. This had kept them loyal, at least outwardly.

But Bella was no Voldemort. She was merely a madwoman with a sense of entitlement—and unfortunately, strong magical powers. Voldemort had possessed a certain madness of his own, but he had sufficient charisma to hold his Death Eaters in thrall. Bella gave orders like a spoilt child and expected them to be obeyed instantly, but she made no promises—there was no talk of glory, of rewards beyond imagining, as Voldemort had held them with.

No, now everything was for Bella’s benefit alone. The Death Eaters—not her Death Eaters, really—were beginning to see that they were little more than slaves themselves. They might not be expected to tidy the castle and grounds, or to furnish Bella’s nightly bedroom entertainment (although had she not had the harem slaves to amuse her, she might well have reinstated the Dark Revels that Voldemort had so enjoyed); they might retain their estates and their fortunes; they might be free to leave the castle and roam the world at will.

But they still bore their Dark Marks, and when Bella summoned them they must obey or suffer for it. When she killed Voldemort, his power to use this method of commanding the Death Eaters had by some weird osmosis passed to her. They all knew this; she had very early on demonstrated her ability to control them as he had. Snape was sure that many of them, seeing no incentive to remain, wished to simply resume some more normal existence as members of the wizarding community, free of any Dark control over their lives.

Some, frustrated with the incompetence of the Ministry for Magic, had been misled by Voldemort into joining him. He had portrayed himself as a strong leader who had great ideas for them and the power to control the direction in which their world was moving. These particular people did not necessarily have any Dark inclinations at all, but Voldemort realized this and played his part convincingly. Once they took the Mark, of course, they inevitably found out that governmental reform was so far down on his list of priorities as to not even be on the list, but by then it was far too late for regrets.

Snape found it interesting that Bella saw the disappearance of some of the Death Eaters as a defection on their part rather than a possible threat to her by an outside agency. He wondered how many the Order could succeed in removing before she did begin to understand.

Unlike Arthur, who Snape felt was entirely too forgiving and...well...too nice for his own good, Snape felt no remorse at the thought of killing either Bella or most of her Death Eaters. With only a very few exceptions they would probably fight for her if it became necessary, and at this point they outnumbered the Order far too greatly to risk any kind of open confrontation. It was necessary to remove them by stealth in order to get to Bella—it was as simple as that.

Snape, well aware of the system of bribery and corruption that existed within Azkaban prison, knew that merely imprisoning them was not enough if the looming specter of Dark reign was to be eliminated during their lifetime. The Dementors’ Kiss was pointless, used mostly to make the victims’ families suffer, since the victims themselves certainly knew nothing of what happened to them after the Kiss was administered. They would inevitably sink into a decline and die anyway, usually within a relatively short period of time. No—as harsh as it sounded, death was the only permanent solution. The Death Eaters must die.

The Queen must die.
Once again the harem buzzed with conversation, punctuated by great splashes and shouts of laughter and encouragement as they played the modified version of water polo, which had simply become known as “waterball”. Most of the boys were involved in the game, either in the pool or from the sidelines. A scattered few pursued other interests or finished up homework for Alfred’s math class later that morning.

Arthur noticed that Ron was sitting off by himself in a windowseat. He appeared to be sulking about something, which was rather odd. Arthur walked over and sat down at the other end of the long cushion.

“You look like something’s bothering you,” he said. “Care to talk about it?” He watched with puzzled interest as Ron reddened and ducked his head, unable to meet his father’s eyes. Hmm. But Arthur knew his children well. He settled back against the window embrasure and waited.

Finally Ron muttered, “My first real chance, and I blew it.”

“Your first chance at what?”

Ron sighed gustily. “At sex. My first chance to have sex, with someone who actually wanted it, and I blew it. She hates me. She doesn’t want me back.”

Arthur echoed Ron’s sigh. He might be rolling his eyes on the inside, but still, hurt and feelings of inadequacy were what they were. This called for a little diplomacy.

“Ah...well...first and foremost, Ron, I must remind you that the Queen not wanting you around her is a good thing. Remember who she is, after all.” As expected, this didn’t do much to cheer Ron up. He just grunted and stared at his knee. “And—er—as much as you don’t want to hear this, son, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you couldn’t do what she wanted. There, um, there are people who actually enjoy that sort of thing—people besides the Queen,” he elucidated. “I shouldn’t worry about it if you find you’re not one of them. And the fact that you couldn’t perform the Cruciatus, that you wouldn’t even try—why on earth would you think that a bad thing?”

Ron looked up at him then with eyes that looked a little less tormented. “Well, I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “But still....”

“I know. I do know,” Arthur assured him. “I know it’s not what you expected. But you have to remember she’s not some girl you have a crush on, who you’d like to sneak off to a broom closet with.” Ron rolled his eyes. “I mean it, Ron. I’m sure you had some picture in your mind of what your first time would be like—and I’m equally sure the Queen could never have provided that. Or if she did, it would only be because she had something else in mind for later, for her own entertainment. She does nothing without thought of what’s in it for her. Remember that.”

“But it—it wasn’t even—”

Arthur restrained the urge to shake it out of him. This was worse than trying to coax Molly’s woes out of her when she was trying to spare him news of a difficult day she’d had out of courtesy in case Arthur’s day at work had been even worse. “It wasn’t even what?” he prompted.

