Dueling Hearts Ch. 29 (Patreon)

Harry slipped his pants on, not an easy ask when you considered his raging hard erection. Angelina was doing the same, though neither one of them made any effort to dress up too properly, they just needed to be covered up enough to make it from here to Lily’s quarters, where it was almost a guarantee they would be removing their clothes again.

Someone else wasn’t even trying. Tonks was still bent over on the couch, drooling out both her mouth and pussy.

Harry slapped his cousin hard in the ass, eliciting a yelp from her.

“Come on, Tonksie, let’s go introduce you to the girls.”

“The girls?” Tonks asked. Now that she had come down from her cloud a little, she could soberly calculate the fact that she had in fact had a threesome with Harry and Angelina, and that Harry was supposed to be dating Daphne.

“How would you like to be part of a coven, along with Harry and five to six other witches?” Angelina asked, already knowing exactly how the perverted girl would answer.

Tonks’ eyes lit up, “There’s more pussy?” She scrambled to put her clothing back on, having to shrink her ass a bit to fit into her jeans, though Harry noticed she hadn’t shifted her skin tone.

She must have noticed his questioning look, because she answered him right after slipping her t-shirt on over her head. “I think I’m going to keep it. It’s a nice look, and now whenever I’m awkward around women I can say it’s because I’m foreign,” she suddenly wore a thoughtful look. “Maybe I can even say English isn’t my first language! Then I don’t even have to use any lines.”

“Or, you could join the pussy buffet we’re offering you.” Angelina reminded her.

Tonks got excited all over again. A coven, guaranteed pussy for the rest of her life, and Harry’s magnificent dick as the cherry on top! Plus, more than likely, that little cutie Daphne was a part of this too, which meant she would finally be able to fulfill some of those torrid fantasies.

“Well, what are you guys waiting for? Let’s go! The pussy’s waiting!”

…

Draco inspected himself in the mirror, taking in every single detail of his magnificent form.

He’d taken all the potions at once. That idiot Durmstrang Headmaster didn’t know his ass from his head. Maybe for mere mortals, his advice was necessary. But for a god like Draco, the rules didn’t apply.

“What do you think, Pansy?” Draco asked as he glanced at the dark haired girl in the mirror. Pansy’s face was scrunched up, her eyes slightly narrowed. Clearly, even gazing at his perfection was proving to be too much for the girl.

He felt a bit cruel, punishing the girl by showing her what she could have had if she hadn’t run off into Weasley’s arms. But in the grand scheme of things, Draco was a just god, and he knew she would accept his punishment.

In actuality, Pansy was trying to hold back the urge to gag. She’d been terrified when Draco had summoned her to his room and found the blonde boy clad in only the thinnest of banana hammocks, with the string at the back digging into his ass, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Before this year, Pansy would have been amenable to being intimate with Draco, even if she found him a little bit too prissy for her tastes. Now, though, Draco was the furthest thing from her mind romantically.

And now, the idiot had gone and turned himself into a freak. His body was filled with muscles, but in a grotesque way. There were way too many veins, too much size, which looked extremely out of place when set against his pale skin and the girlish features of his face. Draco was flexing in the mirror, clearly pleased with what he saw, but to Pansy he looked disgusting. It didn’t help that the banana hammock highlighted the fact that his penis was shriveled up, not that Draco seemed at all bothered by it.

“You look great, Draco. Can I leave now?” Pansy asked. “The Masked Weasley needs me to cut the crust off his sandwich.”

Her voice startled Malfoy, who had completely forgotten she was even there. “You’re still here? Go away, Pansy. You do not deserve to gaze at my form for any longer than I have already allowed.”

Pansy blinked, using every ounce of willpower she had to hold back a snort. “Sure. Well, I’m gone.”

Pansy made a hasty retreat. Being in his presence was probably overwhelming for the poor girl. He was sure that she would beg for him to bed her soon, but Pansy would be sorely disappointed on that end.

Draco continued inspecting himself. Of course, Snape had not done a perfect job. His lats were lagging behind, his biceps lacked a perfect peak, his calves were underdeveloped and his shoulders could use some bringing up too.

