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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Warning: This chapter contains SLASH. If you don’t like reading SLASH, you know where your “Back” button is—please exit now! Reviews that are negative purely due to the reviewer not liking the SLASH content of this chapter will be deleted.

8: The First Summons

The second day with everyone in the harem went fairly smoothly. The boys looked over the chore rotation and were civil enough about setting to and doing their cleaning and tidying chores cheerfully. “How long d’you think that’ll last?” Marshall asked Edwin, who just grinned and shrugged and went back to his geography text.

That day the eunuchs spent more time reading than anything else. Between spending time in the pool, doing chores, looking over the available selection of books, and playing chess—and just talking and getting caught up with each other now that the war was no longer the central focus of conversation—the boys managed to passed the day among themselves agreeably and quickly.

That night before bed, Arthur gathered everyone together in the living area. “I just want to say I’m very proud of all of you,” he said finally. “And you’re not to worry about tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep tonight, and we’ll let tomorrow take care of itself.” He repeated the motto that let him sleep at night. “Off to bed, now.”

None of the eunuchs particularly felt like staying up and talking that night. If the truth be known, it wasn’t just the slaves who were nervous about the imminent summons. But before they went to their cubicles for the night, Arthur said, “I think just quickly, whilst the boys aren’t around, we should decide what we’re going to do about tomorrow—I mean who will do what, as far as preparing the boy who is summoned. How do you want to decide it?”

They mulled this over for a few minutes, then Alfred said, “I think we should just set up a schedule. There are three jobs, basically—enema, bathing, and dressing. Whoever is left over will work a job at the next summons and one of the others will drop out, helping wherever necessary. Sort of a rotation thing. Does that sound reasonable?” They all agreed that it did.

Marshall added, “And don’t worry—when it comes to one of your boys or Edwin’s, we’ll swap with you if you’re on enema or bath duty that day, if you like.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Alfred said. “I know any of us would feel rather awkward about servicing his own son or—or daughter—that way. I know I....” He trailed off, tears perilously close to the surface, and Arthur put an arm around him.

“All right, then. It’s decided. Let’s get a good sleep tonight. We want tomorrow to go smoothly.” To Alfred, as Edwin and Marshall went to their cubicles, Arthur said kindly, “Take heart, Alfred. It’s likely the Queen will feel Daphne’s served her purpose and has sent her home.”

Alfred looked up, tears streaming down his face, pathetically eager to hear anything hopeful. “Do you really think so? I wouldn’t put it past her to have Daphne servicing the castle slaves, or—or—being the treat at a Dark revel, or something! Gods, Arthur, when I saw her there—when she—” His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Arthur steered him back to his cubicle and helped him into bed, covering him as tenderly as he would a sleeping child. “Shh, there, it’ll be all right,” he said soothingly. He took Alfred’s hand and patted it gently, waiting in sympathetic misery as Alfred wept in anger and sorrow for his daughter. Eventually his sobs subsided into gasping, shaky breaths, and then his hand relaxed; he had fallen asleep. Arthur laid Alfred’s hand beside him on the bed and pulled up the blankets.

At last, satisfied that Alfred was well on the way to his dreams—and hoping they would not prove to be nightmares—Arthur went back to his own cubicle, wound his clock and set it for seven-thirty, and wearily climbed into bed. He thought, as he always did first thing in the morning and last thing at night, of Molly and Ginny, and hoped they were managing all right without him. In the absence of any contact with the outside world, it was impossible to know how anyone was doing out there.

As he drifted off to sleep, his last conscious thought was, Thank all the gods there are that I’m not the one Bella will be summoning tomorrow.

When the alarm went off the next morning, he slapped it off almost as soon as it began to ring. He hadn’t slept well the night before and had lain awake for most of the time since about four. He’d finally fallen into a light doze at about seven, so having the alarm go off a scant half-hour later made him feel cheated and grumpy.

He woke the other eunuchs and the four of them stumbled groggily out to the pool for a quick wash before they woke the boys. As they’d noticed happening every so often, the water had returned to its original pristine state, making it very inviting to ease themselves down into it. Fresh garments and clean towels awaited them on the rim of the pool; the house-elves had apparently put them out while everyone slept.

The eunuchs didn’t linger, as they wanted to get the boys onto a regular schedule and stick to it as much as possible. All four of them agreed that it would help to maintain discipline if there was some sort of structure to their days. When they got out of the pool a little before eight they felt thoroughly refreshed—even Arthur and Marshall, who had had the least sleep.

“The big day at last,” Marshall said as they toweled off and dressed. “I think I’m as curious as the boys to see who she picks first.”

