Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 17
- 18
- 19
18: A Change in Perspective

Theo’s calendar was filling up rapidly these days—or it would be if he had a calendar. After the first time he followed Lucius to the harem Theo quickly realized there was a fairly regular routine to the slaves’ days. He found himself spending more and more time there—an invisible, silent observer of their classes and conversations. Even their evening preparations for Bella’s summonses were not as private as they imagined. The vague panic about a possible spy in the harem was largely forgotten once the boys got to know each other better; little did they know that there really was a danger, from a source they didn’t even know existed.

Theo’s prurient interest in the slaves could arguably have been said to be a good thing, because his desire to continue watching them was the one thing that might keep him from tattling—although so far he hadn’t seen anything worth tattling about. He had various other interests throughout the castle and its environs: places to go, things to do, people to spy on. It was usually his habit to pop in on the harem at some point during the morning, which was when they held classes (he enjoyed the literature and Muggle history especially, not that he would ever have admitted it) and waterball tournaments. Waterball looked like fun, and he wished he could join them. He missed flying and the camaraderie of the Hogwarts Quidditch teams. Since he couldn’t let them know he was watching, let alone join them in the pool, however, he contented himself with (silently) cheering on Roger Davies’ team, his favorite over Justin’s.

When the slaves gathered for lunch he would depart and go back to his parents’ quarters, where he would join his parents for a repast served to them by the castle house-elves as the Great Hall was no longer used as a communal dining area. Then he would spend the afternoons spying on other denizens of the castle.

He inspected people’s personal belongings when he was able to gain access to their quarters; more than one person, upon entering or leaving their suites in the castle, noticed an odd rush of air as if someone had passed them in the open doorway, but since they saw nothing, as often as not they wrote it off to air currents. The castle was after all, like any other castle, notoriously drafty. For Death Eaters, they were remarkably unsuspicious. Lucius would probably be an exception but Theo had not yet attempted to enter the Malfoy quarters. He was sufficiently in awe of Lucius and his elevated status with Bella and the other Death Eaters not to have got up the nerve to try it yet.

Theo found it amazing what people would do when they didn’t know they were being observed. He knew that Haviland, Salisbury, and Pebbleston picked their noses when no one was looking. And Pebbleston more often than not actuallyate his bogeys! (Theo had had a difficult time not gagging when he saw that. Pebbleston heard him but couldn’t place the odd noise or tell where it was coming from. Theo was thankful that Filch and Mrs Norris were no longer in the castle; the blasted cat would have given away his whereabouts any number of times.)

He knew that Carnarvon, the old pervert, had an entire closet full of women’s clothing—and no wife! Theo thought this very peculiar until one unforgettable evening when he was entertained by Carnarvon performing a striptease, apparently for his own amusement, in front of the cheval mirror in his bedroom. He’d dressed in outfit after outfit, each more outrageous than the last, and strutted and pranced to music that existed only in his own head as he posed provocatively while removing the clothing piece by slow piece, flirtatiously draping a scarf around a convenient suit of armor which Theo figured Carnarvon was imagining as the neck of an imaginary viewer, or tossing a glove to someone in his imaginary audience, with a kiss blown for good measure.

When he was down to the last costume—a black leather bra, black hose and garter belt, and towering black stilettos—he stood spread-legged and stared at himself in the mirror for the longest time, then he grasped his cock and slowly began to stroke it. Theo squirmed uncomfortably under the cloak; he hadn’t expected this, and although there was no doubt in his own mind that his sexual preference was for girls, the strange circumstances of being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, watching something clearly not meant for his eyes, and seeing the man actually stand there wanking himself, combined to make Theo’s trousers suddenly much too tight.

He would have given anything to be able to leave and go find one of those cold, dusty corners he seemed to be forever ending up in so he could indulge in a good, hard wank, as Carnarvon was doing at that very moment. However, Theo was virtually trapped; he was directly behind Carnarvon, and if he moved, Carnarvon might see the carpet moving in the mirror or some stupid thing and realize he wasn’t alone. And while on the surface he appeared to be a fairly mild-mannered man, for a Death Eater, there was obviously at least one hidden side to him as Theo had discovered—and who knew whether there might not be another side, say one that became unreasonably enraged when uninvited visitors sneaked into his rooms and watched him in his very private pursuits?

When Carnarvon finally went into the bathroom to take a shower Theo lost no time in letting himself out of the suite. And he made good use of the first empty broom closet he came across. But the experience didn’t put a noticeable crimp in his style or furnish him with any more caution than usual in his wanderings, as it might with someone less desperate for amusement.

On the night his father and Harold Dunstan were seized from the Leaky Cauldron and taken to the Acromantulas Theo was comfortably ensconced in Filch’s old office, nibbling on biscuits he’d stolen from the kitchens (it was endlessly amusing to see the expression of the wide-eyed house-elf who was slowly and laboriously putting the biscuits on a tray to deliver somewhere in the castle as Theo took a biscuit first from one side of the tray, then another) and reading the confidential files Filch had kept on troublemakers at Hogwarts over the years. The Weasley twins’ file made quite good reading; he hadn’t had that good a laugh in a long time.

There was a lot of interesting stuff in Filch’s office; after a career of forty-odd years he had accumulated far more contraband than anyone knew. But when he and the teachers were evicted from the castle, they were allowed to take with them only what they could carry or levitate—and since Filch was a Squib and had no wand and therefore could not levitate anything, he was forced to depart with only his ragged satchel half-full of holey socks, a couple of extra scarves and gloves for winter, and Mrs Norris (who, all the way to the Hogsmeade station, yowled her indignation at having to share close quarters with his rather pungent socks).

Theo was completely unaware that anything serious had happened to his parents. He remained that way for two days after they’d disappeared, which was when Lucius finally sent for him. Or...tried to. Repeated summonses delivered via house-elf were unsuccessful, so Lucius finally went to the Notts’ suite himself. When, tired of knocking politely at the door, he finally cast Alohomora and let himself in, he did a thorough search but Theo was nowhere to be found. Lucius sent house-elves looking all over the castle; but since Theo had taken to practically living under the invisibility cloak, they found no sign of him.

Finding this vaguely disquieting, and hoping he wouldn’t have to report a third Nott disappearance to Bella, Lucius left a note for Theo summoning him to the Great Hall immediately upon his return. He made it a Howler for good measure, and left it suspended at eye-level just inside the door of the Notts’ quarters, where Theo couldn’t possibly miss it. It seemed unlikely that the boy could be involved in his parents’ disappearances, or the Dunstans’ for that matter, but his continued mysterious absence was questionable to say the least. Lucius intended to get out of Theo what he’d been up to, since it was obvious no one else was keeping track of him. Lucius remembered all too well the kinds of trouble unsupervised teens could get into, and he wondered what variation on that theme had drawn Theo’s interest.
Arthur sat watching the spirited game of waterball but his thoughts were at the other end of the castle. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the boys had had Bella chained to the wall in her rooms, in the throes of passion and with her wand nowhere in sight. If it happened once, it could happen again. His mind worried at it like a dog playing tug-of-war. Should he say something to them? But what could he say? Was it too soon to act? Was it too much to ask of the boys to take some sort of action? As yet he had said nothing to the Order, but he felt—he really felt—that he should do, and soon. He didn’t want to be precipitate, but he also didn’t want to pass up such a golden opportunity. With Bella, you never knew when another would come along.

In another part of his mind Harry’s question reverberated. Was it possible Bella was changing? Could she change? Of course, if there was even the slightest chance she could be brought over to the Light, as a decent human being he felt they owed it to her to give her a chance. Didn’t they? Sometimes he thought it would just be so much easier to kill her and have done with it than to waste time in futile speculation about the nature of her character, or the sincerity of any change that might seem to have taken place. Certainly few people would blame him for thinking this way. But....

That “but” was the very heart and soul of Arthur Weasley, the core of his nature: he was decent, and he was honorable. To go against either of those things would shame him so deeply he would never be able to live with it.

So he felt he had to at least consider what Harry had said, although the mere thought of bringing it up to the Order made him shudder. It exhausted him to think of the arguments and bitter words that would follow if he were to broach such a subject. He knew they would find it utterly laughable. But could he not bring it up? No. It would be unforgiveable to murder someone who might even now be treading the difficult path toward redemption.

