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Neville Longbottom and the Portkey of Perversion	By : Sal Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 17400 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
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Author's note: the squick in this is not so much the subject matter or the participants, but rather the poetry. Be warned, NC17 for dreadful (oh it's intentional he says, hoping you all believe him) rhyming. And I thought us Welsh were supposed to be good at barding.

This is based of ‘The Canterbury Tales' by Geoffrey Chaucer, which I recommend most highly. They are classics, which I don't usually do (my knowledge of literature starts in 1962) but the best thing about them is the filth and nastiness that goes on in those stories — bloody brilliant! Anything that has people throwing full pisspots at each other has my vote.

For overview of who Chaucer is either look him up on the net or watch ‘A Knight's Tale' where is he played by the rather dishy Paul Bettany. I laughed my socks off at the film, but ended up screaming things like ‘that didn't happen, Chaucer was only about nine then, you goits!' at the telly. Moral of the tale is this; never watch a film set in the medieval period with a medievalist. And do NOT get me started on ‘Braveheart' *mumbles about the poor representation of Edward II and wanders off to her dungeon, intent on torturing an illegal peasant*

The Wizard's Tale or Albus Dumbledore and the Trouser Snake of Terror~

A wizard be a very fearsome thing -
Unless to Dumbledore your gaze do bring.
For none could say he is full of wrath and woe
Apart when faced with Voldemort his foe.
For then his face goes pink and ears do burn
And hatred follows him around each turn.
For none can guess the depths that hate can boil,
And extra-crispy mages dipped in oil
Always ignite when pushed a little far
Like petrol burning in a wreckéd car.
Now Albus used to like the man he loathes
And wished to see him nude — without his clothes
For those who know not what unclothéd be
It's naked, stripped-down, all on show to see.
Now Voldemort was once a human too
Susceptible and just like me and you.
Pitch-black of hair and eyes of emerald green
And what an arse—oh for it to be seen!
A brace of peaches ripe and never plucked
So virginal, so ready to be fucked.
And see his face, so full of wit and skill!
Who would have thought the boy'd go on to kill?
His lips so full and skin so smooth and pale
A face so fine it should be ‘neath a veil
For angels should not walk in sight of man
(And should conceal themselves from girls of fan,
For girls of fan are liable to do
Bad things to Tom, and Snape and Malfoys two.)
Now Dumbledore was not immune to lust -
His trouser snake had most persistent thrust,
Especially when all abed alone
For therein much of Albus' seed was sown.
Sticky nights of turmoil and of fiddle,
When the teacher's thoughts turned to Tom Riddle,
His hand slid down to touch the throbbing lump
While softly softly did he raise his rump
So fingers, their own magic could they work
And eager hand begins to stroke and jerk.
The picture in his mind is Tom's sweet face,
Twisted with thoughts so devious and base
And eyes aflame with lust for Dumbledore.
Poor Albus cannot cope with anymore;
His pleasure valves now leak his enjoyment
He lies in bed, exhausted, limp and spent.

______________________________________

So how can Dumbledore make heart's desire
Do as he please and enter loving's fire?
Are potions brewed with love in mind the way?
Detain the boy in class for some affray?
Confessions of desire — but he could flee—
Just lay and burn and weep incessantly?
Albus was quite unsure of how to go
About seduction of forementioned foe
And when he lay abed after he came
He pondered how the hell he'd play the game.
But hence to him one night a cunning scheme
Did find its way to him in form of dream.
Albus, in the pictures in his mind,
Could see a fairy - Slash king of its kind
- all leather-clad and wearing boots of suede
That Mr Gucci from Milan had made.
"I am the fairy of the slashy class
And I am here to help you get the arse
That you are wanting, needing, more and more.
Imagine shagging Tom, oh Dumbledore!"
Now Albus was about to say that he
Had thought of nothing else so solidly -
But thought he better keep his tongue composed
Or else the sprite may bugger off, opposed
To Albus' dreadful need to possess Tom,
Destroying any hopes Albus had from
The fairy, prince of Slash extraordinaire.
This threat was more than Dumbledore could bear.
"Please tell me fairy, scion, prince of slash
How to achieve my love so true, but rash.
I've planned and plotted but to no avail
And now I weep and gnash my teeth and wail.
For thought have I o'er night and daytime too -
Oh help me fairy, now it's up to you!"
Our leathered nymph just cocks his head and grins
But something in his eyes reflects those sins
That Dumbledore desires to place within
The naked, bound, and sexy Slytherin.

