Rather awful, rather rushed, and written far too late at night.
Ah well. Without further ado:


A Demon in the Sack


Minerva McGonagall, the aged Transfiguration professor, had many secrets.


For one thing, she was much more aged than anyone believed. Much more aged as in several thousand years more.


For you see, Minerva McGonagall was, in fact, a demon.


The whole stern, but irrefutably light-oriented professor image was merely a clever ruse. Minerva didn't even want to be a teacher. She wanted to rule the world.


Some parts of Minerva's plan for world domination were relatively simple: get Voldemort to kill Dumbledore and get Harry Potter to kill Voldemort.


The other parts of the plan was more complex: pervert and corrupt Harry Potter. Steal his soul if possible. Use him to help her control the entire wizarding world.


Alas, Minerva suspected the hardest part, the corruption of Harry Potter, would have to come first. After all, it would be so much easier to get Harry to kill people if he'd already lost his innocence in every possible way.


Minerva was a relatively low-level demon. She couldn't do it all on her own.


And so, here she was. She'd placed heavy sleeping charms on all of Harry's room mates. Then she gently shook Harry awake. When he awoke, opening his eyes and grabbing his glasses, she smiled at him and let her body morph into a much younger woman.


A woman who was horny in every sense.


A quick transfiguration turned Minerva's robes into sexy, barely existent lingerie. Harry's jaw had dropped halfway to Antarctica by this time. Minerva hoped that was a good thing.


Of course, judging by the bulge in Harry's pyjama bottoms, it probably was.


Minerva purred and crawled onto the bed. Then she realized something was wrong. Horribly, terribly, earth-shatteringly, catastrophically wrong.


But what? His room mates were sound asleep, she'd transformed to her demon form, she'd put on her sexiest lingerie, they were in bed... ah yes, the bed!


How silly of her. How could she have forgotten? She smiled and, with a wave of her hand, Harry's bed became a thick, firm slab of pudding.


Harry was about to question Minerva's odd choice of transfiguration, so she kissed him. That shut him up quickly, especially when she reached back to undo her bra.


Minerva had always been delighted by how easy it was to control people with sex. Show a man your tits, for example, and he'd do damn near anything for you. It was one of the things Minerva had always loved about living among the humans.


Harry reached up and started touching Minerva's breasts in all the wrong ways, and she winced at his inexperience. Ah well. Perhaps it was for the best. She did mean to pervert and corrupt him, after all, and you could hardly pervert someone if they already were a pervert. He would get better with practice.


She gently corrected his hands, then used her own hands to undo the buttons of his shirt. He almost pulled away, but Minerva quickly subdued him by kissing and sucking his neck.


Oh yes, Minerva thought, this would be fun.


Minerva was, as has been mentioned, a minor demon. She'd left hell at a young (for a demon) age to seek her fortune on Earth.


Hell had bored her terribly in the five hundred years she'd spent there. The décor was nice, and the music good, but there were no souls that hadn't already been stolen, no people who hadn't already been corrupted.


Earth was like a breath of fresh air. Humans, even the evil ones, seemed so innocent somehow. What was evil for a human was like Sesame Street for demons. These creatures called humans clearly needed corrupting, and Minerva was just the person to do it – she may not have been the most powerful demon, but she was powerful, and power corrupted. In this case, she would be using her power to corrupt other people.


For somewhat over three thousand years Minerva wandered the earth, stealing a soul here, a soul there. Not too much in any one place, but it added up.


As Harry moaned in ecstasy beneath her, Minerva thought fondly of those early days. Things had been so much simpler then. But she'd needed to move on to bigger and better things. Why steal one soul at a time when you could steal one thousand?


And so Minerva had disguised herself as a young, pretty, impressionable student and enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the first phase of a plot which would take a little over sixty years to complete.


- - -


Albus Dumbledore was in a frenzy of worry. The Demoniccorruptionometer on his desk, one of the many small, silver instruments he kept around the room, was going crazy.


Dumbledore threw a pinch of powder into the floo and stuck his head in. “Minerva!” He shouted, after calling the floo address to her quarters. “Minerva, there's a demon in the castle!”


No answer.


He tried again.


Still no answer.


Shit. He couldn't contact his deputy head, and of the other heads of house... well... Snape was spying on the Death Eaters, Sprout was a Hufflepuff, and Flitwick had said he'd be 'visiting' Grawp, of all people. Dumbledore wasn't normally one to judge his colleague's relationships, but that was just absurd.


