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Harry Potter and the Serving of Justice	By : MikiNDaxxi Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 16659 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We own no part of Harry Potter or his magical world and make absolutely no money by wasting our time writing this sludge. We did not create these characters; we just abuse them ad gratis. Our humble apologies to the disclaimer police.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: The characters of Harry Potter and all the elements of the Harry Potter universe belong exclusively to JK Rowling. We just borrow the characters for our own twisted purposes. We make no money from this.

Warnings: Dom!Hermione, Slave everyone else… ‘cept Snape, Dumble-bashing, Ron-bashing, character death, character resurrection, author bashing, language, slash, scenes of a sexual nature, crazy random crossovers, FW?WFW? (Fourth wall? What Fourth Wall?) Also, Snape never died. Deal with it.

“You ever make things happen, Harry? Anything that you couldn’t explain?”

“Well, old men tend to follow me a lot…it’s like I have this power over them.”

Harry Potter and the Serving of Justice, or:

Hermione Makes a Porno

The Order has won. Voldemort is dead. Former deatheaters and their children are being sentenced to re-education at the hands of the victors. Hermione is in charge of the re-education of Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini…in addition to being in charge of most of the wizarding world. Justice, in general, is being served.

Draco glanced at the clock mounted upon the stone wall of his shared room.

‘Three minutes,’ he thought to himself.

He sat on the edge of his rather narrow bed, nervously drumming his fingers on his jiggling leg.

He glanced at Blaise who was currently pacing back and forth. His eyes met Blaise’s for a moment. They each looked, uncomfortably, away, color scorching up Draco’s neck.

He resumed his drumming.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed and both boys jumped, freezing their anxious activities. The sound of high heels clicking against the cold, stone floor grew steadily louder as the person approached the room. A less distinct, shuffling step could also be heard.

Again, Draco looked to the clock.

‘Right on time,’ he thought, his eyes travelled over Blaise, and he quelled his sudden, curious desire to smirk.

‘This is not a smirking situation,’ he reprimanded himself, sneaking a look a Blaise, as if afraid that the dark-skinned, handsome boy might secretly be an accomplished legimens.

Blaise looked over at Draco. The footsteps had come to a halt. The door creaked open to reveal a cloaked woman and a man, several paces behind her, whose face was obscured by shadow. Although the woman’s face was also hidden, previous experience and bits of frizzy brown hair escaping the confines of the hood left Draco with no question as to the identity of the cloaked female.

“Well, Granger,” he drawled in a voice displaying more confidence than he truly felt, “I see you decided that we were too much to handle by yourself. Last time too much for you? You might want to check yourself. Your inferiority is showing.”

He paused.

“Oh, my mistake. That’s your hair.”

He forced a laugh.

“Who’s your friend?” He gestured to the figure behind her.

Blaise remained silent, shifting his weight nervously.

Hermione drew back her hood, looking directly at Draco, her lips quirking into a smirk worthy of any Slytherin. Without looking back or moving her eyes from Draco’s, she spoke to the person behind her.

“Why don’t you make yourself known?”

The figure hesitated and stepped into the light, revealing an uncomfortable looking Harry Potter. He glanced at Hermione, then at Draco and Blaise. Harry opened his mouth as if to speak but then, seemingly, thought better of it and shifted his gaze back to Hermione.

The two stepped into the room. Hermione closed the door, muttering a locking charm under her breath. Draco did his best to glare and appear unconcerned at his venerably wandless position. Blaise merely looked frightened.

“Well,” said Hermione brightly, “you were a bit resistant to following my instructions last time, so I thought I’d bring…reinforcements.”

Draco glanced at Harry.

‘Bollocks, she doesn’t need reinforcements,’ he grudgingly admitted to himself. The witch was an artist with her wand, although her resistance to using Unforgivable Curses on himself and Blaise left him confused. If she wanted him to follow instructions, why didn’t she just make him?

As if reading his mind, Hermione cheerfully continued, “I’m sure if I were a deatheater, it would be much easier to simply use the Imperious Curse to get you to do what I want. However, that is part of why I am here. We of the Order do not resort to the Dark Arts to get others to follow,” she smirked again, “we have…other methods.”

