Crack'd Mirror

by cloneserpents

Chapter Fifteen

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters are property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury Books, Arthur A. Levine Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic publishing, et al, and are used without permission. This work was written purely for noncommercial entertainment; no money is being made or asked for.

WARNING: Harsh Language, adult themes, sexual situations (i.e. smut), bad spelling and grammar.

EXTRA WARNING: an act lovingly referred to as "twin-cest" occurs in this chapter! If the thought of siblings engaging in sexual intercourse offends you – STOP NOW!

Author's Notes: This story is a broad parody with over the top humor (most of this humor is crude and sexual) and OOC actions (Out Of Character actions). To reiterate; this is a parody with a great amount of sex jokes and sex scenes.

Polygamous Relationships ahead; multiple and bisexual partners (femmeslash). If this concept bothers you; don't read.

Major Ron and general Weasley bashing ahead.

Inspired by classic Star Trek "Mirror Mirror"

"Wake up," said Harry, prodding Hermione and Luna in the side. "It's time to wake up."

"Mphrmup," groaned Luna into a soft, warm pillow.

"Oi, I'm the one who's supposed to wake up with my face in Hermione's titties, not you." Harry poked the slender blonde in the ribs once more.

Luna pulled her head up and with blurry eyes saw that the pillows her face was buried were, in fact, Hermione's pillows. "Hmm, I can see why you like it," commented the witch before she pushed her face back into Hermione milky white goodness.

"Do we have to get up," complained Hermione, who still had her eyes shut.

"Yes. Loads to do today," said Harry in a clipped fashion. "The world isn't going to take itself over."

"Can we please have five more minutes?" pleaded Hermione Jean. "The bed is so warm and comfy."

"And I can't feel my legs yet," added Luna through Hermione's cleavage.

On those uncommon occasions where Harry felt generous, he would've given his harem witches an addition two minutes of rest. Perhaps even three if he was feeling excessively charitable. But those were truly rare occurrences. Instead of giving his witches the rest they wanted, the wizard gave Luna a swift, hard swat to her naked bum. The sudden blow caused the blonde to scream into Hermione's breasts.

"C'mon, it's time we tried out the new tub," ordered Harry.

Daphne, who had recovered from the previous night's shag-fest – unlike Hermione, Luna and Hermione Jean who were forced to endure the tortuous jackalope device and then a wild shag-fest, peered into the Master Suite and said, "Um, that's not a tub. That's a small pond."

Harry joined the Slytherin and commented, "The fifteen foot waterfall and palm trees lining the edge really adds to the pond feel."

"We could all fit in there and do laps and never bump into one another," commented Charlus.

"None of you will have enough time for swimming, but we'll be bumping into each other quite a bit," said Harry. "You see, I'm going to take turns bending each of you over and making you cum. An all out orgy is the only proper way to break in a new tub after all."

"Merlin, I love taking baths," said Tracey breathlessly, gazing at her Master's summer sausage.


Crying softy, Pomona Sprout slowly walked to the greenhouse. Her beloved Albus was dead and her heart was crushed. The witch waddled into the greenhouse and saw the chalk outline the Aurors had drawn onto the floor indicating where Albus had expired.

"Albus, daddy," she sobbed and knelt besides the outline. Her plump fingers traced the line of chalk outlining his chin affectionately.

"Please don't cry, my love."

Pomona spun around at the sound of Albus' voice. There, jutting up from a thirty gallon pot was a leafy double of her dead lover. It had leaves and vines for hair and long branches for limbs.

"Albus?" she exclaimed.

"In a fashion," he said. He rubbed his beard which was made up of long, thin vines with his twig fingers.

"What is going on?" demanded Pomona.

"I am not entirely certain," he said. "I remembered painfully ejaculating one final time, then I was here, stuck in this pot looking over my dead body."

"Wait a moment! That's where I planted a Madagascar Doppelganger Plant!" said Pomona. "It's a plant that absorbs other plants and changes itself into an exact duplicate of the source plant!"

"Curious, I wonder if this plant absorbed my semen and changed into me," said plant-Dumbledore. "I seem to remember everything that I used to remember."

"Well the Madagascar Doppelganger Plant is known for replicating every aspect of the plat it absorbs. Perhaps it absorbed your very essence," theorized Pomona.

"That is fascinating," commented plant-Dumbledore. His bark covered lips curled into a smile. "It absorbed my essence through my essence."

A glow graced Pomona's round cheeks. "I must tell my Herbology colleges about this! This is a landmark event for our field!"

The smile vanished and Plant-Dumbledore bark features turned sorrowful.

"What's the matter, Albus?"

"I just realized we can no longer be together, my plump love. Even if I could leave this pot, I would have to take root some place else – I would have to replant myself. And regardless of that restriction, I am a plant and you are a woman. Such a coupling is unheard of."

"Not entirely unheard of," Pomona smiled. "I am a woman who loves plants. And I truly mean loves plants, my delicious daddy."

"Pomona, surely you don't mean—"

The obese witch interrupted plant-Dumbledore by slipping her hand under his leaves and grabbing his manhood… err… planthood. Stroking his stiffening organ, she chuckled "I'll have to be careful, otherwise I might end up with splinters."


As Harry and his harem witches broke in the new master "tub" with a lot of load moans, Pansy was busy in the Grand Hall. The now shorn witch was on her hands and knees laying brightly colored tiles on the floor.

"No's," snapped Dobby. "You's be setting the tiles too fars apart."

The house-elf swung the wood switch, whipping it across Pansy's bare arse.

