Posted: 11 August, 2010
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story that is recognisable from the Harry Potter books, movies, etc. Everything else however (eg. story plot, original characters, etc.) stems from my own imagination and belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended and I am not profiting financially from this story in any way.
Summary: Challenge to self: Write a HP story containing as many HP clichés as possible. (List of used clichés to be included in separate chapter). Oneshot. Parody.
What a Cliché
Harry fumed on the way back from Kings Cross, and then in between fumes he would sob a little. The Dursleys remained quiet, and Dudley shifted as far away from Harry as he could. From the constant, abrupt changes in behaviour, it was clear to all three that the freak was finally losing his mind. They didn't want to risk bothering him in case he snapped and killed them all with his freakish powers.
When they reached Privet Drive Harry stormed up to his bedroom. He only had to stop twice on the stairs, once to cry for a bit, and once to scream and kick a hole in the wall. The Dursleys made themselves scarce in the living room as the door to Harry's room slammed behind him. They didn't even scold him for the wall since they still feared he was losing his mind.
In his bedroom, Harry fumed some more and paced back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth, and … well, you get the picture. Needless to say there was much fumed pacing. The reason for said pacing was because Harry wasn't happy. He was mad! Really, really mad! (With sporadic bursts of grief about Sirius, that is.)
Dumbledore, that barmy old codger, had kept the super secret prophecy all super secret from him all these years. Him! Him who it was about! How dare he? And he never even bothered to train Harry in super secret spells and curses and stuff so he could kick Voldy's butt. There was only one explanation: he wanted Harry to lose! Gasp!
Well, Harry wasn't going to stand for that. He wasn't sure why exactly Dumbles (as he now swore to disrespectfully refer to the headmaster) wanted him dead, but was probably for some intricate, manipulative, super secret plot. But Harry had no intention of being part of Dumbles' super secret plot. Oh no, for Harry had a super secret plot of his own.
Harry reached into his robe pocket and pulled from within a little silver hourglass on a chain. It was a time-turner! Harry had rather conveniently swiped it from the Department of Ministries before the cabinet of others was destroyed. Why did he swipe it you ask? Did he know back then he would need it for a super secret plan? Did his inner eye tell him? No of course not, Harry's crap a divination. He just likes stealing things sometimes; he's a bit of a klepto like that.
Back to the super secret plot however, step one of his plan was to get away from the Dursleys. But of course, there would be Order members guarding outside who would stop him. But he had a time-turner! He gathered his belongings and threw the silver chain around his neck. He raised the little hourglass and turned it over once, letting out a loud, evil, slightly hysterical, 'my plan is coming together' laugh. Downstairs, the Dursleys shuddered.
Harry reappeared in exactly the same spot as before, his belongings with him. Everything looked the same but he knew it had worked because he tripped and fell sprawled onto the floor. Everyone knew Harry became as graceful as Tonks when it came to magical travel. Except flying of course; he was wicked cool at that. Even Malfoy admitted it once. He said Harry was 'born to ride with a long piece of wood between his thighs'. Harry proudly agreed, Ron backing him up, and Malfoy snickered for some reason. It was rather strange.
Anyway, Harry had just travelled back an hour in time, so the house was empty and his Order guard had yet to arrive. It would be child's play to sneak out, just as he had brilliantly planned. And sneak out he did, before hailing the Knight Bus to take him to Diagon Alley and boarding under invisibility cloak. Because no one would ever guess what wizard could possibly be loitering on Privet Drive under an invisibility cloak, dragging a school trunk (which was too big to fit beneath the cloak).
At Diagon Alley he made his way to Gringotts for stage two of his plan: get some money. In the bank, he spotted a familiar face. It was Griphook! And Harry remembered him, despite the fact that goblins all look the same and he'd only met him once for a few minutes, years and years ago. He snuck over to him and peeked his head out of his cloak.
"Psst!" he said, and the goblin looked up in surprise. "Hi Griphook, it's me Harry."
And tears filled the goblin's eyes. He remembered him! A wizard had remembered him! Oh, happy, joyful, wonderful day! He would treat Mr Potter with kindness and generosity and helpfulness from now on. Because after all, the mean, ill-tempered, wizard-hating face goblins showed the world was nothing but a mask. Inside, they were just as needy as the most abused house-elf, hoping against hope that a wizard would deign to recognise them.
