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Be Careful What You Wish For (You Might Just Get It)

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She should have known something was wrong when that disgusting, twisted, bitter old house elf had been... well, it hadn't exactly been NICE to her. But it hadn't called her a blood traitor in a few months. She should have known the fresh wallpaper and cheery curtains were just a facade. A mask to hide the cruel, disgusting monster beneath.

But she'd been in love. She'd been overjoyed.

The war was over. And yes, she'd lost a dear brother and close friends but the Dark Lord was gone! The Light had won and the adrenaline was high! Relief.

She was blinded to what was right in front of her.

Blinded by the fact that the sun and risen and the good guys won the day.

Blinded to the fact that every sun will set and the darkness of night creeps slowly in. The nights get longer. And they get colder.

"Lets focus on our careers first," he'd said when she suggested they buy a home together outside of London. Maybe closer to her mother out in Ottery St. Catchpole. "Besides, with you at training and me at the Auror Academy, this is a good location. It's close to the academy for me, and all we need to do is make sure there's plenty of food. It's quiet so you know it's a great place for me and Ron to study-"

"Alright, alright, fine," she had said and he had peppered her with kisses afterwards.

They were still there a few years later. He'd finished Auror training with her brother and their friends Neville and Susan. Hermione was at the ministry. And herself? She'd gotten picked up by the Holyhead Harpies. First draft pick, too.

Ron and Hermione moved out of the Burrow, unable to take Molly's overbearing mothering. That and Ron had been forced to go on a diet during the last few months of Auror training and Molly was having none of it. Hermione put her foot right down and they'd moved out the next day.

"We've got plenty of space to spare. Besides, Gin, it's close to work for three of us, and you're not even home most of the year. They'll keep me out of trouble. They always have... Mostly."

And it was true. All of it was true.

More improvements were made on the dreary old house. Bright colours. New, bigger windows – because Harry hated closed in spaces. It reminded him too much of Privet Drive.

Harry and Ron had built a gazebo in the back garden. It was exactly as she had wanted since she was a small girl. Harry had proposed to her at his own birthday party there. She'd said yes, of course. She loved him so dearly. The ring had been his mother's, he'd said. He had found it in the vault at Gringotts.

"Oh so they're actually letting you back in the doors now?"

"After I paid a not-so-small fee. Water under the bridge now."

She had assumed he'd meant a price in gold.

How was she to know the king of the goblins had been discovered by his own people with the Sword of Gryffindor through it's chest with her fiance demanding access to his vaults and accounts or else there would be more blood... After all.... Wizards never cared about what happened to the goblins. Everyone just assumed that when they saw Harry Potter's interactions with them that they were giving him the respect he deserved. The respect he had earned by ridding everyone of that vile Voldemort.

But no, she'd let him slip the ring on her finger, blissfully ignorant and showing off the beautiful golden ring with the emeralds and diamonds to any that cared to look.

It was a sign that her loved was returned!

A token from her beloved.

All eyes were on her despite it being Harry's birthday. And as he stood, holding her in his arms, she was too blinded by happiness to see the cold, calculating deadness staring back at her.


He kept odd hours, but then again he was one of the ministry's best on the force. He took up the shifts no one else wanted. Always brought in his man and never returned from a mission empty handed.

He was the Hero. The Chosen One. The Boy-Who-Lived.

So when she, six months pregnant, noticed a door in the kitchen she'd never noticed before, she thought nothing of it when Kreacher had come out with a large bag of trash. Now that the rest of the house, save for the attic and basement was at last redone and in order... perhaps her Harry had taken the basement to task.


She should have paid closer attention.

Or she should have continued to ignore it.

Perhaps the elf wanted her to find out. She couldn't see any other reason for the extra door in the kitchen to be left ajar after the creepy old elf brought out its weekly load of trash.

But she had always been one to stick her nose where it wasn't wanted.

The horrors she saw in her own basement... the man covered in blood as he... as he... And the screams. Oh Merlin the screams!

She'd run back upstairs as fast as she could, slamming the door behind her as the house elf watched on smugly.