Arthur said nothing; he had a feeling he knew who Bella’s first selection would be, but he felt it would be better not to say anything, just in case it wasn’t Harry. After all, it wasn’t really a popularity contest; presumably there had been something about each of the boys that appealed to Bella, or she would have consigned them all to duty as castle slaves. But he’d seen the look on her face when Harry entered the Great Hall, and her speculation when he hadn’t come during the testing, as Fred and Ron had. Arthur suspected that Bella saw Harry as a potential conquest—as well as desiring him for his unarguably attractive physical assets.

“Well, let’s go wake them,” he said briskly. “I don’t know just when Lucius will arrive, and it would be best if we’re ready when he gets here.”

They walked back to the sleeping quarters. “Rise and shine, boys,” Arthur called. The eunuchs walked up and down the aisle between the rows of pallets, making certain everyone was awake. “Breakfast will be ready soon. Please tidy your pallets and go out to the living area.”

Alfred and Marshall stayed behind to supervise the tidying-up—to make certain it got done, essentially—and Arthur and Edwin went out to see that all was in readiness for breakfast to arrive. By eight fifteen everyone was seated at the long table, which looked remarkably like one of the old House tables from the Great Hall, only smaller. Arthur considered it something of an accomplishment that they were ready so soon, seeing as there were only two toilets to serve twenty boys. How much worse, he thought, if they were twenty girls!

When they were all seated everyone looked expectantly at the table, but no food appeared. Ron, on Arthur’s left, thought for a minute a and then whispered something to Arthur, who stood and somewhat sheepishly gave a wave of his hand over the table, as Dumbledore had been wont to do at the beginning of meals. At once the table was covered with bowls of porridge, platters of scrambled eggs, kippers, tomatoes, bacon and sausage, and toast, and pitchers of pumpkin juice. At least it appeared Bella didn't intend to starve them, as Ron had feared.

Marshall picked up a pitcher, sniffed at the contents, and looked at it sourly. “Gods,” he grumped. “Never thought I’d be reduced to drinking this stuff at my age. Pah!” But as it was the only beverage on offer, he filled his goblet and drank it with a grimace.

“A nice cup of tea would be welcome,” Edwin agreed. “Ah well. I suppose this is healthier, after all.”

No one else seemed to have any complaints. The food, plentiful as it was, disappeared rapidly among the twenty-four healthy appetites at the table. Alfred, on Arthur’s other side, looked around at the boys as they enjoyed their meal and murmured, “It occurs to me that lounging about all day, not being able to get out for any kind of real exercise, combined with eating three hearty meals a day, might—er—be rather disastrous in the long run. Perhaps we’d better give some thought to some sort of exercise regimen, as well as the classroom stuff.”

Arthur followed his gaze around the table and immediately saw the sense of it. “You’re right,” he said. “Maybe we can have them come up with some ideas themselves—some kind of competition, perhaps. There are no Houses any longer and thus no House rivalries, but individual ones would be just as compelling, I should think. I’ll mention it.”

When it looked like people were done eating, Arthur stood up. “I have a few announcements,” he said. He waited for the chatter to die down, and then went on. “Last night we were looking over the contents of the bookshelves in the corner there.” He indicated them with a nod. “A lot of the contents are schoolbooks—” groans from the boys— “Muggle schoolbooks, to be precise.

“Now, of course we are not Muggles, but we all inhabit the same world, and it wouldn’t do you any harm to learn a little about it. So Edwin is going to teach a course in geography. Alfred has a fondness for mathematics, so he has offered to steer you through the finer points of algebra and geometry.” There was a wave of protests and a number of dismayed faces. “Yes, you’re probably wondering why you should bother when you don’t need geometry for harem life. Well, you just never know, do you, how long you’ll be in a harem? And knowledge is power, in any case—so the more you learn, the better off you’ll be to deal with whatever comes your way in life.

“Marshall is our resident history buff, so he will take you through the timeline of British Muggle history. And I will endeavor to teach you to appreciate some good old English literature.” At the renewed groans and bored looks this roused, he chuckled. “Fine, then—think of it as storytime. You’d be amazed how interesting some of the classics can be when you’re bored out of your skull and there’s nothing else to do.

“Now, we’ll have an hour of class each day to begin with, rotating among the subjects. I think directly after breakfast would be best. You won’t be forced to attend; however, it will be greatly appreciated if those who prefer not to participate can find something quiet to occupy them so those who wish to learn may do so.”

He paused. “Now, as you know, soon we will receive a visit from Lucius Malfoy, the—er—Harem Overseer. He will bring a summons from the Queen for one of you.” He made a conscious effort to not let his eyes drift toward Harry. “As I mentioned yesterday, the chosen boy will retire after lunch for a good rest, to enable him to remain alert and focused during his audience with the Queen. Possibly some exercise would be in order before lunch to make it easier to rest later.”

Justin raised his hand, and Arthur nodded at him. “There’s a ripping game the Muggles play in swimming pools,” he said enthusiastically. “It’s called water polo.”