Pansy whimpered painfully as a hot tear rolled down her cheek. A little voice told her to obey the house-elf and endure the hardship and pain she was suffering. All of the degradation and humiliation was worth it. Because if she performed well for the house-elf Potter would reward her by stuffing the monstrosity that swung between his legs up her dirty hole. The thought of the multiple, screaming orgasms gave her the strength to brave the humiliation and pain.

"You's be doing it again!" snarled Dobby. His head spun and his tiny heart thundered. The power Harry Potter had bestowed upon him gave Dobby a thrill he could not have imagined. Never before had a lowly house-elf been given his own slave, much less a witch as a slave. The power that Dobby wielded made him feel strange. The house-elf felt an odd ache in his tiny body. And then, his long nose twitched.

Obeying her diminutive master, Pansy pulled up the tile she had just set. She placed it down, closer to the other tiles.

"NO'S!" hollered Dobby. "It still be too fars away!"

Growling, Dobby crawled up onto Pansy's back and straddled her neck and shoulders. With his feet dangling off the witch's shoulders, Dobby leaned back and brought his switch down on her naked bottom in three rapid blows. "BE DOING IT AGAIN!"

Letting the tears roll freely, Pansy sobbed out "Potter better go balls deep when this is all over! Balls deep, damn it!"

Pansy received another strike from the wooden switch. "Balls deep and a good clit pinching," she added under her breath.

Just then, the large door flew open. There, in the open doorway stood Pansy's own house-elf, Buttons. The female house-elf looked as if she had been sobbing for days.

"Buttons, what's be wrong?" asked Dobby compassionately from his perch atop the nude and cleanly shaven Pansy.

Sniffling, Buttons replied meekly, "Buttons just realized what Mistress Passy made Buttons do when Mistress Passy told Buttons to find Dobby." The female house-elf shuttered with guilt and grief. "Mistress Passy made Buttons trick Dobby into betraying Dobby's Master, Harry Potter."

"Does this be true?" snapped Dobby.

"Erm," Pansy hesitated.

"Don't be lying to Dobby!" The house-elf raised the switch over his head, ready to strike.

"Yes, I had Buttons place a tracking pad onto your clothes so we could follow you to Potter," she admitted. "But everything's okay, now. We're all friends with Potter!"

"YOU'S BITCH!" snarled Dobby. His thin arm became a blur of motion as he whipped Pansy's backside a dozen times in five seconds. "YOU'S BETRAYED THE GREATEST WIZARD IN THE WORLD!"

"OW!" screamed Pansy in agony.

"Once Dobby be finished with Mistress Pansy, Dobby should beat Button's bottom," said Buttons. The female house-elf turned and presented her bum to Dobby.

"Why would Dobby be wanting to do that?" he asked.

"Because Buttons should be punished for tricking Dobby," she sniffled.

Dobby looked at the switch in his hand (still vibrating from the recent attack on Pansy's arse) and then at Buttons innocently. "No's, Dobby's won't be doing that. Not ever. Dobby could not be ever hurting another house-elf. Especially since Buttons was only following Buttons' Mistress' orders."

Buttons wipe a great glob from her eyes as she turned to face Dobby. "Dobby is being too generous. Buttons still needs to be punished, even if Dobby don't think so. So Buttons be offering Buttons as a slave for Dobby."

"Dobby don't be needing a slave," the house-elf said from his perch on Pansy's back. "Dobby be having a slave already."

"No's!" protested the female house-elf. "Buttons needs to make up for Buttons' transgressions. Buttons needs to be Dobby's slave."

"Dobby be sorry. Dobby wouldn't know what to be doing with two's slaves."

"Fine then! Buttons be demanding age old practice of house-elves whenever house-elves be disagreeing!"

"You's don't be meaning…." Dobby paused for a moment before adding in an ominous tone, "...Thunderdome?"

"Buttons does be demanding Thunderdome!"

The word hung there in the air – full of dread and forbidding. Thunderdome! It was a tangible thing that made the tiny hairs on the back of Dobby and Buttons' neck stand. Of course, Pansy did not share this reaction for she, not being a house-elf and oblivious to their ways, could not know the true depths of what was occurring at that moment.

Finally, Dobby sighed and crawled down from Pansy's back. He marched to the large dining table that had been pushed to the far wall, clearing the floor space until the tiling of the Great Hall was completed. The house-elf climbed up on top of the table and announced "Two slaves enter, one slave leaves!"

Pansy looked at Dobby and screeched "What the hell is going on?"

"This be Thunderdome," he replied. "You's and Buttons be's fighting to the deaths to see who becomes Dobby's slave."

"To the death? That's insane!" snarled Pansy. Turning to her former house-elf, the bald witch snapped "You can be his slave. I don't want any part of this shit!"

"No's," barked Dobby threateningly. "You's can't be backing out of being Dobby's slave. Harry Potter, sir, commanded that shiny-headed witch be Dobby's slave. And if you don't be doing what Harry Potter said then Harry Potter won't be doing naughty things to your dirty hole, not ever. And since Harry Potter be the Greatest Wizard in the World, Harry Potter's word is LAW!"

Pansy contemplated what the house-elf said. If she didn't perform her duties as the creature's slave, Potter wouldn't shove his rock-hard meat up her bottom. Pansy glared at Buttons. If Pansy did not fight Buttons and simply walked away, allowing the female house-elf to become Dobby's personal slave for her transgression, then Pansy would not enjoy a hard buggering and heaps of mind shattering orgasms. Even though it was beyond degrading to fight a filthy house-elf for the right of being a slave, there was no way in heaven or hell Pansy was going to miss out on an epic rogering. Pansy growled threateningly at Buttons. With spittle spraying from between her clenched teeth, Pansy snarled "Bring it on, bitch!"