It was such a pain in the arse to have a moral conscience.

He looked about to see where “his” four were—his own two plus Harry and Draco, for whom he considered himself as responsible as if he were their father. Harry and Ron were in the pool, but Draco and Fred were sitting over on the windowseat talking and apparently getting along quite well. He was glad Fred, following Harry’s lead, seemed inclined to give the boy a chance.

Arthur’s glance slid to Marshall, where he sat making a half-hearted pretense of marking essays at the big table although he was watching Draco and more or less ignoring the parchments in front of him. After a while Draco got up and wandered over to the table and stood at Marshall’s elbow, talking too softly to be heard from where Arthur sat. Marshall’s knuckles were white where he gripped the quill. After a moment Draco sat down beside him. Suddenly he said something that caused Marshall to look directly at him for the first time. Draco slid his arm over so it was pressed against Marshall’s, speaking urgently. Marshall suddenly took Draco’s hand, looking relieved about something. They both looked over at Arthur, who stared blandly back at them. Marshall squeezed Draco’s hand and let it go with a final comment and then returned to marking the essays, looking decidedly happier now than he had a few minutes ago.

Hoping once again that he wouldn’t regret his decision to let Marshall attend Draco, Arthur’s mind turned to other matters. Such as this problem of Bella putting herself at the mercy of the slaves by letting them chain her to the wall and remaining wandless as they had their way with her. He decided he would talk to the other eunuchs tonight after the boys went to bed, get their thoughts on it. He wondered if he really should have given Fred the go-ahead to use her wand on her the next time there was an opportunity. He’d been going to tell Harry, Ron, and Draco the same thing—but after talking with Harry there was this other aspect of the Bella problem to consider: the possibility that she was turning to the Light. His mind scrambled in circles, unable to get any firm traction to enable him to make a decision either way. He thought briefly of asking Lucius what he thought but decided for the time being to keep it within the harem. Lucius had enough on his plate right now.
Lucius would have agreed wholeheartedly. There was more than enough on his plate at the moment, and none of it to his taste.

At midday he sat with Bella in the small parlor behind the throne, where Harry and the other Tri-Wizard Tournament Champions had gathered to be told about the first of three tasks they must complete in the tournament. It was stiflingly hot, as Bella insisted on a fire despite the warmth of the day. Lucius thought sourly that if she didn’t insist on wearing filmy, flimsy little bits of nothing as normal day-wear in a thousand-year-old castle that had known few modernizations since its construction, she might not need fires everywhere she went. He had removed his robe the moment he came in, but even under it he was dressed for walking about in drafty stone corridors that the sun never penetrated enough to warm. He was too hot and miserable to fall asleep—a good thing, otherwise he was afraid he might have done so out of pure boredom as Bella’s voice droned on and on about her glorious plans for the future.

What she wanted was clearly impossible, but when he said as much Bella accused him of being uncooperative and asked archly whether he wanted her to appoint someone else as her majordomo. He gritted his teeth and in as pleasant a manner as he could summon indicated that that wouldn’t be necessary. Appoint someone else as majordomo, indeed! He needed to be in that position himself so he could keep track of her idiotic ideas and keep her from getting too far out of control. Without letting her know that was what he was doing, of course. Lucius dreaded to think what would happen if one of the truly Dark Death Eaters were to usurp his place; in no time Bella would expose their world to the Muggles and insist that they, too, bow down to her or suffer the consequences. It would be a bloodbath. He daily lived in fear of her taking a leap of impatience directly into some sort of action like that; so far they were enormously fortunate because she hadn’t.

But it appeared she was thinking of changing that.

Bella had a whole list of “action items” and all of them were impossible—moreover, they were ridiculous and even dangerous. Lucius had been taken by surprise by her instructions and was desperately trying to figure out how he could control things while still making Bella think he was following her orders. She was no stateswoman, certainly; the words “compromise” and “cooperation” were not in her vocabulary—except, of course, as they applied to Lucius.

“It’s perfectly simple,” she insisted. “We need to build a treasury—roll your eyes if you like, Lucius, but you know it as well as I do.” But what Lucius knew was that the Dwarves would never agree to mine ore or gems for her; they were too closely tied to the Goblins, who had already made it clear that they would do nothing to aid this treasury notion of Bella’s. There were many other species as well who, if they didn’t precisely follow where the Goblins led at least watched to see where they went before deciding their own course. He was fairly sure she would not be gaining a Royal Treasury any time soon, and unless she expected to co-opt wealth belonging to other people she wouldn’t get very far. He snorted to himself. She had no army. How was she going to enforce anything without an army? It was laughable.

Briefly.

Until she opened her mouth again, and out came the really unbelievable part.

“We also need to rebuild our army."

Rebuild—what, now?

"I intend to bring all of Britain—and eventually, of course, the entire world—under my reign. And to do that we will need an army. If you have to—”

“Bella, Bella, wait,” Lucius said, waving his hand for her to stop and ignoring her narrowed eyes. “What army? There is no army to rebuild. Half the Death Eaters are gone, and a good many other people who favored the Dark died alongside them. And quite frankly, most of the others who fought for Voldemort during the war were from other groups—other species, even—who have no loyalty to you and will see no reason to follow you. You won the war, I suppose—”

“You suppose?”

“—but do you realize the enormity of the task you’re taking on here?”

She looked at him calmly. “Of course I do, Lucius. But it’s expected of me.”

By who? he wanted to ask in frustration, but he didn’t. “How will you raise an army, if you don’t know who you can count on, who will agree to follow you?”

Bella smiled. “Oh, they’ll all follow me, Lucius. There’s no doubt in my mind. They might not realize it yet, but what they want is a strong leader to unite them.”

Yes, they do—and good gad, woman, you’re not it! he howled inwardly. A muscle in his jaw began to tic, and he had to consciously unclench his teeth.

“And how do you propose we approach these other groups within Britain?” Lucius asked, resigned for the moment to humoring her. If she wanted him to be reasonable, he supposed he could act “Reasonable” as well as any other role.

Bella, pleased that he had decided to cooperate, said, “I shall do what any good leader does—delegate!”

For one horrible moment Lucius thought she meant to make him accomplish this stupid, impossible task of persuading the magical denizens of Britain to unite under her reign.

“You will send ambassadors—yes, ambassadors,” she said, liking the official, elegant sound of that, “throughout Britain to meet with the leaders of all the various magical species and convince them that it's in their best interest to follow me. Then, once they agree, they will be told to ready themselves for battle. I should think we could be ready to mass against the Muggles within a week or so, if all goes well.”

What? “The—the Muggles?” Lucius asked weakly. “Which Muggles...exactly...do you intend to attack?”

“Why, the British ones, of course. Well, at first. Once we have them under our control, we can probably swell the ranks of our army with Muggles. I’m sure Britain has a Muggle army, don’t they?”

“What—of course they do—and a navy, and an air force,” Lucius said. “What on earth makes you think you can control them?”

Oh. Perhaps that had sounded a bit more contentious, a bit less cooperative, than he’d intended. Bella’s eyes narrowed even further, and he had the giddy thought that if she narrowed them much more she would have to close them entirely.

“Lucius—” she said finally, in the patient tone of one explaining a very simple fact to a slow learner for the hundredth time— “magic, remember?” She held up her wand and twirled it with a little smile.

But Lucius was determined to make his point. “Have you seen what the Muggles are using for weapons these days?” he asked. “If we went to war against Muggle Britain, even their most basic weaponry is capable of wiping out scores of our side at a time. We use wands, the other species use rocks, bows and arrows, and spears—absolutely primitive when you stack them up against rocket grenade launchers. They have weapons, Bella, that can think for themselves! That can seek out humans simply by the heat emitted from their bodies and explode on impact! They don’t need to maintain eye contact with their victims to be able to kill them; they haven’t needed to do that for nearly a century.

“Even the Unforgiveables are nothing compared to what the Muggles can use to fight back with.” He knew he was getting all worked up again, but he couldn’t help it. “Do you know for certain that the Killing Curse can penetrate a tank, Bella? Have you ever tried it? Can you imagine what one Muggle armed with an automatic weapon could do to you while you were standing there with your wand trained on someone long enough to put them to the Cruciatus? That’s useless in wizarding battles except to incapacitate someone momentarily so you can kill them. In a battle with heavily armed Muggles, it would be worse than useless. It would only serve to get the caster killed where he stood.”