She went straight for the floo, but found it would not light. She ran up as fast she could to the next floor and went for the front door.

"Oh Darling!" she heard him call in the same loving, caring way he always had when he wanted to get her attention. The door wouldn't budge. She reached for her wand, realizing she didn't have it. She'd come down for a snack and a glass of milk. She didn't think she'd need it in her own home.

He called for her again, and she panicked. Going to the parlour and trying a window. Trying the floo again. But she was trapped. Apparition maybe? No. The wards were locked down. He always kept the wards on lock-down ever since they'd caught Rita Skeeter sneaking in shortly after the wedding.

Frantic, Ginny left the parlour. She knew he was moving slowly. Deliberately. Taunting her. If he'd wanted he would be right on her now. She put a hand to her swollen belly. This... this was the only reason he could have to hold back. To not come at her in full force.


She'd been right.

The baby was why he only slapped her around a little before locking her into their bedroom.

The house elf was in much better spirits now as it stripped everything of her husband's from the room.

"So good," Kreacher had said proudly. "So good to have a Proper Master again."

She'd thrown something at the elf and sobbed.

She refused to eat for a few days, until she'd woken up to find him sitting by the bed they had used to share, anger in his once beautiful green eyes. He pulled out a wand she didn't recognize. The wood was shiny and slightly tinged green. Highly polished. She didn't think much after she saw it.

Everything was hazy.

She'd thrown the empty plate, followed by the empty goblet at the door when he'd left through it and locked it back again.

She had tried starving herself again a week later.

"If you do anything further to harm my child, Ginevra, you will learn exactly how cruel I can truly be."

"You monster!"

He'd smiled at that, and for the first time since the end of the war she could see the light in his eyes. "I am what the wizarding world has made me. You wanted a saviour. Next time," he'd said, patting her belly. "Be careful what you wish for."


James Sirius was born in the middle of the night after three long and terrible days of labour. She was not allowed to leave the house. Instead, a healer had come to them. She had tried to tell them about her husband. About the twisted, evil thing he had become. But he'd just stood there and smiled.

"It's the drugs," the healer had said. "All women say similar things about their husbands when they're in labour."

And the bastard had just stood there, grinning from ear to ear.


She had refused to nurse him.

She wanted nothing to do with that... that parasite that had passed out of her body. That unholy thing his vile father had put in her belly.

He'd forced her to, in the end. That greenish wand was whipped out again and everything was fuzzy. Everything was... fine. She was indifferent to the weight in her arms as she bared her breasts for their son to feed.


"You have a visitor, Ginny," he'd said brightly, holding the baby in one arm as the door was opened and Luna was allowed into the room.

By the time Luna had left, Ginny was sobbing again.

She did that a lot these days.

She'd tried to tell Luna, her voice quiet, fearful that he had some kind of charms to hear her every word.

Luna had listened. She had nodded in all the right places. And then she had put a hand on Ginny's and gave it a squeeze.

"I know," the fey woman had said, causing her oldest friend to recoil from her, eyes wide and afraid. "It's a shame, really," Luna had said. "If you hadn't been so difficult, he might have let you play quidditch again now that he has a son."


She was cleaned up and paraded around their home for gatherings of what was left of the DA. Well, the Core Members.

She'd tried to run away once. Her own brother had caught up with her near the Burrow and dragged her back, screaming to the house.

Hermione had tutted and shaken her head in disappointment before offering to take the baby from Harry for a while so he could deal with his errant wife.

Ginny was carried back to her suite after Harry was done. She was unceremoniously dropped onto the bed. Her limbs sore from trying to fight back as Ron and Neville had held her face down as Harry had lifted her skirt up, ripped her panties away, and branded her like she were merely a piece of cattle.


She was given the run of the house after that, save for any room that the baby was in.

Kreacher had caught her trying to kill the poor child the one time Harry had allowed her to sit quietly and rock the child as an attempt to bond with it.

The brand ensured she couldn't leave the house. Ensured no floo would activate for her. Ensured Harry could bind her magic on a whim. At night, though, she was still locked into her room. "For your safety, my dear."