The long and short of it was, there was no one he could depend on for help. He would figure out what was going on himself, but his old bones just weren't what they used to be.


That was what he told himself, anyway. He was really just lazy.


- - -


“She's so strict.” Ron whined at lunch, after Transfiguration class. “And she gives so much homework. I hate her.”


“I think she's a wonderful teacher, Ronald.” Hermione said. “She's always been fair and intelligent. You never seem to complain about her being too strict when she gives Malfoy detention. Harry, what do you think of Professor McGonagall?”


Harry looked up from his breakfast and grinned. “I think she's a demon in the sack.”

 

I have never visited that site Warlocke.

 

A NEW CHALLENGER APPEARS: Zombie

500-1000 words, 60 min.

Line:

"Well Potter, it looks like you've done it again. You've managed to cock up your potion and now all the women in the school are zombies. "

 

Challenge to anyone, doesn't have to include this line, but must be based on the general concept:

"It's bad," the healer said, his wand glowing a violent red.

"What is it?" asked Ginny, "what's wrong with me?"

The healer sighed.

"I'm afraid you've caught venereal Voldemort."

 

I'll take it.

Be back later to write it

---------- Post automerged at 05:15 PM ---------- Previous post was at 01:56 PM ----------

Here you go Taure:“Mrs. Potter?” The Healer asked the perky young redhead. Ginny was dressed only in a hospital gown, and already had her feet in the stirrups, giving the Healer a full view.

“Yes, finally you’re here.” Ginny said, leaning upright to look at the Healer over her spread legs.

“Yes, well there was a bit of an emergency from some cursed toilet seats –”

“Well I’m here because I haven’t been able to get pregnant yet!” Ginny interrupted, bored with the Healer’s excuse.

“…Alright Mrs. Potter, let’s take a look, then.” As the Healer ran her wand around Ginny’s belly to diagnose her uterus and ovaries – the principle suspects in cases of infertility, she asked a few questions.

“Now how long have you and your partner been attempting to conceive?” The Healer asked.

“My husband, Harry Potter, and I have sex EVERY NIGHT!” Ginny said fiercely, displaying her redheaded temper.

“…Alright, Mrs. Potter. That really doesn’t tell me anything, though. How many months? Have you been tracking your cycle?” Ginny sighed, and the Healer had a distinct impression that she was rolling her eyes.

“Obviously if we’re having sex EVERY NIGHT – and we are, and it’s FANTASTIC! – then I don’t need to. My mum never did, and she had loads of kids! What’s your name? You aren’t a very good Healer, are you?” Ginny snapped waspishly.

“My name is Healer Tam, Mrs. Potter, and…I think I may have found your problem!” The Healer had moved on from her ovaries and uterus to her vagina itself, and the wand immediately glowed a burning red.

“Mrs. Potter, have you been having itching or burning sensations in your vagina, specifically when you pee? Any unusual secretions?” The Healer asked quickly, waving her wand for a few more thorough diagnostic charms.

“Eww, that’s gross! And maybe…I don’t really check when I pee, that’s weird!” The Healer barely held back a sigh of frustration as she continued ruling things out.

“This is so unusual, Mrs. Potter…it reacts like a venereal disease, but I’ve ruled out most of the common ones.” The healer had pulled out a parchment, and seemed to be ruling out most of the list.

“Have either you or your husband had sexual relations of any sort with either a chimera or lizard?” Ginny’s eyes flashed with anger as she sat up to yell at the Healer.

“NO! This is ridiculous! I want a new doctor!” The Healer ignored her outrage, but her eyes lit up with an idea as she finished the list on the parchment.

“One moment, Mrs. Potter, I think I may have it. I’ll be back in just a moment!” The Healer left the room with a spring in her step.

“I dunno what she’s so bloody excited about…must have been a Ravenclaw…” Ginny whispered, alone in the room and growing bored.

“Mrs. Potter!” Healer Tam said as reentered the room holding one of the largest tome’s Ginny’d ever seen – it was, in fact, exactly 13 pages longer than Hogwarts, A History.

“Well? What is it, can you cure it? I want babies!” Ginny said excitedly, finally getting somewhere with the annoying Healer.