“Polo?” Ron asked. “They play that on horseback, don’t they? You’re barmy. They’re not going to let us have horses in here.”

“It’s not that kind of polo,” Justin explained. “It’s a bit like volleyball—” But this, too, was a Muggle pastime. He seemed stumped. “Well, it’s a little difficult to explain. I could show you, but—well, the pool’s really too shallow for water polo. It should be deep enough that we can’t touch the bottom. Still, maybe we could adapt the game a bit.”

Arthur nodded. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Justin. I’ll leave it to you to demonstrate after the morning class, then, shall I?” Justin beamed and nodded.

“Very well,” Arthur said. “I suggest we begin our geography lesson. Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable—anyone who cares to join in—over by the bookshelves?” He gestured to Edwin and said, “They’re all yours.”

As it happened, all twenty boys decided to sit in on the geography class. Perhaps they realized how boring life was likely to be unless some effort was invested in adding interest to their days. Or perhaps it was just that when you are allowed to choose whether to attend classes or not, with the only alternative being to sit quietly for an hour, during which you can hear every word of the class as well as if you were participating—it isn’t all that difficult a choice to make. Edwin looked absolutely thrilled as he took his place before them, next to a globe on a tall stand that he’d found off in the corner.

“Well,” he said, all but rubbing his hands together with glee, “let’s start off with a brief review. How many of you had a bit of geography in primary school, before you began your wizarding education?”

Marshall grinned as every hand shot up. “I think this is going to go well,” he said.

“And what might ‘this’ be?” inquired a silky voice from behind them. Startled, the eunuchs turned around to see Lucius watching the proceedings with a doubtful air. “Not teaching anything we—er—shouldn’t, are we, gentlemen?”

Arthur hastened to reassure him. “Of course not. There are a number of Muggle schoolbooks in the shelves there, and we decided to pass some time with a bit of learning—geography, maths, Muggle history, and literature. Nothing objectionable about that, I trust?”

Lucius eyed him narrowly for a moment. “I suppose not—as long as you don’t stray into any forbidden areas. Which, just so we’re clear, means any type of magical instruction or discussion whatsoever.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Really, Lucius, we’re not idiots,” he hissed, quietly so his voice wouldn’t carry. Edwin cast them a curious glance but continued to lecture; so far the boys hadn’t noticed Lucius’ presence, and Edwin hoped to get all the way through the session before their attention strayed to the burning question of who was to be summoned—as it would do immediately if they saw Lucius.

Lucius jerked his head toward the reception room and Arthur, Marshall, and Alfred followed him out to the marble hall, which was filled with light from the morning sun.

“As you are aware, I bring a summons for tonight, Lucius began. “I leave it to you to decide when to break the news; I require only that the Queen’s choice be well rested and prepared as you have been instructed, and be here ready to accompany me to the Queen’s chambers at precisly eight forty-five.” He paused, drawing out the suspense—whether deliberately or not was uncertain, but Arthur had his suspicions.

“Tonight the Queen summons...Harry Potter.”

Lucius watched to see their reactions, but if he had expected exclamations of surprise, he was disappointed. It appeared Arthur was not the only one who had observed Bella’s interest in Harry.

“You knew,” Lucius said accusingly.

“No,” Arthur said reasonably. “How could we? But it was obvious that her interest was...piqued by Harry.” The others nodded.

“Just so,” Lucius confirmed. “I will be back at eight forty-five,” he repeated. “He’s to wear the dark-green outfit.” He smiled thinly. “It matches his eyes. The Queen likes that kind of thing.” With a flamboyant whirl of his black and silver Death Eater robes, he took his leave.

The eunuchs looked at each other, biting their lips in an effort to not laugh. Finally Marshall could stand it no longer.

“‘Matches his eyes’, forsooth!” he chuckled, trying to be quiet. His shoulders shook. “Must we examine the color of each boy’s eyes before we dress him for the Queen?”

Arthur tried to look serious. “I believe Lucius will be specifying the slaves’ outfits,” he said.

“Yes, well,” Alfred said wryly, “that’s appropriate as he’s always been something of a clothes-horse.” At the questioning looks the other two gave him, he said, “When we were younger he refused to wear black. He had one of the most colorful wardrobes I’ve ever seen.”

“Lucius Malfoy?” Marshall scoffed.

“Aye. He always said it would be time enough to wear black when he became a widower.”

Marshall gave a silent whistle. “Wonder if Narcissa knows that?”

“No, no,” Alfred said hastily. “That was only talk. I must say, before Narcissa came along he used to go out with some right scatty birds, and he always said, ‘If I should ever have to marry one of them, let’s hope I’m widowed early enough that I can still enjoy some of my life afterward.’ But when he met Narcissa, well...it was a different story. Yes,” he mused, “if Lucius Malfoy is capable of feeling love at all in that heart of his—which I take leave to doubt—it’s for Narcissa.”

