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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
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AN: Thanks very much to those who have left reviews! The current AFF software doesn’t provide a way to respond to reviews (author responses left in the Review section are being deleted as part of the AFF archive clean-up project). So I would like to specifically thank Salon_Kitty here for her comments and assure her that no one wants to think about Arthur Weasley receiving an enema. (Well, except Marshall, maybe....) Oh, and that little death-penalty-for-messing-around-with-each-other thing? Pfffft! Since when have rules ever been all that important to this crowd? Heck, you can’t have a decent rebellion without breaking a few rules. So be of good cheer: there will be rule-breaking aplenty! I hope you don’t get bored and stop reading, or you’ll miss the goodies coming up. (I’m—er—glad you “don’t mind me setting up my plot”...?!) No, not every chapter is extra-smutty; I break them where it seems logical, so occasionally there might be one that doesn’t require you to resort to a cold shower. Just hang in there, and trust me. I know what you want, and you’re going to get it. (Boy, are you going to get it!) :o

5: So Are We Eunuchs Now, Or What?

Harry, Ron, and Fred spent a very uncomfortable night on the cold, hard stone ledges in their dungeon cell. Dobby did not make a reappearance, nor did anyone bring them breakfast when they'd finally had enough of trying to sleep and decided it must be morning by now.

“Merlin,” Ron grumbled. “She’s going to starve us to death down here. No one will ever come to look for us—and when they do find us,” he rambled on with typical Ronnish illogic, “there’ll be nothing left but skeletons. I swear I can push my stomach clear back to my spine right now—feel, Fred!” Fred declined his offer, as did Harry when Ron appealed to him.

“I’m betting she’s got something up her sleeve, all right,” Fred said groggily. “Dunno what it is, but if she was going to kill us she would have already, don’t you think? Not by starving us.” He interrupted himself with a giant yawn, and Ron instantly protested.

“Cor, I can smell that dragon-breath all the way over here, Fred! Watch where you’re breathing.”

Fred said nothing but made an odd, quiet grunting noise. After a moment or two there was a cry of protest from Ron. “Aaughhh! Fred! Gah! Aw, that’s rude!” Fred snickered from his spot on the ledge.

“Reckon you could light that one, mate,” Harry groaned. “If you had a match.”

“Wasn’t as bad as Ron’s last night after he ate that chicken leg,” Fred laughed. “Blimey! Who knew one little chicken leg on an empty stomach could produce so much gas?”

Ron, having by now located Fred by the sound of his voice, pounced on him with admirable accuracy and half-jokingly pummeled him, saying, “Oy, take that back!” Harry concentrated on keeping his feet up off the floor so as not to get dragged into the tangle, laughing as he imagined the silly scenario that was taking place in the dark.

Then there was a heavy clank and the door swung open. Again a Lumos was aimed directly into the cell, effectively controlling any attempt the prisoners might have made at escape by the simple expedient of blinding them after their endless hours in the dark. Lucius Malfoy’s unmistakable smooth voice spoke, seeming to come from the light itself.

“Rise and shine. Time to report to Her Majesty for sentencing.”

“Sentencing?” Harry asked. “For what offense, might I ask?”

“Come, come, Potter, need you really ask? You offend simply by the fact of your existence! Never mind; I’m sure the Queen has something suitable in mind for you.” Harry’s eyes weren’t watering quite as much by now, and he saw a nasty smirk cross Lucius’ face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Hurry! She doesn’t like to be kept waiting—you would do well to remember that,” Lucius urged.

Harry perked up a bit at this. Well, if we’re supposed to remember it for later, he thought, maybe she’s not going to kill us after all. Or at least not right away....

They stumbled out of the cell and Lucius hustled them through the corridors and up the stairs to the Great Hall. He conferred with the guard on duty for a moment; the guard peered around him at the boys and shook his head, whispering urgently.

