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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
AN: Thanks for the nice reviews, you guys. Wow! You made my day. Now: just because it’s Friday and I’m feeling generous to the point of being lightheaded, I’m going to post chapter 7 now instead of saving it for next Friday. I do have to warn you that chapter 7 isn’t edge-of-your-seat exciting, so if you are one of those who indulges in phone calls or texting or cleaning out the litter box in between spurts of reading (can you believe I kept a straight face while I typed “spurts”? Well, enjoy it; it’s unquestionably the most titillating word in the whole chapter), this is the chapter to do it in. But it sets the scene for some upcoming events and there are, if no sex scenes, at least some comedy spots, so be good sports and read it anyway. I’m betting you won’t mind the nap during this chapter becaaaaaaauuuuuuse...chapter 8 will blow your little socks off! You’ll want to be nicely rested when that one comes along, oh yes.

7: Harem Sweet Harem

The boys spent the rest of the day settling into the harem. There was a little awkwardness at first, what with the continued nudity; but what with a communal session in the pool and lunch afterward they soon regained some of the camaraderie of their Hogwarts days. There was a full range of ages and House representations, but they all knew each other at least by sight. There was a noticeable lack of representation for Slytherin House—only two of the harem slaves were Slytherins. When Roger Davies wondered aloud about this, Stuart Evans, one of the Slytherins, spoke up.

“You mean you really don’t know?” he asked incredulously. Roger eyed him skeptically, waiting for the sarcasm that was sure to follow—after all, Stuart was a Slytherin, wasn’t he?

When he said nothing further, merely appeared to be waiting for Roger to say something, Roger essayed, “Well...no. How should I know? We were stuck in a cell and then herded up to the Great Hall to do our performing-seal act for—her—” most of them couldn’t get used to referring to Bella as the Queen— “and we were never told anything. It was always ‘You don’t need to know that’, or ‘Mind the curiosity, boy, it’s what killed the cat’. Do you know what happened to all of them?”

Stuart nodded and glanced at Andrew Harper, the other “token Slytherin”, as one or two of the other boys had been heard to call them. “Sure. Most of them agreed to take Death Eater vows, since the alternative was to become slaves. The few guys besides us who didn’t want to go the Death Eater route are probably scrubbing a moat somewhere, or something. And the girls—well, you saw Pansy and Daff.” He glanced at Alfred. “Sorry, sir.”

Alfred shook his head. “It’s all right, Stuart. I wish I knew what Bella was going to do with Daphne now, though; the last time I saw her she was with her mother and I thought they’d been allowed to go home. I have no idea why Daphne is still here.”

“And Pansy,” Ron chimed in, “who’d’ve thought she’d refuse to become a Death Eater? I always thought she couldn’t wait until she was old enough—and Malfoy, she’s always had a thing for him and you know he’s gone over to the Death Eaters.”

Andrew cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. “Well,” he said, a bit shy about being the focus of everyone’s attention, “actually, he hasn’t...not yet.” There was a chorus of disbelieving exclamations, and he hastened to explain. “I heard he was getting extra time to decide what he wants to do because he’s related to the Queen, so she’s going easy on him. And the last I heard, he hadn’t decided yet.”

Harry was interested to hear that. He’d thought Draco had already been undergoing a kind of initiation into the Death Eaters’ ranks when he was told to kill Dumbledore in their sixth year. So he hadn’t gone through with it yet? Very interesting indeed.

“Fancy being related to Bellatrix Lestrange,” Fred joked. He shuddered theatrically and everyone laughed.

“She really is mad, too,” Stuart said. “Everyone knows it. How else could all this—” he gestured around at the harem and his naked companions— “be happening?”

“Mad but powerful,” Harry murmured. “And who’s going to oppose her? It’d be too dangerous.”

“Exactly so.” Arthur stood up, deciding to put a stop to this particular avenue of discussion before things got out of hand. He cleared his throat, and the conversation died away. He looked round at the boys and felt an enormous wave of sympathy for them. While it was true that they would probably find moments of intense physical pleasure during their tenure as Bella’s bed-slaves, the possibility of their not emerging from the experience with their finer selves intact was so great, and he so helpless to prevent it, that he was hardly able to look them in the eye.