“Well, Mrs. Potter, I’m not sure – we have no test for this, since I’m sure it’d be a unique case…and I would like your permission to publish a case study about it, actually – but I read this book – Hermione Granger’s A Succinct History of Harry Potter: the Muggle-born’s Guide to Strange Happenings When You Become A Wizard or Witch. It has details of Harry’s every adventure at Hogwarts, you know.” Ginny did, in fact, know. Hermione had spent years writing the book, and conferred with Harry at the oddest hours of the night. She huffed in assent at the Healer.

“Well it reminded me that both you and Harry had some contact with the dark wizard Voldemort. I believe that if those residual energies came in contact in intimate situations, then perhaps it could effect the tissue in question – as it turns out, it mirrors a terrible Chlamydia infection. I’m not sure how yourself and Mr. Potter were continuing to have sex, quite honestly, as it must have been quite uncomfortable.” Ginny reddened slightly at being caught out in her lie, but said nothing.

“What does that even mean?” She asked skeptically. The Healer bit her lower lip for a moment as she considered the best way to deliver the news.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Potter, but I believe you have a venereal Voldemort infection in your vagina. The negative energy of it is causing your infertility.”

Ginny’s eyes watered slightly at the thought, and she haltingly asked, “Can you cure it? When can I have my babies?”

The Healer’s smile dropped, and she said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Potter. We’ll do our best, but there’s no real precedent for this kind of venereal curse. If it were any other woman, Mr. Potter would be fine, but you…I’m sorry.” The Healer left the room just as she heard Ginny’s whisper.

“But what about poor James Arthur and Albus Severus? And little Lily Molly…and Remus Orion, Colin Nymphadora, and Ted Griphook?”

When the door closed, Healer Tam walked to her next patient and silently thought, ‘With baby names like those, maybe it’s better if she didn’t have kids…’


<3 Tinn


And A NEW CHALLENGER HAS APPEARED!!
Vlad or Amer? But if they don't want it, it's open.
A NON-SLASH (obviously) challenge that should include:
Harry: "Wait a minute, Astoria, what do you mean I'm causing you and Draco marital problems because I'm still the 'Master of his Wand'?"

 

Response!

Note: I doctored the line a bit, but it's close to the original, and the message is the same.



“Right, take this down to Wilkins then. Thank Merlin it’s not my problem anymore,” Harry Potter sighed.

A witch in crimson robes that clashed horribly with bright red hair nodded, taking the brown paper package and placing it under one arm. “Mmm, never a boring moment around here with you, is it Potter,” she asked mockingly, though her eyes betrayed her jest. Turning to leave, she stopped – calling over her shoulder. “Mum’s asking about you, you know. You ought to come by some time – do you good to get out of this hellhole once in a while.”

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll send her an owl, then. Bye, Ginny.”

Ginny tsked, and Harry swore she mumbled, “course you will,” under her breath. He pushed the thought aside - he had a very busy day ahead of him.

It wasn’t easy, being owl-master general of South-East England. Some paranoid tosser had erected a redirection ward in downtown Brighton without prior notice, and the resulting backlog was only just being sorted. Combined with the ministry’s new resolution calling for all post owls to be screened biweekly for spells and Harry was struggling just to maintain pace. At least Wilkins would have to deal with the latest uproar – exploding packages – Harry thought uncharitably.

He settled down to work, humming some inane tune or another he’d picked up from the wireless as he went through lists of delivery statistics. He frowned… an inordinate number of packages were going to Wales. He’d have to dig up some dirt on Smythe, or it was all too likely he’d be forced to send that greedy bastard some of his precious owls to help cope with the upsurge. “Probably having his people send owls back and forth just to fudge the numbers,” Harry grumbled. He wrote the idea down, both to have one of his lackeys investigate Smythe, and to remind himself to do the very same thing at first oppurtunity.

Hours of such petty bureaucratic nonsense passed by, and Harry realized it was just past two by the time he’d finished a series of vital if unmemorable interdepartmental memos. Heading out for a late lunch in the cafeteria, he fell back as his door suddenly burst open, filled by an angry, slightly roundish face framed by dirty-blonde hair, styled in a pageboy cut that didn’t seem to fit her at all. It was made all the more ridiculous by her furious glare.

“Potter,” she hissed. “I’ve spent all day looking for you. Sit down.” She waved a wand, banishing Harry into his seat.

“I’ve been here all day,” he responded smugly. He rummaged in his desk, looking for his wand – he didn’t use it much these days. “I’m fairly certain you could have asked my secretary for an appointment.”