“And have you considered the Muggle families and relations of the Muggle-born witches and wizards?” he pressed on.

“What about them? I would force them to submit like any other Muggles—and their upstart Mudblood spawn, as well.”

Lucius barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Feelings were high enough in the room at this moment that no doubt that would earn him a Cruciatus or two. “Think about it. Beyond a doubt, some of those in the British Muggle military have wizarding relatives. There are so many of them that statistically it’s bound to be so.” Bella opened her mouth but Lucius held up a peremptory hand and kept going. “Once we’re out in the open and all of the Muggles know that wizardkind exist—and that we’re trying to take over their world, what’s more—do you for one minute suppose they’ll overlook anything that will give them an advantage over us? Once they find out that some Muggles have known about us for entire generations—especially the ones on the Light side, which I have a feeling far outnumber the Dark Muggle-born relations—don’t you suppose they’ll be all too eager to get them to share what they know with the government to help destroy your army? Surely they’re every bit as devoted to their way of life as we are to ours. And while those Muggles who know of us may be willing to live peaceably side by side with wizards and witches, do you honestly imagine that tolerance will continue once the killing starts and we try to forcibly take over their world?”

Bella looked at him in astonishment. “It certainly sounds as if you’ve given this some thought, Lucius,” she said.

He said earnestly, “Bella, if ever the Muggles get a taste of what we can do to them with magic, I’m quite certain they will spare no effort in wiping every last wizard off the face of the earth. And yes, I do think they can do it. Is that where you intend to lead us—to the end of wizardkind?”

Silence stretched out between them. A lump of pitch in one of the logs caught fire and popped loudly.

“All right,” she said finally. “Since you seem so convinced we could never win a war against the Muggles, Lucius, what do you suggest?” Her fingernails were tapping on the arms of her chair and Lucius eyed them cautiously.

“I don’t have an alternative,” he admitted. “I just see disaster ahead if we proceed with this world domination attempt.”

“Oh, it won’t be an attempt,” she said sweetly. “It will happen, Lucius, mark my words. One way or another, it will happen.”

All right. Time to back off and fall back to his “Cooperative” role. He’d more than made his point and she wouldn’t listen, so it was time to move on to the practicalities of the operation she was ordering. Lucius wondered how many Death Eaters he could get away with sending in each ambassadorial group. He thought he could probably get most of them out of the castle; and if she was willing to allow him to hand-pick the groups he could send those most dangerous to the Order as ambassadors to the most dangerous of their potential “allies” with an excellent chance of all or most of them never making it back home.

Cooperation might not be all it was cracked up to be, but it did have its moments.

He could hardly wait to tell the Order about Bella’s proposal. He rather thought the good members of the kidnapping squads would be glad to hear that their unwanted vocation would soon come to an end. That put him in a much better frame of mind and he sat and listened to Bella’s further instructions. It appeared she did intend to leave the selection of the envoys to Lucius—that was far more boring work than she wanted to do herself—and he was careful to keep his face impassive and simply nod when she told him.

“How soon shall they leave?” he asked.

“The sooner the better,” Bella said. “If you assign the parties today they should be able to leave tomorrow.” Oh, really? Just that simple, is it? No planning required!

But Lucius just nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. If that will be all...?” Bella nodded graciously and Lucius retrieved his robe from the back of the sofa where he sat and took his leave. Once he was back in the Great Hall he breathed a sigh of relief for the blessed coolness of the great stone room. He saw Narcissa across the way with Violet Dabney and made a minute motion with his head to indicate that he wanted her to join him; then he strode briskly out of the Great Hall and back to their quarters.

A minute or so later Narcissa arrived. She entered the suite wearing her usual haughtly expression and made certain the door was closed firmly behind her before running across the room and leaping into Lucius’ arms. “Gods, I’ve missed you!” she breathed, and she rained kisses across his face and then buried her face in his neck. “I never thought it would be so difficult to act a part,” she said in a muffled voice. “I miss you so much!”

Lucius smoothed her hair and let his hand continue on down her back to her bottom. “Do you?” he asked in a silky voice. “How much do you miss me?”

Narcissa pulled back and looked at him. She raised her hands to shoulder height and in one swift motion drew them down her sides—and every stitch of clothing she wore vanished! Lucius stared at her with his jaw agape, and Narcissa giggled. “I’ve been working on that for ages,” she said. “I wanted to surprise you. This is how much I miss you.” She flung her arms around his neck and Lucius shifted her so her legs wrapped around his waist. With a wicked smile on his face he headed for their bedroom.

“But wait, Lucius—you wanted to talk to me about something, didn’t you?” Narcissa asked.

“Later,” he growled, and she laughed in delight as his booted foot kicked the bedroom door shut behind them.
Harry actually did sleep during his after-lunch nap this time. It was easier when there was no one to talk to, certainly. He woke refreshed when Arthur came to tell him dinner would be ready shortly. Harry rose from his pallet and started toward the main room, but Arthur stopped him.

“One moment, Harry. Ah—you know I usually ask one of the other eunuchs to, er, help with your evening preparations,” Arthur began awkwardly. Harry nodded. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind, tonight I think it best if I handled those duties myself. I should like to talk to you, and it’s not as private in here as I’d like.”

Harry wondered how the main room with all the others present as he was being bathed, or the enema room that was only closed off by a curtain, could be considered more private than the sleeping quarters, but he shrugged and said, “Sure, okay.” He glancd at the wardrobe. “Do you just want to go in there? That’s about the furthest away we can get from everyone, and all the clothes in there kind of soak up the sound, so I don’t think anyone would hear us.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I mustn’t stay in here too long with you. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. I think it’s best if we talk while we’re in plain sight of the others so as to discourage any speculation on what secrets we might—er—be discussing. If we hide away, someone is bound to be curious. They generally seem to give you boys as much privacy as possible in the pool when you’re being prepared in the evening. I think that would be best.”

“Okay. Now you’ve got me curious,” Harry said. But Arthur just gave a distracted half-smile and didn’t take the bait.

That night after dinner Harry began a game of wizard chess with Ron but he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t help speculating on what tonight would bring. He had to admit to himself that he’d enjoyed the other night when it was just him and Bella. She’d been so different, so...gentle. Almost normal. He wondered if it would be that way whenever it was just the two of them.

Ron, too, seemed preoccupied. After he let one of Harry’s pawns get away with trouncing both of his knights and a rook, Ron’s pieces turned unanimously and blew tiny chess-piece-sized raspberries rudely in his direction.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “My mind’s not really on the game tonight.” The king and queen stalked off the board and into the box in a huff while Ron and Harry put the game away. Ron looked at Harry once or twice out of the corner of his eye and finally Harry, who out of long familiarity could tell he wanted to say something, looked over at him.

“What?” he said. Ron was acting so oddly that Harry half-expected him to say “Oh, nothing” and avoid the subject.

But Ron motioned him to move closer, so Harry went to sit on the cushion beside him. “I wanted to ask you something,” Ron said. Harry waited. Ron picked at a fat tassel at one corner of the cushion and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Harry....”

“Yes, Ron?”

“Harry, do you think—when you’re with her, do you think—do you feel quite—safe? Around her, I mean?”

“Safe? What—you mean from Bella?” Ron nodded. “I dunno. I never really thought about it. I guess so. I mean, it’s pretty easy to tell what she likes and just...do it. You know?”

“But do you ever worry when she makes you go there by yourself? You know, that you won’t—won’t come back in one piece?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess not. Not really. Why, do you worry that I might not come back in one piece?” Ron nodded wordlessly, his eyes unreadable. “Oh. Well, I don’t think you have to worry. Last time I was there alone she was okay. Kind of different than before, but okay.”

“What do you mean, different?” a voice asked behind him. Harry turned to see Justin and Neville standing there.

“Um, well—”

“Yes, what’s it like, Harry?” asked Ernie. Andrew came over too; soon Harry and Ron were the center of a group of interested faces.

“I don’t really know what you want me to say,” Harry said, a little flustered by all the attention.