Buttons howled and jumped onto Pansy's shoulder, Buttons screamed a battle cry of "Buttons be kicking bald former mistress's arse!"

"OW!" screamed the bald witch. "Stop biting my ears, you short cunt!"

"Two slaves enters, one slave leaves! Two slaves enters, one slave leaves!" chanted Dobby as was tradition in Thunderdome from his perch atop the table. "Two slaves enters, one slave leaves!"

Pansy grabbed Buttons by her long ears and violently yanked the house-elf from her shoulders. With an animalistic grunt, Pansy threw Buttons against the ground. Then, with the image of Potter's godlike throbbing hunk of meat filling her mind (well, filling and stretching out her arse in her mind to be more precise), Pansy leapt into the air. The witch twisted her body so that she brought her elbow down, crashing fiercely into Button's belly. All the air was violently forced from the house-elf's tiny body, leaving her stunned. Seizing the moment, Pansy quickly stood up and kicked her opponent as hard of she could. Pansy rationalized this brutal action as a means of ending this highly degrading moment as soon as possible. Buttons skidded across the floor and crashed into the far wall with a painful thud.

Thinking she had been victorious, Pansy threw her arms over her head. Soon, very soon, she would be on the receiving end of an epic buggering. Poems and plays would be penned at just how monumental the bum shagging would be. Pansy imagined weaving tales of the numerous, dripping orgasms, gaping orifices and the utter joy that came with them to her awed friends. The mere thought of the impending sodomy flooded her sex with hot, sticky fluid.

Pansy's musings were interrupted when a dining chair was struck over her head. The force of the blow not only smashed the chair to kindling, it knocked the witch to the floor and almost knocking her out. Bleary eyed and dizzy from the attack, Pansy looked up to see Buttons smiling, proudly holding fragments of the ruined chair in her tiny fists.

"Mistress Pansy's mum would beat Buttons harder when Buttons don't fold linens properly. Mistress Pansy could have learned a thing or two's from bald Mistress' mum." Buttons kicked Pansy squarely in the mouth before taunting; "Mistress Pansy be nothing more than a wuss!"

Dobby's eyes were wide. Well, wider than normal. These two were fighting for the right to be his slave! They were fighting for him! This thought did things to his small body – things that he never felt before. These sensations made his nose twitch for the second time. If he had not been so enthralled watching the witch and the elf battle for him, Dobby might have been embarrassed by this twitching, for it was a highly private thing for house-elves.

Recovering from the blow to her mouth, Pansy howled and lunged at Buttons. The witch's fingers were flexed, ready to gouge Buttons' large eyes out. But the house-elf ducked out of the way. Hoping to cause some damage to her opponent, Pansy slashed her hand out. With a ripping sound, the witch tore Buttons' rags off, giving Dobby a clear view of the two prune-like orbs that made up the female house-elf's bottom.

His nose twitched for the third time.

"You's bitch, that was Buttons' favorite rags!" snapped Buttons. In retaliation, she took hold of Pansy's left breast and squeezed hard. "You's will be paying for that!"

Pansy screamed as Buttons tiny fingers dug into her tender skin. Hoping to dish out the same pain to her adversary, Pansy shot out her hand and snatched Button's small pink nipple. With all the force she could muster, Pansy twisted the nub.

"Ha," laughed Buttons. "Mistress Pansy don't be knowing Button's likes it rough."

Dobby nose twitched yet again. This time, a small amount of white snot dripped from his nostril.

Letting go of the witch's tit, Buttons kicked Pansy in the belly. Pansy yelped in pain and doubled over. Buttons kicked again, hitting the witch in the hip and sending her sprawling onto the floor.

"Two slaves enter," mumbled Dobby with far less gusto than tradition called for. He was salivating over the sight before him. "One slave leaves."

Buttons scurried on top of her fallen foe. Her small hands took hold of Pansy's ears. The house-elf pulled Pansy's head up, off the floor, only to slam it back down. Pansy whimpered in pain as her face smashed into the hard concrete under-floor.

"Mistress Pansy will not be stopping…" Buttons paused to lift the witch's head off the floor, "… Buttons from becoming Dobby's slave!"

With the dream of the epic buggering giving her the strength, Pansy proclaimed defiantly; "Do you worst, you slag."

"Buttons will be doing Buttons' worsted!" The house-elf repeated the process of lifting Pansy's head and slamming it onto the floor over and over again. With each thrusting, Button's tiny, wrinkled bottom shook. And with each wrinkly bum quiver, Dobby's nose twitched. His brilliant green eyes turned dark. His body trembled with a desire he had never felt before. This strange sensation took hold of Dobby, robbing him of his free will. It made him jump down from the table and, hollowing like a banshee, lunged at the naked female house-elf.

What followed next would scar Pansy for the rest of her life. For the witch became witness to an act rarely seen by magical folk: house-elves mating. The witch's eyes grew wide in terror as she witnessed Dobby roughly shoved his long nose directly up Button's left nostril.

"Oh's Dobby!" moaned Buttons. "That be feeling goods!"

Dobby smacked Button's naked bum and began to pump his nose in and out of the female house-elf nostril.

Pansy tried to tear her eyes away. But the shock had robbed her of her motor function. The poor witch could not even blink. Her very body betrayed her, frozen in shock.

After a few more thrusts, Dobby pulled out and looked down at his lover. With a combination of his and Buttons' snot dripping off his nose, he asked in a squeaky voice, "Does you be liking this, Buttons?"

"Oh's yes, Dobby," she purred. "Please be shagging Buttons' other nostril."

Dobby smiled and complied enthusiastically. He plunged his nose deep into Buttons' right nostril.

Then, as Dobby pushed into Button's for the tenth time, both house-elves sneezed violently. An explosion of white mucus erupted out of their noses, coating their faces, bodies and the floor around them.

