Author: Walter O'Dim

Title: The Power of the Wand

Category: General/Humor

Rating: M

Summary: The desecration of Dumbledore's tomb by Hermione leads to hot, passionate sex…and something neither she nor her partner have anticipated.

Concealed by darkness from all but the night creatures and people gifted with infravision, Hermione Granger strode across the Hogwarts grounds toward the lake, barefoot and completely naked under her robes, filled with a sense of purpose and excitement that Lord Voldemort would not have found entirely unfamiliar, especially since Hermione was going to do exactly what he had done but a few days ago, although for different reasons.

Hermione had once laughed at a wizard who said he liked "a fresh breeze around his privates", but now she understood what the man meant as the night breeze slipped its ethereal tentacles under her robes and caressed her body; the grass under her feet made her even more aware of her bare flesh. Going naked had been a stroke of hormone-induced inspiration, and Hermione decided that from now on, she would walk like that whenever possible. She would have to put her shoes on, of course, so as not to look suspicious, but other than that, her young, supple ephebophile's dream of a body would be completely free under her robes.

Hermione's excitement mounted as she saw her goal looming not far ahead, a white spot in the gloom. On she strode, until she was but a couple of feet away from the marble tomb, for that was her destination, as all but the dimmest of you will have guessed. Her fear and shame were almost as great as her excitement and arousal as she drew her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at the stone casket.

"I am sorry, Professor Dumbledore," she said, "but you are dead anyway, and I'm sure you would have understood. I know that underneath that wise, benevolent exterior you were a self-serving hedonist just like myself".

She waved her wand, and the tomb split open, revealing a body that had been wrapped in a shroud rather clumsily. Harry had not known how to do it by magic (he had discovered, when he opened the tomb to put back the Elder Wand, that Voldemort had left the Headmaster's body in an unwrapped state), and his manual corpse-shrouding skills were rather poor. "And I am sure that, as an aesthetically sensitive person, you wouldn't want your body to be wrapped so poorly," added Hermione, glad to have another excuse for what she was about to do. "Diffindo!"

The shroud fell apart. Dumbledore looked almost exactly like he had done in life, except for slight decomposition, and underneath his folded hands lay what Hermione had come for: the Elder Wand. Her heart beating madly, Hermione extended her hand and pulled the wand from Dumbledore's grasp. She slid her fingers back and forth along its length as she stared at it, transfixed. This was the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, the most powerful wand in existence that had been wielded by the most powerful and dangerous wizards in history, wizards, who had actually killed to lay their hands on it. The thought made Hermione weak in the knees, sweaty in the palms and wet between her legs. It always had, ever since she learned of the wand's existence, but never to such an extent as now, when she was actually holding the thing.

"On your knees," she imagined being told, and she complied, never taking her eyes off the wand, pretending that it was the wand that was giving her orders. "Now suck it."

Hermione took the wand in her mouth and did as she was told, her free hand dropping to massage her crotch through the fabric of her robes, which quickly became wet as a result. In no time at all, a minor orgasm ripped through her body, making her teeter. With a shudder, she withdrew the Elder Wand from her mouth, then touched it to her robes, and they vanished in a puff of smoke. Hermione traced the tip of the wand down her neck, then let it circle her breasts, prodding at the erect nipples, the fingers of her left hand moving like a pianist's between her legs, extracting the tune of rapture. The wand slid down her stomach and then underneath, its shaft coming to rest between the folds of skin that go by the Latin name of Labia majora, the English language being too lazy to invent its own term for that magnificent body part. Thrusting her buttocks into the air and propping herself on her left hand, she slid the wand to and fro, moaning loudly as an owl hooted in the distance, adding to the undeniable romance of the scene, and Dumbledore's corpse decomposed more rapidly now that it was in direct contact with the air. And now, quite predictably, a second orgasm was upon Hermione, and her cries echoed across the lake. She had never imagined that such pleasure was possible, and that had only been the foreplay. The Elder Wand was living up to its reputation one hundred per cent.

Just like the first one, the second orgasm left Hermione even more aroused. She knew what was coming: she was about to be impaled onto what could be symbolically regarded as the collective penis of the toughest and meanest wizards in history. The very thought was almost more than Hermione could bear, and she reveled in teetering on the very brink; she gazed into the abyss of rapture, and the abyss gazed back at her, if only with mild curiousity (after everything the abyss had seen, Hermione was really nothing special). There was someone else looking at Hermione, though, and that person's feelings were much more intense. They revealed themselves just as Hermione was about to plunge the wand into herself by calling, "Want a hand, Hermione?"

Hermione's arousal was so great that instead of being scared and embarrassed, she was only slightly surprised by being discovered. Looking around, she panted, "Ron? What are you doing here?"