“We want to know what it’s like being with Bella,” Andrew said. “After all, you’ve been with her almost every night since this whole thing started, so who better to ask?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask her to pick me, did I?” Harry said, sounding defensive.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Ernie assured him. “We’re not really jealous. I don’t think any of us is in a hurry to spend time alone with Bellatrix Lestrange.” He said her name in a half-whisper, as if he was afraid saying it aloud would cause her to appear in their midst.

“Yeah,” Fred chimed in, “and who could blame you? She’s half crazy, that one.”

“Fred!” Arthur’s voice snapped, and Fred’s head jerked up. “Must I remind you that the Queen has very stringent rules about what constitutes treason?”

Fred gulped and paled noticeably. “Er...sorry, Dad.”

“Now what’s all this?” Arthur asked. “What are you all doing?” The boys shuffled their feet and shot embarrassed glances at each other. “Well?”

“They wanted to know what it’s like, being summoned by Bel—the Queen,” Harry said.

Arthur looked around the group. “I see. Wishing she’d choose a bit more widely among the group, are you? Well, I suppose eventually she’ll—”

“Good heavens, no!” Neville burst out. He reddened as everyone laughed. “Well,” he said rather lamely, “speaking for myself, at any rate, I don’t want to be chosen. I’m happy to stay well away from her.” The other boys nodded their agreement.

“Right, then,” Fred said cheerfully. “You all just wanted a bit of news from Shag Central, is that it?”

“Oh, really, Fred,” Arthur murmured. “Is that necessary?”

“She put the Cruciatus on Fred and me,” Ron said suddenly. There were gasps and everyone looked suitably horrified.

“And on Draco,” Harry added.

“And let us not forget about poor Stuart,” Arthur reminded them quietly. “He did nothing more than report as ordered, at the end of what had apparently been a bad day for the Queen. You saw what happened to him.” He looked around the group. “This isn’t a sex club, boys. Anyone who goes to the Queen and comes back alive deserves a commendation, as far as I’m concerned. It’s not something to be jealous of.”

“No worries there,” Justin said faintly, and he turned away looking rather sick at the sudden reminder of Stuart’s untimely end. The rest of the boys apparently felt the same, and the crowd around Harry and Ron dispersed as quickly as it had formed.

“Way to kill a party, Dad,” Ron said. Arthur looked at him sharply, but then he relented and gave Ron an answering smile.

“Actually I came over because, Harry, it’s time to get you ready to go,” Arthur said.

“Oh. Sorry, I sort of lost track of the time.”

Harry got up and followed Arthur over to one of the enema rooms. An old hand at this by now, he lay down on the table and waited while Arthur mixed and poured.

“Er—oh gods,” Arthur muttered. Harry turned to look inquiringly over his shoulder and Arthur blushed. “Sorry, Harry. I’m just feeling a little awkward here.”

Harry turned back to face the wall. “It’s okay. I haven’t really talked to you in a while. How’s everything been going?”

Arthur laughed. “Harry, you are the limit, you really are.” He chuckled as he inserted the nozzle. “Well, you recall I wanted to talk to you, and I’ll try to do it quickly, before you—er—lose your powers of concentration.” He released the clamp and let the water begin to flow.

“You’ve probably heard that Bella had Fred and Ron chain her to the wall in her rooms the other night, yes?” Harry nodded. “And she didn’t have her wand on her. Harry, I just—I was going to tell you to encourage her in this type of thing, if you can. It could be very useful if she gets used to allowing you boys to restrain her on a regular basis. I—I understand she quite enjoys it.” Harry couldn’t see him, but he imagined Arthur’s face was red. Despite the realities of the harem, and the job he had held with the Ministry, and the fact that between them he and Molly had produced seven children, Arthur retained a certain innocence of spirit. Talking about sex definitely left him flustered.

“That’s it, really, Harry,” Arthur hurried on, seeing Harry tense as he began to feel the pressure of the water filling him. “Just—er—suggest it, if it seems appropriate. Get it to become a regular feature of your visits, if you can. I have a feeling it might help us at some point. Can you do that?”

“I...think so,” Harry grunted through clenched teeth. No matter how many enemas he’d had since this craziness started, he could never seem to get used to the feeling of fullness and was always afraid he would either let go right there on the enema table or on the way to the loos.

“Good boy.” Arthur removed the nozzle quickly and patted Harry’s butt. “Up you get, now. Careful...there you go. Meet you at the pool when you’re ready.” Harry raced off to the loos and Arthur wondered whether he'd really heard a word Arthur had said. Perhaps they could revisit the subject while they were in the pool and he could see if Harry had any questions. He didn’t want to push too hard; he was vividly aware that Harry was hopeful that Bella would turn to the Light side in the end. Considering Harry’s apparent status as her favorite and his recent questions about her possible change of heart, Arthur didn’t want to do anything to alienate him.

A few minutes later Harry came out of the loo and went over to the pool, where Arthur was talking to Edwin as he waited. Marshall was on story duty that night; Draco sat in the back row, where he could watch Marshall as intently as he liked without the other boys noticing anything odd.

Harry stepped down into the pool and knelt on the bottom, as had become customary during these baths to give the eunuchs the best access for a thorough washing. The water felt good as it lapped against his chest, and even in his kneeling position he almost felt like he could fall asleep as Arthur gently soaped him up and massaged his limbs with the thick cloth before rinsing the soap away. Neither of them spoke, and the peace was heavenly.

Arthur had been going to feel his way in conversation with Harry in the pool to see if the time was right to bring the subject of Bella up again; but as he washed Harry’s face he noticed with a start how tired the boy seemed. He wondered if he should risk asking for a couple of nights off for him so Harry could just rest and not have Bella-related stress to deal with. He didn’t know exactly what went on when the boys were with her, but he could make a pretty good guess; he supposed it was a fairly even mix of sex and punishment of some sort, with the occasional Cruciatus thrown in for good measure. Even a healthy young man in his sexual prime would be a bit taxed by having to come several times in an evening, day after day. Nothing wrong with a bit of rest. He decided not to bother Harry with any further discussion tonight.

“Harry, are you—are you all right?” he asked tentatively. Harry opened his eyes and looked at him questioningly and Arthur said hastily, “It’s just that you look rather...tired. I’m not sure you’re getting enough sleep—naps notwithstanding. She’s got you on a pretty grueling schedule, going to her every night like this.” He looked faintly worried, and Harry smiled.

“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I’m just sleepy, really. That nap felt great, but I think I could have just gone on sleeping the night through if I hadn’t had to get up. Weird, that. I mean, I’m not getting much in the way of exercise really—no Quidditch or anything—so why should I be this tired? I haven’t done anything.”

“Mm, yes. No doubt part of it is stress. No, I mean it,” Arthur said when Harry threw him a doubtful look. “I suppose you’re—er—enjoying some parts of your time with Bella, but it must be rather stressful to have to always anticipate what her mood will be like, for one thing, and try to guess what she’s going to require of you next. You seem to be dealing with it all quite well, actually—better than I expected—but eventually you need a little time to regroup, clear your head, just not have to think about things.”

And there it is, he thought. It just went and brought itself up. Aloud he said, “And from what you were telling me the other day, she’s been giving you more than usual to think about, if you’re actually wondering whether she’s had a change of heart.” He handed Harry out of the tub and plucked a towel off the stack to give him. “It will be interesting to see if you still think that’s the case after your visit tonight. Perhaps we can talk about it when you get back, if it’s early enough—or if not, then tomorrow. I shall be interested to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

He hoped that didn’t sound like foolish flattery. Harry was in the best position to talk to Bella one on one, and there was always a possibility that something definite could be learnt of her intentions if he kept his wits about him and paid attention. Arthur hated to put even more stress on this young man who had already been leaned on so heavily by wizarding society, but needs must; it appeared they were not yet done with would-be Dark leaders, so something must be done.

Harry wandered off to the wardrobe, still rubbing his hair with the towel. Arthur began to think about what he would say to the eunuchs that night when the boys were sent to bed, before Harry returned.

Alfred was flipping rapidly through the racks in the wardrobe with a puzzled expression on his face when Harry got there. “How very odd,” he muttered.

“What’s odd?” Harry asked.

Alfred indicated the first rack. “Well, look at this lot—does anything particularly strike you about it?”