“Boys, I feel I must say something here. There are a lot of rules for you to learn, as you know. And they are all quite important. But the most important one of all, even though it’s not on the list—” he gestured toward the sleeping quarters, where the list of rules was posted— “is that you must never speak ill of the Queen!”

Ernie Macmillan considered, then shrugged casually, but Arthur persisted. “I mean it,” he said urgently. “All of you have just been involved in a deadly battle; you ought to know better than anyone how useful a spy within this group could be to the Queen. I hope none of you are serving her in that capacity at present, and—” those nearest Stuart and Andrew, the only two Slytherins in the harem, edged subtly away from them, and Arthur rolled his eyes— “I tell you here and now that House affiliation is no measure of a spy,” he said firmly. “Actually I rather doubt there are any spies among us as yet, but—”

“As yet?” Harry interrupted.

“—but,” Arthur continued, wagging his finger at Harry in an admonition to be patient, “it’s very possible that the Queen might try to enlist some of you to spy on the rest of the harem. In fact it’s quite likely, I should think.”

Ron snorted. “Who’d be daft enough to agree to that?” he asked.

Arthur regarded him thoughtfully. “So you’re perfectly happy here, Ron?” he asked finally. “Nothing you need...or want... no one you’d give anything to see again?” Ron stared at Arthur and paled as he realized how difficult it might be to resist such an approach. “Who knows what she might promise to get you to cooperate? She might even deliver, too—just enough to get you telling her things. Oh, they won’t seem like very important or harmful things at all—a bit of discontent here...an unflattering remark you overheard your mate in the next bed making, perhaps...you might not think twice about telling her these things, and before you know it she’d have you in her pocket.”

He paused. “I’m not warning you about the danger of becoming spies so much as suggesting you get into the habit of thinking before you speak. Your thoughts are your own—they are private, even here where nothing else is. Think well before you speak them aloud; they can’t be taken back. Guard your tongues as you would your lives, for that connection is more direct than you might think.”

Arthur surveyed the faces around the room and saw that he had effectively thrown a damper on their camaraderie. Even the other eunuchs looked rather glum. “Oh, come now, boys,” he said heartily. “The main thing to remember is that we’re all in this together. There’s absolutely no difference between us now—House affiliations no longer exist; family status means nothing.” He looked thoughtful. “None of us knows exactly what the Queen will require of you—” there were a few snickers from the boys and Arthur colored— “oh all right, yes, sex of course—but beyond that she might do absolutely anything, there’s just no way of knowing. I had a definite impression that—er—she intends to devote a good deal of time to, shall we say, the pursuit of pleasure, so you will probably spend a good deal of time in her company when you are summoned. Not to speak ill of the Queen,” he reminded them, “but it is pretty well known that her tastes run to the, er...well, that is, she’s rather fond of—”

“Inflicting pain?” Andrew Harper suggested.

“Yes, exactly so. If there were any way possible to spare you that, we would; but we have no say in the matter. Just know that when you return to the harem, you won’t have to talk about what happened if you don’t want to, but there will be friends willing to listen if you want to get anything off your chest. I just—we are a small group, all of us are extremely vulnerable to the Queen’s whims, and I hope you will help each other as much as possible to get through this.” He heaved a deep sigh and sat down.

After a moment the buzz of voices resumed. Edwin looked over at Arthur. “Do you know,” he said, “the thought of spies never even occurred to me.” Marshall grunted, and Alfred nodded.

“Really?” Arthur asked in surprise. “It was one of the first things that occurred to me. She’s not going to want us getting all chummy with one another; if that happened, it’d be harder for her to get a wedge in. I think she’ll want to keep us stirred up, on edge and off balance, if she can. If we grow too close it could pose a danger to her—a group of slaves all defending each other, backing each other up? She wouldn’t like that at all.” He grinned and spoke more softly. “One very excellent reason to encourage it, eh, lads?”

Edwin looked at him admiringly. “I always said you were a clever one, Arthur,” he said. “You make a good Chief Eunuch.”