Panting, Dobby pulled out and asked "Was it being goods for you, darling doodle-bug?"

Before Buttons could answer, Pansy let out a terrified scream.


A long, drawn out and nearly defeated sigh escaped Voldemort's thin lips. Gathered around him in his throne room in Malfoy Manor was what was left of his competent Death Eaters and his two remaining counterparts from alternate universes. The cause for Voldemort's sighing was due to the fact he had been reduced to relying on Soaring Spade, the gun-slinging cowboy version of himself, Tom Riddle, life coach and motivational speaker, Bellatrix, whose tiny head made her far too disturbing to even look at, Wormtail, who was more worthless than normal lately, and Draco, who was hunched over in pain for some reason.

Turning to Draco, Voldemort asked "Where's your mother?"

"She refuses to leave her room," replied Draco.

Both Wormtail and Bellatrix recoiled at the Malfoy heir's voice. The rat-like man inquired "What happened to your voice?"

"Were you hit with some sort of curse?" asked Bellatrix.

Draco grimaced. "No,," he replied in his now high and squeaky voice. "There was… I had… there was an accident."

Voldemort's eyebrows rose up, approvingly. "I like it. Your voice gives you an unmistakable air of power."

Of course the reason why Voldemort felt this was that the freshly emasculated Draco had the same tone and pitch as the Dark Lord. And since Voldemort had a very high opinion of himself, it was only natural to believe anyone who was similar to him in one aspect or another was powerful.

"Thank you, my Lord," squeaked Draco.

Voldemort nodded to Draco before continuing. "I have called you here to inform you of some recent… recruitment."

"Does this have anything to do with those freaks out there?" asked Soaring Spade, jerking a thumb toward the door behind them.

"'Freaks' is a very derogatory and hurtful term," informed the life coach Tom Riddle. "We prefer to call them…" The motivational speaker paused for a moment, recalling the one woman who resembled that odd looking Brenda girl from the Yank program about rich teens in California. "… Instead of 'freaks,' a much more preferable phrase would be 'abominations in the eyes of creation.'"

"To answer Spade's question, yes," announced Voldemort. "Due to recent setbacks, I have been forced to activate my Backup Death Eaters. The purpose of this meeting is to divide those abominations into teams under you, my lieutenants."

"I'm one of your lieutenants now, Master?" asked Draco with near awe.

"I don't work with no partners or flunkies. They just get themselves killed within ninety minutes," growled Soaring Spade recalling the numerous times when a cohort, friend, or even romantic interest was gunned down usually right in front of him. The weathered and leathery cowboy squinted his eyes even more then normal in an effort to fight the tears that threatened to well up.

"Think of the Backup Death Eaters as nothing more than cannon fodder," offered Voldemort. "These are the ones who will take all the Killing Curses."

The Dark Lord stood and, looking down upon his lieutenants, ordered, "Go forth and take command of your new subordinates."

"What should we do with them, Master?" asked Draco, eager to prove his worth.

If these Backup Death Eaters were competent or, at the very least, not mouth breathers, Voldemort would have ordered his lieutenants to go forth and wreak havoc upon his enemies. Alas, the Backup Death Eaters would undoubtedly cause more damage to each other than to the Dark Lord's enemies. Voldemort could see his malformed and mentally inept followers killing each other with misaimed Killing Curses during a battle. Unfortunately, until he could recruit more able followers or free his minions from Azkaban, he would have to make due with what he had.

"Perhaps you can start off slowly," Voldemort said and added quickly, "until you get used to commanding your new subordinates. Might I suggest something simple?" He added under his breath, "very, very simple."

"Maybe a midnight raid on Diagon Alley?" offered Draco. "I could lead my team and sack a few shops and businesses."

"You should limit that down to one shop or business." Voldemort didn't want to overwhelm the Backup Death Eaters with a plan more complicated than "Go into that building right there and smash it up!"

"Go now, my friends, and claim your subordinates!" said the Dark Lord with absolutely no passion whatsoever before flopping back into his throne.


After the group sex in the new tub, Harry and his witches washed up. Then, after toweling one another dry, Harry mused aloud, "Taking Hermione's suggestion from last night, I have to show the world I have a great deal of power at my command. That should be easy enough: all I have to do is kill a load of Death Eaters in front of group of witnesses in some dramatic fashion."

"You should do it in front of some reporters from the Daily Prophet," suggested Daphne.

"Or, if you want a reporter from a respectable newspaper instead of that rag, we can call my Daddy," said Luna. "But since he's abroad investigating real stories, we will have to lower our standards and deal with the Prophet."

"Now all we have to do is lure a bunch of Death Eaters into one place, leave a tip with the Prophet that something phenomenal will occur at that particular place, and then pow! I kill them all!" said Harry.

"We could leak some information in places where Death Eaters hang out," said Charlus. "You know, go to Diagon Alley and say 'Harry Potter's going to be here.'"

"Or we could just attack Azkaban," suggested Tracey looking up from the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Where'd you get that?" asked Harry.

"It seems Dobby signed up for a subscription," said Tracey. "There's a whole stack of the past two weeks just outside the door. He must've left it there for us to read after taking Pansy away for her punishment."

"Well, that's convenient," muttered Harry.

Hermione snatched the newspaper from Tracey's hand and, after reading the front page in a few seconds, exclaimed "Percy Weasley is the Minister for Magic!"

"How'd that arse-kisser become the Minister?" asked the slightly-brain-damaged bookworm, Hermione Jean.

"Apparently he kissed the right arse," offered Luna. The blonde slid up to Hermione and purred. "Perhaps he took some lessons from you, since you are the out-and-out best arse kisser in the world."

