Disclaimer: I should really stop attempting to invent humorous ways to obtain full or partial ownership of the Harry Potter universe, but just think: if my muse never stops feeding me fanfiction ideas, you'd be stuck with boring disclaimers from me forever.

For those of you deeply saddened by my lack of updates...well, continue to despair, for I am still quite busy. Maybe in a few weeks when I am all settled in at my new job across the country, I'll be better to you. But for now, enjoy this chapter that has been sitting on my hard drive, mostly written, for many months.

Note: Canon Hermione is like that girl that everybody (read: I) knew in high school that made top of her class by relentlessly studying everything. She showed very brief flashes of brilliance (the jinxed DA parchment), but on the whole, the Weasley Twins were far more accomplished inventors. Just go with it that this Hermione mixes her book-smarts with the creative genius of the Twins, or the intuitive grasp of magic of Severus Snape.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the girl I knew in high school is a lawyer now. A hot lawyer.

Harry Potter and the Story Breakers

Chapter Three

Breakers Enough and Time

Looking back over the past year-and-a-half, Luna Lovegood felt quite good about her social progress. Well, in terms of making friends, that is. Never had she imagined, sitting on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of her fourth year, that she would count so many people among her friends. Not only did they allow her to accompany them on their adventures, she'd actually been considered an important member of the group!

Finding a boyfriend, however, had not gone so well. She wasn't homosexual, no matter how many of her fellow Ravenclaws claimed otherwise. Was it a crime to wonder how bustier women's breasts felt? She looked down and sighed once again at her chest, or more precisely, her tragic lack thereof. No, she simply had an insatiable desire for deceptively unavailable men. Harry Potter had been kind to her when the best she had expected from the opposite sex was utter indifference. And what girl outside of Slytherin didn't, at some point, harbor some kind of crush on Harry Potter? Her opportunity was a slim one, she acknowledged, especially with Hermione Granger in the picture.

But Harry had proven woefully incompetent at living up to expectations and beginning to court her, as well as recognizing and/or responding to Luna's flirtations. She'd all but given up, only to be very pleasantly surprised by his inviting her to Slughorn's Christmas party. But the way he absolutely refused to look at her as a woman, followed by his swift departure with barely a goodbye shot down her last hope of getting him interested.

So it fell to the one for whom she'd developed feelings later: Neville Longbottom. He had begun the previous year with very little in the way of self-esteem and magical ability, and finished it as one of the most confident and powerful wizards in his year. She watched him quickly surpass Ron under Harry's tutelage in Dumbledore's Army, and then most of the other wizards as well. Then he'd fought like a man possessed in the Ministry, saving her on multiple occasions and outlasting all but Harry.

Then, of course, he turned out to be gay. What an unfortunate position for the last scion of such an ancient and noble house! She'd met his Gran over the summer, and she didn't envy the one that would be breaking that bit of news to her. Not that he knew yet himself, but he would figure it out soon enough. No, he would have to hide it and take a wife who would be most disappointed sexually, and Luna didn't think she could handle that. Her father might have been a pure-blood, but he'd never instilled the ideals that would encourage her to marry for status.

The only other wizard with whom she had any significant, non-sexual contact was Ron Weasley. He was funny. But he had a girlfriend with enormous breasts, and if that's what kind of girl he fancied, well, Luna didn't have much of a chance.

She sighed deeply, making the seventh-year Hufflepuff with his face currently buried in her crotch growl in frustration at his apparent inability to pleasure her. Well, if she couldn't snag a boyfriend, she might as well keep practicing. Hufflepuffs, with their dedication to hard work and their sense of fair play, were ideally suited to this task. She couldn't teach them the spell that gave the Lovegoods their name, but they were happy enough to feel its effects. And the House of the Badgers, as a general rule, tried so very hard - usually much harder than those from other houses - to repay the favor. It was adorable.

At least this one kept his diet acceptable. As amusing as it was to vomit all over that one seventh year Ravenclaw, chocolate cake with asparagus-semen icing tasted just as horrible on the way down as it did coming back up.

Just when she opened her mouth to tell ask if the much tastier man trying his level best to service her was ready for a third mind-blowingly debilitating orgasm, a voice she'd never before heard from her current vantage point cut her off. "Oh, you don't want to do that," it said melodiously, causing the Hufflepuff to gasp and fall backward. Then Luna's eyes were covered with a blindfold.

"I don't?"