She removed her cloak, leaving Draco, Blaise, and Harry staring in shock. Hermione Granger stood before them wearing a tight, black-leather dominatrix outfit, black stockings crisscrossing their way out of her knee-high boots and up her toned legs.

“Hermione! What do you…” Harry stopped short as Hermione proceeded to transfigure her wand into a matching leather riding crop.

Draco and Blaise merely stood agape, their eyes round as saucers in shock.

“Now,” spoke Hermione softly, “where were we? Oh, yes! Draco, you were resisting my education tactics.” There was that smirk again. “Not today. Draco, kiss Blaise,” she commanded sweetly.

“Fuck you, mudblood!” spat Draco.

Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously, and she tightened her grip on her transfigured wand.

“What have we told you about that word?” she asked. “It is no longer a part of your vile vocabulary! Harry! Punish him!”

“Hermione,” started Harry as he raised his hands in protest, “WHY THE HELL AM I EVEN HERE? You never said you were using this kind of tactic with their re-education!”

Hermione sighed and gave him a pitying look.

“Oh Harry, hun, I’m helping you out…of the closet.”

“W-w-hat?” spluttered Harry. “The closet? I, er, you know that my aunt and uncle stopped making me stay in my cupboard years ago…”

“Harry, how long have we known each other? Do you really think I wouldn’t know? Harry, you’re gay. I think it’s about time you came to terms with it.”

“What about Ginny?” protested Harry, “she’s a girl and, um, stuff.”

“Why do you think you like Ginny so much? She’s flat as a boy, smells of quidditch, and looks like her brothers.”

Harry stared at her in shock.

“Now,” she said, looking at Draco, “Malfoy, you have been a very,” she beat the riding crop into her hand, “bad,” she narrowed her eyes, “boy. Harry, PUNISH HIM!”

Harry started forward but stopped himself, unable to do anything but stare at Hermione in wonder and amazement.

‘Gay,’ he thought, ‘am I gay?’

Hermione gave a loud sigh of exasperation at Harry’s failure.

“I’ll do it,” drawled Severus Snape as he stepped out, suddenly, from behind a stone pillar.

“AAAHHHHHH!!” screamed Harry, Draco, and Blaise in unison, Harry jumping several feet into the air as he was startled out of his internal dilemma of sexual ambiguity. The boys looked at each other.

“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU COME FROM?” demanded Blaise.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” said Snape as he rolled his eyes, “I was holding the camera.” He held up the magical camcorder for emphasis.

Hermione strode purposefully over to Snape, wrapped one leather-booted leg around him and licked his face.

The boys stood frozen in shock, their jaws practically grazing the floor as they struggled to recover from this visual and mental whiplashing. Harry looked as though his brain might never properly function again.

“Now!” barked Hermione, pointing, her leg still wrapped firmly around Snape’s waist, “Resume! I want this porno to be my crowning glory of smut!

“PORNO??” balked the boys, brains still writhing in shock.

“Of course. Brilliant, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t pay major bucks to see the heroes and villains of Hogwarts fuck each other’s brains out?” Hermione confirmed. “I see nothing wrong with turning a bit of a profit while improving the world. Then we can finally afford paint the classrooms of Hogwarts the various shades of pink I’ve always envisioned.”

“Longbottom!” called Snape, interrupting her digression.

The face of Neville Longbottom came peering around the side of the pillar from behind which Snape had seemingly materialized, looks of anticipation and dread fighting for domination across his face.

“Longbottom, you are to be the lube boy and fluffer for this piece of pornographic cinema,” announced Snape.

“But,” started Neville with a crestfallen look, “I wanted to be the costume designer.”

Snape gave a sigh of disdain that he reserved especially for Neville. “Longbottom,” he snarled, “there will be no clothing in this porno. Everyone will soon be taking off their clothing.”

Snape’s cloak billowed as, with a sweep of his hand, the boys’ vestments vanished, and a chill came over the room. Harry tried to cover himself in embarrassment, while Draco simply looked down at himself in approval and puffed out his chest.