“I—what?”

“Well, someone has to be Chief Eunuch, don’t they? It’s in all the harem novels. The Keeper of the Harem. I think it ought to be you. You’re the most level-headed of us,” Edwin explained.

“Read a lot of harem novels, do you, Edwin?” Marshall asked slyly.

Edwin, not really paying attention (and he was, as we have already seen, not the brightest candle in the chandelier even when he was paying attention), said innocently, “Oh, yes, my wife likes them. I had a rather bad spell last summer when I was repairing the roof and fell—broke both legs, don’t you know; I was on Skele-Gro for simply weeks. Nothing to do but lie around and read. She has boxes of the things in the attic—sent Roger up there to fetch them for me. Quite inventive, those sheiks,” he said, and the other eunuchs chuckled, amused by the non sequitur. Edwin stared off into the distance, apparently occupied with thoughts of the sheiks and their harems that featured in his wife’s lurid “bodice-ripper” novels.

The rest of the first day in Bella’s harem passed relatively uneventfully. Everyone was rather glad that they had one more day of reprieve tomorrow before Bella summoned the first of them the day after that. Their minds were awash with fear and anticipation. Many of the slaves, especially the older ones, some of whom were in their twenties, had had some sexual experience, but even they were rather curious about what to expect from Bella; those who were officially still virgins (many of whom were inclined to keep this fact to themselves) were wildly curious about the whole business and secretly thrilled that they were going to learn all about it from someone who sounded as if she probably knew everything there was to know about sex.

Bella did have a fondness for inflicting pain, as Fred had pointed out; that much was well known. She certainly had no good opinion of men, as she’d made clear when she had announced her intention of keeping a harem. Fortunately for the slaves—or not, depending on how you saw it—they were quite right. She had a thorough knowledge of what men liked—and women as well—thanks to Rodolphus’ strict training and his generosity with his wife’s favors among his fellow Death Eaters. This practice had been strongly encouraged by Voldemort in order to sow jealousy among his followers and ensure that their loyalty was to him rather than to each other. Bella was well versed in vice and excess of every sort.

Eventually, lunch time came. It worked very much the same way it always had, they found: the house-elves apparently prepared the food and sent it to the table at the proper time.

After lunch the eunuchs led the boys to the sleeping quarters. The boys were rather dismayed at first at the lack of privacy they would have while sleeping.

“And doing—er—whatever,” Ron finished shamefacedly. The others roared with laughter at this.

Fred couldn’t resist needling him. “And just what kind of ‘whatever’ do you get up to when you’re in bed, Ronniekins—alone, one presumes—with the curtains securely closed and...a Silencing Charm placed on your bed, perhaps?”

“Oh, like you never do it,” Ron said hotly.

“No need to when you have a real, live girl to do it with,” Fred said with an angelic smile.

“Or a twin who lives in the same room as you,” Ron muttered under his breath. Now it was Fred whose face flamed. Before it could get really ugly, Arthur intervened.

“Right,” he said briskly. “Fred, why don’t you take that pallet down there—” he pointed to the furthest end of the left row of pallets— “and Ron, you can be at this end,” indicating the near end of the opposite row. Somewhat shamefacedly, Fred went to the last pallet and flung himself down on it.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, bouncing around a little. “This isn’t bad. Go on, try them out,” he said to the others. Harry promptly leaped onto the nearest pallet, second from the end, and Ron, with a defiant glance at Fred, took the one next to him—but in the middle of the row, not the end. Everyone else chose their pallets; Stuart ended up on the end of a row, next to Harry.

“Feels a little odd, what?” Justin Finch-Fletchley asked rather forlornly from the middle of Harry’s row. “Like we should be unpacking or something.” He glanced round at the tidy room. “Only we haven’t anything to unpack.”

“Nor will you,” Arthur told him. “You will only be permitted to keep personal belongings if the Queen should give them to you. As you see, there’s nowhere to keep personal things anyway. You’re not permitted to wear clothing while you’re in the harem, unless you’ve been summoned by the Queen for an...audience...or to attend a ceremonial function with her. When that happens you will be outfitted from the clothing in the wardrobe room, which we will select for you—unless the Queen specifies what she wishes you to wear.”