"No, you'll want to try this, first," the voice said. Then all of Luna's most sensitive nerve-endings exploded in pleasure, and she only had one more moment of clarity to identify what that spell must have been before a scream of ecstasy tore from her lungs. "Hey you," the voice continued, her musical tone unabated, "tongue here."

"But...you...that's her...your..." the guy stuttered.

"Trust me, you like it, and we like it even more than you do."

"But...but...you can't do that!" Hermione sputtered. "Harry, tell her she can't do that!"

Harry chuckled. "No, I had a good feeling about this."

"Not as good a feeling as I had," Luna quipped happily.

"But I'm the one who's used one before, you should have gotten one for me," the other girl pouted. She sounded jealous, Luna thought, which was an entirely reasonable reaction.

"You don't need it, Hermione," he said seriously. "Remember how ragged you ran yourself? Besides, I didn't get it for her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I know Dobby did, that doesn't change anything. Couldn't you have ordered him to find two? And I wouldn't use it as often, I just want to study it."

Harry looked at her askance. "I asked him to bring as many as he could find, and he only found one. And something tells me that you studying one right now would be a very, very bad idea."

"It's the paradoxes," Luna said, turning to look into the other girl's eyes. "Your mindset is such that you cannot accept them. And if you can't, when you think one has happened—"

"—something very, very bad will happen," Harry finished.

The poor Gryffindor girl's shoulders slumped visibly.

"I do feel bad, though," Luna continued. "Blind-folded mutual masturbation with a time-shifted version of yourself is...indescribable."

"Indescribable. Yes, that does sound about right," Hermione said bitterly.

"Speaking of which, I'd better get going." The scraggly blonde stood and grinned at Harry. "I want to see my face when I—"

Hermione gasped. "Luna!"

"Kidding! Bye!"

"Excellent work, Mr. Longbottom! Take ten points for Gryffindor."

Neville blushed as Professor Sprout loudly complimented him yet again. The woman never seemed to tire of congratulating him in his favorite subject, and truth be told, he didn't mind that one bit.

"Nicely done, Neville," Harry said, smiling in a way that made Neville feel odd...uncomfortable, even, but not in a bad way. "Can I see?"

He nodded and turned his body so Harry could see his meticulously pruned and perfectly restrained Venomous Tentacula. The plants were among the most dangerous they'd ever handled, and Neville had been working with his as a prerequisite to being allowed to harvest the valuable seeds and leaves. He wasn't ready, however, for Harry to trip and apparently tackle the horrendously poisonous species. Far worse than that, he launched it directly at Neville. With a cry of alarm he brought his hands up to catch it, but his thumbs went directly in the plant's mouth. He screamed and wrenched his hands to one side, letting the plant fall the rest of the way to the floor.

Before he could even think of running for the antivenin, Harry collided with Neville, carrying both of them to the ground. The former quickly rolled off the former, and by then Professor Sprout had bustled over with a potion that Neville knew he'd have to apply within five minutes if he wanted to avoid a half-year stay in St. Mungo's...if not death.

As the Professor applied the potion, Neville wondered at the fact that the bites didn't hurt at all. He looked over at Harry, confused and surprised by the stumble. He'd never been clumsy before, so what was this all about? However, he seemed just as confused; he sat where he fell, staring at the tears in his robes and the bloody scratches underneath. The thorny vines contained greatly diluted poison, so Harry was not in danger. What was odd, though, was the way his blood seemed to softly glow golden.

A puff of surprise from the Herbology Professor brought Neville's attention back to the strangely pleasant feeling in his thumbs with potentially fatal bite wounds. He couldn't suppress a gasp at the sickly, dark green color they'd become despite the viscous potion slathered on them. "We'd better get you to Madam Pomfrey straight away, Mr. Longbottom. Mr. Potter, go and fetch Professor Snape and meet us there, would you? You'd best have those scratches looked at as well."

When Neville placed his hands on the ground to push himself up, a pair of thick vines shot toward them and pushed him to his feet, firmly but without thorns gripping his wrists to steady him. The vines retracted so quickly that Neville and, by the looks of them, most of the others present wondered whether they had just imagined it.

"Yes," Professor Sprout said, her voice unusually small with incredulity, "Madam Pomfrey, straight away."