Harry was soon ushered into an office and served tea and biscuits. Griphook made his tea up personally and when Harry said he preferred a little more milk next time, he banged his head against a wall in a move the wizard found strangely familiar (cough*Dobby*cough). Once his tea was fixed, and it was found that the goblin had sustained no concussion, they got down to business.
"Mr Potter, it's a pleasure to have you here. How may I help you?"
"Thank you Griphook. And may your gold ever flow, like a nastily messy and persistent case of diarrhoea."
Griphook gasped. "Mr Potter! However did you know the super secret goblin greeting?"
"Dunno." Harry shrugged. "Just seemed like the thing to say."
"There can be only one explanation: you are a natural born goblin-friend." He grinned widely and it was a friendly smile. Even with the sharp pointy teeth. "How wonderful. Now that I know this, I can help you with a number of obscure tasks that have nothing to do with our usual services."
"How delightfully convenient."
It turned out that Dumbledore had been stealing from Harry's vaults. OMG! And he was paying off Mrs Weasley and Ron and Hermione and Ginny with Harry's money to be nice to him and spy on him. OMG! And his vault was only a trust vault; his family vault was much bigger with all sorts of nifty things and 7524654654854 galleons inside. OMG! And Sirius had left everything to Harry in his will, which Dumbledore had been intercepting the letters about and trying to steal for himself. OMG! And it turned out that Harry was the heir of Gryffindor through his dad. OMG! And his mum was from a Squib line and made him heir to Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Merlin, Morgana and Bill Gates as well. OMG! And he inherited all their stuff too. OMG! Which meant he was filthily rich. OMG!
And that wasn't the biggest shock. No, it turned out Dumbledore had arranged a marriage contract for him with Ginny Weasley. OMG! Yay! Wait, WTF?
"Wait," said Griphook, "what the f**k?"
"Yay!" Harry repeated.
"You want to marry Miss Weasley?"
"Of course. We're meant to be, after all."
This of course was very suspicious. After all, Ginny bore an uncanny resemblance to his mother, and Harry did not have an Oedipus complex. Or so the goblin hoped, because that went beyond kinky and into the territory of 'eww'.
And so Griphook snapped his fingers and super secret goblin magic washed over the room, inspecting Harry, caressing him, and poking, and probing, and … it wasn't as dirty as it sounds, I swear. (Though, at least Griphook didn't look like Harry's mother, so it would have been a step up.)
"Hmm, hmm," said Griphook thoughtfully.
"Hmm, hmm?" said Harry questioningly.
"The results are conclusive. You are soul bonded to Miss Weasley."
"I knew it! We're soul mates. That explains so much!"
(Please excuse the author whilst she pukes. Feel free to do the same.)
"Yes, it does. Tell me, did your feelings for Miss Weasley come about quite suddenly and without warning?"
"Y'know, now that you mention it they did. She used to be just Ron's little sister, and a bit creepy in a fangirl sort of way, and then the day before term let out: BAM!" He slammed his hand on the desk and Griphook jumped. "I just suddenly realised she was wonderful, and smart, and vivacious, and beautiful, and her hair was soft and silky and shiny and soft, and her lips are all pouty and red, and her muddy brown eyes are actually like the colour of sparkling chocolate. And her butt! Who wouldn't want to tap that a-"
"Goomblewoomble!" cried Griphook, interrupting the blasphemy.
The goblin's gnarled, gobliny finger was pointing at Harry, who suddenly glowed pink. Griphook then made a hand movement that strangely resembled a certain rude gesture, and the icky, girly aura seemed to be ripped away.
"OMGWTF!" Harry screeched. "Ginny? Why the hell would I want Ginny?"
"It's okay Mr Potter. It's all okay now. It seems Mr Dumbledore cast a soul bond spell between you and Miss Weasley."
"I'm soul boded to that mother-clone? I feel so dirty."
"Don't worry, I have dispelled it."
"How do you know it was Dumbles?"
"The magic smelled like lemon drops."
"Oh, of course. And what was that word you said?"
"Ah, 'Goomblewoomble' is a super secret goblin spell phrase. You must repeat it to no one on pain of super secret punishment. It means 'free this wonderful wizard who remembers this unworthy goblin's name from a thrall to a redhead girl who looks like his mother, which was cast by a sugar addicted wizard with a yen for manipulation and lemon drops'."
"Oh. 'Goomblewoomble' huh?" Harry nodded his head. "Succinct."
"Yes, the goblin language does tend to be that way."
Then they moved onto the next order of business.
"I need somewhere to live. It has to be a super secret location where I can train in super secret magics. And I have to be able to become kick ass powerful before school starts in September."