“I did!” she exclaimed, keeping her wand on him. “But she kept saying you were busy, or away, or that I needed to talk to the Department Head. Sit down,” she repeated, knocking Harry once more into his seat.

“Right, well… Come in Astoria. Did I mention you look fabulous with the hair?” He finished with a silly grin.

Astoria grimaced. “Party thought it would work. Everyone agrees it’s awful, but Zabini runs the party, and he tells me it’s fabulous. I think he’s just using me to take the piss out of my husband, but politics are politics.”

“Mmm, well can’t say I blame him. How is Draco doing these days – still not keeping up, as it were?”

“Fuck you,” Astoria snapped, sparing a glance to the still open door as soon as she said it. Waving her wand once more, she closed the door, adding a silencing charm to the wall as an afterthought.

“It’s your fault, I know it. You’re still the master of his wand – I’ve always felt there was something off when you returned it to him after the war. I want you to give it back to him, for real this time.”

Harry’s smirked. “Wait a tic – are you saying I’m causing you and Draco problems because I still am the master of his wand?” he asked innocently, as if not understanding the question. “And here I thought it was the two of us fucking like rabbits once a fortnight.” He shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t in Ravenclaw for a reason.”

Astoria shrieked, looking absolutely furious. “That’s beside the point,” she ground out. “You’ve done something to him, and he can’t break the curse. He’s not an idiot – the only logical reason the countercharm won’t work is because you placed the original, and the wand won’t go against you.”

Harry laughed. “Nah, not even close,” he responded. “I actually did return the wand to him – he just can’t use it against me directly. What I did,” he said with a leer and a shit-eating grin, “is everytime you leave, I place an antierectile charm on your lady bits. Only time it comes off is when you come back, hopelessly frustrated. If it means that much to you, I’ll take it off for good. I don’t really need you anymore anyway.”

Astoria fired off a curse at Harry, then charged him. In an instant, Harry was out of the chair, blocking the incoming spell and jabbing his wand into Astoria’s throat.

“I may be a bloody owl-master and the laughing stock of the ministry,” he whispered in her ear, voice soft and dangerous. “But I still beat Voldemort twice, and more than a few death eaters besides. Just because I like the quiet life doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to deal with people who attack me, capice?”

She nodded fearfully.

“Good.” He removed his wand from her neck, waving it lazily at her lower half. “It’s done – really, it is. I’m just not going to verbally cast an antierectile charm, now am I?” he defended at Astoria’s quickly recovered poise and look of incredulity. “Not that it’ll change much,” Harry muttered, “Pretty sure I’ve ruined you for Draco anyway.”

Astoria said nothing, a flush coming across her face as she looked down.

“Right then, off you go! I was going to get some grog from the lunchroom, but I feel like I’ve really earned my keep for the day – care to join me for a late lunch at The Siren? I’m a V.I.P. there… but of course you already know that, don’t you?” He couldn’t resist a final dig, their first ‘date’ during their affair.

“No? Ah well, next time then. Have a nice day.” With that Harry opened the door. He paused theatrically, turning around and giving her a wink. “And don’t forget, you’re still under oath to keep my secrets. Ta-ta.” Without looking back, he left the ministry.

 

Where is my Daphne Greenbush?

 

Y TAURE, HOW TIMELY OF YOU.



In my crusade to rid the world of ice!queen Daphne, I respond again today with an answer to Taure’s prompt. It’s not the same verse as my original story, but that’s not important…

----

“But you defeated the Dark Lord. Please Harry. Pleeeeease,” Daphne pouted, giving Harry her best wounded look.

Harry for his part said nothing. He was still unclear on the details, but he had been minding his own business in his flat, simply enjoying a glass of Firewhisky while reading over the day’s quidditch scores, when Daphne Greengrass apparated into his apartment and out of the blue asked him to stick his wand up her snatch.

Oddly enough, he was pretty sure she wasn't asking for sex.

“I haven’t seen you since seventh year.” Harry responded, utterly lost. “And I don’t think we ever spoke more than two words to one another before that. How did you even find out where I live?”

Daphne huffed once more, rolling her eyes for added effect. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here, and Witch Weekly says you know everything about fighting the dark arts. Just take a look – that’s all I ask.”