Ron Weasley was not a happy wizard. What really rankled was the fact that, by all accounts, he should be a happy wizard. He had the most buxom girl in all of Gryffindor, and she was right up there with the likes of Susan Bones and that seventh year Snake. But now Hermione's behavior toward him had changed somehow, and he didn't like it. He didn't know exactly what she was doing differently, or why he didn't like it, which only added to his unhappiness.

On top of that, Harry was breaking the first, most basic rule of friendships among wizards. Well, the first rule, Ron amended, involved never touching a female member of your best mate's family. But Harry was breaking the second most basic rule: Pals before gals. Mates before dates. Men before hens. Buddies before cuddlies. Bros before hos. Chums before...mums? Eh, he'd think of that one later, and maybe something more manly than cuddlies. Lavender had a nice pair of cuddlies. She let him play with them all the time, and they were so deliciously jiggly. They were like...like...

"What was I just talking about?"

"You didn't say anything, my silly Won-Won," Lavender said, giggling. Her giggles made her cleavage bounce gloriously. Ron stared at the supple valley of flesh revealed by her deep-cut V-neck, mesmerized. He loved the almost invisible hairs there and the way they stood on end when he kissed her neck just so.

"Custard," he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "That's what it reminds me of."

"That's what what reminds you of?"

He grinned wolfishly. "This!" He buried his face in her breasts and squished them against his face as she burst into giggles once again. So focused on his fun was Ron that barely noticed when his voluptuous girlfriend stopped giggling to squeal in fright. "Wha—?"

There, exceedingly close to his face - and therefore exceedingly close to his girlfriend's cleavage, was a House Elf...whose enormous green eyes were currently not fixed on Ron's face. Its mouth - and Ron immediately assumed it was a male, based on its response to his girlfriend's breasts - lay agape.

At the lack of any sign of life from the the tiny creature Ron said, "um, can we help you, Dobby?"

The elf's head nodded very slowly, but no words came out.

"Oi," Ron said loudly, making both Lavender and the elf jump back, startled.

"Dobby is sorry, the Great Harry Potter sir's Wheezy and the Great Harry Potter sir's Wheezy's girlfriend..." Dobby said, stepping back toward Lavender, gesturing unnecessarily to her chest.

"That...is a mouthful," Lavender said, now apparently comfortable with the House Elf's nose nearly poking her in the boob.

"I bet you'd like a mouthful," Ron said with a lecherous grin.

She squished up her face in thought. "A mouthful of what?"

Ron's crooked grin faded into a similar look of confusion, then he just shrugged. "I dunno, it seemed like the right thing to say at the time."

"Please the Great Harry Potter sir's Wheezy and the Great Harry Potter sir's Wheezy's girlfriend, Dobby is just here to—"

"Alright, hold on Dobby," Ron interrupted, "you gotta shorten our names or something."

"But the Great Harry—"

"How about just Wheezy? Wheezy would be fine," Ron said quickly.

"Okay Wheezy and the Great Harry Potter sir's—"

The loud smack of Ron's hand hitting his forehead cut Dobby off once again. "Oh, come on, Dobby! Shorter names?"

Dobby gave him a shrug and then glanced back at Lavender...or rather Lavender's breasts. "Squeezy?" He asked, making squeezing motions with his tiny hands.

Ron's lecherous grin quickly returned, and he started giggling. "Heh, heh heh, Squeezy," he said, giving Squeezy's breasts a squeeze.

Lavender started giggling, too. "Squeezy," she repeated also giving them a squeeze.

"Squeezy," Dobby said, repeating the actions of the other two, who continued to giggle for a few moments until it occurred to Ron what just happened.


"Ah! Dobby is sorry, the Gr—Wheezy and Squeezy," he said, correcting himself quickly before letting his gaze linger on Squeezy for several moments. "The Great Harry Potter sir wanted me to give you this." With a snap of knobby House Elf fingers, a jewel-encrusted pommel attached to an ornately etched blade even taller than Dobby appeared, causing the two Gryffindors to suck in a breath.

"Is that what I think it is?" Ron asked in a small voice.

"Er, no, actually it's a soup ladle," Dobby said. "The Great Harry Potter sir said his Wheezy should practice with something that won't kill his Wheezy in minutes from the smallest scratch."

"Bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, jumping up, grasping the Transfigured soup ladle and promptly pretending to chop something in half, catching his own foot in the process. The blade must have been dulled, he realized, as he promptly fell over with a cry, clutching the same foot that he'd hurt the previous day.

"Yes, the Great Harry Potter sir is," Dobby said wisely.