"Hmm, I think I have just the thing," said Griphook and snapped his fingers, causing a shiny trunk to appear. "This super secret trunk has enlarged compartments inside, fashioned into a home. It has a kitchen, lounge, bedroom, bathroom, library, potions lab, duelling arena, Quidditch pitch … [insert 42 more specific rooms here] … and a laundry."
"Wow! That's brilliant! But what's this strange indentation on the top shaped like an hourglass?"
"Ah, if one just happened, by sheer fortunate coincidence, to have a time turner, you could insert it into that spot and be able to slow time inside so that a month goes by for every day!" Then Griphook looked sad. "I'm afraid I'm not able to get one for you though, as the Ministry's stock was all destroyed. Such a shame; you surely would have been able to become kick ass powerful before school starts in September if you could slow time."
"OMG! What a coincidence!"
Harry left Gringotts not long after via super secret goblin Portkey. After thinking to hire Dobby for the summer, and making the elf promise not to tell any of his super secret secrets, he found somewhere to set up his shiny super secret trunk and disappeared inside. Harry spent the following eight weeks in his trunk under time dilation, living just over a year inside. When he emerged he was much changed.
With a whole year of training and ridiculously large house-elf cooked meals, Harry had managed to overcome the malnutrition of his childhood. (He was abused, you know. Sometimes Vernon would even beat him up too, and only his accidental magic saved him. Just thought I'd mention that.) He was now toweringly tall, and impressively buff, and he no longer needed glasses so his green eyes shone extra piercingly, and he had stubble on his face. And he was OMG-SO-HAWT!
On the magical side, his training had been a resounding success. With the help of the duelling arena's practice dummies, and the heaps of books about super secret magic that he was able to speed read and memorise perfectly (thanks to the Occlumency he had mastered), he had succeeded in his goal of becoming a kick ass powerful wizard. He was, like, as powerful as Merlin and stuff. And as a bonus he became an Animagus and found out he had multiple forms. Coolness!
Harry spent the rest of his holiday in the way every teenage boy only dreams of: shagging lots of hot chicks. It seemed in addition to growing up and becoming a manly stud, Harry's latent male!Veela genes had activated, and he had the most alluring Veela allure that ever there was. Hot chicks practically glomped him and humped his leg whenever he gave them a 'come hither' smile. And even sometimes when he didn't.
Being Veela, Harry was of course a natural in the sack. By the time September rolled around he was an officially declared 'Sex God'. No, really. His hot chick conquests had actually deified him. They'd gotten together to start a religion devoted to worshipping his abnormally large (but in a good way) d**k. Such sweet girls they were, Amy, Bethany, Sandra, Amanda, Veronica, Olivia, Darla, Gemma, Portia, Chloe, Mary … [insert ridiculous number of other hot chicks here] … and Claire.
When Harry returned to school nobody recognised him, despite the fact that he was the only wizard in existence with emerald green eyes and messy (read: stylishly tousled) black hair with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Understandable really; his new hawtness must have overwhelmed their capacity for logic.
Harry waited till the last first year was sorted before slamming open the doors to the Great Hall dramatically. He walked- actually, he 'sauntered sexily' up to the Head Table, shaking off a couple of glomping hot chicks along the way. He came to a stop before the Headmaster.
"Dumbles," (everyone gasped at the disrespect), "according to rule 149-A slash B-52 subsection alpha-3 beta rotgut of the Hogwarts Rulebook, I demand a resorting!"
"Harry," (everyone gasped at the name), "you belong in Gryffindor my boy. You must listen to my guidance."
"No way Dumbles. And if you deny me my resorting, the rules state that I conveniently have the right to see you punished. It mentioned something about stocks and whips and nipple clamps."
"Oh dear. Well, that sounds unpleasant. Drat, but you have cunningly outmanoeuvred me with your cunning planning. Very well."
Harry smirked in a Slytherin manner. His plan was so cunning because he had been embracing his cunning Slytherin side. He'd realised he only hated Slytherins because of Dumbles' manipulations. Really, it had nothing to do with their bullying, unpleasant looks, the fact that Malfoy the douche was in that house, or the fact that Snape the greasy git was the head of house. No, it was all Dumbledore.
And so Harry sat on the rickety stool (they really should replace that, the cheapskates) and donned the Sorting Hat. Immediately it gasped. Gasp!
"Heir's House!" it shouted.