Alfred asked, “So—everyone happy with his spot, then?” It appeared everyone was. “Good men. Then look on the wall above your beds.” They did, and found that on the wall above each pallet a small brass oval had appeared bearing the name of its owner.

“You will be expected to make up your own beds each morning,” Marshall said sternly. “The house-elves aren’t here to look after slaves. And you might have noticed it already—those of you who’ve taken the time to read the rules—” he aimed a beetle-browed stare at them— “but you’re not to hang about in the sleeping quarters except at bedtime. The living area, out there, is where you’re to spend your time.”

“So what do we do all day?” Stuart asked. “I mean, if we can’t leave the harem except when she sends for us. Suppose that means no Quidditch.” The others looked a bit glum at the thought.

“We could ask Mum to send us some of her trashy novels,” Roger suggested, to general laughter.

Arthur took point on this one. “You will all have chores,” he said. “Marshall is right—the house-elves have been given instructions to do nothing for you but prepare your meals and collect your bedding for laundering. All the cleaning of your quarters will be done by you. Edwin has made up a schedule.” Edwin handed him a parchment bearing a neat graph of chores and names. “As it happens, there are chores enough each week for all of you; each week you will move down a slot on the chart—” he held it up to show them— “so you will have a slightly different rotation than the week before. If anyone shirks his chores, the living conditions will simply be that much less pleasant for all of us. So make up your minds right now that that isn’t going to happen.”

Ron and Fred were rather impressed by their father’s take-charge attitude. At home, Molly was the one who kept everyone in line and ran the household and kept the schedules; Arthur was easy-going, tending to be rather scatterbrained and distracted, and generally was happy to let Molly be in charge. This harem idea might be a rum business overall, but it seemed to be bringing out leadership qualities in Arthur that no one, least of all his sons, knew he had.

“Now, I know you seventh years would normally be studying hard for your N.E.W.T.s,” Arthur went on. “That is not possible under the current circumstances. Again, not to be disrespectful of Her Majesty, but if—if, I say—there should be a day when you can return to school, let us hope you won’t have to relearn too much. Because I’m afraid with the ban on magic—she’s warded the entire castle, you know, so none but she and her Death Eaters, and the house-elves of course, can use any magic—and with no wands, we won’t be able to do anything about continuing your schooling.” He lowered his voice. “We had—er—discussed the possibility of theoretical teaching only, but I suspect if we were discovered the Queen would take it amiss. So there won’t be any kind of studying for you to do.

“And regarding asking Roger’s mother to send books, I regret to say that that, too, is impossible. I know it was a joke, but the fact is that you are not allowed to receive anything at all—be it owls, letters, packages, or visitors—from outside the castle. The Queen has forbidden it. You are not prisoners as such, but slaves, and your level of privilege is commensurate with your status. I think boredom will be our biggest challenge, but we must look to ourselves and each other to overcome it.”

He scratched his head and turned to the other eunuchs. “Would you like to add anything?”

Alfred and Marshall shook their heads, but Edwin said, “I think it would be wise to go over the rules—all of them—once more now, while everyone’s here together. That way we can answer any questions the boys might have.”

“Ah. Good idea,” Arthur said, and Edwin trotted over to the wall where the list of rules hung. He closed both hands on the frame and lifted—and nothing happened. He peered behind the frame, but there didn’t appear to be anything holding it to the wall. He tried again, with the same results.

“Sticking charm, I suppose,” he said. “Right, then—I’ll just read it here. After each rule we’ll take questions. Pay attention, now.” So saying, he shoved his glasses down his nose and peered at the list. “It says here that penalties for rule-breaking are decided by the Queen, and no exceptions will be made. If you are discovered breaking a rule—note that wording, boys: if you are discovered; I shouldn’t think it would be wise to push your luck, but it does say that in so many words—we eunuchs must uphold the prescribed punishment.