He'd come to her drunk one night. Covered in blood and riding some kind of high. In her mind she didn't want it. She screamed and she railed against his every touch.

But he'd laughed at her as he fucked her. "I know better," he'd said. "Than to use love potions." And he'd grabbed her roughly by the hair. "For this."

He bit her on the shoulder, his teeth digging deep and his tongue lapping up the coppery liquid. "Lust potions on the other hand..." he'd huffed into her ear after he spent inside her.


It was the same every night for two weeks.

When she wouldn't eat or drink, knowing he had drugged her food with lust potions, he had made her eat. Had even fed her so lovingly by hand.

After two weeks, the same healer that had delivered their son had come and confirmed it.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. Mrs. Potter. It looks like young master James will have a little brother or sister to play with soon enough."


Precautions were taken when she tried to kill herself and the second wicked spawn he had forced on her.

The public were told that Mrs. Potter was suffering from a rare curse and disease that had been put upon her by one of her husband's many enemies out for revenge against him. He'd put a lot of people in prison. And there were still allies of Voldemort and the Death Eaters out there. Being so vulnerable as she was, Harry didn't want any more harm to come to his loving, adoring wife. Which is why she never returned to the Harpies. Why she never was seen out in public. Why what few pictures of her that were allowed to be leaked had her looking frail and sickly, staged to look like her husband was waiting on her hand and foot.

He was made to look like he adored her and was helping her through such a terrible ordeal. Harry Potter was the perfect husband. The doting father. The brave senior auror on the fast track to being the Head of the Force.


Neville had left to join the Hogwarts staff teaching Herbology. And with him went what little of Harry's good moods were left.

The healer came like clockwork to check on her and the second child. Always with Harry present.

Until the day came when her water broke and she gave birth again. Gave birth to another of his disgusting bastards.

And like before, she was made to feed the wretched thing. Made to coo at it. To hold it to her breasts and let it draw from her even though she hated it.

He'd named it Albus Severus.

"After the two men who shaped me into the man I am today," he'd said to her as he forced her to eat and keep her strength up.


He let her go two years before he came to touch her again.

But that didn't mean she was left alone.

He had brought Draco home with him once. They'd been drinking heavily with Neville, Hermione, and Ron.

Her brother and his filthy mudblood had gone to their room. Her husband had gone to his own with one of the men. She could hear them from down the hall. Harry never used silencing charms anymore. It was almost like he wanted her to hear him fucking someone else.

She didn't care where the bastard's disgusting monsters were.

She was just thankful that he had decided to be in someone else's bed that night.

That is, until her bedroom door was thrown open and a wild eyed Draco Malfoy came in.


Hermione had removed all of her teeth with astonishing precision. One by one as she lay strapped to a table in the basement. In her husband's foul, dark, festering basement.

"You know better than to bite my friends, Ginevra," Harry had said coldly as her mouth was held open by some muggle contraption. She could taste her own blood as each tooth was pulled from the gums and silently pleaded with whatever power may be listening that she drowned in it.


Two years after Albus Severus was born, Ron had come into her room and placed a metal collar on her. He vanished her clothes and placed a leash on her before leading her from her room.

Silently they went down the stairs and then into a room that was bright and cheery. She'd helped pick out the curtains in this room all that time ago. She was led to a desk, forced down, and made to crawl under it. "You will stay here." He used a powerful sticking charm to keep her knees on the floor in the cramped space, and the leash was hooked to the knob of a drawer before he left, satisfied.

Ginny had no idea how long she was there, alone, before she heard footsteps. The chair was scraped back, then a man sat in it, scooting forward and crowding her. A hand went below, right at her eye level, and parted the robes, then opened his pants. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, but soon felt the familiar haze fall upon her.

Obediently she turned to face him, and with her own hands reached up despite the screaming in her own mind not to do this. Her toothless maw opened, and she leaned forward, sliding the length of flesh her hands had exposed into her mouth. And that is how she stayed.