“Well,” Marshall said, “I see he wears plenty of black now. As a Death Eater.”

“Oh, come on, you two,” Arthur broke in, tired of the subject of Lucius’ wardrobe. “We have some news to break to the boys once Edwin’s class is over.” Unable to help the devilish impulse, he gave a deliberate flamboyant swoosh of his garment—ineffectual as it was, with so little to work with—as he turned to go back into the main room, and he could hear Alfred and Marshall snickering as they made themselves comfortable on cushions to wait out the geography lecture.

Edwin finished up with, “And now, if you’ll turn your attention to the Chief Eunuch, I believe he has some news you’ve all been waiting for.” Every head whipped round and suddenly Arthur was the cynosure of twenty-three pairs of eyes.

“Ahem—yes. Well. The, er, the Harem Overseer paid us a visit a little while ago, and...well, I won’t drag this out. Harry, you’re to attend an ‘audience’ with the Queen tonight.”

Now everyone turned to stare at Harry. He turned red at being the center of attention, then paled almost comically at the thought of what the night would bring. Some of the others looked a bit envious, but mostly they, too, seemed a bit anxious. After all, the next night—or the next, or the one after that—could bring a smmons for any one of them.

Meanwhile, Harry’s inner self was waging a battle between exultation and repulsion. It was Merlin, I’m actually going to get laid! versus Sex with the psycho who murdered Sirius? No way! and She’s got a ton of experience—I bet she knows how to do just about everything! against What if she just wants to get me alone so she can torture me—or even kill me?

His mind buzzed and chattered so incessantly that it was some time before he noticed the general noise and confusion going on around him. When he finally tuned back in, he saw that there was some kind of game underway in the pool. A variation of Justin’s water polo, he assumed. It looked like a combination of swimming, volleyball, slam-dancing, and tag; he couldn’t tell what the objective was—or even if there was one—but everyone seemed to having a good time.

Marshall sat on the edge of the pool, naked, calling out comments and encouragement at intervals. Edwin had found a referee’s whistle somewhere and blew it every once in a while; Harry wasn’t sure if it was to indicate a goal or a foul of some kind, but it added to the general din.

Arthur and Alfred stood quietly talking nearby. When Arthur saw that Harry had returned to the here and now, he walked over. “All right, Harry?” he inquired, his voice concerned.

Harry swallowed and nodded. “I just—I just wish I knew what to expect,” he said miserably. He looked at Arthur. “I mean, really—what does she want with me? Why me? I’d think I would be the last person she’d want to spend any time with.”

Arthur wished he could say something to put Harry’s mind at ease. Unfortunately, “You’re a virgin and she can’t wait to turn the powerful Harry Potter into her own private fuck-toy” or “Don’t worry, she probably just wants to torture you for a while for the fun of it” wouldn’t exactly be encouraging, even if they might be true.

Instead he put a kindly hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, “I’m not really sure what to tell you, Harry. It’s not as if I’m your father, to give you advice about women—and she’s hardly a normal woman, in any case.” He suddenly realized how that sounded and hastily amended, “That is—er—these aren’t normal circumstances, is what I mean. It seems safe to say that after tonight you’ll no longer be—well, a virgin. Beyond that, I don’t know what you should expect. I think the best thing is to just go with the moment, Harry. After all, it’s largely a matter of self-preservation for you—for all you boys—isn’t it? Do what she says, give her what she wants so she’ll send you back unharmed. I’m sorry to say you’re something of a guinea-pig; until she’s had the first few of you, none of us knows what to expect. Just do the best you can, Harry. It’s all you can do.”

He felt he’d been of no help whatsoever, but rack his brain as he might, he could think of nothing to say that would be of any earthly use to Harry. Arthur gestured at the pool. “Do you, er, want to join in? I’m not exactly sure what they’re doing, but—ah—it looks like good fun, doesn’t it?” He smiled tentatively, but Harry shook his head.

“I just want to think for a while, okay?” he said.

“Of course—of course. Tell you what, Harry. We’ll have lunch pretty soon, and then you can go and have a bit of a lie-down until dinner. After that I’ll—we’ll—ah, someone will give you—hem—the required enema and help you bathe, then you’ll be dressed for your visit with the Queen.” Gods, he thought, that makes it sound like a damned soiree or something!

“Sure. Thanks,” Harry said. He wandered over and sat down on one of the window-seats. Ron saw him go and looked over at Arthur questioningly, but Arthur gave a little shake of his head, so Ron stayed where he was and just watched Harry with a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead.

Lunch came and went. It was rather a silent meal, surprisingly enough. The boys semeed to have worn themselves out playing Justin’s game. More importantly, no one asked Harry a lot of stupid questions about the coming night, or what he was thinking, or how he felt about it all. After lunch he slipped away quietly to the sleeping quarters for the promised nap.