“No slave or eunuch is to exit the harem without proper authority—meaning a summons from the Queen or an order from a Death Eater.” He turned and said, “Malfoy informed us there are wards in place to prohibit any attempts to leave without a proper escort. He said the results would be painful; I think we can take that as read, without a demonstration. Any questions so far?” He waited a few seconds while the boys fidgeted, then turned back to the scroll.

“No slave shall wear clothing at any time unless summoned by the Queen. Well, that’s clear enough, eh? Questions, anyone?”

Andrew raised his hand. “So we’re not ever to go outdoors or anything? Or see our families ever again? I mean—well, not ever?” He gulped. It seemed that the full weight of the situation was just now sinking in.

Arthur said gently, “That is what she intends, Andrew. However, the future has not happened yet, has it? And it’s not possible to say for certain what might or might not happen. Why don’t we say that until further notice you won’t be going out or seeing your families.” His gazed skimmed the faces and he made an attempt to lighten the moment a little. “And boys...I’ve seen what she wants you to wear when you’re summoned.” He allowed a smirk to play around his mouth. “Let’s just say when you see—no,” he shook his head when a couple of the boys started to get up, “not until it’s time—but when you see the things available in the wardrobe for you to wear, well...you might not mind being naked so much after all. No, no, I’ll not say any more.” He chuckled, well satisfied that he had derailed the air of depression that had been settling over them, while the boys suggested more and more ridiculous ideas about what they would be required to wear. At least for now they weren’t concentrating on the fact that they really were every bit as much prisoners as those who still languished in the dungeon cells.

Edwin met Arthur’s eyes briefly and then resumed reading. “There will be no relations between slaves, between eunuchs, or between eunuch and slave. The penalty is death.” He waited for the onslaught of comments he was sure would follow, but there was dead silence. “I take it no one has any questions about that one?”

“Well,” Fred said reasonably, “it’s pretty clear, isn’t it? I’ll have you know I have no plans to be ‘relating’ with any of you lot any time soon, got it?”

There was a lot of shoving and giggling and nervous joking at this, but Harry finally said, “We understand. But death—wow, that’s pretty harsh, isn’t it?”

“Not for someone as possessive of her property as Bella,” Fred quipped.

Arthur said, “Fred!” in a warning tone.

“Oh, fine—Her Majesty, then. She doesn’t want anyone else playing with her toys. But why the part about the eunuchs? Who are the eunuchs, anyway? When do we meet them?”

The eunuchs stared at him speechlessly. Finally Alfred said, “I...I suppose I thought you knew. But then, there’s no reason you would, is there? Er—we are the eunuchs. The keepers of the harem.” He gestured at himself and Arthur, Edwin, and Marshall.

Fred’s mouth dropped open, as did most of the other boys’. “Y—you?” he croaked. His face began to get rather red and mottled-looking, and he stood up. “Has she—” He aimed a piercing look at Arthur’s crotch which, of course, was covered with the loose garment all the eunuchs wore. “Oh good gods,” he said faintly, and he sat down very suddenly.

Arthur hastened to explain before anyone else should react to the same understandable, if erroneous assumption Fred had made. “Good heavens, no,” he said. “It’s a—a potion. We have to take it once a month. It renders us...incapable, in a word. So we can’t—er—um—ah. But she has definitely not, er, removed anything, if that’s what was worrying you.” Fred looked slightly reassured by this but was still a little green about the gills.

Edwin decided it would be best to move on quickly to the next rule.

“Any slave found guilty of assault upon another slave or a eunuch will suffer the Cruciatus Curse, at the discretion of the Harem Overseer. That’s Lucius Malfoy,” he said in answer to the question no one asked. There were nods among the boys; they had all seen, and many had felt, the effects of the Cruciatus during the battle or at other times, and had absolutely no wish to see or experience it again.

“Any act of treason against Queen Bella is punishable by death. Well, that’s certainly clear enough. As Arthur said, it’s best if you remember to never speak ill of the Queen—or her Death Eaters, her family, or anything else she could take amiss. If you’re going to sacrifice yourselves, boys, for Merlin’s sake make it for some worthwhile purpose. Well—that’s it. Not a long list, and probably not much on there that you’re likely to slip up on, but better to know, eh? Especially because Malfoy specifically stated that ignorance of the rules will not be accepted as an excuse for breaking them.”