Harry tilted his head on one side and looked at the mass of colors and textures. “Well, not really,” he said at last. “There’s kind of a lot of green stuff, but other than that—”

“Yes, exactly!” Alfred exclaimed. “Now I know something strange is going on. At first it just seemed like there were a lot more clothes in here; now more than half of them are green!” He shook his head and angled a glance at Harry. “I’d say that’s a pretty clear sign she plans to have your company on a regular basis, wouldn’t you?”

He shook his head and reached for a shimmer of vivid grass-green fabric that was sticking out from the rainbow of other fabrics around it. It turned out to be sheer harem trousers —which Harry uncomfortably thought looked an awful lot like girl harem trousers, as they were full and billowy and gathered at the ankles. However, like some of the other trousers he had worn, the entire crotch was slit from front to back, and there was a harness made of satin in the same grass-green to hold his cock on display.

The most startling thing about the outfit was that the fabric was so sheer and delicate that every hair on Harry’s legs and groin was clearly visible. He might as well have not been wearing anything at all, and said as much.

“Aye, well, you’re used to that by now, aren’t you, lad? Seeing as how you’re never wearing anything when you come back here afterward.”

“I know, but...why does she even bother with this stuff at all?” Harry wondered aloud.

Alfred shrugged. “If you ask me, she’s keen on appearances. You’re all playing the parts of harem slaves, and obviously she has some idea in her head of how a harem slave should dress.” He peered inside a matching silk bag that hung by its drawstring from the neck of the clothes hanger. “Hullo, what have we here?”

The bag made a clinking noise and Harry watched with interest as Alfred withdrew two heavy gold armbands. They were fashioned to look like snakes twining around each arm, with tiny emerald eyes. As they emerged into the light their tiny tongues began to flicker. “Whoa!” Harry said, startled. Arthur slid one band up around each of his biceps and there was a subtle although not uncomfortable squeeze as they magically adjusted to stay in place.

Alfred said, “Just one more thing and you’ll be ready.” Harry looked up from the armbands to see him approaching with the comb and an apologetic look. Harry started to laugh, and Alfred chuckled. “Well, we have to try, at least. Hold still a minute.” He succeeded in making the tangled mop a little less unruly and decided to quit while he was ahead. “Off with you,” he said. “Go out to the reception room; I’ll just clear up in here—be there in half a tick.”

Harry strolled out to the reception room and wandered aimlessly about for a few minutes. He looked down at the snakes again, their tiny golden tongues flickering and green eyes shining in the light of the candles on the wall. Very exotic, he thought. He supposed Bella had chosen them and wondered if she’d known he would be the one to wear them.

Alfred wasn’t coming yet, so Harry did a quick series of spins across the floor, enjoying the way the trousers felt against his skin (even if he did suspect they were a bit girly). The fabric was extremely fine and soft, and the constant brush of it against his cock was tantalizing beyond belief. As a result, his cock was hard without him even having to touch it. He did a series of bumps and grinds and then some fairly nice ballet leaps around the reception room, amusing himself as well as, quite incidentally, two watchers. One was invisible and had been present for a little while now, and one had just arrived and was fully visible, although Harry had his back turned and didn’t realize he was there. At the arrival of this second watcher, however, the invisible presence slipped quietly away, not wishing to take a chance on Lucius detecting him.

Lucius leaned against the doorway to the corridor and, with an indulgent smile on his face, watched Harry leap and spin and dance.

Finally Harry came to a halt. He’d noticed that the snakes were squeezing a bit more tightly while he leaped about, probably so he wouldn’t accidentally fling them off his arms. In Parseltongue he said, “Sorry about that. You can relax now,” and they did.

Lucius thought the strange, hissing speech was one of the sexiest things he’d ever heard. And the young man standing before him quite literally took his breath away. As much as he loved Narcissa, in his secret heart Lucius would have given much to have this particular lithe body at his disposal for even just an hour. He would have very much liked a closer acquaintance with those firm, muscled buttocks, strong thighs, and finely sculpted shoulder blades.

He made an involuntary little sound and Harry whirled and saw him. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were there. Er—sorry to keep you waiting.”

Just then Alfred walked out of the sleeping quarters. “Evening, Lucius,” he said. “Everything all right?”

Lucius smiled; he looked almost smug. “Never better,” he said. “Ready, Harry?” Harry nodded. “Then off we go.” He nodded to Alfred and led Harry out into the corridor.

“I like the armbands,” he said after they turned the first corner. “Very Slytherin.”

“I suppose that’s why she chose them,” Harry said.

“Was that Parseltongue you were speaking just now?” Lucius inquired conversationally.

Harry glanced at him warily, and at length he said, “Yes.”

“I’d forgotten you were a Parselmouth,” Lucius said. “Can you say something else?”

“Like what?”

“Say my name.”

“Luciussss.”

It was his name, but different. Guttural, with a hiss at the edges. Lucius felt his cock jump and gave a stifled gasp. Gods! Harry looked at him curiously but said nothing. Lucius did his best to look calm and controlled as they continued down the corridors on the now-familiar route in a silence that was strained on one side and puzzled on the other.

They arrived at Bella’s suite to find that she had broken her habit of waiting up on the mezzanine. Tonight she stood at the top of the curved stairs rising from the anteroom, looking slightly anxious. When she saw the elevator arrive she clasped her hands together, and when Harry mounted the steps to where she waited she flung her arms around him as if she was greeting a long-lost lover. So as not to be accidentally shoved backward down the stairs, he quickly caught her round the waist.

“Harry!” she breathed. “I’m so glad you’re finally here. I’ve been waiting for simply ages!” She beamed up at him and pouted invitingly. Harry glanced back at Lucius, who was stepping back into the elevator with a humorous twist of his mouth. He gave Harry a little salute as he sank out of sight.

Harry reached up to kiss Bella on the step above him, as she seemed to be waiting for him to do. She clutched at him, seeming almost desperate. He didn’t know what else to do, so he just held her. After a few minutes she said, “Oh dear, Harry, your feet—they must be freezing! Let’s go upstairs.” She seemed unwilling to let him go and kept an arm wrapped around his waist, but when they reached the narrow stairs they had to walk in single file so she reluctantly preceded Harry up the steps, glancing back repeatedly to make sure he was following.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.” It felt odd to be reassuring the Dark Queen of wizarding Britain that he, one of her many sex slaves, wasn’t going to leave her. He wondered if something had happened that day to make her so jittery but wasn’t sure she would appreciate him asking. He decided he would see how things went; maybe she would relax later. Or maybe he could get her to relax.

“What would you like to do?” he asked hesitantly. Before, she had always been very much in control. Tonight felt different; she seemed willing to let him take the lead.

“I don’t care,” she said. “Whatever you like. I just want to be with you.” She plastered herself to his side and Harry thought that if she could she would have crawled right inside his skin. He couldn’t help himself. He had to ask.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He pulled away from her just a little so he could get a good look at her face. “You seem worried about something. Are you...all right?”

She looked at him and he could see a hint of her usual mad paranoia at the back of her eyes. Then her face went blank, as if she was no longer inside it. Harry began to feel a bit nervous. He wished he knew where her wand was. She was almost acting as if someone had her under an Imperius Curse or something. She’d had mood swings before, but this was even more unsettling than usual.

Then she laughed. “All right? Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be? Are you all right, Harry?” She looked down between them. “Why yes, I see you are.” She grasped his cock and it jumped in her hand. “You asked what I wanted—I want this. You. Now.” She looked haughty for a moment, then her face crumpled and he was afraid she was going to cry. “Please?” she said in a low voice.

Harry swallowed. “All right.” He led her over to the side of the bed. “Er—shall I, er—why don’t you let me—” Hesitantly he reached for the tie of her robe and undid it and drew the robe off. In response she waved a languid hand—wandless, and Harry wondered again where her wand was—and his outfit vanished. Well, that’s one way to keep a room tidy, he thought.

He helped her onto the bed, but even there she wouldn’t let go of him, instead clutching his hand and pulling him onto the bed after her. Her eyes held an odd glitter, and again he had the strange sense that she was about to weep. She kissed him hungrily and pulled him over onto her. “Fast and hard, Harry—do it fast and hard,” she whispered urgently. She drew his hand down to her center and said, “See? I’m ready for you. Take me—gods, just take me!”