“Very well,” Lucius said. “I should think she’d want them cleaned up a bit first, but then, mine is not to question why.” He turned to the boys. “Wait here. Right here. I’ll be back when she’s ready for you.” The guard opened the door just enough for Lucius to slip inside the Great Hall and then closed it again.

“Did you get a look inside?” Ron whispered.

Harry shook his head. “Not much of one,” he said in a low voice. “It looks pretty empty in there—I didn’t see the House tables, but I couldn’t see much.” He stopped talking when the guard glared at him.

About ten minutes passed. It was warmer here than in the dungeons, but they were hungry, still rather tired, and generally grubby from the battle followed by a night in the cell, and even Fred’s usually irrepressible good humor seemed to have deserted him. He looked rather solemn as he eyed the huge doors and wondered what was about to happen.

The three of them huddled together, trying to get warm, and waited for Lucius to return.
Arthur rolled over groggily and wondered why, if it was morning, it was still so dim—and why, now that he thought of it, were there no smells of breakfast being prepared? And it was far too quiet. He forced his eyes open to see soothing, soft-blue walls and a curtain that swayed slightly in a passing air current. He turned his head and saw another curtain.

Oh, right....the harem. So it hadn’t just been a bizarre nightmare after all. From the next cubicle came the sound of Marshall’s intermittent light snores. The thought suddenly struck Arthur that, if Bella had her way, this was where he would live out the remainder of his life—here, in charge of a group of slaves. No more Molly, no more children leaving for the first day of school on the Hogwarts Express, no more Hogwarts itself, if it came to that. No more comfortable office in the Ministry of Magic—no more of anything that made life worthwhile. Nothing but a lifetime of drudgery, catering to Bella’s whims and sexual desires.

Or for as much of his lifetime as he was deemed useful, he supposed.

And what then? he wondered. What about when I’m too old to work? Wizarding folk are so very long-lived.... The thought of endless decades as a harem eunuch was too depressing to think about.

He thought, too, of entire generations of wizards that might never learn to develop their magical skills—and, to hear Bella talk, they probably wouldn’t be allowed to use them anyway. It was so terribly, terribly wrong. What would they do if another Dark leader arose someday?

He immediately felt like an idiot. Of course: the new Dark leader was already here—and had announced herself Queen of wizarding Britain, no less! The way things were shaping up, there would be precious few who would ever be in any position to lead a rebellion against her.

Which, he supposed ruefully, was the whole point.

He sighed, and a loud snort came from the next cubicle, where Marshall lay sleeping. A moment later Arthur heard the rustle of fabric as Marshall got out of bed. A bushy beard poked round the edge of the curtain.

“You up?” Marshall asked in a half-whisper.

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “The others?”

“I don’t think so, not yet. May I, er—” Marshall indicated Arthur’s cubicle, and Arthur waved him in. Marshall pulled out the chair at the little desk and sat down. “Wonder when Snape will make an appearance,” he muttered.

“Soon, I suppose. They’ll want that over and done with before they send the boys in,” Arthur said. “Gods, I wish there was something we could do.” He stared morosely at the ceiling, but his thoughts were several levels below in a dungeon cell that would soon be emptied of its occupants.

Marshall misunderstood the reason for his gloom. “Me too. Never thought I’d be spending the rest of my life as a eunuch,” he growled. “I’d have thought it was enough that they’re keeping us prisoners here, every bit as much as the slaves. Why geld us as well?”

Arthur turned his head to look at Marshall. “But they’re not going to geld us. It’s only a potion, remember? Let’s count that as one blessing, anyway!”

“Aye, and what’s the difference, I’d like to know?” Marshall asked fiercely. “Whether it’s gelding or a potion, we won’t be men any longer, Arthur! Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Oh, I don’t think the effects will be permanent,” Arthur told him.

“What? What do you mean? Malfoy certainly made it sound as if they would be.”