“Any way we turn we’re likely to be killed or tortured,” Ron complained.

“Nonsense, Ron,” Arthur said sharply. “There is absolutely no reason for you to break any of these rules. They’re not difficult to remember, after all. Don’t let me hear you say something like that again.” Taken aback by the fierceness of his father’s scolding, Ron subsided and sulked quietly to himself.

“Well, boys,” Arthur said, “let’s go back out into the living area and get comfortable. We must talk about what will happen when you are summoned for an audience with the Queen. Because the day after tomorrow...one of you will be.”

They trooped back out into the pool room and disposed themselves on cushions or around the edge of the pool as it suited them.

“So,” Arthur said, “let’s say the Queen sends a summons for one of you. Per the instructions left for us by Malfoy, this will usually happen at some point in the morning, and you will report to her at nine o’clock in the evening. Since we’ll know early in the day who will be going, that person can be given a light sleeping draught after lunch, if he desires, to enable him to have a good nap until dinner. The queen has specified that no slave will spend the entire night with her; apparently she is very fond of her sleep and doesn't trust the lot of you to be around her while she's asleep and helpless. Still, she could keep you with her for several hours and I’m quite certain she would take it amiss if you were not fully energized and able to perform whatever...duties...she has in mind.

“After dinner you will have a little time to relax. Then you will—ahem—you will be given an enema.” There was a chorus of indignant protest at this. Arthur looked at them sternly. “Boys, boys! It’s not a question of preference. The Queen orders it, so you will do it.” Although he understood completely how they were feeling, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at all the crestfallen faces before him.

“After that you will be bathed and if you like, you may have a massage.” Another chorus of protests, milder this time, erupted.

“You mean we ‘will bathe’?” Justin asked.

“Ah, no. You will be bathed. By a eunuch.”

“What—we can’t wash ourselves?” Ron scoffed. “Why ever not?”

Arthur folded his hands in his lap and looked at Edwin. Edwin looked at Marshall, who looked at Alfred. Alfred rolled his eyes.

“Because,” he said, “quite simply, the Queen orders it so. So you have no choice. You really need to get that through your heads, all of you. You are slaves, for all intents and purposes. I know slavery doesn’t exist in England—but this castle is, for all practical purposes, its own sovereign country, if you like, with its own rules and laws. Here, you are slaves. And as slaves, you obey your superiors, including the Harem Overseer, who has provided these rules. Don’t waste everyone’s time by bemoaning the fact. Remember, it could be much worse.”

Thoroughly cowed—for now—by the normally mild-mannered Alfred’s stern tone, they quieted and Arthur resumed his recitation.

“Actually, if it helps, think of it as a period of relaxation before your audience with the Queen,” he said. “We’ll try to be as impersonal as we can about it, but this is how it’s going to be.” He consulted Lucius’ papers. “You will be groomed and a costume chosen for you—unless the Queen has specified something she wants to see you in, of course—and dressed. The Harem Overseer will arrive at a quarter of nine and will take you to the Queen’s quarters. When she is—ah—through with you, the Overseer will return you to the harem.”

He looked up. “I know it will be difficult, but it would be a very good idea if you could try to think of positive things about this whole experience. Unless you want to find yourself undergoing the Cruciatus Curse or at the wrong end of a Killing Curse, you would do well to obey the rules and do what you have to do. I would never suggest you learn to like being a slave, but if you accept it as merely something you must endure for the time being, you might find it easier. And if you can’t, for the benefit of all of your fellow slaves who also are under orders from the Queen, with no choice about the matter, for heaven’s sake just keep it to yourselves.

“Now—it’s getting a bit late. You’ve got a lot to think about, and tomorrow we begin the chore rotation. We will wake you at eight tomorrow morning—not terribly early, not as early as when you were in school, so let’s have no grumbling. Off to bed with you. Did everyone drink his tooth-care potion at dinner?” All answered in the affirmative. “Good. Brushing teeth is one less thing we need to think about, then. Good night, boys. Sleep well.”
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Bella's Harem