A sultry laugh cut the three Gryffindors' protests short. "Now, now, boys," Ginny said huskily. "I couldn't possibly do that to my boyfriend."

"He doesn't have to know," Cormac said, flashing her that cocksure smile that made her want to hit him with her patented Bat Bogey Hex.

"No," Dean called, walking up with a fierce scowl for his Housemates, "but he would."

Cormac turned to face Dean with superior look on his face, while the other seventh year took off running. Seamus just turned and grinned. "Cheers, mate."

"What are you doing, Seamus?"

"Just havin' a chinwag with yer mot and this bucket o' bloody snots over here," he replied, giving Ginny a wink.

"If you say so." Dean narrowed his eyes at Cormac. "Chinwag's over, bucket of snots," he said, the odd Irish slang sounding even odder out of the dark-skinned boy's mouth.

Cormac flushed red at being caught, then shuffled away with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Aww, you scared him..." Seamus said with a grin, which quickly disappeared when he pushed his hands out in a calming gesture at Dean's continued glare. "Alright, mate, no need to—"

"Just leave, Seamus."

Ginny let out a sigh, partially in relief at escaping the two braggarts and partially because her fun was now over. Dean might be packing some big equipment in his trousers, but he was annoyingly big on feelings and crap, too. The whole 'puppy dog eyes with one hand down the front of his pants' thing had only really worked once. But it was such a fun time, though!

"Why do you do that, Ginny?"

"Do what, my dear?" She asked coyly, fluttering her eyelids expertly.

"That, and don't call me dear. Look, I really like you, but this is really not working out."

Ginny affected shock, then made her lip tremble, causing him to cut off suddenly. "You mean..."

He looked away and pursed his lips, clearly steeling himself against her charms.

Damn, she should have cried. Why didn't she cry?

"I think we should see other people."

"B—" Whatever Ginny was about to say was cut off by a light pop of Apparition, the feeling of being sucked through a straw, then another pop as she landed in heap on top of a slightly greenish-hued House Elf, on a thick red rug in front of a warm, crackling fireplace. "Dobby! I was just in the middle of being broken up with! Why did you—?"

"Dean was breaking up with you?" A surprised voice asked from behind Ginny.

She spun around to find Harry sitting on the edge of a plush, red chair like those that littered the Gryffindor common room. Her eyes registered Hermione standing over an enormous and messy worktable much like the one in Ginny's father's shed, but she forced herself to focus on him. "Oh, Harry, it was just awful!" She said, throwing herself at his feet and flopping her head in his lap. She started sobbing, making sure to bounce her shoulders a bit to cover up the nuzzling. If only he would spread his legs a little more!

"Really? That...shouldn't've happened," he said, still surprised and more than a little worried. She could tell from his movement that he looked back at Hermione for answers. Ginny was okay with that, though. That bushy-haired bookworm had a kinky streak the size of a Quidditch pitch, and that could very well be her ticket into Harry's heart. Mother always said the easiest path to a man's heart is through his stomach, but Ginny thought that was aiming too high. A threesome, on the other hand... It didn't hurt that Hermione tasted like mint inside and out and had a tongue that could seemingly lengthen and thicken at will.

"I'm sure it's fine," Hermione called absently. "Didn't you want to get out of there, Ginny?"

"I...I suppose so..." Ginny said, her voice muffled by Harry's crotch. She hoped the muffledness covered up the fact that she was more confused than sad at that point.

"See, Harry? Still fine." Hermione said, as if that ended some sort of argument that Ginny completely missed. Regardless, she had her head in his lap, so she was not about to get up.

"If you say so," Harry said uncertainly, then another shift told her he had turned back to her...and his legs spread a little further! She took the opportunity to shift a little closer. "So, Gin, if you're feeling up to it, I have a job for you."

"A job?" For some reason her mouth started watering. "What kind of job?"


The title of this chapter was inspired by a line originally from a poem by English author Andrew Marvell entitled To His Coy Mistress, the first stanza of which is:

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.

Lest you mistake me as some sort of poetry buff, know that the only reason I'd heard the chapter title is due to Dan Simmons' novella collection called Worlds Enough and Time.

So Neville turned out to be gay. And awesome, of course. I figured this story had enough girl love that I needed to balance it out a little! And I mean a little, 'cause ain't no M/M slash happenin' here. Sorry, I just don't think I can write it humorous, which is the only reason I got through the Umbridge scene back in Chapter One.