"Watching you," said Ron, walking closer. "This is some performance, Hermione."

"Did you…did you follow me out of the castle?" asked Hermione, rubbing her clitoris with the wand.

"No, I didn't," said Ron, his eyes roving over Hermione's body as unashamedly as she was pleasuring herself in front of him. "I came here for this thing, the same as you." He pointed at the Elder Wand.

"Really?" panted Hermione.

"Yeah. The unbeatable wand, y'know…I wasn't going to let Harry throw it away just like that. I Disarmed him today…told him it was a joke, of course, but you know what that means, don't you, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes went wide.

"You…you're the Master of the Elder Wand."

"Correct, ten points to Gryffindor," said Ron, pulling off his robes. "And do you know what I'm going to do right now?"

Hermione found herself unable to speak.

"I'm going to take my wand," said Ron, positioning himself on his knees behind Hermione and pulling the wand out of her hand, "and then I'm going to fuck you with it." With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand he spread Hermione's pussy, teasing the entrance, so rich in nerve endings, with the tip of the Elder Wand, making Hermione writhe and moan. Unnoticed by either of them, the right index finger of Dumbledore's corpse twitched slightly.

"Please, Ron," groaned Hermione. "I…I can't take it…any longer…I need it inside me…"

"You sure?" asked Ron teasingly, enjoying the power he had over his girlfriend.

"Do it…I beg you…I – AHHHHH!!!" Hermione screamed as the Elder Wand pierced her hymen and slid deep inside her. Now it was Dumbledore's whole right hand that twitched, its fingers starting to flex eerily.

Panting, Ron slid the wand back and forth. Hermione whimpered, biting down on her lower lip, her fingers digging deep gouges in the ground, her pelvis thrusting in rhythm with the movements of the wand seemingly of its own accord. All conscious thought had abandoned her, and Ron, who never had many thoughts in his head to begin with, was nearing that blissful state. Only his pants, which were painfully constricting his swollen prick, prevented him from losing himself to the frenzy; and presently, Ron undid his fly, releasing his hungry python, to use a bad metaphor. He withdrew the Elder Wand from Hermione's vagina and put the head of his penis next to her opening.

"And now, Hermione," he panted, "prepare to be penetrated by the Master of the Elder Wand himself."

He didn't actually give her time to prepare, though, plunging all five-and-a-half inches of his cock inside her. Hermione screamed, her body arching spasmodically. In his cabin, Hagrid stirred in his drunken sleep (he had been drinking non-stop since Voldemort's defeat, and nobody seemed to care), and on the marble slab next to the fornicating couple Dumbledore's body was coming to life, feeling and consciousness returning to it with each stroke of Ron's penis. However, even if Ron had been aware of that, he would have been unable to stop; his body was pumping away at Hermione's body without any conscious direction on his part. He had lost control, like he so often did when tucking into a delicious pudding or some other treat, which made him a table companion of questionable desirability. Of course, gustatory sensations could never be as intense as tactile ones during sex, and they never culminated in an orgasm, and both Ron and Hermione could feel one approaching (the attentive reader will remember that for Hermione, it would be the third orgasm that night). His fingers digging into Hermione's flesh, just like hers were digging into the earth, Ron increased the frequency of his strokes to approximately that of a jackhammer, and in a few seconds a nuclear explosion of bliss shook his entire body as his semen flooded Hermione's vagina, causing her to come as well. Both were understandably oblivious to the fact that Professor Dumbledore's body had rolled off the marble slab and fallen onto the ground with a thud.

All strength drained from their bodies, Ron and Hermione collapsed onto the grass – Ron to the right, Hermione to the left – and lay there, panting. Hermione actually went into a trance and had visions of a gigantic city populated by hopping man-sized mushrooms; Ron, on the other hand, remained in the physical world, and after a while, as his brain started making sense of the sensory input it was receiving, he realized something was wrong.

He heard something stirring nearby, and he knew it was not Hermione because she was in his sight. He turned his head, and terror flooded him as he saw the dark outline of a man rising to his feet in front of the marble tomb, which Ron saw was empty. His terror intensified when he put two and two together and realized the man could only be –

"Mishter Weashley?" said the thing in a feeble, yet recognizable voice. With a scream, Ron scrambled away from the dark form. His yell had broken Hermione's trance, and when she saw the shape in front of the tomb, she screamed and scrambled away as well.

"There, there," said the shape, raising his hand in a placating gesture. "There'sh no need to be afraid. It'sh jusht me, Pwofessor Wumbledore."

Lunging forward, Ron grabbed the Elder Wand from the ground, pointed it at the no-more-late Headmaster and shouted, "Lumos!"