“It wasn’t even her doing it! Who made me—made m-me—” Ron shook his head, unable to voice it, but his glance at Fred, who was over in the pool, gave Arthur a good idea of what it was his son couldn’t bring himself to say.

He patted Ron’s knee with a warm hand. “Ah. I see.” And he was pretty sure he did. He knew such acts weren’t repugnant to Fred, who had freely enjoyed sexual escapades with both males and females during his years at Hogwarts and since. But he knew his youngest son and he was well aware that Ron was essentially innocent, no matter how many lustful dreams he might have about Hermione or Lavender Brown or any other attractive woman who caught his attention.

“So you feel guilty, do you?” Arthur asked. “For having enjoyed it?” Ron’s head snapped up. “Your own brother making you come, and in front of the Queen at that?”

Ron glanced nervously around, hoping no one was listening. “Dad!” he hissed. “Stop already, will you? Stop...talking about it.”

“Look at me,” Arthur insisted, and he waited until Ron reluctantly dragged his eyes up to meet his. “Good lord, Ron, there’s nothing to feel guilty about. It’s a normal physical reaction.”

“Dad—”

“No, listen to me. Don’t waste your time feeling guilty about anything she might make you do,” Arthur said. “It’s not like you asked to be there. You didn’t ask your brother to—”

“Dad!”

“All right, but you do see my point, don’t you? If you’re forced to do something and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it but survive it and move on, there’s no reason to feel guilty. Do you think Harry feels guilty because of whatever she made him do with Draco?”

Ron’s eyes slid over to Harry, who stood in the water at the edge of the pool in the “penalty box”. “I suppose not.”

“You suppose right. Why should he? What should he have done—refused, and ended up dead, like Stuart? Stuart didn’t even refuse and he was tortured anyway. Just because she enjoyed watching him suffer. She enjoyed watching you suffer, I have no doubt—making you submit to your brother’s—oh, all right, all right,” he said hastily as Ron opened his mouth to object yet again. “She’s mad, Ron. She’s unstable, unpredictable, and dangerous. Whatever you have to do to get through a session with her is just something you must do in order to survive—for as long as this goes on.”

“But the Cruciatus....”

“Well, of course I don’t mean that. I can’t believe she tried to make you perform an Unspeakable Curse; if nothing else, she should have known you wouldn’t be able to do it, especially not to your own brother. But there again, she succeeded in making you miserable because you failed, didn’t she? You see where I’m going with this?” Ron nodded. “Any time she can make you fail, make you doubt your own worth, she wins. And she wants to win at any cost. If the cost is your confidence, what’s that to her? Nothing. Less than nothing.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Ron asked desperately. “I don’t think she’s even going to have me back.”

“Well, if she doesn’t I’ll be very much surprised,” Arthur said. “But if that happens, then you can count your blessings.”

“But what if she sends me out of the harem—to be a castle slave?”

Arthur looked grave. “Ah—yes, I’ve heard about how they’re treated. Still, you’d be alive. And you’d get to be outdoors, you wouldn’t be stuck in one place all the time like you are here. Still, we don’t know that she’ll never have you back, so I wouldn’t worry about it just yet. And maybe things will change, maybe something will happen....” He trailed off, aware that he shouldn’t say too much. As much as he loved Ron, the boy came out with the most unlikely things at moments of stress, and Arthur hated to think of the rebellion being squashed because of something he’d let slip in an unguarded moment.

Ron snorted. “Something like what? All the Death Eaters will suddenly just die and poof! Bella will become powerless? You wish.” Obviously he hadn’t sensed anything out of the ordinary in what Arthur had said.

“Actually, I do wish,” Arthur said, and he chuckled and gave Ron’s knee a little shove. “Wouldn’t that be nice! Although you know I’d miss all this,” he said, waving at the room in general.

Ron laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. He shoved back, his mood somewhat lightened.

Arthur decided it was time for a change of subject. “So—finished your homework, have you?” he asked. “Class should be starting pretty soon.”

“Yeah, I finished it a while ago.”

“Good. Hermione would be proud. Well, then, you can come help me hand out towels,” Arthur said. “Come on. Boys!” he called. “Time to get ready for class.”

There were a few groans, but Fred grinned. He grabbed one of Draco’s feet—Draco was lounging on his back and holding lightly onto the edge of the pool—and raised it in the air, neatly dunking Draco as he did so. “Good thing we’re getting out,” Fred said as Draco came up splashing and sputtering. “Poor boy’s turning into a prune over here.” He ducked as Draco sliced his hand through the water, sending a shower of droplets in Fred’s direction.

Arthur and Ron handed out towels and the boys dried off and went over to the bookshelves to fetch their math books and homework assignments, then got comfortable and waited for Alfred to begin the lesson. Glancing about to make sure he’d gotten all the wet towels together in preparation for Dobby to take them away, Arthur noticed Lucius standing in the doorway to the reception room. He put the towels down at the edge of the pool and went over to see what he wanted.

Lucius led him out to the reception room.

“You look perturbed,” Arthur said. “What’s happened now?”

Lucius shook his head. “I—I hardly know how to tell you.”

Arthur’s heart sank and he swallowed hard. But he was not a Weasley—and a Gryffindor—for nothing. “Tell me what?”