He was not hard, but the weight of him was heavy on her tongue.

She could hear the quiet scratching of a quill on parchment as he worked.

Occasionally voices filtered in and out of range. She recognized them, but didn't care what they were saying.

The cock in her mouth twitched. A hand came down to rest against the back of her head, urging her to open her throat and swallow him deeper. He held her there, barely able to breathe, before she felt something hot splash the back of her throat.

Despite the powerful spell laid upon her, she wished to recoil back from the tangy, disgusting taste that flooded her mouth. And yet he held her still until he had finished.

The silvery sheen in her once proud eyes robbed her of the ability to cry.


Three years since the second parasite was born, the healer confirmed a third one. "Congratulations are in order, my Lord," the healer had said this time. The same healer that had been seeing her all these years. "Your breeder is most fertile indeed. You chose quite well. The Weasleys are known for having quite a sizeable brood!"

"I didn't choose this one," Harry had said coldly.

"My Lord, if I may make a suggestion... Perhaps your consorts may wish to sire one or two with it?"

"We've tried," Harry said, ignoring that she was even still in the room. "It bit Draco's cock off and tried to beat Neville with a book."

"Pity... It would be quite a boon to bind all three powerful houses together in blood."

"Yes, well, there's always the hope we'll find one both of them find agreeable..."


Lily Luna was born nine months later.

Her brothers, Prince James and Prince Albus, adored her.

Neither boy had ever met their mother beyond what little contact they had with her after their birth. They didn't really care either. Both boys believed their father had hired a woman to carry each of them so that all three of their dads could love them.

And now, they had a little sister, Princess Lily, named after their grandmother.

The people of Magical Britannia rejoiced when the king and his family presented the new princess to the public.


It had been fifty years.

Not that she even knew what time was anymore. She marked the passage of time with the change of night to day and day to night.

She had been given new teeth at some point. Provided she no longer bit anyone.

Her husband would come, occasionally, to use her cunt as he saw fit.

She never got pregnant again.

She tried to starve herself.

She tried to kill herself.

She went for days, weeks, months without washing, Uncaring.

He would come eventually though. With his false smiles and his sweet, hateful words. "The world thinks you're dead," he'd said one day while she sat beneath his desk as he worked, his cock resting in her mouth. "They think you died when Albus was born, actually. Only the goblins and my inner circle know the truth. James had to be told, of course, when he took over from Ron at the Ministry of Defense."

She didn't care. She tuned him out.

"It's funny," he said, a smile in his voice. "I broke up with you to protect you, you know. Imagine my surprise when I went to propose to Neville and Draco, only to discover I was already married. It took some time to get those memory blocks loose. Your brothers killed your mother for it. Arthur protested, of course. He hadn't a clue."

She wasn't under the imperius now. He hadn't had to use it on her in years. When she felt the familiar hot, tangy flood fill her mouth, she swallowed obediently.

"Whether you remember anything or not doesn't matter. You still went through with it. Gleefully I might add, despite how hard I tried to fight back."

She cried beneath the desk as he finished pissing down her throat.

She heard the tap – tap – tap of the quill as he tapped it against the mouth of the inkwell to shake off the excess. "I ripped Slughorn apart with my bare hands for being so happy to brew such a potion for you. Your mother was hexed using the darkest of curses Bill knew while Percy dug out the most dark of artefacts from the ministry, before i dismantled it of course. George had her attacked by doxy infested curtains... It was Ron that gave the killing blow.

"Did you know that your mother thought Hermione and I might have gotten together, so she cursed her son's girlfriend with infertility?" He laughed, and it was a horrible, terrible thing. "And I thought I was a bastard."


Ginevra Potter had waited 150 years for this day.

Her mind lost over a century ago, given over to one singular purpose.

If he would not allow her to die, then she would kill him instead.

Though to her horror, she watched as her wicked husband's throat stitched itself back together before her very eyes. She was frozen as his pale, cold flesh began to warm and darken once again with life. As hateful, angry green eyes blinked and rolled a moment in disorientation before becoming laser focused upon her.