If anything, Harry was more confused. “Witch Weekly? That’s the origin of this scheme of yours. Merlin’s balls…” Harry stopped, suddenly making a rather absurd yet undeniable connection. “And what does my knowledge in counter curses have to do with your girly parts?”

Christ, Harry thought, there’s no right answer to that question.

She scowled, looking every bit as hostile as Harry’s memories of her recall – every inch a Slytherin princess. “Old family curse – passed down through the bloodline. It’s well… perhaps I’d better just show you.”

Unprepared, Harry was frozen in mortification when Daphne stepped out her robes, revealing absolutely nothing underneath. He was no longer a blushing virgin, but the sight of her… she was gorgeous. He’d always knows she was attractive of course, but her perky tits, slender figure, long legs, the –”

“Bloody hell!” Harry yelled, reflexively taking a step backward and tightening the grip on his wand. “It’s horrible.”

Daphne suddenly looked like she’s about to cry. “I know!” she sniffled, crouching down to cover herself, her once confident display irrevocably shattered. Reaching for her robe once more, she mumbled, “Now you know why we’re called Greengrass.”

Harry stopped, his gobsmacked expression would have been humorous if the situation were not so important. “It’s green?” He paused, then slowly moves forward, as if daring to take another look. “I had an affair with Tonks for two years, I’m totally desensitized to strange colors,” he remarked offhandedly.

“Then why… why are you acting this way?” Daphne asked, slowly moving her hands to give Harry a better view. As he jumped back in horror once more, she shrieked,. “See! Like that!”

“It’s not the color,” Harry sputtered, once more resisting the urge to run. “There’s just so damn much of it. Have you ever even heard of a shaving spell?”

“It’s cursed,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly small child. “I’m not prodding around there with my wand, thank you very much.”

Harry snickered. “Yeah well… neither am I.”

As she made no move to leave him in peace – on the contrary, she stomped her foot once then put her hands on her hips, daring him to force her out – he sighed, waving his wand to clear the table. “Right then, who told you it was cursed?”

“Astoria,” Daphne replied. At Harry’s raised eyebrow, she shrugged, though continued to elaborate. “She said daddy had told her about it a long time ago, and that it can happen at any time. It happened to me two weeks ago, but Astoria says hers has been that way ever since she turned fourteen. She’s been helping me out, though she still can’t figure it out. I’ll be sure to send her to you too,” she said with a smile of a job welldone.

Harry paused, considering. Back in his day it had long been a running fantasy in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory to imagine the Greengrass sisters showing how close to one another they really were. Seamus had always claimed that Astoria seemed the kinky type – seemed like he was actually right for a change.

“Right… I think I might have an idea,” Harry said slowly, taking out his wand. Finite, he cast silently. Unsurprisingly, the hair changed back. As an afterthought, he went ahead and used a shaving charm as well – no sense leaving a job half finished.

“You really are brilliant!” she gasped. A moment later, Harry’s arms were filled with a naked and grateful Daphne Greengrass. Harry didn’t disagree.

 

Needs moar green muff diving.

I'm almost hesitant to ask, since people keep tossing me shit challenges, but I'm in the mood to write something, and not in the right frame of mind to work on any of my open stories.

So a palette cleanser, please. Preferably not of the "lol lol lookit this funny line" variety.

 

Crap. I think all of the open to all ones are taken. This would be my first one of these but I don't think I'll do too horribly.

Toss me one, somebody.

 

Heh, I'd like to try my hand at one aswell.

 

I'll give it a go.

---------- Post automerged at 10:45 PM ---------- Previous post was at 10:14 PM ----------

Done in 30minutes, as requested.
------

He’s lost all sense of time. Of course, time has no meaning when one is in the pits of Hell. There is only the here and now, which stretches on into infinity.

A key turns in a lock and a door opens smoothly on well oiled hinges.

A woman enters, dressed in simple robes of deep crimson, the color of dried blood. She only wore red for him. She once explained that these crimson robes were the only thing that could hide the tell tale signs of one of their sessions. Most days, she didn’t even bother to change out of it. And somehow, that gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction. As if her garb was the only thing he could control; a minute measure of power that the captive held over his captor.

Her face was somber today. Inwardly, he gathered himself for a particularly gruesome session. The days that she smiled were actually less intensive than the rare days that she entered his cell with a grim expression on her pale face.

Her black hair, streaked with handsome threads of gray, was pulled back into a simple ponytail, something that seemed absurd on her aristocratic features.