“Apparently after having Stuart and your youngest, she’s decided the boys need training in discipline. And the eunuchs are the ones she’s designated to train them.”

“Discipline? I hadn’t realized the boys were all that unruly,” Arthur said, puzzled. “They’re pretty good, really, all things considered. A few hijinks, of course, but that’s only to be—”

“Arthur, no.” Lucius shook his head apologetically. “I don’t mean that kind of discipline.” He looked meaningfully at Arthur, willing him to understand so Lucius wouldn’t have to say it. And then the Knut dropped. Lucius saw it in the widening of Arthur’s eyes, the disbelief in his face. His mouth dropped open and his lips worked, but no sound came out.

Finally he said, “And she wants us to train them? What—you mean—”

Lucius said, “The way she put it was, ‘Get them used to the idea of seeing whips and paddles about so they don’t go all soft when I want to have a little fun with my toys’ and ‘Teach them to maintain a ready state even while they’re being punished’.

“You must be joking,” Arthur protested. “We—we can’t do that to them, Lucius. We can’t! They—they need to be able to feel safe here. It’s all we really have to offer them. If we take that away, I think there will be problems. Serious problems.”

“I sincerely hope not,” Lucius said. “Arthur, I can ask the Order to step up the ‘disappearances’. But I can’t defy a direct order from her or I’ll end up right here with you, or worse. Wherever she'd send me, I doubt I’d be of any use to our cause.”

“Well, but—” Arthur wanted to protest further, but he understood Lucius’ position. “What are we supposed to do? When are we to start?”

“Today, I think. She’s requested Harry for tonight and he’s already been there once, so he knows what to expect. If the others begin while he’s resting this afternoon, it won’t hurt him to miss out. I’ll—er—round up some equipment and bring it along directly.” Arthur looked as if he was still in shock. Lucius was fully aware of the irony of this eminently decent man being forced to teach others something that went so deeply against the grain. And all because of a spoiled brat who, more than anything else, needed a good spanking.

Although, being Bella, she’d probably enjoy that.

Lucius departed to find enough whips and paddles to go round—not a difficult thing to do with all these Death Eaters in residence; and there were some very fine examples at Malfoy Manor that had been left behind after various of Bella’s visits that he was glad to contribute.

Arthur was left to figure out how on earth he was going to break the news of this latest start of Bella’s. Marshall will be in seventh heaven, he thought. Even if it’s not precisely the kind of contact he’d like. His feet dragging, he returned to the main room. Alfred shot him a quick, inquiring look from where he stood at the front of the room, then calmly continued with the lesson.

Edwin and Marshall, who had been using some of the towels to mop up around the pool, came over expectantly. “Well?” Edwin said. “What did he want?”

Arthur shook his head. “This is something I need to tell all of you at once,” he said. “As soon as the lesson is over.” He hoped Lucius wouldn’t return for at least the hour that would take.

But at the end of an hour, when Alfred finished giving out the homework assignment and the boys whose turn it was to clear off the table for lunch went to do so, Arthur felt no more ready to make the announcement than he had earlier.

The decision was somewhat taken out of his hands when Lucius walked in carrying a large cardboard box that looked heavy. “Where do you want this?” he asked. Arthur motioned him to just put it down inside the doorway. Lucius did, and dusted off his hands. “Have you told them yet?” Arthur shook his head mutely. Taking pity on him, Lucius offered, “Shall I do it?” A hesitant nod.

Lucius strode to the center of the room and held up his hands for quiet. “May I have everyone’s attention, please?” Since he pretty much had it the minute he walked in the door carrying the box, it only remained for the whispered conjectures about the contents to stop, which they did immediately.

“I bring orders from the Queen,” Lucius said. “She wishes to have all of the bed-slaves trained to keep greater control over themselves when they are being punished—in short, she wishes you to be able to maintain an erection even as she is whipping you, or plying one of her famous paddles.” The boys looked at each other, puzzled—except for Fred and Ron, who knew exactly what he was referring to.

Lucius went on, “To that end, she has ordered the eunuchs to train all of you to withstand a certain amount of corporal punishment, if you will, without going soft. It may take a bit more training for some of you than for others—” he carefully looked over their heads as he said this, so as not to let it be thought that he was singling anyone out— “but I urge you all to pay close attention and concentrate on the object of this exercise. Be assured the Queen will be testing your fortitude—frequently. I’m sure none of us wants her to hand out wholesale punishment to the entire harem because a few of you fail to achieve some measure of proficiency in the art of control. So for your own sakes, regardless of your personal opinion of Her Majesty’s preferences, I hope you do your best.”

He beckoned to the four eunuchs and they gathered around the box. Lucius rummaged for a moment and came up with a leather strap about an inch and a half wide, and held it in front of him. “I shall demonstrate what Her Majesty intends this training to consist of,” he said. “I require two volunteers.”

Predictably, everyone’s eyes were glued apprehensively to the leather strap, and no one raised a hand.

“Volunteers!” Lucius barked.

After a moment, Neville put up a shaking hand. Draco, not about to show cowardice in front of his father, followed suit.