“Well, of course he did,” Arthur said reasonably. “It’s in his—their—best interest for us to believe that. But I’ve been thinking about it. I used to be a dab hand at potions in school, and I don’t recall any potion of the sort that has a permanent effect. I should think you’d need to keep taking it on a regular basis—once a month, or something.”

“You mean you think after a month it’ll wear off and we’ll have our—we’ll be able to—to still—”

Arthur looked at him, faintly amused. “Well, I suppose so. But while we’re stuck in here, why does it matter? We’ve no use for it here.”

Marshall stared at Arthur as if he was speaking nonsense. Then he said quickly, “Ah—well, no. No, of course not.” But his expression was odd, furtive somehow.

Gods, Arthur thought, we haven’t even been here twenty-four hours and already he’s planning to make the most of his bits on the off chance he might have them back in working order for a few minutes? Knowing Snape’s fondness for precision, Arthur was sure he would know precisely how long the potion’s effects would last; he doubted there would be much of a gap between the end of the effective period of one dose and the administering of the next.

“Er—Marshall, you do remember the, erm—the penalty for sexual relations between harem occupants, don’t you?” he asked, wondering whether he should be concerned.

Marshall waved a casual hand. “Oh, heavens yes,” he said nonchalantly. “I was just thinking that after a month of bathing naked slaves, and giving enemas to naked slaves, and just plain being with naked slaves day in and day out—well, I imagine we might not be averse to a bit of ‘relating’ with ourselves...if you get me. That’s all. Just ourselves.”

Ah, thought Arthur. Well, when you put it that way....

...but then he realized that three of the naked slaves in question might be his sons and Harry, always assuming they passed whatever fiendish test Bella had in mind for them. Suddenly the thought of everything he and the other harem keepers would be required to do for the slaves...and to them...made him very uncomfortable. He dropped his head in his hands and wished yet again that Molly might never hear about any of this. He hoped—and had to believe—that he would someday leave this place and be with her again, and he wanted to be able to give a good account of himself, hold his inner self apart from all of this as much as he could. The present situation being what it was, he wondered whether he was just a tad bit delusional for thinking that was possible.

Damn Bellatrix Lestrange! he thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. Damn her to the deepest pit of hell!

Just then Edwin popped his head round the other curtain. “Awake, eh, fellows? Us, too.” He jerked a thumb behind him and Alfred appeared, scratching his chest and looking sleepy.

“Think we could get the elves to bring us a spot of breakfast?” Edwin asked hopefully. “And I was thinking a nice dip in the pool before everyone arrives might not be such a bad idea.”

A voice came from the slaves’ sleeping quarters. “No to the first, yes to the second.” It was Lucius. He came to stand at the curtain rather than entering the already crowded cubicle. “You haven’t time for breakfast—Snape will be here in about ten minutes. Bathe, by all means, but be quick about it. You are to meet him in the reception room in precisely ten minutes. Do not be late.” He turned and left as quickly and quietly as he’d appeared.

The four eunuchs-to-be wandered out to the pool and shucked their garments, then gingerly stepped into the water. It was pleasantly warm; not as hot as bathwater, but certainly sufficient. They busied themselves about the business of washing, and moments later they saw that four clean garments had replaced their worn ones, and there was a stack of neatly folded towels on the edge of the pool.

Alfred eyed the clock on the wall. “Time’s nearly up, fellows,” he said. “Best get moving.”

They dried themselves and donned the clean garments, then trailed out to the reception room just as Snape entered from the outer corridor. He carried a small leather case that the men eyed with clear misgivings. Snape took the case over to the desk and set it down carefully. He opened the lid to reveal a sturdy wooden frame holding four slender vials. Each contained a measure of potion that was the same vivid shade of pink as Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. The men stared at the vials with a kind of horrified fascination. Snape turned to them with a supercilious air. He folded his arms across his chest and began to pace back and forth in front of the desk. The Potions Professor addressing his class, thought Arthur, amused in spite of himself.