In the light of the wand, Professor Dumbledore didn't look nearly as good as he had in the dark. His flesh was gray and sagging; his skull was exposed in several places; one of his eyes looked like greenish goo, the other one was better preserved, but covered by something like a cataract. The Headmaster looked, in short, like something the cat wouldn't have dragged in.

"It's an Inferius!" gasped Hermione.

"I assure you, Missh Granger, that I am no Inferiush," said Dumbledore, turning his head in Hermione's direction. "Pleazh, jusht allow me to exshplain."

Ron and Hermione said nothing, but simply stared in fright at the risen Headmaster. Dumbledore continued.

"Two yearsh ago, I got hit by a curse thash I knew would kill me. There wazh nothing I could do to to break ish, but I wazhn't going to shurrender so eazhily. I knew of an obshcure rite that could bwing me back to life after I wazh dead, a rite thash involved the deflowering of a girl with high intelligensh by the Elzher Wand on May twenty-sixsh in the proxshimity of my burial playsh. I wazhn't sure it would work, but it didn't hursh to try. It wazh a shimple matter of tying your shoulsh to mine and cashting shertain other shpellzh that are way beyond your undershtanding. And, azh you shee, it hazh worked!" Dumbledore spread his arms, and one corner of his partially decayed mouth twitched in an attempt at what had to be a warm smile. He also tried to do the twinkle thing, but rotten eyeballs were ill-suited for that purpose. "Your beloved Headmashter izh back and ready to rezhume hizh dutiesh!"

There was a long pause.

"But…how did you know that I and Ron…you know…on this exact date…and – and with the Elder Wand - ?" asked Hermione.

"Pleazh!" said Dumbledore. "I can foreshee eventsh far better than any of the sho-called Sheersh. I had foresheen, for inshtansh, that you wouldsh overhear that conversation about Gryffindor'sh shord in the woodsh, or that Harry would get Shnape'sh memoriezh jusht before he died…in fact, I had foresheen everything exshept my own homosexuality…but that izh neither here nor there. The point izh, I am back and ready to return to my posht of Headmashter."

"No," said Ron. "No, I don't think that's gonna happen."

"Why?" asked Dumbledore, taken aback. "Aren'sh you glad to have me back?"

"No," said Ron. "You are not Professor Dumbledore. You are an undead monstrosity!"

"Well, I do realizhe that my appearansh izh lessh than prezhentable," said Dumbledore, "but shertain potions can take care of thash, and I'll be almosht azh good azh new!"

"What you've done is unnatural!" said Hermione. "Cheating death is Dark magic!"

"Now that'sh a bit shtrong," said Dumbledore. "I mean, all righsh, the book I learned of that rite from wazhn't exzhactly what you'd show to firsht-yearsh, but -"

"You told Harry that it isn't right to run away from death, and now you've done it yourself?" said Hermione. "You're a hypocrite!"

"Now, shee here -"

"You want the Hallows, don't you?" said Ron. "You want the Hallows so you can rule us now that Voldemort is out of the way!"

"Absholutely not!" said the Headmaster with as much indignation as his decayed face and vocal chords allowed him to epxress. "I couldsh have done it long ago, if I'd been sho inclined…in fact, it sheemsh to me, Mishter Weashley, that it izh you who want the Hallowsh, seeing azh you've already shtolen the Elder Wandsh!"

"Maybe I do," said Ron. "I definitely intend to keep the wand, at any rate. Hermione wouldn't mind, would you, Hermione?"

"Not after I've seen what it can do," said Hermione, giving the wand an admiring look.

"Anyway, it is my conviction that what's buried should stay buried," said Ron, addressing Dumbledore again. "I'm sure you would agree."

"But -"

"Incendio!" said Ron, giving the Elder Wand a flick. Dumbledore burst into flames that devoured him in seconds, leaving only a small pile of ashes behind.

"I guess he couldn't foresee everything," Ron said to Hermione. "Like the obvious fact that we wouldn't want to give back the Elder Wand once we had it."

And so Albus Dumbledore's return, the sole purpose of which had really been to continue to educate young wizards, to spread tolerance and to generally make the world a better place, was foiled by his underestimation of the corrupting influence the Deathly Hallows exerted on horny teenagers. Ron and Hermione proceeded to have dirty, sweaty sex with the aid of the Elder Wand, not caring in the slightest if they were seen by students or faculty, who soon began to imitate them. Decadence, debauch and depravity settled at Hogwarts, and their reign lasted unchallenged for centuries, until the the Earth was invaded by the mushroom race whose world Hermione had glimpsed in her post-orgasmic vision. But that, my little friends, is another tale for another day.