“Excellent,” Lucius purred. “Front and center, boys. Mr Longbottom—Longbottom, eh? Very well. Kneel, please.” Neville did—but a good two feet away from Draco. Lucius smiled. “Now, Draco—ah, I see you are already semi-hard. Good, good. Longbottom, come closer.” Neville scooted a few inches closer on his knees. “No, no, man—right up here next to Draco.” His face a brilliant shade of red, Neville slid closer until his face, a study in dread, was only a few inches away from Draco’s cock.

“That’s better,” Lucius said. “Now, your training will take place in pairs. You will take it in turns to be standing and kneeling. I imagine you already have a pretty good notion of what job the kneeling half of the team is responsible for, but in case you haven’t figured it out, it is to return the standing slave’s cock to a fully erect state, should he go limp at any time during the proceedings. It is, of course, to be hoped—as it is the whole point of this training—that eventually you will all be able to maintain at least a partial erection even while you are being whipped, paddled, spanked, or undergoing whatever other activities the Queen wishes to engage in.”

He addressed himself to Neville. “Have you ever given head to another man before?” Neville shook his head, looking absolutely aghast. “Well, you’re going to do it now. Your job won’t be too difficult, as Draco is already halfway there. As soon as you feel he is quite stiff, you will stop. That,” he said to the eunuchs, “is your signal to resume the punishment. At first it may take quite a bit of work on the part of your slave aids to keep the, er, ‘victims’ hard. But that’s why we’re doing this. Begin, Longbottom.”

Neville reached out and took Draco’s cock in his hand and began to pump it rather tentatively. Lucius put out a restraining hand. “No, Longbottom—your mouth. Use your mouth.” Neville looked very much as if he might begin to cry as he closed his eyes and took Draco into his mouth. Draco’s own eyelids fluttered shut as he was enclosed in moist warmth and Neville started to move on him slowly, sucking and bobbing his head slowly back and forth.

Draco began to moan, and Lucius grabbed Neville’s hair. “That’s enough,” he said. “You’re sure you haven’t done this before?” Neville sent him a look of intense dislike but released Draco’s cock. Lucius said, “Draco, bend over and grasp your ankles.” Draco assumed the position so readily that anyone might have thought he was used to it, and Lucius lowered the strap and began to whip him.

For several strokes Draco maintained a stoic silence, but then he began to pant mixed with the occasional moan, and his erection visibly flagged. Lucius immediately stopped and pointed at Neville. Draco straightened and it only took Neville a few brief moments to bring him back to a full erection. They repeated this sequence a couple more times until Draco’s ass was a hot, glowing pink and he was crying unashamedly.

“All right,” Lucius said finally. “That’s enough.” He turned to the other slaves who, almost to a man, had gone white as a sheet at the thought that their turn was coming next. “Eight of you, pair off. Longbottom, trade with Draco.” Neville stood up and Draco went stiffly down on his knees in front of him. Neville’s cock seemed to grow before his eyes, without Draco even touching it; when he took it in his hand to guide Neville into his mouth, Neville’s cock jerked involuntarily, which normally would have drawn shouts of laughter. But there was too much apprehension in the room for that.

And so the first training session commenced. After about ten minutes the kneelers and standers were instructed to trade places, and then the eunuchs moved on to the next four sets of slaves and Lucius took the last couple, Fred and Ron.

Ron eyed the strap fearfully. “This is because of me, isn’t it?” he said.

“As it happens, it was partly you and partly Stuart,” Lucius said honestly. “But if it hadn’t been you, rest assured it would have been someone else. I can’t imagine any of you are used to this.” He motioned for Fred to kneel, and Fred grinned up at Ron.

“Here we are again, eh?” he murmured. “Suppose we’d better get used to this, just in case. Just close your eyes and pretend I’m Lavender Brown. Or Hermione. Whatever helps.” And as he engulfed Ron’s cock and began to work it, Ron did try to imagine it was someone else down there—pretty much anyone else, actually—and he was more or less successful.

Until it was his turn to kneel, which was something they hadn’t done the previous night. Fortunately Fred was of a somewhat kinky bent, so he didn’t have all that much trouble staying erect and Ron only had to help once, very briefly; the mere fact of his warm breath on Fred’s cock had it springing up, ready for action once again. Ron wasn’t sure what that said about either of them.

All in all, the training was not felt by any of them to be a great success. None of the eunuchs had the right turn of mind to be more than halfhearted about the spanking, and it was obvious that the boys ended the session feeling definitely rebellious. Neither Arthur nor Lucius could imagine having to go through this on a regular basis; Lucius felt it would largely be a waste of time, and Arthur simply didn’t want to put the boys through the unpleasantness of being punished for no good reason.

“If you don’t she’ll know it soon enough,” Lucius warned.

“But,” Arthur countered, “we could do this three times a day and some of them would still never take to it. For all she knows we could be training that often and it wouldn’t make any difference. For Merlin’s sake, Lucius—”

“All right, Arthur, all right. I see your point. Let’s just...give it a miss and hope for the best.” The implements were put back into the box, ready for Lucius to take away again, in less time than it takes to tell about it. He just hoped that if Bella noticed there wasn’t much progress in this area she would, as Arthur said, simply assume the boys were taking longer to train than she’d expected. He wondered with a surge of impatience how quickly they might be able to dispose of the worst of the Death Eaters. Not soon enough, he thought.