Her mood—well, the whole scenario, really—was decidedly odd, but an invitation was an invitation, and when it came from your Queen, who would usually just as soon torture you as look at you, it was really more of an order. If you knew what was good for you, you didn’t stand at the door and waste time asking for identification when opportunity came knocking. So in one smooth motion he entered her—hard, as she’d asked him to—and she gave a little scream and started to pant in little gasping breaths.

What—already? he thought. Sure enough, he felt the familiar fluttering of her inner walls that presaged the stronger contractions signaling that her release was imminent. He pumped harder and faster until she stiffened and then tumbled into release. Harry didn't come; he thought he’d better save himself in case she felt like doing this again any time soon, next time with a little less rush about it.

He went to lift off of her but she threw her arms and legs around him and held him there firmly. So he rolled, taking her with him so she lay half across him, and closed his eyes while he caught his breath.

Suddenly he felt something wet fall on his face. He opened his eyes to see Bella gazing back at him with tears running down her face. He reached behind his neck and gently unfastened her hands and made her lie down properly, propping himself up on one elbow instead so he could look at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously. “Did I hurt you? I was going too fast, wasn’t I—”

Despite her tears, Bella smiled. “No,” she said wistfully. “No, it was wonderful. I could tell you were being careful. Believe me,” she said in a different tone, “I’ve had enough men who didn’t care if they hurt me—or even hurt me deliberately—to know the difference. It’s always so good with you, Harry.” She brushed his hair out of his face and said, “If I never had anyone but you for the rest of my life, I’d be happy.”

Harry had absolutely no idea what to say to that. They were verging on extremely alarming territory here, and he wracked his brain to think of a suitable change of subject. Then it occurred to him that since she’d alluded to abuse in her past, maybe it was something he should ask her about. After all, she was the one who kept bringing it up; did that mean she wanted to talk about it? He tried to remember what Hermione and Ginny had told him about being sensitive to when women needed to talk about their feelings.

“Can you tell me about it?” he asked hesitantly. A little frown appeared between Bella’s brows, so Harry hastily added, “Not if you don’t want to...but you mentioned it before, when Draco and I were here...and I don’t really know anything about your life before. It sounds like you really hated being married.” There. That should be enough to get her going if she wanted to. She could answer or she could brush him off, whichever she wished.

Bella turned onto her side, facing him, and studied him for a moment. Most of the time she was not nearly as lucid as she appeared (and that was saying something). She was aware that this was true, and she suspected that a few others—Narcissa, surely, and therefore Lucius; probably Snape, and perhaps one or two others who were too perceptive for her liking—knew it too.

She wondered if Harry realized it. For someone as young as he was, he seemed unusually sensitive to others’ feelings; just look at the way he was treating her now, trying to be understanding! She didn’t know of anyone else who would dare. She liked it that he did. She very much liked the fact that he seemed comfortable enough with her to talk to her like she was just anyone, not the Queen of the entire realm of wizarding Britain. (The thought that he didn’t acknowledge her as his Queen fortunately never entered her head.)

So he wanted to know more about her, did he? She rather thought if she told him everything, he wouldn’t like it. No, he wouldn’t like it at all. He would draw back from her with repulsion written all over his face, she was certain of it. Selected bits, that was it. Just small pieces of her life she could safely share. Maybe it would be a good thing for him to know just how badly she’d been abused. She felt there was a particular attraction between them, and perhaps letting him see some of this would bind him to her even more strongly with ties of sympathy. That could be very useful.

In her saner moments, which were fewer by the day, Bella thought only of what use she might make of Harry.

But when she retreated into the alternate reality that was gradually taking over her mind, she was in love with him—and he with her. He was her Harry, her lover, her strength, her champion. Between her self-appointed task of running wizarding Britain and conquering the rest of the world, and a harem of male slaves who were available to her at any time of the day or night, one would not suppose Bella to have either the time or a need for fantasies; but one would be wrong. In the increasing amount of time when she was not governed by sanity she had a very rich fantasy life, and of late most of it centered around Harry.

Tonight—so far—she was sane. That could change at any moment, but for now she gave careful consideration to what she would tell Harry.

“Rodolphus never liked me,” she said. “My father liked me even less, which was why he made me marry Rodolphus. Father let word get around that whoever married me would find himself in possession of a very sizeable dowry. Rodolphus was not the first man to approach my father; he was merely the first pure-blood, so he won the dowry. And me.” She smiled mirthlessly. “He made it very clear from the beginning which of the two was the more important. And after he ran through the money, all he was left with was...me.”

Harry ran a hand down her side and tugged on her butt to get her to move closer. She threw one leg over his and curled into his chest, sighing contentedly.

“I wasn’t a Death Eater then, you know, Harry. I was just me, Bellatrix Lestrange. Rodolphus was, though. He’s the one who talked Lucius into joining Voldemort. Eventually Voldemort started to question Rodolphus as to why his wife refused to show her loyalty to him. It wasn’t that I refused, though; Rodolphus had never so much suggested such a thing to me. I wasn’t important enough for him to have even thought of it. But of course he was too afraid of old Snake-face—” she smiled when she felt Harry’s chuckle— “to admit it. So he pretended he’d tried to convince me to take the Mark and I had refused. Voldemort taunted him for having such a disobedient wife and said I should be punished...and he made Rodolphus choose my punishment.”

She pulled back and looked up at Harry. “Have you heard of the Dark Revels?” she asked.

“Er—yes, a bit,” he said, his stomach twisting a little at the thought of what was to come.

“Well, whatever you’ve heard about them couldn’t possibly compare with the reality. The Death Eaters saw them as opportunities to indulge in whatever vices they liked—and Harry, you have no idea how many perverted and dangerous things some people like to do to each other, and to themselves—and all this was provided for them by Voldemort, for his obedient little Death Eaters. It was one way he kept them tied to him so closely, by giving them things no one else could...or would.

“Voldemort announced there was to be a Dark Revel on Midsummer Eve, and Rodolphus offered the use of his family estate for the event. It was so remote that no one would ever know or question anything that happened there. He told me to stay in my room until he came for me—said he wanted to show everyone his beautiful new wife and see the jealousy on their faces. He brought a dress he wanted me to wear, which was unusual in itself—he wasn’t in the habit of giving me gifts. And even though I was a little wild in those days and rather daring in my tastes, this dress was...well, I felt as if I might as well not be wearing anything. It was completely sheer, and black, and the front of it pushed up my breasts so they squeezed out of the neckline and exposed my nipples. I kept trying to pull the neckline up to cover them and Rodolphus slapped my hand away and said it was supposed to be that way. ‘Leave the goods on display,’ he said. ‘Let them see what they’re getting.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I had no choice but to leave the dress as it was.

“He came to fetch me when it was time to go down. We walked into the ballroom and it seemed like there were hundreds of people there, all of them staring at me, especially the men. Rodolphus took me across the room and everyone parted to let us through, and there was Voldemort sitting on his throne—the same throne I now have in the audience chamber,” she said. “I thought it was appropriate that it go with the true Queen now that I’ve vanquished old Moldy-Shorts.” Again a quiver of amusement ran through Harry and she ran a gentle hand over his chest. “Ah, Harry. You’re so good for me.” She sighed and recommenced her tale.

“Rodolphus bowed and said, ‘My wife Bellatrix, my lord.’ Voldemort looked at me with an odd little smile and said, ‘Bellatrix. So—Rodolphus tells me you refuse to take my Mark. Tell me why you refuse, child. Are you afraid?’ I said that I hadn’t refused, but Rodolphus sneered that I was just trying to protect myself. I don’t know which of us Voldemort really believed, but it seemed he had decided either way to make an example of me and give his Death Eaters a little surprise for their Revel.

“He said, ‘Your husband has the right to expect your obedience, Bellatrix, as do I. I’ve allowed him to choose your punishment this evening, as is also his right. Rodolphus, what is your will?’ And my husband—my own husband—stood there and announced that I was to be given to the Revel as a sexual plaything until everyone had had a chance at me. And then I was to be bound to the stone altar in the garden, so the others could watch from safely inside the terrace doors when Fenrir and his brother wolves arrived to take their turns with me. It was a full moon, you see—Rodolphus had thought of everything. The only stipulation Voldemort made was that no one, including the werewolves, was to beat me or mark me in any way; Voldemort claimed that as his right.”