"I don't kiss, I lick the arse," corrected Hermione with well earned pride before returning to the newspaper. "Arse kisser or not, apparently he's actually doing a bloody fantastic job."

"How so?" asked Daphne.

"He's rounded up every Death Eater and their supporters that were in the Wizengamot and Ministry as well as a number outside the government," the non brain-damaged bookworm, Hermione, said. "Judging by how many of his supports are in Azkaban and how many you've killed, Harry, I speculate that Voldemort's nearly crippled right now."

Harry smiled. "Remind me to send a post to Minister Ginger and thank him for helping me out."

"But Harry, I don't understand how that helps you out?" Hermione Jean piped up. "You wanted to show the world that you're incredible powerful by killing a load of Death Eaters. How did Percy help you?"

"The new Minister was kind enough to put them all in one convenient place for me to kill."

"Harry, you can't seriously be considering attacking Azkaban. Since the Dementors left, the Ministry has placed numerous wards making the whole island heavily fortified against magical attacks – there are wards around it that prevent any spell from being used. You can't even use something as simple as a Stun Hex," chastised Hermione. "The only way around these protective wards is to use the specially imbued amulets worn by the handful of Ministry guards."

"Who said I was going to attack it using magic?" he returned impishly. "Oh, and this is for chastising me."

The smack delivered to Hermione's round bare bottom and the accompanying yelp echoed off the walls.

Rubbing her now sore backside, Hermione asked "So what do you have planned then?" in a fairly polite and patient manner, having learned her lesson.

"We'll need to spilt up and gather some supplies." The wizard turned to his counter-part's twin and asked "Are you familiar with Muggle money?"

"Of course," replied Charlus. She added with humility, "I actually taught a course on various Muggle cultures which included Muggle finances back at the Salem Academy. Part of the course went over the world's various stock exchanges as well as the exchange rate in different regions."

As Hermione rolled his eyes in disgust over Charlus' boasting, Harry stated "So you can go shopping in Muggle shop and not panic when the clerk asks for pound notes?"

"Erm, Yes," said Charlus.

"Good, you take Tracey and go a Muggle hardware shop," he told the black witch.

"What should we buy?" asked Tracey.

"Five wheelbarrows and garden carts and string; a very long spool of string or twine" he said. "I want at least a two hundred foot spool. You'd better purchase two or three of the big spools just to be safe."

Charlus bragged, "This little shopping trip should be simple for a witch of my expertise."

While Hermione rolled her eyes in indignation over Charlus' boasts again – this time in a far more exaggerated and over-the-top fashion – Harry handed Charlus a key and added "Go to Gringott's and convert a couple galleons to pound notes."

As Charlus and Tracey left, Harry turned to other witches and said "Well, we'd better get started."

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione Jean.

He answered "We're going on a shopping trip of our own," with a wicked grin that told his witches it would be more of a heist than a shopping trip.


Teatamus, the wizard formally known as Remus Lupin, was experiencing a sense of deep spiritual joy. Even though it was still very early in the morning, well before most folks finished their breakfasts, there was a queue of new converts waiting to enter the Temple. His joy diminished slightly when he noticed something odd. It did concern Teatamus somewhat that all the new converts waiting to enter The Devine Mammary this morning were wizards. For some reason, the Word was not reaching the Devine Mammary's daughters.

After pondering this for a moment, a revelation came to Teatamus. The temple was ideal, for some indiscernible reason, for attracting male converts. To gain more female converts, he and his flock would have to go out into the world and recruit more witches.

He considered sending Nubbin on this quest to gain news sisters for the order since he had been so successful when he recruited Bambi, Cinnamon, Bubbles, Jasmine and Barbie. However, Nubbin was far too busy maintaining the spell that conjured the loud, thumping music that filled the Temple. And looking at the sisters who were dancing to Nubbin's music, Teatamus realized the witches had been dancing throughout most of the night and they needed rest.

It was at this point Teatamus decided to send Kingsley out on the mission. The pious wizard approached the Auror who was receiving a special one-on-one dance from Sister Bambi for Kingsley's generous contributions.

"Pardon me, Brother Kingsley, may I have a word?" asked Teatamus.

Without taking his eyes off of Bambi's naked, swaying breasts, Kingsley replied with a muffled grunt.

"I have a request of you, Brother," began Teatamus, unaware that Kingsley's eyes were following Bambi's breasts as if they were the bouncing ball in a sing-along. "Like all newfound faiths, we who worship the Devine Mammary must grow in number so we can spread the Word. To that end, we need new converts. We seem to have an excess of wizards willing to hear the Word of the Tittie, but for some unknown reason, the Word is not reaching the fairer sex, save for our lovely sisters that you see dancing in the Temple currently.

"Therefore, in order to bring more witches into Temple and shower them in the Devine Milk of our Endowed Mother, I need you to go forth into the secular world and recruit more sisters," concluded Teatamus.

"You want me to go out and find more birds to dance here?" summarized Kingsley.

"Yes, we need more witches to learn of our Mother's Love," said Teatamus.

Kinsley pried his eyes away from Bambi's gorgeous mounds and looked at the other witches dancing in all their naked glory. If he complied with Remus' request and fetched more witches, Kingsley would get to watch even more naked witches dance and gyrate. Why, if he did it good and proper, the Auror could stuff the place with dozens of gorgeous, naked witches. His mind's eye was filled with copious amounts of breasts and bottoms. The corner of his lips curled into a goofy smile. "I'll do it!"

The Auror attempted to stand in order to start his quest right away. Unfortunately, Kingsley had been sitting for so long that he has lost all sensation in his lower extremities.