Before he left he reminded Arthur of the soothing lavender cream he’d got out for Harry the other night, and soon the eunuchs were applying it to the slaves’ red and aching backsides. More than one person wondered how they would be able to sit down at the table for lunch that day, and possibly even by dinner time, on the hard wooden benches.

Marshall scooped some cream out of a jar and went over to Draco with it. As he spread the cream tenderly over Draco’s reddened cheeks, his hands lingering and caressing the object (or objects) of his desire, he noticed Draco looking down at him over his shoulder and smiling. Marshall winked at him, and Draco grinned. Marshall’s heart soared—but caution belatedly got the better of him and he glanced about to see if anyone had noticed. All the other eunuchs were busy, however.

And then Marshall looked up because he’d felt Draco cover each of his hands with his own, firmly pressing them to his buttocks. Marshall gave him a little squeeze and dropped his hands, and Draco turned to look at him. His eyes were hot, so hot, and Marshall’s breath caught in his throat at that look. He would have given anything at that moment to be able to clasp Draco to him and ravish his pretty mouth with kisses, and touch his pale, pearlescent skin everywhere, and whisper sweet nothings into his ears with those little wisps of blond hair falling over them that Marshall could imagine tickling his lips.

Oh, Marshall had it bad.

He was so aroused it hurt. He didn’t even care that the potion prevented him from reaching completion, as long as he could make Draco feel good. Make him happy. Show him how much he wanted him. But of course, he thought in frustration, he couldn’t do that...

...or could he?
Somehow they got through lunch...and dinner...although there were a lot of bad jokes about sore asses. Harry drew Edwin that evening in the “Bella-prep lottery”, as he privately thought of the enema-and-bath routine. Afterward Alfred dressed him in a costume of long trousers much like the ones he’d worn the first night, only in the lighter seafoam green color.

“It’s a strange thing,” Alfred mused as he was once again straightening the fabric that held Harry’s cock up and out on display. “So far not one of you has brought your clothes back—but I’d swear the racks have more clothes stuffed into them than they did a couple of days ago.”

“Maybe the house-elves are putting them back,” Harry suggested.

“Mm, maybe.” Alfred surveyed him. “I must say, that color looks quite as nice on you as the darker green. I think she’ll like it. Hope she doesn’t treat you badly tonight, lad.” He ran a quick comb through Harry’s hair and, at the usual lack of results this gave, rolled his eyes and shrugged hopelessly, making Harry laugh. “All right, off with you.” Alfred picked up Harry’s wet towel and escorted him out to the reception room.

They waited for Lucius in the dim, candle-lit room. Harry idly looked up and said, “Wow!” Alfred followed his gaze and smiled appreciatively. The glass dome looked out on a twilit sky that was already thick with stars.

“It’s getting on toward June,” Alfred said. “Nearly summer—not that you can tell in here.” The castle was somewhat chilly year-round, and not just in the dungeons. Since it existed in the wizarding world there had never been any attempt to update the interior with any sort of heating system, as many of the Muggles had done with castles they used as residences or tourist attractions. Hogwarts depended on fires for heating individual rooms, or warming charms such as the one on the harem.

Certainly when Lucius arrived, the changing of the seasons could not be detected by his clothing; he wore the same black trousers and boots and heavy robe as always.

He examined Harry appreciatively and a bit more openly than he tended to do if Arthur was present. “My, my,” he said cheerfully, “each costume better than the one before. I don’t believe there is anything that could look bad on you, Harry.” His eyes flicked to Harry’s cock. “Charming,” he breathed. “I certainly hope the Queen realizes just how lucky she is.” He beckoned to Harry. “Come along.”

Was that a compliment? Harry wondered. He threw a puzzled glance at Alfred, who just raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Harry supposed it didn’t really matter, although it felt sort of weird having Lucius Malfoy tell him he—or my cock?—was “charming”.

As Harry followed Lucius along the increasingly familiar route to Bella’s chambers, he wondered what kind of mood she would be in that night. Would she whip him, as she had Stuart? Would she feel “a little touch of the Cruciatus” was called for? But even more than this, he wondered if he would get another chance to do what he had on his first visit to her. He was determined to make a better showing this time if only she would let him, now that Lucius had clued him in as to what he’d done wrong. Or maybe she would even allow him to—well. No point getting his hopes up just yet. He supposed he would have to wait and see.

When Lucius rang the gong and left him standing on the mezzanine, Harry wasn’t sure what to expect. He hoped he would make it back to the harem alive, of course, and hopefully with his backside intact this time. That spanking business had really sucked...although he thought a little turning of the tables, if Bella let him try it, might be something he could get into.

He waited for her to appear, but Lucius had been gone for a couple of minutes and there was still no sign of her. Suddenly he heard the sound of water running. A lot of water. And then

“Harry! Come and help me undress.”

Harry took the stairs two at a time and found Bella filling a large sunken tub. Where was that last time I was here? he wondered. She smiled a welcome and held out her hand.

“Help me take off my clothes, Harry.” Her voice was sultry, full of spicy tropical warmth. Harry untied the ribbon bow at the back of her bodice and undid the laces of the old-fashioned gown she wore. As he pushed the gown off her shoulders she caught his hand between her shoulder and cheek in a little caress, which made his heart beat faster. Surely that was a sign that she was in a good mood? He peeled the gown down to the floor—she wore nothing beneath it—and helped her step out of it.