Everyone gasped. Gasp! This had never happened before! Harry had been sorted into his own, fifth house. The hat explained it was because Harry was the heir to all four Founders and thus to Hogwarts, and the castle really belonged to him, and he could control the wards and the portraits and staircases and other cool stuff. Everyone gasped some more, this time really loudly. GASP!
School went on as normal for Harry. Well, except for that whole heir thing, and the fact that he had his own suite of super secret rooms, and hot chicks glomped him occasionally, and he was a kick ass powerful wizard so all his lessons were, like, really easy, and he was ignoring Ron and Hermione and Ginny after loudly (so everyone could hear) revealing he knew about their thieving, spying ways, and now everyone else shunned the thieving, spying wretches too. But apart from that, everything went on as normal.
Then, the day Harry returned from Christmas break, it all changed. Aurors were waiting for him in the Entrance Hall. They were there to arrest him!
"Mr Potter, you are under arrest for the murder of Rubeus Hagrid."
All the students, who were coincidently gathered to watch, gasped. Gasp! Harry frowned. He didn't kill Hagrid. Hagrid had given him his first ever birthday cake and told him he was a wizard. He would never kill the man, even if he did make atrocious rock cakes. Harry tried explaining this, but the Aurors wouldn't listen.
"I had feared he was going dark," Dumbledore said with disappointment. "I suspected it from the first time I saw he had acquired a Slytherin smirk."
"Harry," said Lupin, who was there too for some reason, "how could you? Sirius and your parents would be ashamed of you!"
"You should have listened more to Dumbledore," Hermione said bossily, "and done everything he asked like a good little weapon- I mean wizard."
"It's not fair," Ron said jealously, "how come Harry gets all the attention? He probably killed Hagrid just to get in the paper. Hmm, maybe if I killed someone I could get famous too …"
"Oh Harry, my soul mate, how could you?" cried Ginny, who was still in denial that Harry had had the soul bond severed. "I only hope that whatever punishment you get is enough to turn you back to the light and my love."
"Harry!" screeched Molly Weasley, who was also strangely present. "What were you thinking young man? How will the Weasleys look good by association with you if you go around murdering people?"
Several other people made several other random comments. All you really need to know is that they were all not very nice and some were very rude. The only people speaking in his defence were some hot chicks who didn't care if he was a murderer, since the 'bad boy' thing only made him even more hawt (if such a thing is possible) in their eyes.
Harry's trial was short and ridiculously unjust. Those who claimed to care for him took to the witness stand to slander his character. Plenty of people tried to defend him though. Specifically, his hot chick worshippers (or 'Harem' as they had titled themselves), who had spent all of Christmas break with their Sex God performing a religious rite they had called 'Orgy', and thus could give Harry an airtight alibi. However, Fudge wouldn't let them testify, and so Harry was found guilty and sentenced to Azkaban. The horror!
After being escorted to his cell and thrown in, Harry was forced to watch as his 'friends' burned all his belongings. He was unaffected by the scene though. What they didn't know was that he'd duplicated his things with a super secret spell he'd discovered during his super secret training. His real stuff was hidden in his shiny super secret trunk. They were just destroying worthless duplicates.
But then something terrible happened. They brought forth Hedwig; Hedwig who was his most beloved, precious pet (even though this is the first time she's been mentioned in this story). And, before Harry could react, they threw her into the air and everyone cast spells. Hedwig was splattered all over the wall. Harry stood in shock as his betrayers sneered and laughed cruelly, then slammed the cell door shut and left. A glob of owl spleen slid down his cheek.
When Harry recovered, he hysterically began collecting all the owl pieces he could find in an attempt to put her back together. It couldn't possibly have worked of course, but in Harry's defence he had been shocked into temporary madness by the trauma he'd experienced. This too is defence for the fact that Harry held onto the feathers and blood and intestine and dollops of brain and … well, other icky owl bits, for so long.
For seven days and seven nights he sat cradling the splattered carcass, crying shiny crystalline tears of sorrow onto the former bird. Of course seven is a magical number, and Harry was now a kick ass powerful wizard, so of course his tears would have super secret powers. And indeed, as the seventh day drew to a close, something miraculous happened.
Harry was shaken from his daze as the guts and stuff – which had rather started to smell – started to glow a pure, white, heavenly, goodly, magical light. And then the bits and pieces began to combine together and morph shape. When the glow of the pure, white, heavenly, goodly, magical light faded, he stared in awe. Before him was phoenix. A pure, white, heavenly, goodly, magical phoenix. And he just knew what this meant.
