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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
- 5
- 6
The Diary

It was such an ancient diary, the pages glued together with filth and water and the grime of half a century of existing wherever the hell it had been. The cracked leatherette cover with the scuffed and aged golden initials looked so harmless, so lacking in malice, that Harry was surprised that whoever had wanted to rid themselves of it had taken so much trouble. To try and flush the book down the toilet, almost as if the act would drown the diary, was both desperate yet strangely over-reacting.

Harry picked up the quill, watching the ink drip from the nib in a strangely sexual gesture. The fall of the black liquid into the reservoir, the gentle plink and ripple of the oil-black lake in the pot, reminded him of a spent penis.

He'd seen several cocks in his time — the joys of living in a dormitory of young boys who were being inflicted with hormones. Harry had felt the tug of his own needs in his groin, the call of his body seducing him to touch himself and make himself orgasm. His first time, in the showers after Quidditch practice and thinking of the true and wondrous beauty of the arse of Oliver Wood, was a revelation to the twelve year old boy. Never, in his entire life, had anything felt so wonderful, so perfect. For those few seconds as he came, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, found perfection.

Boys will be boys, and discussions with his housemates soon filled him in with masturbation. Ron has been doing it for several years; apparently all Weasleys matured young and the redhead seemed strangely and savagely proud that he had discovered wanking before the great Harry Potter had done. Seamus and Dean, well, their secret wasn't a mystery much longer that night the Irish boy had forgotten to cast the silencing spell around Dean's four poster. The cries of ecstasy rang through the room, being mistaken for cries of pain, and Ron, Neville and Harry had flung aside the curtains to find Finnegan and Thomas sixty-nining enthusiastically. To combat the sudden awkwardness, Seamus in his inimitable and cheeky way had asked if anyone wanted to join in. The sudden whimper than Neville emitted was taken for a yes, and the youngest and supposedly most naïve of the Gryffindor second years because an enthusiastic advocate of the homosexual threesome.

Which left Harry. Harry who had never had an orgasm in his life up until the shower incident. Harry, who still felt guilty when his hand crept over his concave stomach to his cock and slithered over the skin to take himself to heaven and back. He was at a loss. What more could he do?

The diary. Harry ran his fingers over those stained pages and gave a secret and slightly twisted smile. He remembered the first time he had written in it, the way that the ink had been absorbed into the pages and had been reformed in words of the neatest copperplate. The first night that Tom Riddle had spoken to him.

The night where everything changed.

Pelting up the stairs to the Gryffindor dorm, Harry flung himself on his bed, closed the curtains, and muttered the silencing spell that he had learned off Seamus. It just made things easier if no one could hear what he was up to. From under his pillow he pulled a quill and a pot of ink, which he set carefully on his bed, then he opened up the diary, stroking his fingers over the spine in a familiar fashion.

Hello Tom

Harry? Is that you my boy?

As it always is. How are you?

I am as ever, Harry. Waiting and eager to speak with you, to hear your thoughts and feelings. I want to help you, Harry, you know that, don't you?

Yes, I do Tom.

Do you know what would help you the most, pretty boy? If you let me suck your cock and finger that delightful arse of yours until you come for me, come in my mouth. And then, because you'd have been a very very good little boy, I'd fuck you until you came again and again. Would you like that, my child? Would you like Tom to make you scream?

Tom—please—

Does it make your tasty cock of yours hard for me? I want you to unzip your flies, Harry Potter, then suck your index finger and circle the head of your cock. Can you do that for me, boy?

I've undone them and I'm sucking on my finger

Tell me how. Describe it to me, Harry

well, I'm sliding my finger really slowly in and out of my mouth, making sure it's got loads of spit on it, and rubbing my tongue over it as well to make it really wet

oh, you're such a good good boy, Harry, such a clever boy

And now I'm moving my hand down my tummy to my—well, my penis

cock, boy, if you're old enough to do this, you are old enough to call it your cock. Can you hear me whisper that in your ear? Cock. C..o..c..k..

Tom, please, I need—

What, child, what do you need?

You! I need you so much!

And with that, there was a strange glow from the open and ink spattered diary, a rushing noise as if the air had been sucked from the room, and Harry was no longer on his bed.