Harry stared at her in horror. “Your own husband arranged all this—to punish you for not becoming a Death Eater?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

“Yes. It didn’t matter, you see, that I hadn’t refused at all. This way he saved face before Voldemort and curried favor with the other Death Eaters by letting them have me. And I wasn’t taken off to some room and ravished in comfort on a bed or anything, or in any kind of privacy. Most of them had me right there on the floor—or the table, or even standing up—right there in the ballroom, in full view of the entire company. Oh, after a while some of them lost interest in watching and went about pursuing other interests until it was their turn, and even that was calculated to humiliate me. I wasn’t even worth watching.

“When everyone had finished with me I felt so weak...so hopeless and shattered. I was beyond feeling sick, even. I had almost been sick after the first Death Eater had forced himself down my throat over and over until he came. I was sobbing by then and he took hold of my hair and yanked my head back and said to stop making such a noise and get busy sucking his cock or he’d strangle me and say it was an accident. His cock was so long, it—it went much further down my throat than I would have thought possible. I was gagging—I could hardly breathe—but he wouldn’t stop, and when he came I nearly vomited. But he wrapped my hair around his hand until I thought my scalp would rip, and he growled that if I puked on him he would piss down my throat. So...I didn’t. And after him there was someone else. One cock after another; I didn’t know how many there were, but they seemed endless, never a moment when there wasn’t a cock in me somewhere, and sometimes more than one.”

She seemed unaware of the tears that streamed down her face as she talked, but Harry felt every one of them. His own cock had long since wilted and he was awash in sympathetic horror at what she had lived through. He picked up one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing it gently and then pressing it to his chest as she continued.

“They ripped off what was left of my dress and took me outside, and it was so heavenly at first—dark and peaceful. There were frogs peeping; the night rang with the sound of them. It was nearly midnight, and the moon was full. Yaxley and Rookwood dragged me out to the edge of the terrace where the gardens began; there was a stone altar that had been there—oh, forever, I suppose—and they forced me to kneel on the base and bent me over the altar, chaining my legs and arms so I couldn’t move at all. Yaxley thrust his fingers into me and felt how wet I was from all the seed they’d left in me and he said, ‘That ought to make them happy. Probably lick her raw before they tup her, I shouldn’t doubt—just like dogs, you know.’ Then they went back into the ballroom and closed all the terrace doors. Everyone was pressed against them inside, waiting for the werewolves to arrive. I laid my head down on the stone and just wept.

“Then I heard them coming. They were still a long way off, but they were howling, Harry—such a sound! It makes you want to turn and run and run until you find somewhere safe—but it was coming closer, and there was nowhere to run, and there I was chained to the altar. I just closed my eyes; I was sure they were going to kill me, Voldemort or no Voldemort. They were werewolves—why should they listen to him?

“And then they were there. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help it. I had to know what was coming. There were so many of them, more than a dozen. One was larger than all the others—it was Fenrir. He growled and the others stayed back while he came up and sniffed me, then he began to lick me, just as Yaxley had said. He licked all over my body, Harry—everywhere. Behind my knees, the soles of my feet, my ears, my belly, my breasts—what he could reach of them as I was chained so tightly—and my pussy. I was afraid...but at the same time I was aroused. I tried not to be, but I couldn’t help it. When Fenrir stopped licking me he went behind me and suddenly his tongue was in my pussy. It went so deep—no man’s tongue is long enough to go that deep, but a werewolf’s can. It squirmed inside of me so that I started to come, and I couldn’t stop because he kept moving his tongue.

“Then he did stop and he withdrew his tongue, and I felt him rise over me. His front legs were on the altar next to my face—gods, but his claws were enormous! And I could feel him stabbing at me with his cock, trying to get it in me. Finally he found the right place and he sank it all the way in; I nearly fainted, it was so thick and long. He stabbed me with it over and over again; it seemed like forever before he came, and when he did he howled, and all the others took up the howl. As soon as Fenrir pulled out, another took his place. Once, I turned my head and I could see all the people watching me, pointing and looking horrified, but I knew they were enjoying the sight of the werewolves taking me. I turned my head away and didn’t look at them again.

“When all of the wolves had had me, Fenrir jumped up and took me a second time, but in my anus. I don’t know why. Then he pissed on me—marking me as wolves do—as a way to show he cared nothing for Voldemort’s orders.”

She fell silent and Harry tipped her head up with a gentle hand beneath her chin. Her eyes were somewhere far away.

“Rodolphus left me there all night—cold, sore, and stinking of wolf and piss. In the morning he sent a party of house-elves out to scrub me with brushes and buckets of cold water, as he said I was unfit to enter the house. When they took the chains off he didn’t even offer me a robe but made me walk naked back up the terrace and into the ballroom in front of all his guests, and he took me to Voldemort’s throne.

“Voldemort looked at me so coldly and asked if I was ready to obey my husband now, as was proper.” She sniffed. “What could I say but yes? Voldemort said, ‘Give me your arm.’ Rodolphus grabbed my left arm and held it out, and Voldemort said, ‘Closer. You know what to do, Rodolphus.’” She shuddered. “I can hardly think about it, even years later. It was unspeakable, Harry, truly. Rodolphus made me kneel before Voldemort’s spread legs, and he wrapped my hand around Voldemort’s cock and told me not to move. Then he backed away and left me there. Voldemort wrapped his hand around my forearm and said, ‘Squeeze me, Bella. Squeeze me! I squeezed him as hard as he could, hoping to get a little of my own back for all the pain and humiliation he’d inflicted on me.

“But instead, as soon as I started to squeeze, my arm began to burn. Voldemort threw back his head—he was making the most obscene noises—and suddenly his cock began to squirm, just as if it was a snake! I couldn’t take my hand away, his grip was like iron, and it burned and burned. I was so overcome I did faint, then. When I came to everyone was gone, including Rodolphus and Voldemort—even the throne was gone, and the house-elves were busy scrubbing the floors and cleaning up the mess from the Revel. I put my hand on the floor to brace myself and my arm brushed my side and I felt such pain; I gasped and turned my arm over and there was the Dark Mark Voldemort had burned into me.”

Harry looked at her forearm, where the Mark still stood out against her pale skin. What Rodolphus and Voldemort had done to her almost defied belief, it was so treacherous and horrific. He was sickened at the thought of what she had endured.

But at the back of his mind another thought stirred that was not so sympathetic. “But now you use the Marks...to control the Death Eaters,” he said slowly.

“No, silly,” she said, “not to control them—no one but Voldemort could do that. I use it to summon them, or communicate with them. I think I’ve earned the right.”

Again Harry was left speechless. He wanted to be sympathetic; after all, it was clear that she had been cruelly mistreated, and equally clear that much of her evil probably had its roots in the scenario she had related and others like it—for he suddenly felt sure there had been other occasions, other humiliations. Hadn’t she mentioned being used as a tool to murder disloyal Death Eaters?

“You said Voldemort used you to kill other Death Eaters,” Harry said. “What was that all about?”

Bella made a face. “Yes, and he never once used Cissy or any of the other wives—not once! Only me. Rodolphus probably could have protected me, but I’m not at all sure he didn’t offer me to Voldemort to use in the first place. Every now and then Voldemort would become convinced—whether rightly or not—that one of the Death Eaters had betrayed him or been disloyal in some way. In his early days he simply subjected them to the Cruciatus to amuse himself for a bit, then performed the Killing Curse and had done with it.

“After a while I suppose that wasn’t enough of a challenge. It wasn’t subtle enough. He liked the idea that the Death Eaters thought they were being honored by being given me as their own personal fuck-toy for the night, when really I was going to carry inside me the means to their deaths. My body was warded to make me immune to the poison—thank the gods for that, at least; I wouldn’t have put it past Rodolphus to not bother, except Voldemort wanted to be able to use me over and over again. Then Voldemort would pull my robes aside and insert a Basilisk fang inside of me, playing with it and making sounds of ecstasy like it was his own cock in me, while it oozed poison that coated the inside of me. Then I would be left for whatever Death Eater was to be sent to hell that night.