“And my hair,” she said. “Take down my hair. The pins make my head ache.” Carefully Harry reached into the mass of curls propped atop her head and felt a hairpin. He pulled it out, then another, then several more, until finally her long hair fell free and cascaded down her back. He waited to see what she wanted him to do, not sure whether she wanted him to take the lead or follow orders. With Bella it was never safe to assume anything.

She turned and pressed up against him, but made no move to touch him with her hands other than resting them on his shoulders. “Will you join me in my bath, Harry?” she asked. He nodded and she took his hand and led him down into the tub. It was smaller than the one in the Prefects’ bathroom but far larger than a normal tub, with ample space for two—or even three or four. Bella had Harry sit behind her and she sat between his spread legs.

“Ahhh,” she sighed as she lay back against him. “Doesn’t that feel wonderful? Especially after a hard day’s work.” Harry vaguely wondered what work she could possibly have done that would have tired her out, but he was intelligent enough to keep the thought to himself. Bella reached up to a collection of bath things sitting on the floor next to the tub and selected a thick, soft facecloth and a bar of soap and handed them to him. “Wash my back, Harry?”

So Harry proceeded to wash her back, and then in a moment of great daring he got his hands all soapy and ran them up over her shoulders, down her arms, and then around her sides and over her breasts. She made no protest; indeed she seemed to enjoy it, as she let out a little moan and pressed back into his chest. He smoothed the suds around and over her breasts, flicking the nipples gently since she especially seemed to like that, judging by the little gasp she gave every time he did it. He fished the cloth out of the water eventually and rinsed the soap off, squeezing the water over her until it ran clear.

“Mmm, that feels nice,” she murmured drowsily. “So warm.”

Bella seemed in no hurry to leave the tub; he wondered if she’d fallen asleep, but she continued to make little contented noises. So he allowed his hand to roam lower, edging into the cloud of dark hair below her abdomen. She gave a little wriggle and he passed the tip of his finger lightly across her clitoris. Her hands, which had been resting on his thighs, gripped a bit harder. He gently ran his finger down to her slit, which even in the bath was slippery with her own juices. He teased the delicate membrane at the bottom of her slit for a moment, then plunged the finger inside and wiggled it. He drew it back out and up to circle her clit, and her fingernails dug into his thighs. Harry grinned.

He dipped down into her pussy and back up to circle her clit with a slippery finger until the water washed it clean, then repeated this a couple more times. Bella’s breathing became increasingly uneven and she moaned and tossed her head from side to side. Harry held his finger over her clit and exerted gentle pressure on the little bundle of nerves to press against the hardness behind it, and with a shriek Bella flew apart in his hands.

Her thighs clamped shut on Harry’s questing hand and this time he knew enough to stop moving. Her head fell back on his shoulder and they sat like that for what seemed like a long time, Harry’s arms wrapped around her middle and his cheek resting against her hair. His cock was painfully hard where it rested against her bottom, but he didn’t think he should do anything about it until she allowed him to so he waited, more or less patiently. The water apparently had been charmed to retain its warmth, and it was pleasant just sitting there with her warm, wet weight against his chest.

“That was nice,” Bella said eventually. She turned her head and Harry felt her cheek push up in a smile against his chest. “Much better than the first time you were here.”

He blushed, thankful that she couldn’t see. “Yeah—er—sorry about that. “I hope I didn’t—um—hurt you or anything.”

“Not to worry,” she said lightly. “I imagine it gave Lucius quite a start when he found me, though.”

“You—you knew?” Harry stammered.

“Of course, silly. He couldn’t resist teasing me about it the next day just to let me know he’d been there,” Bella said. “Poor man. But he might as well get what amusement he can out of life. It appears my sister is giving him rather a hard time of it just now because of my taking Draco into the harem. She takes things so hard, Narcissa does. She always was the most sensitive of us. Still,” her voice turned hard for a moment, “if Draco refuses the Dark Mark he must be punished.” Now she sounded self-righteous. “She ought to just be glad I didn’t decide to give him a traitor’s death.”

She moved away from Harry and turned to face him, kneeling between his legs. “Harry...I know something fun we can do. You’ll like it.” She smiled wickedly and Harry gulped. “I’ll show you, shall I?” She moved his legs together and straddled him, then crawled further up until her pussy was directly over his thatch of wiry hair. She ground down into him and Harry’s eyelids fluttered a little. Bella said, “Now, you just lie back—yes, that’s it—and let me do the work this time.”

She lifted his cock from where it was rigidly pressed against his belly and bent it to point downward, then slid herself onto it a little at a time so that her clitoris rubbed along the length of it as she took him in. “Oh, yes!” she breathed. She worked herself back and forth this way a few times, very slowly, enjoying the stimulation she was getting out of it, and then leaned down and took his mouth as she began to pump up and down on him, her tongue mimicking the movement of her hips.

Harry was so ready that after only a few moments of this assault he squeezed his eyes shut, groaned into Bella’s mouth, and gave himself up to her. She plunged all the way down and clamped down on his cock with her inner muscles until he stopped coming, then relaxed but kept him inside. Every few seconds she gave a sly, quick little squeeze and he jolted as if he’d received an electric shock.

She kept this up until Harry opened his eyes and smiled lazily at her. “Is this payback for the other night?” he asked, and she laughed delightedly.