Harry landed painfully on the damp floor of a huge, stone-walled chamber. To his left and right, great carved serpents writhed in the stone, almost painfully real, while the ceiling of the vast space was so high that he could not see it at all. He breathed, gasping with pain where he had banged his elbow, and then he was aware of the clicking of shoes and someone standing over him, gazing down.

The young man with the amused grey eyes and the dark hair that fell over his brow in a way that had been fashionable fifty years before, was very handsome, all high cheekbones and smooth planes of pale skin, and curling Greek lips.

Green clashed with pewter-grey as Tom Riddle slid to his knees and straddled Harry, circling his hips slightly and putting pressure on Harry's still-perky erection.

‘Such a pretty boy,' whispered Riddle, his lips so close to Harry's that the soft breath could be felt on the mouth of the younger boy. ‘So young and lovely, so untouched by human hand. Pretty little Harry, all mine for me to play with however I wish.'

‘Are you—?'

‘Yes, I am Tom. And tonight, sweet, naïve child, I'm going to take you and make you scream so loudly for me. I'm hard at the thought, can you feel?' With this he pressed his cock against Harry's, both erections grinding through layers of uniform and robes. ‘I've always imagined that you can scream so very well, those pale cheeks flushing and those soft lips parted so wide. Always thought that when you started screaming, the only way to shut you up would be to throw you down and force my cock into your mouth and feel you try and scream around that, the muscles caressing me until I come down your raw little throat.'

Harry moaned involuntarily, breath shortening at the thought of being utterly used by this beautiful young man with the evil smile and the promise of sex glittering in his eyes.

Riddle produced a knife from the belt of his trousers, made of black obsidian and gleaming murderously in the faint light that haunted the chamber, and proceeded to slice Harry's clothing off. The razor-like tip of the implement traced over Harry's pale chest, barely brushing over his nipples and ribs, down the young stomach, until he lay half naked on the stone floor of the chamber, barely conscious that thin welts of blood were tracing along his torso. Riddle, however, smiled, bent his head, and licked agonisingly slowly along each tin red line, collecting the blood on his questing tongue.

‘Taste so good, my young friend,' and with that he arched forward, crimson-stained mouth pressing firmly against Harry's, tongue parting those already eager lips and kissing him deeply in a metallic-tainted and claiming kiss.

Dragging his mouth away, Tom kissed down Harry's blood-flecked chest, tongue dipping into his navel and making the boy moan with need, until the questing mouth came to the waistband of the black school trousers. The knife flashed, brittle black blade slicing into the fabric, and the garment came away.

Harry lay naked under the gaze of the older boy. He hadn't worn underwear because he knew that he was going to play with the diary tonight, but he had never expected this to happen. Usually, Tom and he talked through the pages, driving Harry to orgasm through words. He never thought that he would be here, with the handsome young man astride him and smiling at him lecherously. He never thought that any of the things that had been discussed between them would come to fruition. He never thought—Harry blushed, his cheeks flushing flaming Gryffindor scarlet as Tom unashamedly drank in his naked form.

‘Beautiful,' groaned Riddle, and then he fastened on to Harry's desperate erection and began to suckle as exquisitely well as he'd always told the Gryffindor he could. Tongue and lips worked over the hardness, leaving no centimetre of skin unmouthed, as Tom brought the young boy towards his first orgasm with another person. It didn't take long, but it was the look of sheer delight in Riddle's eyes that he was having this effect on the famous Harry Potter that brought the Boy Who Lived to his completion.

As he lay gasping, desperate to recover, Tom hissed something that Harry strained to understand

comesss herresss to sthy Masssster

A slithering motion in a nearby pipe made Harry start, eyes widening with fear. Tom reached forward and kissed him reassuringly, his mouth tasting of the boy's essence, which Harry found rather exciting.