The other boys and the eunuchs passed the afternoon hours pleasantly enough. Ron taught Fred, who had never bothered to learn as he’d been so wrapped up in planning the joke-shop business with George and developing new products to spring on an admiring public, how to play wizard’s chess, and found there was at least one thing at which he excelled over his older brother.

Just before dinner Arthur went to wake Harry and found him lying on his pallet, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t sleep?” he asked sympathetically.

Harry had lain there most of the afternoon, lost in his own thoughts and listening to the low murmur of the boys talking in the next room. He wasn’t especially tired; in fact, he felt strangely energized all of a sudden. He had gotten over his first wave of apprehension about the nights’s events and was restless, eager to get on with it and know the worst.

But first there was dinner to be gotten through. Harry was quite well aware that he was the object of many a furtive glance and more than one whispered remark, but eventually the other boys became engrossed in devising new rules for the water game they had invented that afternoon, and Harry was relieved to see their focus shift away from him. After dinner there was more swimming and general lounging about. There was some desultory talk of Quidditch, but in their present circumstances there was more interest in the pool game being developed than a sport they were unable to play, possibly ever again.

Marshall came up to Harry, who was standing nervously about as he waited for someone to tell him what to do. “Time to get started,” Marshall said. Harry was expecting it, but suddenly he experienced a return of his earlier nervousness. He glanced at the other eunuchs, who remained seated at the table, and Arthur gave him a little nod of encouragement.

Marshall saw where Harry was looking and murmured, “We thought you might be more comfortable—or perhaps less uncomfortable—if someone other than Arthur, less like family, were to help you get ready. Let’s go right along over here,” he said, and he led Harry toward the curtained-off alcoves next to the toilet room. Marshall pulled aside one of the curtains and indicated that Harry should precede him inside. Harry entered a little hesitantly, and Marshall pulled the curtain back across the opening. Harry noticed it had suddenly become very quiet out in the main room.

Then he heard Arthur say, “Well—who’d like to hear a story?” There was a chorus of good-natured laughs and groans, but in short order Arthur had gathered everyone in the far corner by the bookshelves once again and was introducing them to the affairs of one Miss Eliza Bennet and the haughty Mr Darcy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

“Ah! That ought to keep them busy for a while,” Marshall chuckled. “He’s doing it for you, you know—making a bit of noise to cover up what’s going on in here; give you a bit of privacy, eh?” He turned from the little counter where he’d been mixing some sort of preparation in a shiny brass bucket and faced Harry. “Just hop up on the table there, Harry, there’s a lad. Over onto your side, now—that’s right.”

Harry, his back to Marshall, heard a clank and the sound of water being poured, then what sounded like wheels rolling. He glanced back and saw a metal IV stand, like they had in Muggle hospitals and even St. Mungo’s, with hooks on it to hang things from. He turned his head away again, not sure he wanted to see whatever was going to be hanging from it.

Marshall laid a hand on Harry’s hip and Harry jumped. Marshall gave him a little caressing sort of pat on his nether cheek and said, “Now, now, it’s only me. Relax, Harry, it will make this easier. Ready?”

Harry wasn’t perfectly sure what it was that needed to be made easier, although he was quite sure he was not ready for it—whatever “it” was. He braced himself, and Marshall’s hand spread Harry’s ass cheeks apart. Startled, Harry tensed up, clenching them tightly.

Marshall began to stroke him again. Harry vaguely thought the man must intend this to be soothing, as his touch was accompanied by a soft “Shhh, there there, now,” and he was trying to relax, he really was, but it was just so...weird.

Marshall spread Harry’s cheeks apart again and ran a finger down the exposed cleft, rubbing lightly across the puckered hole. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. It actually felt kind of good, although he had a hard time admitting it even to himself.

Just then— “Here we go, now,” Marshall said. “Relax; don’t tighten up on me, Harry.” Harry felt something cold and hard and most definitely not a finger pushing against his anus. He waited—Marshall exerted a little pressure—and then the tip of the nozzle was inside his body. Marshall continued to push it in very slowly, and Harry grimaced at the strange feeling. He was vaguely aware that Marshall was keeping up a steady flow of words as he worked, but whether the encouragement was intended for Harry, the nozzle, or Marshall himself, he wasn’t sure. The eunuch sounded rather breathless, as if he was in the clutches of some intense emotion.

Finally the nozzle stopped. Marshall took a shaky breath and said, “Th-there, I think that’s got it. Now, Harry, I’m going to release the clamp on this hose here, and the warm water will—er—start filling you up. All right? I won’t go too fast; don’t want you cramping up, do we?” There were small sounds of movement behind Harry. “You’re going to feel some pressure—well, actually quite a lot of pressure—in just a bit, Harry, but it’s very important that you don’t expel the water until we’re ready, do you understand? You must keep it in. Can you do that, Harry?”