But Neville was not so easily discouraged. “Or make-up artist,” he piped.

“Too bad,” replied Snape. “Now, fluff! Potter looks like a windsock on holiday!”

Neville gave a sigh of disappointment, scuttled over to Harry, and began to fluff. Harry blushed.

                “I don’t know how I feel about this,” Harry stammered.

                “I do,” said Draco, suddenly. “Longbottom, fluff me. If I’m going to be on film, I better look my sexiest.”

                “No,” exclaimed Hermione, suddenly. “No fluff for Malfoy. He likes it.”

A pouty look crossed Draco’s face and he looked concernedly to his nether region. ‘Have to do it myself,’ he thought resignedly.

                “Can I get a fluff?” asked Blaise, unexpectedly.

Hermione swept her gaze up and down Blaise’s well-formed body, resting a thoughtful finger on her check.

“Yes,” she conceded with a smile, “you can. Neville, keep fluffing Harry. I want to give Blaise a more…personal touch.”

Blaise’s color darkened, but he made no protestations.

                “I’ll pay a lemon drop to watch this,” said an unexpectedly familiar voice. The group stopped abruptly, everyone spinning about. There, by the supposedly locked door, stood the supposedly late-Albus Dumbledore.



“WHY WON’T YOU STAY DEAD?” screeched Hermione, coming at him, nails raking.

Dumbledore recoiled, covering his face. Snape held her back.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling creepily. The boys and Snape gave a knowing shudder.

                “Didn’t you think that my familiar taking the form of a phoenix had any significance at all?” Dumbledore asked in disbelief.

Everybody turned at once to stare accusingly at JK Rowling who was sitting in the darkened corner, counting her money. JK looked up, unconcerned.

                “What?” she asked. “I made him gay, didn’t I?”



Meanwhile…~~back on the ranch~~ in a meadow somewhere…you know, near the hovel in which the Weasleys live.

Ron Weasley was bored as he walked through the field that he and his siblings often used to practice quidditch. He was home alone, and there was nobody to listen to his whining. This upset Ron. He had a lot to vent.

His stupid brother, Fred, had to go and die. Now, nobody would pay attention to him. It was always ‘How’s George feeling?’ or, ‘How is George coping?’ What about him? What about Ronald Billius Weasley?   He was poor, damn it! Did anybody ask how he was coping with THAT? Of course not.

Just then, something caught his eye. It was a colorful, fluttering butterfly. Ron gave a giggle and gleefully followed the whimsical insect…off a cliff. He gave a scream which was cut abruptly short.

There was a moment of absolute and utter silence. Then, a resounding voice echoed from the cliff.

                “WE FIND YOUR SACRIFICE ACCEPTABLE,” proclaimed the Cliff Gods and promptly spit back Fred.

Fred looked about, slightly dazed.

An overwhelming, “SQUEEEEEEEEE,” was audible as the collective Weasley twin fangirl society rejoiced.



“Huh,” said Fred, nonplussed, and wandered off to find his twin.

JK Rowling came running, winded, onto the field and over to the cliff.

                “Hello,” appealed JK to the Cliff Gods, “um, what about respect for CANON??”

She waited, listening for their answer. They remained silent.

However, a slight din could be heard, growing alarmingly louder and closer. JK’s eyes dilated in fear as a huge mob of Weasley twin fangirls ran screechingly closer. She braced herself for impact.

Instead of the shower of pointy rocks and sharp, glittery finger nails she was expecting, in a surprisingly gracious move, the fangirls simply glommed her, carrying her off to the Ministry of Magic for her long overdue trial.

************************************************************************************************ Wanna see what happens to JK and how Draco and Blaise's re-education is going? Give us some love and we'll give you some back...comment and we'll post the next chapter...well, we might do that anyway...maybe. Also, don't like how we treat Ron? Tell us how much you hate it. Just remember, for every flame, we kill Ron again. Today's Total Ron Death Count: 1
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Harry Potter and the Serving of Justice