He dangled wearily from his chains, the manacles digging cruelly into his thin wrists, which had long since been rubbed raw and bloody during his furious thrashing and struggling. He’d tried to accept the pain and take it into himself to lessen it, but he was no hardened Auror, trained to withstand torture of the worst sort.

She began to circle him, walking in counter clockwise direction. Despite himself, he tensed at her touch; perfectly manicured nails scraping lightly on his bare torso. Scars had been etched painstakingly into his skin, then healed lovingly so he could be a fresh canvas the next day. There were very few places that he wasn’t scarred.

“Today is my birthday, you know.”

Harry had long since learned that speaking to her was the fastest way to get her angry. So, he remained stoically silent, chin rested upon his scarred chest.

“I was given baubles as presents, pretty things to charm the eye and please the soul. I do so love beautiful things.”

She came to a stop in front of him, her somber mood having regressed into something melancholy. He wondered what could possibly make her sad. Everything she’d ever wanted was in this room, steeped in the color of her crimson robes. She’d told him so, often enough.

“You can’t really enjoy a pretty thing, Harry, unless you pluck it from its pedestal and hold it in your own two hands.”

With a graceful flick of her wrist, her wand, 12 and ¾ with a dragon heartstring core, flowed into her hand.

“I find that beauty is accentuated by destruction. Have you ever had the urge to destroy something beautiful? I have. Quite often, to tell you the truth.”

Her wand began trailing nonsensical patterns on his chest.

“I broke all of my baubles. Thankfully, there is still one left I can enjoy. You truly are beautiful, boy.”

---------- Post automerged at 11:03 PM ---------- Previous post was at 10:45 PM ----------

A new challenger appears: Virail
Time: 1 hour
Length: 1000 - 1800 words
Line: "It's a noble sport, the hunting of men. I daresay that there is no prey on Earth as dangerous and cunning as Man."

 

My lungs burned with exertion, and my right side had developed a stitch, but I still continued running through the woods. My feet pounded on the forest floor in an even rhythm developed first from being chased by Dudley. But that was a long time ago, now the game had upgraded, become more dangerous—more thrilling. The second war had ended in the defeat of the Light. Members of the Order of the Phoenix were rounded up and sentenced to life in the Arena—a new penal system developed by the Dark Lord.

The premise was simple, and hadn’t changed since I started ten years ago. I remember them clamping the collar around my neck, it was fitted with anti-transportation charms and an anti-tracking charm. Then the fun began. I was tossed a portkey and whisked away to a large arboreal forest—no food, no clothing, and most importantly, no wand. At first, I thought that I was just exiled, but I was wrong.

It was two days later that they came. The Death Eaters. I remember waking up to the crack of apparation and rolling out of the way of an incoming spell. If I remember correctly it was a simple stunner. My mind delved into panic, and I ran as far, and as fast as I could. The Wizard chasing me, a Death Eater, was dumb and suffered from a complete lack of grace. It wasn’t long before I snuck up and beat him to death with a club.

Stealing his wand, I took off into the forest. I set myself a task: get out of the forest. I would later come to realize that the task was impossible. I eventually ran across other wizards who were sentenced to the Arena. It was then that I found out true horror. We were being hunted. We tried everything in the early days; we tried banding together in camps; some tried sticking it out alone, constantly moving and evading the Death Eaters—the was the path I had chosen—and some tried to reason with the Death Eaters. They were cut down, and their entrails were painted across the forest floor.

Blinking out of my errant thoughts, I chanced a look behind me to see if my pursuer was any closer. Turns out that I had the misfortune of looking at just the wrong time, and I missed the light blue spell that smashed into my legs. It wasn’t harmful, just a tripping jinx, but it made all the difference in the world. I fell head over heels down the slope and cracked my head on a rather stout looking oak tree. My vision swam, but I remembered to mutter a quick shield charm. Not half a second later my shield flared red and rippled as it was struck by a bludgeoning spell—Bombardia, I think.

I rolled to the right and jabbed my wand at the ground. Magic, responding to my desire to not die and the adreneline flooding my system, surged out of my wand in a steam of liquid. Not pausing in my casting, I stepped back to the left, and I muttered a few more words. Feeling the light chill of the disillusionment charm taking effect, I flicked my wand again sending two very simple spells out, a quick inflammare to set the ground that I had just soaked in gas on fire, and a finite towards the cloaked Death Eater. My hope was that the ending spell would cancel the flame-freezing charm and the bastard would burn to death.