The phoenix trilled the most beautiful phoenix song that ever was heard, and Harry's madness was miraculously cured.
*I think we should leave this place my Harry-wizard. It smells unpleasantly of rotting owl carcass.*
The phoenixy voice sounded in Harry's mind. He was not surprised of course. Clearly Hedwig was his familiar, so it was only expected that they had a mind link.
He agreed with her at once. Being a kick ass powerful wizard, he could have left at anytime. The super secret Azkaban wards were hardly a match for him. But he had been, as previously stated, stuck in a state of temporary madness and didn't think to bother. But he was all better now. So he let Hedwig the phoenix land on his shoulder and transport them away in a flash of pure, white, heavenly, goodly, magical fire.
When Harry appeared in the bustling Ministry atrium with a pure, white, heavenly, goodly, magical phoenix on his shoulder, everyone gasped loudly. GASP! Yes, like that. They gasped because they all knew that pure, white, heavenly, goodly, magical phoenixes were really, really rare and only let good, light, kick ass powerful wizards touch them. Which meant Harry Potter could not have possibly murdered Hagrid.
Rita Skeeter, who just coincidentally happened to be among the crowd, was gleeful. What a story! What a scoop! The good, light, kick ass powerful wizard Harry Potter had been falsely imprisoned. Her acid green Quick-Quotes Quill was scribbling across her parchment so rapidly that smoke was rising. Rita rubbed her thighs together; she was getting tingly just thinking of the havoc her article would cause.
Cornelius Fudge, who also just coincidentally happened to be among the crowd, saw Rita's gleeful expression and knew there would be no covering this up. His only chance of survival was to issue an immediate ministerial pardon and give Harry lots of gold, and permission to use underage magic, and be an unregistered Animagus, and do all other sorts of things that were illegal for normal citizens.
Harry left the Ministry well pleased. He felt that he'd really come out on top with this whole 'unfairly sent to Azkaban' thing. Hedwig was now his pure, white, heavenly, goodly, magical phoenix familiar, he was even more filthily rich than before, and he'd been given lots of nifty dispensations from laws. Not that all that excused those who put him in Azkaban of course.
Fudge had managed to escape both execution and imprisonment, with his hasty backtracking and 'compensation' to Harry. He was fired though, and from what Harry had seen as the man ran through the atrium for the Floo exits, people had decided that throwing rotten tomatoes at the former minister was going to be a knew fad. Harry might have wished for a harsher punishment, but it was better than nothing.
He was planning what he would do now. Perhaps a holiday with the Harem? He could certainly afford it. He thought they might enjoy sunbathing on a tropical island somewhere. It would be a strictly topless beach of course. Or maybe a nude beach. Hmm…. He was just beginning to drool a little as he imagined his hot chicks asking him to rub in their sunscreen – all over – when an owl arrived with a letter.
"Damn you Dumbles!" he screamed, shaking his fist impotently at the sky.
The letter was to inform him that the manipulative codger had passed a law forcing all wizards and witches to attend Hogwarts until they'd taken their N.E.W.T. tests. He wondered briefly how Dumbles had gotten the law passed so quickly. He guessed that whole Mugwump thing was more than a funny sounding title.
Harry sighed. Sigh! He would have to go back to Hogwarts. Oh well, he liked the place well enough, but for the people in it. He blinked as that thought gave him a brilliant idea. Perhaps if he didn't like the people already there, he should bring in ones he did.
A multitude of hot chicks flooded into the Great Hall behind Harry. He took a seat at the Heir House table which had magically appeared after his sorting, and the hot chicks followed suit. The table was full for the first time.
"Harry, who are these young women?" Dumbledore asked what they were all wondering. "I'm afraid as they are not students, they will have to leave."
"Actually, since I'm the heir and this is my castle, I can invite in whoever I damn well please Dumbles. Secondly, even if that weren't so, according to rule 721-D slash N-12 subsection beta-9 theta boogedy of the Hogwarts Rulebook, bonded partners of an enrolled student have the right to reside within the castle."
"Harry, are you saying you married one of these young women?"
Almost everyone gasped. Gasp! But Ginny shrieked. Eeeeee!
"Harry!" she sobbed. "Say it isn't so, my soul mate. Say none of these is your wife. You know I'm supposed to be the one for you!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Firstly, it's not 'one' but 'all'. Secondly, it's not 'young women', it's 'hot chicks'. Lastly, they're not my 'wives', they're my 'consorts'. Turns out as a really lordly Lord I can choose between one wife or lots of consorts. At the 'creative encouragement'," and here his eyes glazed a little, "of the Harem, I went with the latter."