"It seems that my legs have fallen asleep," he admitted with a touch of embarrassment.

"Perhaps I could massage Brother Kingsley's legs to wake them," offered Bambi.

"That's a wonderful idea," cheered Teatamus. The pious wizard saw a group of new wizards entering the Temple. "If you would excuse me, I must spread the Word to our new brethren."

The naked witch plopped down, kneeling between Kingsley's legs and began to rub his thighs. In a few moments, Bambi's small, delicate hands slid up to Kingsley's upper thighs. The Auror's goofy smile grew exponentially.

"My goodness! You have an awfully hard knot here, Brother Kingsley," said Bambi innocently as the rubbed the inside of the wizard's right thigh.

"Long and hard," he returned. "The best way to deal with a knot like that is to caress it with long, firm – yet gentle – strokes."


"Oi! I'm tired," complained Carnation with a whine.

"Yeah, me thighs are rubbing together something awful," added Marigold with a whine of her own.

The group of three mentally and emotionally damaged gingers and five hideous witches had been roaming through a forest for some time now. Each one was caked with sweat and had dried leaves and twigs stuck in their hair.

Ron turned to Marigold and Carnation and said "Ron the Magnificent will be more than pleased to satisfy your carnal desires, you naughty witches."

The reason the tall red-head said this was his fractured psyche had not heard the two complain about the tiring journey, but instead his deranged mind wove a bizarre scenario where both Marigold and Carnation had begged "Ron the Magnificent" to "roughly plow" their "eager" and "fertile" womanhoods.

As Ron removed the filthy rag that acted as his loincloth, Carnation said "What's he on about?"

"I think he wants to do it," said Marigold.

"Just let him," groaned their sister, Bergamot. "He'll cum in a second or two and then fall asleep like he always does."

"Yeah, then we can rest fer a bit," said Violet.

"I don't wanna!" cried Marigold. "Even if it's only a second, I'm too tired and me bits are raw from the chaffing!"

"Shut it!" snapped Millicent. "We're still under orders from Minister Parkinson: if tha' ginger wants to shag us, then we got to obey!"

Of course, Ron's mind played out a different scene. In his mind, the witches were arguing amongst one another for who got the right to feel his large manhood split them in two. "There's no cause to fight, my lovelies. Ron the Magnificent has plenty to go around."

"Just do it, or by Merlin, I'll flatten ya!" Millicent snarled at Marigold and Carnation threateningly.

"Fine, next time tha ginger wants ta shove those wands stuck in his pecker up someone's twat, it's gonna be yours, Milli," grumbled Marigold as she turned to Ron.

"Ron the Magnificent wants both of you on your hands and knees," Ron said to the two witches before him. "Ron the Magnificent is going to take you from behind in turns."

Carnation snorted with laughter. "Yeah, right. One measly little thrust and yer gonna cum and then go to sleep."

To which Ron heard "Oh Ron the Magnificent, my bits are dripping with the thoughts of how many orgasms you're going to give us!"

Complying with the ginger's order, Marigold got on her hands and knees. Looking over her shoulder at Ron, she said "Just get on with it. I wanna rest."

To which Ron heard "Please, Ron the Magnificent, I like it rough. Give my soft, round bottom a good slap."

Being the ultimate manly wizard that he (thought he) was, Ron the Magnificent had to abide by his imagined beautiful lover's imagined request. After all, it was only proper to give as much pleasure as he could to his witches.

With all the might her could muster, Ron's open hand flew at Marigold's expansive backside. The slap was so loud that birds up to a quarter mile away flew away in fright.

"OW!" cried Marigold as her bottom jiggled from the blow.

"Aw hell no!" snarled Carnation. The significantly-more-than-hefty witch reared up and grabbed a fistful of Ron's hair. "You did not just hit my sister!"

Unfortunately for the wizard, Ron heard "Please Ron the Magnificent, smack my gloriously firm bottom too!"

The last thing Ron remembered before he lost consciousness was complying with his lover's request.

With all of her might, Carnation punched the ginger square in the face. The witch threw every ounce of her considerable weight into the blow.

Ron's head snapped back. No less than four teeth flew from his mouth in a fountain of blood. The wizard hit the ground, spread eagle, four feet from where he was struck.

"You son of a bitch!" growled Carnation, still holding onto the fistful of Ron's hair, which left the ginger partially bald on top of his head. "No one hits me or me sisters!"

"Oi! You shouldn't've done that!" cried Millicent in shock. "Minister Parkinson said..."

"To hell with Minister Parkinson," snapped Carnation. She threw the tuff of the ginger's hair onto the ground defiantly. "And to hell with this mission! I don't wanna be in tha' ginger's harem no more!"

"Me too," chimed Violet. "It was fun at first when we was in the attic, but now, all this walking is making me mad."

"Yeah," echoed Bergamot.

"Ditto," said Marigold, whose bottom was still jiggling from the slap.

"C'mon sisters, we're leaving!" Ignoring their various sore and chaffed bits, the Pritchard sisters marched off.

The four witches got three steps away before Millicent announced "Well, I'm not gonna be tha only one playing with the ginger." and promptly followed the sisters.

The five would've left Ron lying in the grass if it had not been for Fred and George. The twins sang out a warbling tune. "Wait a tic. Lest ye forgot, you left your wands in his dick."

"They're right."

"Yeah, we can't leave those behind."

The five witches pulled and yanked on the wedged wands for several minutes before finally freeing them from their fleshy prison. Brandishing their wands, the five witches turned and waddled away, leaving Ron and his brothers alone.


Meanwhile, back at Malfoy Manor, each of Voldemort's lieutenants was becoming accustomed to their new subordinates in their own unique ways.