Along with his quads, triceps, hamstrings and his traps.

Draco would forgive Snape. If you wanted perfection, you had to get it done yourself. Draco would mold his body. He would not rest until he achieved true perfection, a perfection that matched the perfection of his soul. That filthy muggle had already given him the tools, and while Draco had abhorred physical activity before, he would do whatever it took to reach the absolute pinnacle of the human form.

He was the champ, after all. He was the best, and he would remain so. He would crush Potter and his little friends, and as he stood over Potter’s broken form, he would bask in the adoration of his thousands of loving followers.

…

“Minister.”

Minister Bagnold raised her head. Her face was covered in stress lines. She’d been Minister of Magic for going on two decades now, and each successive year, she asked herself why the hell she was still in the game. The job never got easier. You never felt secure in your position, with the ever shifting alliances in the Wizengamot leading to a new headache before the old one had even had a chance to clear.

“Yes, what is it, Penny?” Bagnold asked.

Penelope Clearwater was her new secretary. Fresh out of Hogwarts, the girl had already proven to be invaluable. Highly organized, intelligent, knew to keep her mouth shut most of the time but not afraid to let her opinion be known. Penny had a bright future in the Ministry, and if Millicent had her way, she would see the girl become her replacement, the second muggleborn Minister of Magic, and a much more competent one than old Nobby Leach had been.

But she was getting far too ahead of herself.

“You told me this morning to remind you to send a note to the head of education about the Defense supervisor.”

Millicent snapped her fingers. “Right! Thank you so much, Penny, don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The girl blushed as the Minister pulled out a small sheet of parchment.

“Penny, I want you to sit in on the budget meeting tonight.”

Penelope straightened up. “You want me to take the minutes?” the girl asked.

Millicent shook her head. “We have dicta-quills for that, my dear. No, I want you there to watch and learn.”

Penelope looked excited, and the Minister couldn’t help but feel proud of her new protege. The girl excused herself and Millicent returned to the blank sheet of parchment.

Right, the business at Hogwarts.

She really hated meddling with the school. She was already spinning enough plates, she was perfectly content with letting Dumbledore handle the school, he’d been doing a fine job of it for the past forty-odd years.

But this business with Black was a powderkeg. Rituals were not well thought of in England ever since that business back in the 1910s with the Acolytes of Sweeting. Millicent had a more nuanced opinion on the topic, but her opponents would absolutely hammer her with this if she showed leniency.

So it was an easy decision to just place someone to supervise Black. That would appease the alarmists, and Millicent had assured Dumbledore she would pick someone that wouldn’t ruffle too many feathers in the school.

Which left her with the decision, who to choose?

Her mind just didn’t have the space to consider that question. She had budgetary concerns, trade deals, matters of defence. Even the muggle Prime Minister had demanded a meeting with her, Millicent had too much to worry about to sit down and think about what career bureaucrat she should send to oversee some classes.

She did know exactly who she did not want to send, though.

She would have fired the woman a million times over if she hadn’t been such an insignificant gnat. Dolores Umbridge was a vile, hateful woman. A woman who had no right to be anywhere near a role in government. But she had at least one friend in Assistant Deputy to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Cornelius Fudge. Millicent had no clue what the woman’s relationship was with Fudge, but it was enough for the man to keep her employed, and she was in a harmless enough position where Millicent always found bigger fish to fry whenever she thought of getting rid of her.

And so, the minister scribbled out a quick note to Griselda Marchbanks.

With regard to the Hogwarts situation, you may pick whomever you want, but Dolores Umbridge is completely out of the question. - MB

Satisfied enough with the note, and not willing to give any more mental real estate to the issue, Bagnold tapped on the parchment, which instantly folded itself over into the shape of a paper plane. With another tap of her wand, the plane was imbued with the official signature of the Minister of Magic.

Millicent blew on the plane and watched it take flight, flattening itself out as it zipped under her doorway.

She put her head down and got back to her mountains of paperwork, sweeping that entire business out of her mind.