“Harry, Harry...do you know,” she said, suddenly serious, “I think I like you very much.”

“You seem kind of surprised,” he said, not really sure what the protocol was in this kind of situation. He wasn’t even sure the situation had ever arisen before.

“Well, not surprised so much as enlightened, perhaps,” she said. She lifted off of him and sat back on her heels, looking at him as if she was waiting for something. He raised his eyebrows, not sure what she wanted.

“Oh, Harry, are you going to make me ask?” she said a bit petulantly.

“Er—ask what?”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Whether you like me, too.” She eyed him expectantly.

Oh, gods! What does she expect me to say? “Er....” Harry began. That was the last thing he’d expected her to say, and he had absolutely no idea what he could answer.

“Oh, never mind,” Bella said quickly. “I should have known you wouldn’t. I suppose there’s too much history between us.” She sighed and played absently with a bit of suds marooned on Harry’s chest.

“History?”

“Yes. You know—Voldemort...Sirius...and all that.”

Sirius and all that. Harry looked at her. This woman had given him some of the most intensely pleasurable experiences of his life in the last few days. She had also caused the death of his godfather—a man he’d barely begun to know, but who had loved him like a son. She had as much as murdered the man who was the last remnant of Harry’s family—and countless others besides. She was a bad seed, she was evil incarnate...wasn’t she? She had just shagged him silly, but he knew she could turn on him at any time and do him great harm...couldn’t she?

“I think it’s time we got out of the tub,” he said slowly, and he lowered his eyes and waited. A hopeful little light that had flickered in Bella’s eyes for a moment died, and she rose without a word and handed him a towel as he stepped out of the tub. They dried off before the fire in an introspective silence. Harry stared at the flames, allowing their flickering to hypnotize him a little, as if that would dull the pain of thinking about Sirius.

Sometimes he could think about him without it hurting—memories of Sirius helping Harry, Ron, and Hermione clean the house at Grimmauld Place from attic to cellar; raising a glass at their New Year’s Eve dinner in a toast to happier days to come; poking sly fun at Kreacher behind the surly house-elf’s back; laughing with Remus about the trouble they and Harry’s father had got up to in their Hogwarts days. And of course, the memory of Sirius asking if Harry wanted to come live with him when he got out of school. Even now, with Sirius taken from him and gone forever, that was still one of the happiest memories of Harry’s life and one he frequently used to summon his Patronus.

“Harry?”

He turned to see Bella watching him from the big bed, lying propped up on an elbow. She patted the bed next to her and he walked slowly over and sat down on the edge of it. “I just want a quiet evening tonight,” she said. “The past few days have been rather...hectic...and I’ve been looking forward all day to some peace and quiet...with you.”

He looked at her; she sounded sincere, but he knew how easily her mood could change. And if she wanted peace and quiet, why did she want him there? Why him?

“Can you just let it go for now?” she asked in a small voice, thinking he was still focused on his anger about Sirius. “Just love me tonight, Harry—make love to me, please—and hate me tomorrow...if you must.” She reached for his hand and kissed it gently and then brought it to her breast and held it there. Harry slid toward her, still not entirely certain how he felt, and lay down beside her.

Bella scooted closer to him, draping his arm over her waist and throwing one of her legs over his to keep him close. She smoothed his hair back from his face and traced his eyebrows, the contour of his cheek, and his lips. “Love me,” she whispered. “Please, Harry—I need you to love me.”

Harry thought he saw tears in her eyes, but she closed them when he kissed her so he wasn’t sure. He found the thought of tears from her disturbing, and when he reflected on it briefly, the idea that it should disturb him bothered him even more. He stroked her arm and back absently, trailing his hand down to the warm, smooth skin of her buttocks. He moved half over her and she took her leg from atop his and shifted onto her back.

Harry found his hand going up the inside of her thigh quite of its own volition, and Bella sighed and let her legs fall open. A good portion of the blood that had just moments ago inhabited Harry’s brain suddenly flew south for the winter, and his cock woke up from its pleasant, post-bath drowsy state and demanded to be allowed to join the party.

As he moved his palm over the damp curls on her mound, Harry watched Bella’s face, wondering what she was thinking. He wished Snape had taught him Legilimency, which he felt would have come in useful a number of times, instead of the disastrous lessons in Occlumency, which Dumbledore had seen as a necessary precaution to keep Voldemort out of Harry’s mind.

He slid his middle finger inside her and found that she was already (still?) wet. He brought it back up to circle around her engorged clit; then slid his finger down and all the way into her, joining a second with it and pumping in and out. The scent of her was intoxicating, and it was all he could do not to come right there amid the furs and cushions. She was so beautiful...evil, it was true...but beautiful.

Bella opened her eyes and reached for him. “I need you,” she gasped. “Now, Harry—I want you! Please!” Her legs were widespread in invitation; Harry rolled over between them and with one quick lunge buried himself inside her. She squealed with the suddenness of it, because he was quite large and there had been no gradual entry to give her time to adjust to his size. Then she rocked her hips up, and Harry started to move in a slow and steady rhythm, deliberately entering her hard each time, so hard that he thought he could feel the end of her passage with the head of his cock.

Whatever he was hitting, Bella certainly appeared to be enjoying it. “Yes—yes—gods, yes!” she cried, rising up to meet each thrust. “Faster, Harry, faster!”