______________________________________

As our hero goes towards the stair
He pauses once to take in needed air;
Deep breaths are courage, Dutch in strength and might
Which are acceptable so late at night.
For alcohol, though tasty, will just haze
His thoughts procession to a foggy daze
And this will not assist him in his plan
To take Tom Riddle any way he can.
Although the task ahead is full of fear
And vodka would be good to insert here
For comic situations fuelled by drink
Are less than likely than we all may think.
For fiction that does follow canon dear
Has little room for large amounts of beer
(Although that most of us will quite agree
That being drunk's the only way to be -
When being forced to read some trashy story
It's just best to get tanked up on Midori,
Or any booze upon which your hands do rest
Sometimes I think that antifreeze's the best,
For who would want to live another day?
And death is just about the only way
To escape the fics. So here's to quaffing
Even if you end up in a coffin.)

______________________________________

Devilish dungeons, dark and dim and dank
Like hell's own alleys, sulphurous and rank
Awaiting eager Albus Dumbledore
Who cannot stand the waiting any more.
So on he strides, his robes around him sway!
For on he treads, wanting to have his way!
And every step is closer to the prize
And every fall of foot nears where he lies.

______________________________________

With trembling hand he pushes back brocade;
Of silver snakes and greenish silks are made
The covers that protect the boy from view -
Around the bed are cloths of Slyth'rin hue.
He lays, asleep, an angel brought to earth,
This boy of goodness, boy of greatest worth.
His coal black lashes lay upon fair cheek
And countenance asleep is almost meek
For though he may be in the house of Snakes
The house is not the thing that always makes
A person turn out as they will then be
It takes more than a school-time loyalty.
This will be demonstrated soon, anon,
So remember this before you're reading on;
The Slytherins are most misunderstood
Some are evil, but there are some who're good
Painting all with one such brush is wrong
But I'm diverting— sorry, I'll go on.

______________________________________

Albus is hypnotised by sleeping form
And forgets he is in a foreign dorm.
His brow is damp, his fingers clench and writhe,
Seeing the boy so limber and so lithe.
For passions build upon the sight he sees
And mind and matter poke and prod and tease
Anxiety below his robes is felt,
A hope so hard that it will never melt.
For not much hides the boy from wanton view,
No robes, no cloak, no clothing of black hue.
Covered in little, but a rumpled sheet.
Albus; entranced where skin and cotton meet
Exposing for his gaze the creamy chest,
So pale with moonlight gleaming on his breast,
The pallid form, so ghostly in the night
(For angels seem as phantoms in mans' sight)
Draws Albus' hands to slide from throat to hip
And under emerald sheet the fingers dip.
The boy shifts in the depths of dreamless sleep
Allowing eager fingers more to seek
Along the softness of his inner thigh
And up the shaft to where the base does lie.
Poor Tom does wake and tries to scream in fear
But what emerges only bats can hear
For sonic screams are not too clever when
People are being molested by old men

______________________________________

But with a wave of wand the boy is tied
naked on the bed— nowhere to hide.
His fear is seen by limpness down below
Which to our Albus is a major blow.
However, he can work around the cock
The dick which now is sponge, but once was rock
For giving Tom some fun was not what he
Did have in mind, somewhat fortunately
And now that sexy Tom is in position,
Dumbledore can begin with his mission.
Fingers now slick with lubricant prepare
Poor Tom's—and I'm not spelling this — down there
Are you stupid, or can you not contend
With Dumbledore fiddling with Riddle's end?
And in a blatant non-consensual way
And homosexual - if you like - so gay.
The wrongness of the situation's clear
As Dumbledore forces up Tom's lubed rear
A wand not made of phoenix tail or wood
But of hard muscle, formed in flesh and blood.

______________________________________

The blood that pours from Riddle's ravaged soul
Does shatter him, transforming him from whole
Into a broken form, a husk of hate,
Now driven by revenge and sense of fate.
But Time is temporal, for what is time
When loss of sanity can beat the crime
Of lust and sex and fear and power trips?
Smashing of innocence, which tears and rips
Away the fragile sanity of men
Makes unforgiving curses seem as Zen,
As gentle as the kiss of mothers dear -
Though nothing can relieve the dreadful fear
Of certain death or torture or col
That these three curses, fated, out do dole.
But for those driven mad by inner pain -
The ones forever touched, those thought insane -
Can reach catharsis through their bloody acts,
Avenge their agony through harsh attacks.
For through his acts Dumbledore is to blame
For rise of Voldemort to lasting fame.

______________________________________

The fairy had done much good in his time
For his tastes in men are somewhat sublime.
There were some couplest wet were not so rosy,
Specially Oscar Wilde and bloody Bosie
(But what can you expect when you put two
Huge egos together — it will not do.)
Now to the short but startling list is penned
Prof. Albus Dumbledore and his close friend
Well, Tom Riddle is far more foe that mate
But all of this could be blamed on blind fate.
But of course we know this is not true
*glares at Slash fairy who turns rather blue*
Now heed the moral of this sorry tale;
Keep trouser snakes well away from the male!
Especially if he is very straight
And you do not want to be tempting fate.
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Neville Longbottom and the Portkey of Perversion