With another quick glance at the men to make sure they were paying attention, Snape began to lecture. “The Pas-Potens potion,” he began, “is the strongest potion of its kind. It was developed years ago as an experiment, and tested on prisoners in Azkaban prison. It is the most...potent—” he smirked unpleasantly— “potion of its kind currently known to wizardkind. There has never been any practical application for it—at least none that was legal. But,” he said with a shrug, “we live in different times, a new age, and the old laws have outlived their usefulness—especially the tiresomely moral objection to the use of potions to control the behavior of slaves and prisoners.”

“Slaves and prisoners, eh?” Marshall asked testily. “And just which are we?”

Snape looked at him with distaste. “You are slaves. Of course, you will not be called upon to...service...the Queen personally.” He looked at Arthur rather oddly as he said this, leaving that worthy feeling more than a little mystified and with a creeping sense of unease. “But make no mistake about it: you are every bit as much her slaves as those who will.”

He rested a hand on the desk. “I am here to ensure that you are not able to service each other or the other harem slaves in such a way. The potion will see to that.” He lifted the first vial out of its cradle and removed the ground-glass stopper. “Well? Who wants to be first?”

There was a bit of shuffling, as no one was eager for the honor, but finally Arthur stepped forward. “I’ll go first,” he said. Snape handed him the vial and, after a hesitant sniff and a brief examination of the contents, Arthur held it up in a mocking toast and drank the contents in one gulp.

The others watched expectantly, but when nothing dreadful happened they took courage and each of them stepped forward to quaff his own dose of the viscous pink stuff.

“Hmm—tastes rather nice,” Edwin observed, smacking his lips. Snape regarded him as if he was a particularly loathesome bit of something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe.

“I don’t feel any different,” Alfred said tentatively.

“Nor will you—yet,” Snape said. “But I daresay you will notice one of the side-effects rather soon.” The superior smirk had returned to his face, and Marshall was instantly suspicious.

“See here,” he said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, “just you tell us what that means. What side effects? What have you done to us?” He snorted. “I knew it—she’s going to kill us off one by one. Didn’t I say so?” He appealed to the others.

Snape gave Marshall a look that clearly said “Idiot!” and put the holder with its empty vials back in the leather box. “Great Merlin’s beard, man. You’re in no danger, it’s nothing like that. You may experience a bit of an ache or some tightness at first, perhaps, but it’s purely illusory, I do assure you. For all practical purposes you are indeed eunuchs; the potion is very fast-acting. But what’s interesting about this particular potion, you see—and, incidentally, is the reason the Queen chose it specifically—is that the only thing it removes is your ability to perform sexually.” He looked at them with the air of someone enjoying a delicious secret; but when they just looked at him like they didn’t get it, he gave up and told them the rest of it.

“Don’t you see? It removes the ability—but not the desire. You, gentlemen, will still be able to feel every bit as horny as a—a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.” He snickered. “Actually, it is thought that if the potion is left to steep a bit longer than absolutely required, it can actually increase one’s ability to feel sexual desire—just, unfortunately, not the ability to do anything about it.” He really seemed disgustingly cheerful about the whole thing. Gleeful, almost. He regarded them smugly. “I left it to steep extra-long, just for you.”

He picked up the case and prepared to leave, but turned for a parting shot. “So you see, in every way that counts, and for as long as Her Majesty decrees it, you are virtual eunuchs—even if she is, for reasons that escape me, allowing you to keep your...bits.”

The men gaped at him in consternation. It was bad enough that they should have to submit to having their manly “bits” interfered with by way of a potion that rendered them useless as far as any sexual function. But to find out that the potion would not remove the physical sensations of desire—indeed, might even increase them, and with no way to relieve the torture—it was diabolical.

And, Arthur thought, absolutely typical of what they could expect from Bella.

