Love Bad Porn Movie

Don't get me wrong, I love hp/lv and there isn't a lot so beggars can't be choosers, but a lot of these stories (many of which are well written) have some, slightly amusing, things in common. I am targeting no one fic (everything that happens I've seen in more than one fic) so don't be offended. Minor HBP spoilers.

Harry was at Number Four Privet Drive during the summer before his 7th year. And, though they had never done so before and Harry was all grown up, the Dursleys kept bloodying him up.

At least one of his eyes was swollen shut, there was a crisscrossing of belt welts across his back, his nose was broken in eleven different places, his right arm was broken, his left arm was dislocated, all his fingers were twisted, his lips were purple, 9 ribs poked into his skin, he was missing four front teeth, his right ankle was fractured, his left leg had been ripped clean off and his internal organs were ruptured from being used as an apple pie by Dudley and Vernon so many times (who knew?). Harry was unhappy.


'Marrughle,' Harry gurgled. He was so injured, all he could do was lie in a bleeding pile on the floor and gurgle occasionally.

Uncle Vernon tried to pick Harry up by his hair but because Harry had become so malnourished in the three days he had been home, the hair just ripped out of his skull, leaving a bald spot on top.

'LITTLE BASTARD!' Uncle Vernon yelled, kicking Harry in his bloody stump, 'it's all YOUR fault my boss walked in on me raping his desk while screaming his name,' because, apparently, Uncle Vernon was just a sick, sick, sexual deviant.

'Narrughle,' Harry replied.

When Uncle Vernon left, Harry was alone with his thoughts, and Voldemort's "external penetration."

-You know, Harry, I could come save you from all this.-

-No, you're evil, you killed my parents.-

-But we're life mates as, for some reason, Parselmouths always have life mates.-

-I think I'm dying…-


If Harry's eyes weren't swollen shut, he would have closed them dramatically.

Twenty-nine kilometres away, Voldemort suddenly got worried. Was his life mate ok? What did those dirty, dirty muggles do to him? He wouldn't let anyone get away with hurting the one HE was supposed to hurt.

Voldemort rushed from the huge stone castle he recently bought, then, yanking Snape out of the bath tub while he went. Voldemort, all worried and horny, and Snape, all soapy and pink, apparated into Little Whining, where Harry lay.

Voldemort angrily stomped on their daffodils before bursting in, not bothering to knock on the door and tipped over a chair with their billowing, black robes. A clinically obese muggle was watching television, at first, they ran right by him, but Voldemort went back and angrily stomped on his big toe.

'Take THAT!' he yelled.

They ran up the stairs to Harry's bedroom and knocked down the door. Voldemort tore across the small room where Harry lay. He scooped the teen into his arms.

'You will never again hurt my precious boy-toy,' Voldemort yelled at Vernon. Then he noticed exactly what he was holding, 'yeargh,' Voldemort said, 'not as pretty as I remember.' He dropped Harry back on the floor.

'Parrughle,' Harry said, disappointed.

'Get out y-you!' Uncle Vernon had yelled, reaching Harry's room.

'No!' Voldemort yelled back, 'Avada Kedavra!'

Uncle Vernon fell down dead. Voldemort skipped from room to room in Privet Drive killing Harry's family and the postman. Snape remained at Harry's side looking both surely and supportive, for he, Severus Snape, of course, had also been abused… as did Voldemort. All three met in Harry's room and briefly considered a support group.

'Will you be able to brew ominous sounding potions that will restore him to health?' Voldemort asked Snape, 'I need you to do this because, despite me being the best student in Hogwart's history, only you can brew Death Eater-related potions.'

'I believe I can brew a potion, but only if you bring Harry to your castle,' said Snape.

'That's a good idea, I've had my room elaborately redecorated for him too,' said Voldemort.

'Yes?' said Snape.

'Quite,' said Voldemort.

'Quarrughle,' said Harry.


Harry woke up in a biiiiig bed. It had green and silver silk sheets, black marble architectural details, a snake-filled aquarium, tall black drapes, a vanity table, some dressers and a crystal chandelier. Voldemort was quite proud of the place as he had done the decorating himself. He had taken a course at a college and had become proficient in drafting by hand and using AutoCAD so he could rightly call himself both an evil Dark Lord and a licensed interior decorator… no one had the heart to tell him he wasn't very good at it…

Harry looked down. He was wearing black silk pyjamas because Voldemort would never buy anything that wasn't black and silky.

That was sweet of him, Harry thought, changing me out of my clothes and into some of his… come to think of it… how did he manage it?

He pictured Voldemort struggling with his unconscious body, trying to dress him; it was like a scene from a bad sitcom. Harry climbed off the bed and noticed that Voldemort was straddling the door frame sexily.

'Hello, Harry,' Voldemort purred, letting his black, silk robe slip.

'Hello, Voldemort,' Harry said, 'I think you look hot and sexy in that creepy, Snake-Man kind of way.'

'Is there any other kind of way?' Voldemort whispered.

'Not that I care about,' Harry said teasingly.

AHHH! What will happen next! Will Severus get to bathe in peace? Will the flowers on the Dursleys' graves remain unstomped-on? Will Voldemort and Harry get to have hot jungle sex!