“Rutting pigs, all of them. They rarely took the time for any preliminaries, just climbed on and started to sweat and pant and thrust. I never had to endure it for very long; two or three thrusts at the most and they would be dead—still hard, still stuffed inside of me, more often than not lying on top of me, weighing me down so I could hardly breathe. Rodolphus and Voldemort would be waiting behind the draperies and when it was over my husband would come and take the body away while Voldemort, who was somehow immune to the poison, sent his long snake-tongue up inside of me to remove every last trace of the poison so dear Rodolphus wouldn’t accidentally die the next time he wanted to use me himself.” She stopped again.

“Harry.” Softly.

“Yes?”

Bella pressed more closely against him, and despite his revulsion and sadness at what she’d told him, he felt his cock twitch. “Do you see now why I need you to make love to me?” she asked. “I like having the others here too, of course, but I like having you all to myself most of all. You are so...not Rodolphus. So not Voldemort. I need you to show me that the world is a better place than I know it to be. Love me, Harry. I need you so very badly.” Harry pulled her over onto him, and Bella looked at him in surprise. “Oh, but—”

He shook his head. “No. You take me this time. You be in charge. Go as fast or as slow as you want to—whatever you like.” He pushed her up so she was sitting astride him, and reached up to cup her breasts in his hands. Bella closed her eyes and threw her head back; he pinched her nipples gently and she gasped, and he felt a spurt of wetness against the base of his cock.

Bella opened her eyes and looked down at his cock where it was pressed up against his belly. She slid up a little and then back, moving her hips against him slowly. A look of concentration crossed her face and she bent forward a little more and did it again. Her eyes widened, and she rocked against him again, and again, her mouth falling open and little groans coming from her as she found her own pleasure.

Harry moved his hands down to rest on her hips and just let her go, enjoying the sight of her breasts swaying as she moved on him. He was gritting his teeth with the effort to not come in case she wanted him inside her at some point in the proceedings, but any temptation to close his eyes was overcome by his fascination with the expressions that crossed her face in rapid succession as she shook violently, another orgasm taking her quickly.

When Bella opened her eyes again it was to see Harry watching her intently. He was smiling, and she tremulously smiled back. “We need to take care of you, too,” she said, and she reached down for his cock.

Harry grabbed her wrist. “Wait,” he said. “You don’t have to—only if you want it.”

“Oh, I want it,” she said. “It’s rather nice being up here. I’d forgotten what it was like to be on top and really enjoy it.” So saying, she rose up a little and flipped his cock so it pointed toward his feet, then inched just the head inside her drenched slit. Staying low, she dragged herself up him very slowly, so that his cock rubbed against her clitoris all the way up; then she drew her hips back and did it again.

Harry groaned, and she leaned down and flicked her tongue against one flat nipple, then the other. “Does that feel good?” she asked. Harry nodded, so she did it again and his cock twitched. Bella rose up and after a couple of shallow thrusts onto him that took in just the head of his cock, which she could see was driving him mad, she plunged all the way onto him. His back arched and his head came up off the bed. He clutched the furs beneath his hands and held on as she began to ride him, her hands on his chest and her hips a blur as she pistoned up and down.

When Harry was beginning to pant quickly, just on the verge of coming, she suddenly stopped. He opened his eyes and looked up questioningly. Bella took his hand and moved it to her pussy. “Touch me,” she begged. “I’m so close, Harry—touch me and make me come.”

He needed no further persuasion but rubbed his thumb gently against her swollen, slippery clit until she gasped and started to shake yet again. As her inner walls convulsed on him, Harry held her hips and pumped into her once, twice, and on the third thrust he yelled as a scalding tide rushed up and out of his cock to bathe her insides with fire.

“HarryHarryHarry,” Bella chanted, sinking onto his chest and holding him tightly. “Oh, Harry...my love...so good...Harry.”

They lay there for some time, the only sound the pounding of their hearts as they gradually slowed to a normal pace.

Harry thought they might have both slept for a while, as the fire was considerably lower when Bella woke him. “Harry, it’s time to go,” she said. She looked as though she wanted to say something else, and he lingered long enough for one last kiss.

Then the other Bella surfaced. Harry was watching her face when it happened, and even then he could hardly believe he’d seen it.

“You needn’t come tomorrow,” she said sharply. “I’ll be having my little Draco again...and Ron, perhaps. Yes, your little friends without you, Harry. What do you think of that? Here I’d been led to believe you and Draco were such enemies, but it turned out not to be true. But Draco and Ron, now—that’s a different story, isn’t it, hmm?”

Harry drew back in alarm at her tone, not certain how to react or if he should say anything at all. “All right,” he said slowly. “Er—thank you for tonight. It was—”

“Oh yes, I’m quite sure you enjoyed yourself. Everyone does,” she snapped. “Now it’s time for you to go. And Harry—”

“Yes?” He knew he sounded cool, but he couldn’t help feeling hurt at her abrupt dismissal. It didn’t matter if he was a slave; they’d been sharing a nice moment and suddenly she was throwing him out. It was frustrating. And confusing as hell. Already off the bed and turning to leave, he looked back at her.

“Just one kiss to hold me until I see you again—please, Harry?” It was her again—his Bella. He walked back to her and looked down at her for a moment. She reached up and wound her arms round his neck and as their lips met she made a desperate little sound in the back of her throat that did something to his heart, and he relented and kissed her and stroked her hair for a moment. She finally let him go and he reluctantly walked toward the staircase. When he turned for a last glimpse of her she had already snuggled down in the furs and blankets and seemed to have fallen asleep. He watched her for a moment, his mind a riot of confused thoughts and impressions, and then silently descended the stairs and went down to the anteroom where Lucius was waiting.

Harry’s face must have reflected some of the tumult he felt, judging from Lucius’ alarmed expression. “Are you all right?” he asked immediately. Harry nodded. “Is—is the Queen—”

“She’s fine,” Harry said tiredly. “Sleeping. Can we just go?”

Lucius nodded toward the elevator and Harry entered and stood there looking rather...depressed, Lucius thought. He was curious as to what had happened between them tonight, but Harry didn’t seem to want to talk about it. As they walked down the corridors, the candles guttering in the sconces, Lucius put a hand on the back of Harry’s neck and gave a little squeeze. He didn’t trust himself to do more, but it was clear that the boy was in some sort of mental distress and it would have been unkind to not make some sort of encouraging gesture.

When they got to the reception room it was evident that all the eunuchs had gone off to bed. Lucius stood there for a moment with his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Harry,” he began, “I don’t know what went on up there tonight. And you don’t have to tell me,” he added when Harry shrugged and started to turn away. “You don’t have to tell anyone. But if it gets to be too much for you, you can tell us—any of us, me or the eunuchs—all right? She’s been having you up there nearly every night. That would be a bit much for anyone, let alone someone who has to put up with the kinds of demands I imagine Bella makes on you. We’ll do our best to get you a night or two off if you need it. Don’t be afraid to say something, all right?”

Harry nodded. “Thanks. It’s—it’s just kind of depressing, is all. She told me how she came to be a Death Eater, and some about her husband.”

Lucius pursed his lips in a silent whistle. He couldn’t imagine Bella telling anyone about that; she hadn’t even told her own sister, who was not yet married to Lucius at the time the Revel in question had taken place. He himself had not been there, being in Romania at the time on an errand for Voldemort, but he’d heard stories when he returned. Terrible, awful stories—of which he was certain every lurid word was true. And because he was so certain, as soon as they married he’d convinced Narcissa to become a Death Eater for her own safety; the fiction of her poor health had largely exempted her from participation in most activities since, except on the rare occasions when Voldemort demanded that all of his followers be present for some event or other.

“Hush,” Lucius said, his own mind spinning now. “Try not to think about it. Can you sleep, or do you want a potion?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t need anything. I’m so tired I think I could sleep for about a week,” he said, ending with an enormous yawn.

Lucius patted him on the shoulder and his hand slid down Harry’s back and came to rest lightly, casually, on his buttock. “Then go. Quickly, now,” he said. Or I’m liable to forget myself and take you right here against the wall of the damned reception room, he thought. Wouldn’t it just be ironic if, after all the plotting I’ve done and the treason I’ve participated in, the thing that proves to be my undoing is my own cock? He watched, feeling strangely bereft as Harry stumbled sleepily down the corridor and disappeared around the corner. There was a vague rustling sound and he pictured Harry lying down and pulling up his blanket.

With a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, Lucius turned his slow steps homeward.
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Bella's Harem