Harry nodded. How hard can it be? he thought.

“Okay, here comes the water,” Marshall said. A second later Harry felt it, a warm push that slowly invaded his bowels, making them feel strangely heavy. “All right, Harry?” Marshall asked. That odd, breathless quality had returned to his voice. Harry nodded soundlessly, absorbed by the sensation of being filled and suddenly realizing what Marshall had meant by feeling pressure. It was not yet urgent, but Harry would have liked to get up right about then for a quick trip to the loo.

As the pressure increased, he began to feel more anxious. How long was this going to continue? Would he end up disgracing himself? He was very much afraid it could happen.

He must have made some sound of protest, because suddenly Marshall’s hands were on him again, rubbing and squeezing Harry’s ass with rhythmic motions. Harry, too caught up in the worry that he might explode at any moment if the water didn’t stop, only dimly registered the hands that rambled over his backside and the tops of his thighs. Even when one questing finger slid between his legs and rubbed his perineum, at least for the moment it was just one more thing adding to the intensity of the overall sensation, rather than anything he paid much attention to.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Marshall murmured. “You can take it. Yes, just a little more...easy, now...that’s right...so good—so good, Harry, such a good boy to take all of it, every last drop. Yesss....” Marshall sounded as if he was about to faint, but by now Harry was so desperate he wasn’t even hearing individual words, just a soothing sort of murmur in the background.

Finally Marshall said, “All right now, Harry, I’m going to remove the nozzle. You must not let go, Harry—it’s very important. Your sphincter will want to open immediately, but you must control it long enough to reach the loo. Fifteen feet, Harry—only fifteen feet away. You can make it that far. You must. Do you hear me, Harry?”

“Yes, yes!” Harry groaned. “Please—please, just—” He thrashed his head from side to side in an agonized plea.

“All right. Remember, keep it in! As soon as I remove the nozzle, you hop off the table and head for the loo. Ready, now—”

Suddenly the inner flesh of Harry’s anus was pulled outward as the nozzle was slowly pulled out. The sensation of the smooth, ribbed metal against his tender inner flesh was almost unbearable. Harry whimpered and then, with lightning speed, the nozzle was yanked past his sphincter muscle and it was out.

Harry was up in a flash and on his feet. When he whipped the curtain aside, the clatter of the rings made several heads turn across the room in the literary group, and their owners were treated to the comical sight of Harry darting out from behind the curtain with both hands clutched tightly to his bottom as he made a beeline for the toilets.

A few minutes passed; there was the innocuous sound of water running and equipment clattering from the alcove, where Marshall was cleaning up and putting things away, and quite a bit of heavy breathing and the occasional moan from the toilets. There was the sound of a toilet flushing a couple of times and eventually Harry reappeared, very red in the face after his exertions.

Perhaps you will find it hard to credit that not one joke was cracked at his expense, not one snicker escaped another boy’s lips. In fact they were all considerably struck by the suddenness with which the less pleasant side of this new reality—which was not just Harry’s but all of theirs—was brought home to them.

Marshall said, “Well—bath next!” He saw Edwin moving in their direction to handle the bathing and gave a little shake of his head; Edwin stopped in his tracks uncertainly and Marshall urged Harry toward the pool with a gentle hand on his back. When Harry looked a little apprehensive, Marshall said, “Now, now, nothing too traumatic about a bath, eh?” His blue eyes twinkled disconcertingly, reminding Harry for a moment of another pair of blue eyes surrounded by the same bushy silver eyebrows—but the juxtaposition of Albus Dumbledore with the events that had just transpired in the little room behind the curtain was so alien that Harry put the memory of Dumbledore firmly out of his mind.

He sat down on the edge of the pool and slipped into the water, reaching up for the soap. But Marshall beat him to it. “Ah-ah,” he said in a cheerful sing-song. “Remember, it’s my job to wash you. Just imagine you’re in a lovely spa, being waited on by a bath attendant.”

Harry had never been to a spa, and he certainly had never been bathed by an attendant—or by anyone since he was a very small child. But he submitted with good grace to the thorough washing Marshall gave him from head to toe, which apparently necessitated Marshall getting into the pool as well. First he had Harry hold onto the edge of the pool and float on his stomach, so Marshall could wash his back. When one soapy hand delved slickly into the cleft between Harry’s ass cheeks, Harry tensed a bit, but the hand moved on and he relaxed.

Then Marshall had him turn over and float on his back. He briskly soaped Harry from top to bottom. Then the hand snaked through the suds and found Harry’s balls; it began to slip and slide over them, cleansing them thoroughly but, in the process, arousing Harry—also very thoroughly. Harry tried to inch away, but Marshall prevented this by the simple expedient of firmly grasping Harry’s cock to keep him in place.