In the Manor's grand dining room, Tom Riddle approached his charges exactly as he approached his self-help seminars. The man had the Backup Death Eaters sit on plastic folding chairs in rows and listen to his Plan for a Road Map to a Better You (which happened to be the title to his best selling book). The man stood before them and spoke, telling them such things as "So what if you're mum and dad were brother and sister. That doesn't make you any less valuable as a human being" and "Is the world holding you back? No, you're own self doubt is doing that just fine – it doesn't need any help from the world. It's time to cast your doubt and misgivings to the wind!"

In the ruined foyer, Soaring Spade simply glared at his underlings. The weathered cowboy knew from experience that he shouldn't get to know his underlings, much less get close to them. That would only lead to heartache and grief when they would eventually die. There two things Soaring Spade hated above all else; first, getting too close to his partners or subordinate and second, crying over their inevitable deaths.

Whereas in the dungeon, Bellatrix was having some difficulty getting her Backup Death Eaters to believe she was their leader.

"You can't be a real Death Eater," a wizard with three eyebrows said.

"And why is that, you inbred simpleton?" she demanded.

A witch with a third nipple on her chin answered "Because yer just like us."

"Yeah, yer deformed like us," said a thing that may have been a witch or a wizard.

"I am NOT deformed!" snarled Bellatrix.

"Then why do you got such a small head?" asked someone with a double chin (the wizard's double chin was not the cause of obesity but due to the face he had two sets of jaw bones; one under the other).

"It was a spell that caused my current state," she explained venomously.




"It is the truth!" snapped Bellatrix aggressively.

"Oh, we believe you," said a wizard who, unlike his cohort who had two jaws, had no chin whatsoever. "The same thing happened ta me. Ya see, I was hit with a hex an' tha's the reason why I gots two willies."

Bellatrix whipped out her wand and jabbed it into the wizard's chest. "Don't mock me, fool, for it will be the las... wait, did you say you have two penises?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

Bellatrix cocked a tiny eyebrow. "Do they both work?"

Proudly, the wizard lifted up the front of his robes to revel his particular deformity. Bellatrix licked her lips. Neither of his two organs compared to Potter's ode to manhood, but the witch reasoned that two could come close. Then she looked around at the other malformed wizards. She further rationalized that if two willies came close to Potter's epic meat, then perhaps fifteen or so would scratch her itch.

The tiny-headed witch purred, "It's customary for me to... break in my new subordinates."

With a wave of her wand, Bellatrix's robes disappeared with a pop. She announced "Let the gang-bang begin!"

One of the wizards pointed at Bellatrix's naked body. "Would you look at that! She's only got two titties!"

"Yeah, but it'll do in a pinch," said another wizard as he striped off his robes and marched to the willing and waiting tiny headed witch.

As Bellatrix "broke" in her new charges, Wormtail gathered his subordinates before him in the library. The normally meek and weak willed wizard saw an opportunity. An opportunity for revenge.

Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Wormtail announced "We will not be sacking Diagon Alley. No, no. Our mission is much, much closer. We will launch a full scale attack on a most foul and loathsome being. His name is..." The mere mention of the fiend's name caused Wormtail's stomach to churn. The anger fueled bile burned his throat. "His name is Templeton!"

The pure, unadulterated hatred in his voice caused several Backup Death Eaters to recoil. That and Wormtail was so enraged that he spat when he spoke so the inbred witches and wizards had to take a step back to avoid being sprayed with spittle.

Even though they were downright stupid, Wormtail doubted the Backup Death Eaters would help him get his revenge against the rat that stole Mrs. Brisby, the love of his life, from him. However, Wormtail could use the Backup Death Eaters' vaulted stupidity to his advantage. Right there, Wormtail formed a plan.

"Templeton is one of the Dark Lord's most hated enemies!" he began. "Once, long ago, this foul being was one of our Master's closest allies. But, the traitorous best betrayed him!"

As he spoke, Wormtail saw the twisted and misshaped faces of his subordinates grow red with rage. He could tell that they were eager to hunt down Templeton and kill him for his imagined crimes. Stoking the fire of the Backup Death Eaters hatred, Wormtail continued to weave stories of Templeton's transgressions.

"Not only did he betray our great and powerful Master, but the fiend stole his lady friend!"

"Tha' blighter!" spat a wizard.

"'E must've used a Confundus Charm on Master's lady," said a witch. "'E bewitched 'er!"

"Yeah, th's the only way someone would leave a wizard as perfect as the Dark Lord!" added another witch.

"Let's go kill the blighter!"

"Where is 'e!" demanded an enraged wizard.

"He's right here, in this very Manor!"

"What? How could he be here, right under the Master's nose?" someone asked.

"Because he's hiding in the very walls of this manor!" announced Wormtail.

"Wha, is 'e a small fellow?"

"'e'd 'ave ta be pretty small to be hiding in the walls," a wizard with overly long and thick ear hairs speculated.

"Templeton, the fiend who betrayed our Master and slept with his love, is a rat!" said Wormtail.

"Excuse me, but why would a rat be a threat to the Dark Lord?"

"Yeah, he's tha' most powerful wizard ta' ever live."

"Ah, but you see, Templeton's an animagus," explained Wormtail.

"Wha's an anim... anima... animu... wha's that word mean?" asked a witch.

"An animagus is a witch or wizard that can turn into an animal," replied Wormtail.

Collectively, the Backup Death Eaters' eye popped wide open and their jaws dropped. Clearly, they had never even heard of such a thing as an animagus and they were gob smacked by the concept. For three whole seconds, they stared at Wormtail in utter wonder. Then, the witch with unleveled eyes who terrified Voldemort so much exclaimed breathlessly "That. Is. Bloody. Awesome!"