“Someone will be here soon to take you to the Great Hall,” Snape told them. “Her Majesty wishes you to watch some of the potential harem slaves undergo their suitability testing. It should prove to be quite interesting.” He gave a grimace that Arthur supposed was the closest his grim face could come to an actual smile, and was gone.

“Good lord,” Alfred said, shaken.

“Indeed,” Arthur said dryly.

“Merlin,” Marshall whispered. He seemed even more agitated than the rest of them, lost in some private hell of his own imagining. “And we’ll have to watch them being tested—bet you anything you like it’ll be the same way we were—and we’ll have to try not to get all—” He broke off, noticing that the other three were looking at him oddly. “That is—er—oh, hell,” he sighed. “There’s no help for it. You were bound to find out sooner or later. Well, I hope you don’t think too badly of me, boys.” He shook his head dejectedly.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Edwin asked. “And why would we think badly of you?” Edwin, it appeared, was not the sharpest quill in the inkpot. Arthur and Alfred exchanged a wry look.

“No worries there,” Alfred said, deliberately neglecting to answer Edwin’s question. “I think under the circumstances we’ll all find the proceedings pretty...uncomfortable.” Marshall sent him a grateful look. “I’m sure it’s all part and parcel of her plan—keep us off balance, make us uneasy around each other and the slaves—hell, we’ll probably be glad to come running back here to the harem when it’s all over. And I don’t for one minute suppose she’s not perfectly well aware of that.” He shook his head in disgust. “Manipulative bitch.”

Just then Lucius appeared in the outer corridor. If he heard Alfred’s last comment, he gave no sign.

“Well then,” he said brightly, “ready to go, are we?” He received four identical glares that by rights should have melted away at least a few layers of his skin. But he just laughed. “Oh, come now,” he chided. “Remember: all for the greater good, eh? Come along. I’m taking you to the Great Hall.”

As the others headed for the corridor, Lucius pulled Alfred aside briefly and said, his voice soft but menacing, “If I were you, my friend, I would be very careful who is within earshot the next time you speak ill of the Queen. Treason has a way of catching up with a person.” He released the startled Alfred and strode ahead to chivvy the others along.

They stepped out of the reception room rather cautiously at first, but Lucius said, “You’re with me, so the wards will allow you to pass. Quickly, now. And pay attention to the way, because when you return to the harem with the bed-slaves—”

“Well, that’s plain speaking, and no doubt about it,” Marshall muttered.

“—you will need to remember the way yourselves. You will occasionally bring the slaves to the Great Hall for entertainments or to the Queen’s quarters, which are in the former Headmaster’s suite.”

As Lucius talked they walked briskly along behind him, glad of the rapid pace he was setting. It was very noticeable that the warming charm that allowed the harem residents to live in comfortable nudity had not been applied to the rest of the castle, and it was decidedly chilly. Stone floors were not intended for bare feet.

It seemed to take far less time to reach the Great Hall, and the route was far less confusing, than when they had traversed it the previous day en route to the harem. In short order they arrived at the grand double doors, and Arthur saw his sons and Harry huddled together in the corridor as they waited to be summoned into the royal Presence. When he saw them, he exclaimed and immediately veered in their direction, but a coldly issued command from Lucius stopped him in his tracks.

“Eunuch!”

At first Arthur didn’t realize Lucius was talking to hm.

“Eunuch!” Lucius repeated. “Stop—this—instant!”

Arthur teetered and came to a halt. He turned to give Lucius a pleading look. “But it’s my—” he began, but Lucius held up an imperious hand for silence.

“Do as I say,” he said crossly.

“But—”

“Later!” Lucius hissed, just as the doors swung open. He said curtly, “Inside,” and indicated that the eunuchs should proceed into the Great Hall. Then he snapped his fingers at the three boys and motioned for them to follow.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Fred said. “Stiff upper lip and all that.” Harry and Ron stepped up on either side of him, and they tried to look braver than they felt as they entered the Royal presence.
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Bella's Harem