Harry looked up at Marshall, who was watching him with an intense look of lustful longing on his face that anyone could have seen who was looking. They stared at each other for a long moment, the water lapping comfortably against them and Marshall’s fist gently, almost absently gliding up and down on Harry’s cock. It felt so good that for a moment Harry forgot they were in a room full of people and gave himself up to the amazing sensation that was beginning to steal over him. This was so much different than wanking himself, so much better. His eyes fell shut and his breathing quickened; with his eyes closed, the hand was just a hand, not belonging to anyone in particular, and it knew just what he liked, oh yes it did. He started thrusting deliberately into the hand, intent on getting to—somewhere...wherever...he didn’t really care—faster, faster, oh yes, yes....

Suddenly Arthur’s raised voice penetrated his rather muzzy brain. “All right, boys,” he said rather sharply, “that’s it for tonight. We’ll take it up again at the same place tomorrow night, shall we?”

Marshall’s hand stopped abruptly, and Harry opened his eyes to see the eunuch staring back at him, looking almost as if he was in pain. With considerable effort, Marshall snapped out of it and briskly ran the washcloth over Harry’s shoulders and chest, swishing water around to rinse off the last of the soap. He said, “There now. Fit for a Queen, you are!” and helped Harry out of the pool. He picked up a towel and handed it to Harry, who seemed rather dazed by how suddenly bathtime had ended.

From across the room Andrew quipped, “Nice boner, Harry! Present for the Queen, is it?” There were several guffaws and a lot of giggling. Harry looked down and realized that he was indeed fully erect. With what little dignity he was able to muster, Harry turned his back and, with the towel bunched in front of him like a shield, he marched off to the wardrobe with his head held high and his face burning.

Arthur frowned. He would have to have a talk with Marshall. He’d been keeping an eye on the “bath”, and had noticed that Harry was starting to give in to the pleasure of the unexpected hand job Marshall was treating him to. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur clapped his book shut, jumped up, and put an abrupt end to storytime, intending of course that it should also bring a halt to the goings-on in the pool.

If Marshall couldn’t be trusted around the boys, Arthur thought uneasily, he would be of little use as a harem keeper. He could easily find himself sentenced to die for his “transgressions” in some cursed entertainment of Bella’s. Arthur liked Marshall very much, but he knew he had to make it clear that their job did not allow for wandering hands (or wandering anything else, for that matter, should that prove even remotely possible)—and he needed to find a way to get the message across before Marshall’s lack of control became a danger to himself and others.

Arthur saw Alfred nod to him from the door leading to the sleeping quarters, indicating that he would take care of dressing Harry. Ten minutes remained until Lucius was to arrive. Alfred disappeared into the sleeping quarters and made his way back to the wardrobe, where Harry was finishing the process of drying off. His head snapped round when Alfred entered, but he relaxed upon seeing who it was.

Alfred flipped through the vari-colored silks on the rack until he came to a vivid emerald green outfit. “This is the one she wants you to wear,” he told Harry. He laid the outfit on a shelf and put the hanger back. Harry picked up some of the green fabric to examine it. “Some sort of trousers, I guess?” Trousers they were, but upon closer examination, he gulped. There was a slit in the middle that ran all the way from front to back, rendering the trousers effectively crotchless. Wordlessly he glanced at Alfred, who shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Ah—well, that would explain this,” Alfred said, picking up the remaining item which seemed to be a harness of some sort made from the same silky green fabric. “I’m not quite sure—” he held it this way and that, then seemed to understand— “oh, right. I think this is how it goes.” Harry still couldn’t tell what it was for, but Alfred handed him the trousers. “Put these on first,” he said. “I believe this—” he held up the harness— “goes on afterward, to sort of hold your—your bits—up. On display, as it were.” He nodded at Harry’s outraged expression. “Just so. Sorry, lad. Ridiculous...but the Queen commands it. And we’ll obey her commands—” his voice dropped so it wouldn’t carry beyond the fabric-stuffed wardrobe— “at least for now, eh?” In a normal tone once more, he cautioned, “We’d best get a move on if you’re to be ready when Lucius arrives.”

Harry reluctantly dropped his towel and Alfred saw that his erection hadn’t abated any. It looked as if Harry must be rock-hard; his cock was a deep red from all the attention it had gotten that evening. Alfred eyed it doubtfully.