Ssssshe will not hurt stheee, Stharry Pottersssssss

Parceltongue. He was speaking Parceltongue and speaking it not only to him but something—a long tongue flickered over his thigh, smelling Harry's personal scent and tasting the droplets of come that Tom had purposely let fall onto the silky-skinned thigh. Arms wound round Harry's waist, pulling him towards Riddle's chest, and holding him tight, their mouths touching almost chastely at first but as the fire between them built, tongues fought and teeth nipped. The Gryffindor wrapped his naked legs around Riddle's waist, bringing them ever closer as they devoured each other's mouths.

The tongue, bifurcated, lapped between Harry's buttocks, seeking the little hole in which to bury itself and to stretch. The basilisk had been well trained, for Tom had taught the giant snake to tongue his arsehole as he masturbated, and the creature opened up the orifice so well. Harry gave a groan and pressed back wantonly against the tongue that was stretching him for his future lover. Whatever thoughts of how perverse the situation were had fled, and it was nothing that they had not discussed. Indeed, Tom was most impressed with Harry's sexual attraction to serpents, and to watch the boy, riding the mouth of a giant, lethal creature because of what it was doing to him, even if death was mere inches away, made him realise that this boy was truly a Slytherin.

Job done, the basilisk slid off, scales scuffing against the floor. The noise was drowned out by the shriek that almost burst Harry's throat as Riddle impaled the boy on himself, taking Harry's virginity with desperate strokes, with nails digging into hipbones, with the boy half way through beginning to ride the older man and finding if Riddle lay down, the engorged cock would massage a spot inside him just right and that felt so good.

Harry had not stopped screaming, his body soon was spattered in his own fluids, cuts cross-crossed his pale chest and he was soaked in sweat. He'd never looked more beautiful or more at home than when he rode Tom Riddle's cock to orgasm.
]
They lay in each other's arms on the tangle of Harry's ruined clothing; Tom was surprisingly gentle after he had come deep inside Harry's previously virgin arse.

‘I told you that you would scream,' he murmured in Harry's ear, as his hand slipped into the crumpled robes of the Gryffindor to search for something.

Harry tried to croak a reply, but his throat was agony.

Tom gave a small grin and sat up, readjusting his clothing, which was now stained in seminal fluids and the combined sweat of the both boys. His flaccid cock, impressive even when limp, lay outside his ruined trousers, waiting for round two.

‘Harry. I have a little—surprise—for you.' At his words, Riddle brandished the wand. ‘Accio Sorting Hat! Accio Gryffindor sword!' and the two objects he had summoned soon lay at his feet.

‘What are you going to do with them?' choked Harry, trying to make his raw throat form some words.

‘Let me show you, pretty little boy.' Laying Harry on his back, Tom forced the young thighs up to Harry's chest and told him to hold himself open for his ministrations. His arsehole, so well used, was already well-enough lubricated with the saliva of the basilisk and Riddle's own fluids, and when the older boy slid in the long sword handle, the ruby pommel breaching the stretched hole and slamming straight against his abused prostate, all Harry could do was moan his pleasure. In and out slid the weapon, the hilt, long enough and wide for both hands of a very large man to grip comfortably, driving The Boy Who Lived to new heights of pleasure. And as he came, body shaking and soundless screaming from his ruined throat, Tom held the Sorting Hat open over the squirting cock, making sure every drop of come poured into the garment. As Harry fell back, gasping in deep breaths of much needed air, Tom massaged the viscous liquid into the interior of the Sorting Hat. It amused him that every time someone wore this in the Ceremony, they would have the great Harry Potter's come covering their face.

In a spectacularly beautiful room that was hung with erotic tapestries and decorated with the statues of naked Grecian gods making love to mortal men, two blonds stared into a pensieve. Before them, two jailbait boys were fucking in the most debauched and vile manner they possibly could.

‘Daddy,' whispered the blond child, ‘you really must get that diary back some day.'

The taller of the two, who had long platinum blond hair that reached to the small of his back, wound his arms around his naked and aroused son and kisses down the perfect column of his white throat.

‘Draco,' drawled Lucius Malfoy, eyes fixed on the scene before him and hand playing over his son's dripping cock. ‘I have my ways of getting that little book back. Are you sure you programmed this thing to record? I think if we showed this thing to Mr Potter, I'm sure we shall be graced with seeing round two.'
- 5
- 6
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Neville Longbottom and the Portkey of Perversion