"Really?" asked Wormtail in surprise.

"No wonder this Templeton's a threat ta' You Know Who," said another witch earnestly. "He's have ta' be very powerful ta' change into a rat."

"You really think so?" asked Wormtail.

The group of inbreeds all nodded their heads in agreement.

Even though the Backup Death Eaters were imbeciles, the fact that they were flabbergasted and impressed with the notion of an animagus gave Wormtail a sense of pride. The Backup Death Eaters truly believed that an animagus was a powerful person. And since Wormtail himself was an animagus, then the Backup Death Eaters would believe he was a powerful wizard. Finally, there were people who were impressed with something he could do.

Beaming with pride and hoping for some praise, Wormtail told his subordinates "You know, I'm an animagus."

"No shite?"

"No wonder yer our boss!"

"Can we see it, sir?"

"Oh please, change inta an animal fer us!"

Wormtail puffed out his chest and, just for a dash of theatrics, clicked his fingers before changing into his rat form.

This is where the betrayer of James and Lily Potter's plan backfired. In order to seek vengeance against the rat that stole his furry soul mate, Wormtail relied on the Backup Death Eaters stupidity. His flaw was he did not properly gauge just how mind numbingly stupid his subordinates truly were.

"'e just turned inta a rat!" someone shouted.

"Wait, didn't 'e warn us tha' Templeton can change into a rat?" asked a wizard near the back of the library.

It was at this point the witch with misplaced eyes came to a disastrous conclusion. "Since 'e turned inta a rat like Templeton, tha' must mean 'e is Templeton!"

Wormtail squeaked in confusion and surprise at his underlings' stunningly low intelligence.

Tugging their wands out, many of the Backup Death Eaters let out a battle cry of "KILL THA' DARK LORD'S ENEMY!"

Upstairs in his room, Draco Malfoy ignored the series of loud explosions coming from the library. Instead the blond Death Eater gazed upon his new charges. From his past experiences with his goons, Crabb and Goyle, Draco knew exactly how to treat the inbred imbeciles. And thanks to his vast background with the aforementioned goons, Draco knew the limits of his charges' limited mental capabilities. Just as the Dark Lord had suggested, Draco had to keep his orders short and simple.

However, Draco was not content with simply sacking a shop in Diagon Alley. No. Even though his subordinates had a collective I. Q. that, if lucky, barely broke double digits, Draco dreamed of great things. Like Wormtail, Draco envisioned using his Backup Death Eaters to seek vengeance against the villain who stole his soul mate from him. But unlike Wormtail who foolishly did not test his subordinates skills and stupidity, Draco knew he would have to work on his underlings until he could count on them in a battle with Potter.

"Listen up, fools," snapped Draco in his high, emasculated voice. The Backup Death Eaters snapped to attention. "I'm going to take you outside where we're going to run some tests so I can see what you lot can do!"

This order turned out to be a test of the Backup Death Eaters' mental capacities. For three of the inbred simpletons raised their hands and asked "What do ya mean by 'outside'?" as if they had never heard the word before. Five more Backup Death Eaters lifted their robes and lowered their trousers, thinking it Draco's tests were along the lines of the sort of test where the Healer jabs his or her finger up their bum to feel for polyps. Draco's remaining subordinates seemed to be too preoccupied with the act of breathing to have heard a word he said.

"This may take a while," muttered Draco.


With a whoosh sound, Harry, Hermione, Luna, Hermione Jean and Daphne appeared via portkey in the middle of a large warehouse. The interior of the warehouse was barely lit with a few naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. And row after row of heavy, industrial shelves lined the floor.

"Where are we?" asked Hermione.

"Why is every box green?" asked Hermione Jean, eyeing the countless large crates and boxes lining every row and shelf.

Scrutinizing the crates in the dim light, Luna corrected; "They're not just green. They are painted different shades of green. I see olive, forest and moss to name a few. And the color patterns aren't uniform either; they are painted in seemingly random blotches and blobs."

"You're right. Look," said Hermione Jean, pointing to number of rows along the far end of the warehouse. "Those boxes are various shades of browns and tans."

"Wait, that's camouflage paint," Hermione pointed out. Then, the buxom brunette added shrilly; "Oh for Merlin's sake, we're sacking the Muggle military?"

"We're sacking the armory of the Muggle military to be precise," said Harry.

The wizard quickly conjured a very long rope. Handing Hermione one end of the rope, he said "Tie this around as many crates that say 'landmines' that you can And make sure you tie them well; they have to survive travel via portkey."

Harry conjured three more ropes and handed one to Luna, Hermione Jean and Daphne. He ordered them to tie the rope around crates that the words 'grenades,' 'claymores' and 'tank-mines' printed on them.

"You're stealing swords?" asked Daphne in disbelief.

"No, not that type of claymore," replied Harry.

"What's a 'Land-Mind'?" asked Luna. The petite blonde was excited. Had she stumbled across a new mythical creature like the Crumpled Horn Snorkack. Was this Land-Mind a creature that resembled a human brain? She imagined this Land-Mind hopping around on its cerebellum as it munched on different plants.

"Land-mine not mind," corrected Hermione.

"Oh," moaned Luna in disappointment.

As his witches complied with his orders, Harry conjured four shoes. He then tapped each one in turn and incanted "Portus."

A few moments later, the four witches returned to Harry. He took the end piece of the rope he had given Hermione and dropped it on the first shoe-portkey. Eight crates of landmines disappeared with a whoosh. Twenty-two more crates of various high-explosives followed shortly thereafter.

As Harry and his witches gathered around the portkey that had brought them to the warehouse, Luna said with a sad smile, "I was really looking forward to finding a Land-Mind."