“Dear me,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “You look as if the slightest touch might set you off. Do try not to come all over the trousers if you can possibly avoid it, Harry. I should hate to have to start the bath process all over again this late in the game—and the Queen did specify you’re to wear this outfit, and we don’t want to...er...disappoint her. Now, step into this getup here—no, other foot—okay, left foot in here—right, now pull it up like this so it goes over your shoulders. Ah, no—must be opposite shoulders, it’s much too long otherwise. Right, that’s it. Hold on.” He bent down and glanced up at Harry. “Just going to adjust this a bit, don’t mind me.” Making his touch as brisk and impersonal as he could, he untangled the fabric of the harness where it was bunched up under Harry’s balls and made it lie flat, then stood up to get the full effect.

Harry was gorgeously attired in the loose emerald trousers; cris-crossed over his chest were bands of the same green silk that terminated in a harness supporting his balls and cock so that the latter jutted out prominently. Harry shifted uncomfortably and put a hand down to adjust the back of the trousers. “What’s wrong?” Alfred inquired, looking back there to see what the problem was.

“It’s—it’s the harness bit, it’s all up in my—my arse,” Harry said, red-faced. Again he went to fix the “problem”, but Alfred stopped him.

“I hate to break it to you, Harry, but it’s supposed to do that. I mean, think about it. There’s nowhere else for it to go, right?” He looked at Harry sympathetically. “If it helps any, I’m pretty sure you won’t be wearing it for long. And it doesn’t really show; the trousers sort of cover it up.”

Harry grunted. Apparently it didn’t help to know that.

Alfred retrieved the towel from the floor where Harry had dropped it and gave Harry’s hair a brisk rub to stop it dripping all over, regretting for the millionth time the loss of his wand, which he could have used to dry it instantly. He went after the unruly mop with a comb, but the results were doubtful at best. He tsk’d and Harry laughed. “I know. It’s always like that—not much use combing it.” Alfred gave it up as a bad job and put the comb back on the shelf.

“Well, we’ve done our level best,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you out to the reception room. Lucius will be here any minute.” He followed Harry back out through the sleeping quarters directly to the reception room, glad for the sake of what remained of Harry’s pride that he didn’t have to parade through the living area dressed like this. It was, in a way, worse than being fully naked, since the object of the harness was to deliberately put him on display. Also, it hadn’t escaped Alfred’s notice that although the bit of harness that was “all up in his arse,” as Harry put it, didn’t show when he was standing still, every time he extended a leg to take a step one caught a tantalizing glimpse of bright green straps disappearing into the cleft of a firm young ass. Oh well, Alfred thought. What he doesn’t know....

When they arrived in the reception room, Arthur was already there. Lucius was just entering from the outer corridor. He stopped and stared at Harry for a long moment, his gaze traveling over him from head to toe, lingering on the lush display of cock and balls nestled among green silk. Lucius’ nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Wordlessly he gestured for Harry to turn around for inspection. Harry did, coming to a halt when he faced Lucius once again.

Lucius cleared his throat. “Very good,” he said finally. “The Queen will be pleased. She is very much looking forward to...having you.” To Arthur he said, “There will be no need for you to wait. I expect he will be very late returning; I will see him safely back to the harem.”

He glanced at Harry again and said, “Come, boy.” Then he strode off rather abruptly, leaving Harry to trot behind him, flashes of ass cheek winking saucily from the gap in his trousers as he went.

Edwin whistled. “Did you see that?” he marveled. The other two looked at him oddly. “Malfoy,” Edwin clarified. When they still appeared clueless, he snorted. “Raging hard-on!” he exclaimed. “For Harry Potter, I’ll be bound. Ha! Imagine that.” And for a moment, they did. Still chuckling, Edwin went back into the living area.

Arthur motioned for Alfred to remain behind for a moment. “I take it you—er—noticed what was going on in the pool when Harry was having his bath?” he said softly.

Alfred nodded. “Yes. I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt—I thought it would just embarrass Harry to have everyone’s attention drawn to him. As if he hasn’t already had enough of that tonight. It was unfortunate that the others noticed his...state...when he got out, but I don’t think any of them connected it with Marshall—and I’m sure Lucius would have no reason to either, fortunately.”

“No,” Arthur said wryly. He shook his head in chagrin. “I never should have let Marshall handle the more personal grooming duties—I should have known it would be too much for him. He seems rather...highly sexed to begin with, he’s gay to boot, and then if you throw in the effects of that damnable potion—” Arthur’s suddenly twinkling eyes met Alfred’s. “Can you imagine how he must be feeling right now?”

The ghost of a smile played around the corners of Alfred’s mouth. “Probably has the worst case of blue-balls in Hogwarts history.” He sobered. “Still, you’re right. I think we need to keep a closer eye on him, find something else for him to do. I shouldn’t like to see her destroy the chap for something he can’t help, after all.”

Arthur agreed. “True.” His eyes shifted to the doorway through which Harry had disappeared. “Let’s hope the only one who is destroyed is the one who deserves that fate.” He looked meaningfully at Alfred, and they turned to go back inside and deal with their charges.
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Bella's Harem