I didn’t wait to see the results of my handwork, instead I banished the ground at the Death Eater, and ran for my life.

The pain in my head was only getting worse as I tore through the forest. I came to a hault behind another large oak tree and I waved my wand, silently incanting a minor pain relief spell. I sagged against the tree as the pain fled my bruised and bleeding head. Another wave of my wand and the wound sealed itself. Glancing around once again, I started off toward a small stream I knew was near. Hopefully, I’d be able to use the running water to hide my trail. I had a couple of bear caves I had cleared that I could use to hide in.

I arrived at the stream ten minutes later, out of breath and wheezing from all the running I had done today. I took a moment to drink heavily from the stream before wading into it and following the currents.

I followed the stream a few kilometers before hauling my cold, soaking, self out of the water. I laid down on a nearby rock and let the sun warm me. My disillusionment charm was still holding strong and I felt like I deserved a bit of a rest. I waved my wand and applied a series of notice-me-not charms and some proximity wards to alert me if anyone came close. Before I knew it my eyes had closed and I was sleeping.

I awoke later to the sound of two men talking and my proximity ward being tripped.

"It's a noble sport, the hunting of men. I daresay that there is no prey on Earth as dangerous and cunning as Man." I heard one of the men say, his voice a strangely familiar drawl.

I stood up from the rock, reapplying the disillusionment charm without a thought. I looked up and down the beach and didn’t see where the voices were coming from. I was just about to step off the rock and investigate a nearby outcropping of rocks when a man in a dark cloak stepped out from around them. I recognized him at once, the platinum blond hair, the effeminate facial structure, even the snake cane was the same. Lucius Malfoy, was here. Out for a hunt.

I couldn’t believe my luck.

I stabbed my wand forward, creating a quick privacy ward. It would silence anything I said to the outside word. Grinning like I fool I began to incant a long series of spells. Each spell was a delayed blasting curse tied together by a proximity charm. The effect was like conjuring muggle land mines. Lucius didn’t know what was coming.

The grin that lit up my face as Lucius Malfoy and his companion—a woman I vaguely recognized as Daphne Greengrass—were filled with shrapnel from an exploding beach would be able to power a patronus on its own.

 

A new challenger appears: ????
Time: ???
Length: ???
Premise: Lord Voldermort. Maggie Thatcher. The greatest untold love story of all time.

 

Time to revive this bitch.

A new challenger appears: ?
Time: However long it takes
Length: Doesn't matter
Premise: A confused Ron finds Hermione's dildo.


*
Hermione laughed to herself as she watched her children play. Hugo always found a way to drive Rose mad, whether it was hiding her favourite toys or chasing her around with a worm. There was a time when she would have frowned on such behaviour, but since nearly losing everyone important to her, she had loosened up considerably.


She leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched them play. Streams of sunlight filtered through the kitchen's large windows, lighting the wooden rafters and creating a soft, warm glow. Occasionally, she forgot how lucky she was. She had the perfect home, children, job, and husband. Well, almost the perfect husband.


The large house they lived in was bought and paid for with the rewards she and Ron had recieved from the Ministry. She had wanted to give the money to charity, but Ron had convinced her that they had already done a great deal for the wizarding world, and that it was time to look after themselves.


Harry was happily married to Ginny, although he was spending increasing amounts of time in the Ministry. Not even that though, could spoil the group's perfect bubble of happiness. She looked at the clock on the wall, a version of the Weasley family clock that she herself had charmed into life. Ron's hand had moved from work to travelling and then to home, within the space of a second. All was good.


*


The dirty dishes were washing themselves in the kitchen sink, the kids were in bed and she had polished off her report on the potential dimensions of magic. Time to seek out her husband and have a glass of wine, she thought.


“Ron?” She called. “Where are you?” She frowned at the lack of reply and set down her glass and set out to look for him. She found him in their bedroom, facing away from the doorway and standing still. “Ron, are you ok?” she asked.


Slowly he turned around and faced her. He had a look of confusion on his face as he stared downwards. In his hand he was holding a large purple dildo with hundreds of little rubber bumps adorning the sides.


Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Where did you find that?” she demanded, her face a brilliant scarlet colour. She drew her wand and vanished it from her husband's hand.