But perversely, instead of going faster, Harry stopped. Bella’s eyes flew open and she stared up at him. “What—?” she began, and he shook his head and kissed her. He supported his weight on one elbow for a moment and reached between them to rub her clit lightly, and her mouth opened and a surprised look came over her face. In seconds he felt her inner walls begin to flutter against him, and he took his hand away and slammed into her—once—twice—three times, and then he was coming with her, her legs wrapped tightly around him, and it was hot and tight and wet and glorious and it seemed to go on forever.

Finally Bella’s legs fell from around Harry’s hips and she moaned with satisfaction. Harry pulled out of her and moved off to one side, and Bella turned and curled into him with a tired little sigh. It felt...nice. Comfortable.

They lay there in sated silence for a few minutes, and Harry began to doze off. Suddenly Bella was shaking him. “Harry—Harry! Wake up. Time to go.”

“Wha—? Go? Oh. Okay.” Harry scrubbed his face with his hands and sat up.

Bella turned away from him but looked back at him over her shoulder. “Tell Lucius I want you to bring Ron with you tomorrow night,” she said sleepily. “Let’s see if we can’t make something out of him.” She turned her face away and made a few small contented noises, then her breathing turned deep and regular and Harry knew she was asleep.

He moved to the edge of the bed and stood up, stumbling a little on his way down to the anteroom. He was totally spent and very sleepy. Lucius was waiting there for him, Bella having already summoned him, and he flung an arm around Harry’s shoulders to keep him from falling as they made their way back to the harem.

“How did it go tonight?” Lucius asked softly.

Harry grunted. “It was okay,” he said noncommittally.

Lucius chuckled. “She seemed quite peaceful tonight when she summoned me to take you back. I take it she was in a good mood?”

“Yeah. I think she was too tired to be much else. She wanted me to take a bath with her, so we did that, and then—er—you know.”

“‘And then—er—you know’?” Lucius teased.

Harry grimaced. “Well, at least I didn’t kill her this time, so I guess I did something right.” Lucius laughed outright.

It appeared Arthur had gone to bed, so Lucius saw Harry to the sleeping quarters and, with a lingering look at his sleeping son, he quietly left.
The next day Arthur asked Harry how his evening had gone, and Harry told him much the same thing he’d said to Lucius.

“She wants me to take Ron with me tonight,” he said.

“Just Ron—not Fred?”

“She only said Ron, so yeah, I guess.”

“Ah.”

Harry seemed to be thinking about something intensely for a moment, then he sneaked a peek at Arthur.

“What is it, Harry?”

“Well, I was just thinking—”

“Yes?”

“D’you think it’s—maybe—possible that she could be changing?”

“Changing...what do you mean?”

“For the better, I mean. I don’t know; she was so different last night,” Harry mused. “It was sort of...normal, you know? I didn’t expect that.”

“Mm. Hmphmm. And it worried you that everything seemed so normal?” Arthur asked, not quite sure he understood what Harry was after.

“Well, no. It just made me wonder if maybe she’s...becoming less evil, or something. You know? She just seemed so...different. She—she said she liked me.”

“Aha.”

“And then she asked if I liked her.” It sounded rather juvenile in the retelling, Harry thought. Like second-years passing messages in school: “Find out if Harry likes me!” “Do you like me, or do you like-me like-me?”

“And what did you say?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious.

“I didn’t have a chance to say anything. She said something about all the history we have between us, what with Voldemort and—and Sirius, and then she changed the subject.”

“So you think perhaps she’s reconsidering her evil ways,” Arthur said. “Is that it?” Harry nodded. “Well, of course it would be a wonderful thing if she did change,” Arthur said. “If she could change. I’m really not sure she can, Harry. It’s probably true that she was mistreated by her husband and by Voldemort—in fact I’m quite certain she was, Rodolphus always was a rotter—but you have to look at the whole picture.

“She might have been forced by her husband to take the Mark, but even so, no one forced her to go on the killing sprees she’s indulged in over the years, Harry. One can not use the Unforgivable Curses as she does so freely unless one really means them, as you know. I suppose she might wish she could change—but as to whether she really has or can, well, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. If you’ll take my advice, it would be a very good idea to not take anything at face value where she’s concerned. Does that help?”

Harry shrugged. He felt off-balance and confused. The concept of a Bellatrix Lestrange who wasn’t evil was so foreign that trying to think of it was like wearing your shoes on the wrong feet—you could do it, but it just didn’t feel right, and sooner or later you knew it would catch up with you.

Arthur was a bit worried about the direction in which Harry’s thoughts were heading. He’d meant to have a talk with Harry and his sons at some point before too long, because it sounded as if occasionally they would be in a position to be unrestrained while Bella was in chains—and with her wand available to them, moreover. He was uncertain whether it was too soon to act, but he was hoping to encourage the boys to in turn encourage Bella to let such a circumstance happen repeatedly so she might let down her guard and the Order could accomplish a coup.

Now, with Harry thinking along the lines he appeared to be, Arthur wondered if they could count on him in a pinch. It would be just their luck if the Hope of the Wizarding World funked out on them and fell in love with the mad Queen. Merlin’s Flaming Penis! Would these delays never stop coming?
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Bella's Harem