…

The charms on the paper aeroplanes were an approximation to the innate magic that allowed owls to deliver their letters.

And so, minister Bagnold’s plane was twisting and turning, diving and  soaring, weaving in between busy witches and wizards, as well as other obstacles on its way to the Department of Magical Education.

But, unfortunately for the paper aeroplane and the Hogwarts student body alike, before reaching the Department of Magical Education, the plane had to pass by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. More specifically, it had to pass by the domain of hit-wizard and prankster extraordinaire, Sirius Black.

Sirius loved his job, as long as he had a dark wizard to bring down. But, there were times, like right this very moment, where he didn’t, and then Sirius was forced to do the part of his job he absolutely despised: sit in an office and do paperwork.

This always led to Sirius getting bored, and a bored Sirius Black was a danger to the integrity of magical Britain.

Case in point, after seeing so many paper aeroplanes passing by his office door, most likely filled with boring ministry minutiae or passive-aggressive intra-departmental notes, Sirius had gotten a bright idea.

As the dark haired man sat at his desk, pretending to do paperwork while in reality he was writing a raunchy note to send to Amelia (Who he was certain would crumple it up, come over to yell at him and then end up bent over his desk) one of his creations began to hover silently off the desk.

Sirius barked with joy. “Nice! Go get them, killer!”

Killer was one of the many premade paper aeroplanes Sirius had set on his desk. But unlike the simple ones that zoomed through the ministry, these planes were made of black parchment. They were sleeker and much more aggressive looking. Many years ago, when Sirius had taken Harry and Daphne out to see a movie about muggle war planes, he’d been taken in by their cool, rugged design. He’d patterned these planes after those from the movies, his own death squadron, ready for action.

He grinned as the plane lifted smoothly up into the air, turning until its nose was facing the door. Then, an innocent paper aeroplane passed by, and his killer jet bolted after it, ready to intercept.

The paper aeroplane carried some charms to protect it, to ensure that no one intercepted it and tampered with the message. This one, being one sent directly from the office of the Minister of Magic, carrying the official seal, had even more protections layered over it.

Sirius’ jet blasted through them like they weren’t even there. The faster aircraft easily overtook the Minister’s note, looming above it like a hawk ready to dive on its prey.

But the jet didn't need to dive. Each of its wings was equipped with a set of four missiles, the broken ends of quills.

With surgical precision, the black jet shot a pair of missiles at the helpless paper aeroplane. Its aim was true, and both munitions pierced their target, one dead centre while the other one clipped a wing.

The little paper aeroplane spluttered, and the black jet was about to make another sweep for the kill, when a school of about five letters flew by on the other end of the hall.

This new target was far too tempting for the black jet to waste its remaining munition on a dying foe. It immediately changed course, letting off a mini sonic boom as it zipped off in pursuit of its new targets.

The minister’s note, hobbled as it was, drifted on a single wing, the magic that kept it aloft fading and failing but managing to hold just long enough to reach its destination.

It collapsed onto the desk of Griselda Marchbanks. Except, Griselda Marchbanks was on vacation, and her second in command, Meredith Edgecomb, was sitting at her desk. Meredith was someone who had just recently been dumped on the department after her superior in the floo service had had to cover up her many illegal dealings, including one incident where she’d accepted payment to give women access to their ex-partner’s floo records.

“Merlin, what keeps on doing this? There must be something wrong with the letter charms.” Meredith opened the Minister’s missive, which looked like it had passed through five different goblin rebellions on its way to her desk.

Meredith’s brow furrowed as she read the letter. It was punctured in places, and a big chunk at the edge was torn off. What she could read said:

With regard to the Hogwarts situation, you may pick whomever you want but Dolores Umbridge is completely

There was a hole directly next to the but, and everything after completely had been torn off.

Meredith thought the message through, reading it back a few times until she reached her own understanding.

There was probably supposed to be a comma after the but. Meaning that the minister was informing her that while she had the freedom to choose whomever she wanted, the minister’s preferred candidate was Dolores Umbridge.