“I... Your birthday is coming up soon. I wanted to leave you a present in your journal so I guessed the password. The book sprang open and that thing hit me in the face.”


Hermione groaned. “You shouldn't have done that, Ron.”


“Hermione, why do you have a big purple dildo?” He asked, confusion adding to his permanantly puzzled look.


She groaned again. This was not how she expected the perfect day to end. She noticed Ron beginning to turn red around the collar and knew that he was holding back anger. “Ron, honey, it's just something some girls have sometimes, you don't have to be insecure or anything, it's no reflection on you.” She explained, hoping to calm him.


“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, incensed. “Am I not up to the task or something, Hermione? Is that what you're saying?”


“What? No Ron, not at all. I said quite the opposite not two seconds ago!” He glared at her, seething in silence. “Ron... Ron just calm down. It's not a big deal.”


“No? Maybe you'd like a bigger deal? Would you?” he hissed. “Have you been lying to me all these years? Every time we slept together have you been thinking of Krum or McLaggan?”


She strode forward and grabbed his face with her hands. “No honey. I love you. I never loved either of those two dolts.I could never love anyone else, I promise.”


Miraculously, Ron calmed down slightly and the red receeded from his face. Without warning his arms encircled her waist and he pulled her close to him. “Well then, let's see if I can improve on my past efforts.” He threw her down on the large, soft bed and climbed on top of her.


“Ron, you don't need to pro-” He cut her off as he kissed her, shoving his tongue in her mouth forcefully. He snaked his arm under her waist and lifted her up the bed. With a wave of his wand he vanished her jeans, leaving her only in her socks, black knickers and a large grey t-shirt. He repeated the action on himself, this time removing all underwear.


“Ron, stop, the door is open, what if the kids walk in.” she pleaded. He ignored her and ripped off her underwear manually. “I never really was any good with my wand, isn't that what you're trying to say?”


“Ron, no, I didn't mean-” A loud moan cut off her sentence and she was surprised to find that it was her own voice. Her husband had thrust himself into her and began to fuck her on the bed. What he lacked in size, compared to Viktor, he almost made up for in enthusiasm, she thought briefly.


“Is that good enough for you, Hermione?” he asked mockingly. “How about this? Engorgio.” he whispered. Hermione felt a brutal pain rip through her as Ron applied the charm to his penis. Through the sudden pain, she managed to cry out, “Ron, no... dangerous...”


“Dangerous is it?” he mocked. “It can't hurt you anymore then you've hurt me. Engorgio. Once more his penis doubled in size and Hermione felt it rip through her. She was in absolute agony as her husband kept thrusting into her.


“Not dangerous... for me...” she gritted out.


“What's that? I can't hear you.” Ron said angrily. All the blood had drained out of his once crimson face and through the tears in her eyes, Hermione could see him starting to wobble.


“Please... no.” she strangled out.


Ron ignored her.


“Engorgio.” he whispered again. Something within Hermione gave out and she screamed before blacking out. The last thing she saw was the shocked look of horror on Ron's face.


She came to groggily, not welcoming the immense pain that was tearing through the lower half of her body.


“Mummy? What's happening?” She looked around and saw Rose standing in the door with Hugo, tears in her eyes. Then she realized why she was crying. Ron lay on the bed, white as a sheet in death. The bed itself was covered in massive amounts of blood. More blood than she had ever seen before. Extending from Ron, was what looked like the shed skin of a snake. It was over a foot long, and chunks of it were missing.


With dawning horror, she realized that it was the remnants of Ron's overly engorged penis.

 

Umm... wow. Just wow.

I don't know why I start reading these things expecting a humor fic. I really should of learnt my lesson by now.

 

For OZ

Line: "Step over that threshhold, Potter and I'll make you scream in ecstasy or die quickly." Harry sighed, dropping his wand to the floor and took a step forward. "Ladies choice, Bella."
Length: longer than your manhood
Time: I'm patient
Premise: Aside from the above, this is post-DH (whether Bellatrix escaped Molly's wand or is the unholy dead is up to you).

 

Hmm, well if this thread is still going I'd like a good challenge, don't make it too specific since it would ruin my cruel, but lovely imagination skills.

 

Time: don'tgiveafuckbutmakeitsoon
Length: >1000 words < 3000 words
Premise: Harry stumbles across a disturbing scene involving Daphne Greengrass, Draco Malfoy and the liberal use of the memory charm.

"Who... who am I?"