Many a girl (and a few guys too) burst into tears; their dreams of being Harry Potter's one-and-only, happily-ever-after were now dashed. Ginny was the worst. She wailed a long, mournful wail and curled up in a corner, rocking back and forth and muttering to herself about "no", "my soul mate", "can't be" and for some reason "mayonnaise".
St Mungo's had to be called in when the girl wouldn't respond to outside stimulus. The healers pronounced her insane and said her mind had snapped when she realised her delusions were now unattainable. And, since there was no way Hedwig was going to cure her with the most beautiful phoenix song that ever was heard, as she had her Harry-wizard, it seemed Ginny was going to spend the rest of her life in a white padded room.
Some weeks later, it was the Valentine's Hogsmeade weekend and Harry was escorting his consorts about the village. They'd stopped for butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, since Madam Puddifoot's still gave him pink tinged nightmares, when there was the sound of mass apparition outside, followed by screams. Harry drew his wand from its super secret holster and ran to investigate.
It was a Death Eater attack! And by the looks of it Voldemort was here too. He was glad he was now a Master Occlumens and able to block out any pain in his scar. He looked between the D.E.s and their lord, torn, when his consorts solved the problem for him. They would take care of the D.E.s while he duelled Voldemort. He'd given them super secret training so he knew they'd be okay.
"Voldy!" Harry shouted, and people gasped at the disrespect. Gasp! "Let's end this," he said dramatically, and his eyes were fierce and green and powerful and fierce.
"Potter! Prepare to die!"
And then it was on. It was, like, a seriously wicked duel with lots of advanced, super secret spells and stuff. It was scary too because they were both, like, kick ass powerful. Fortunately, it turned out Harry was the most kick ass powerful wizard of them all. Dumbledore was sure the prophesised power was love, and he'd figured out a way to make it a weapon.
"Sexus Recallus!" Harry screamed, using his nifty Occlumency skills to pull up the memories of all the really intense, kinky sex he'd ever had with his consorts.
"Ahh!" Voldemort screamed. "Oh!" Voldemort gasped. "Urg!" Voldemort gargled. "Hmm," Voldemort moaned.
"Eww," Harry whined.
Everyone stared at the fallen figure of the Dark Lord Voldemort till it stopped shuddering and twitching and moaning, and went deathly still. Harry stepped forward and looked down at his former nemesis. It seemed he'd died with a smile. Harry raised his wand and blew Voldy's face off, because that was seriously disturbing.
Celebrations persisted for a full week. The Boy Who Lived was now The Hawt Man Who Conquered, and his Harem were The Hot Chicks Who Kicked Ass Too, because all the Death Eaters were dead. They were all famous and people sent them presents and money and stuff, and they got Order of Merlins.
Harry got permission to take his N.E.W.T.s early took every single course (even ones not at Hogwarts). He got such high scores that they had to invent a grade above O. They called it H, for Harry, because what else could more effectively express brilliantness and perfectness and stuff. Right, right? You know it's true.
Harry bought a house (a real one, not one in a shiny super secret trunk) for him and his consorts. It was the biggest, fanciest, homiest, priciest, safest, biggest, nicest house in all the magical world, because his Harem deserved the best. He settled himself into a life of leisure, as he deserved. The most strenuous thing he ever needed to do was perform 'rituals' with his Harem of consorts. He expected to live out his days in this carefree manner.
In late September through early October though, life changed yet again for Harry. It seemed the Christmas 'Orgy' ritual had had unexpected consequences. Not surprising really. Harry was a kick ass powerful wizard after all; it was only expected that his sperm would be kick ass powerful too, able to get around pesky contraception spells and fertilise hot chick's eggs with a one hundred percent success rate.
And so did Harry become a father, much to his surprise. He wasn't sure how he'd missed the way his consorts' bellies had swollen over the last nine months, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that finally he had a family, just like he always wanted. Joy! He couldn't wait to teach his sons and daughters to fly their first broomstick. All forty-three of them … and the two hundred and thirty-six that followed over the next few years. (Harry was just so damnably virile; it's a good thing he's filthily rich.)
Oh, and PS, everyone who betrayed Harry got what they deserved, like fatal illnesses and venereal diseases from bad sex (because they don't deserve good sex), and stuff like that.
The End. (really this time)
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