Meredith knew how to read between the lines, and Dolores was the only person in this insipid department she actually liked, so it was an easy call. The minister would be happy, her superior would be happy when she returned from vacation, and Dolores would owe her big time when she lied and said she’d been the one to make the recommendation.

“Dolores, if you could please come over here.”

…

“Stupefy!”

The crimson spell shot off from the tip of Gilderoy’s wand. It zipped towards its target, energy buzzing as it roiled with an immense amount of power.

The other duelist had already sidestepped it ages ago. They sent a quick disarming charm towards Gilderoy, who’s eyes widened in fear. Lockhart fumbled with his wand until he finally managed a good grip on it. By then, the spell was almost upon him. Gilderoy tried to think quickly, trying to figure out what the best course of action was in this situation.

Whatever the best course of action was, it certainly wasn’t to let the spell hit him, relieving him from his wand and sending it flying towards his opponent.

The men observing all groaned.

“Alright, Gilderoy, Mr. Grant, take five.”

The two men nodded, with Lockhart snatching his wand from Grant’s grip, ever so arrogant even after having lost for the tenth duel in a row.

“This isn’t going to work, Bergkamp, the man is an absolute trainwreck!” One of the men, a rotund man with a cigar in his hand, exclaimed.

“I agree with Chambers, this Lockhart project is a disaster. Even after your so-called enhancements, he can’t even keep up with a D-ranked duelist.”

Mr. Bergkamp sighed. “You’re all being short-sighted. This Bellatrix thing is a blessing in disguise. For the first time in decades, dueling is front page news, dueling is on everyone’s mind. We need to capitalize, and Lockhart is the man to bring us into a new era. He’s got the smile, the looks, he doesn’t shy away from the camera-”

“He’s absolutely pants at the actual sport, Bergkamp. None of that other shit can paper over that.”

Bergkamp shook his head. “You’re all still thinking like fossils. We’ve done dueling for dueling’s sake long enough, and look where that’s brought us. The new generation don’t care about fair competition, they care about drama!”

“Isn’t that why we’re going to make all those rule changes? Take away restrictions and all that? That’ll increase engagement.”

“It will, but we need a bit more than that. You’ve seen the news coming out of Hogwarts? I met the so-called Hogwarts champion, the boy has a presence to him, a swagger that’s out of this world. We need more than rule changes to keep us relevant, we need characters. And Gilderoy Lockhart is our best bet.”

One of the men’s brows furrowed. “Why not embrace Bellatrix, if we’re going to disregard the rules anyways?”

Bergkamp shook his head. “Bellatrix is tainted. She was cheating in an era where cheating was not allowed.” a few of the men snorted, they all knew how ridiculous that statement was. “More importantly, she’s wild, she’s brash, she’s completely uncontrollable. She doesn’t like talking to the press, she doesn’t like signing autographs or doing photo shoots. Bellatrix Black is a money sink. Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand… he can sell merchandise. We can put him on magazine covers and they’ll fly off the shelves.”

“They won’t fly off the shelves if he’s lost ten duels in a row.”

Bergkamp grimaced. No matter how much he wished to deny it, the point was salient. If only Lockhart could have been at least an average duelist, they could have maybe worked something out. Perhaps stage some realistic duels where the opponent took a dive. But that would simply not work.

Snape’s newest concoction was potent. There was no doubting the man’s skill. There was a reason duelists had moved away from rituals over the past few decades. Potions provided more immediate power, a larger boost, especially once Severus Snape got in the game and started brewing so many exotic concoctions.

Of course, there was a tradeoff. Rituals were more stable, they integrated more with the person’s magic and their side effects were null besides the initial sacrifice that had been given. Potions left one drained afterwards, and especially through constant use, they began to deteriorate the person’s body.

Bergkamp had a laundry list of retired duelists bitch away, asking for pensions and relief as their bodies broke down on them after years of abuse.

But not even potions could turn a dud into a diamond. No, they needed something more drastic. He would need to use his last resort.

“Gentlemen, I believe we should set up a meeting with Big Potion.”