As his lips, which once whispered the sweetest of words in her ear years and years ago twisted into a cruel mockery of a smile. "Now now, my dear wife," he said as he sat up, wiping the still warm blood away from his neck where she had slit it while he slept with his disgusting, foul companions. Companions who now groaned as their injuries began to heal, slower than her husband's, but still so... so impossible to have survived.

"Whatever shall we do with you?"


It had been twenty years since she had tried to kill Harry and his lovers. Draco had dragged her to the basement by her hair as Neville took his time to choose which of his favourite instruments of torture he would use on her. Harry had simply sat back and watched as if they were doing this for his personal entertainment.

They were.

"No silencing charms," he had said. "I want to hear her scream when she eventually breaks."

The memory of that particular night still haunts her all this time later.

The three men had moved out of Grimmauld Place the following day. All of their personal belongings were stripped from the home. The basement was sealed against her. Kreacher became her only companion.

Not that it mattered.

She learned that night that whatever... whatever dark magic kept her husband and his lovers alive...

It kept her alive, too.


Thirty years since she tried to kill them, and her eldest son arrived with his young wife.

Ginny watched from the second floor landing silently as he whisked her away to the study. The study where her own husband had chained her to his desk and forced her to act as his personal toilet.

"Jamie!" the woman exclaimed happily from below, and Ginny cringed to hear it. "Jamie, these dreadful, ancient curtains simply must go!"

"Of course, my dear!" she heard her eldest son exclaim brightly. But after so many years she had become quite used to hearing the sinister words that went unsaid beneath it. "After all, this will be your home for the rest of our lives!"

When the pair left the study, her son stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "The kitchen is that way, love. Why don't you take a look and make a list of what we need to replace. I'll go check the state of the upstairs. My fathers did say the old place hasn't been lived in for thirty years. Wouldn't do for our first night here to be ruined by some doxies in the bedding."

The woman gave him a kiss on the cheek, her right red hair catching the light just so as she turned to head downstairs.

He waited until she was gone before climbing the stairs slowly. His hand sliding along the old, dusty railing. Green eyes, cold and heartless stared at her when he came up the last few steps. "Huh," he said simply. "So you are still alive," he said. "They had wondered... Kreacher?"

The elf popped up beside her. The suddenness of its appearance no longer shook her. "Prince James calls for Kreacher?"

"Yes. Please take the king's breeder to the basement once my wife has left the kitchen and place her in one of the cages. She's been branded so she can't leave the house, but I can't have her roaming free while I'm breaking in my breeder."

"Of course, my Prince. Right away sire."


One cage became two.

Became three.

Became four.

Ginny had no way now to mark the passage of time with the exception of when one of her parasitic son's wives would become pregnant and then give birth to the devil spawn of House Potter.

Time's passage simply became known by the time it took for a spawn to gestate. And then the expanse of time between pregnancies.

These women, though, were not like her. They were not cursed with immortality like she had been.

The fourth cage, she noticed once when the Princes were between breeders, was occupied by a man.

A man that Princess Lily would take out from time to time, use, and then lock away again.


Eventually, there was only one cage occupied.

And her husband came to her.

Smelling of sweet smoke and firewhisky.

He conjured a chair – large and ornate and rather comfortable looking. He sat in silence and simply watched her for a while before standing and vanishing the chair away again.

Time became marked by the passage between his visits.

She did not know that it was a month between each one.

Sometimes he was alone. Sometimes he brought one of his lovers with him. Sometimes one of their children. Or grandchildren. Or great grandchildren.

The last visit he made was alone.

He came to her and he unlocked the cage. He left the door open and sat back as if to wait for her to leave it. When she did not, he strode in and took her roughly by the hair, dragging her out and up the stairs from the basement.

The dim light of the ancient Grimmauld Place was too bright for her sensitive eyes, so accustomed they were to the darkness of the basement. He dragged her through the house and up the stairs. Up to what had been their old bedroom. He flung her to the bed before waving his wand at her. The years of dirt, grime, sweat and blood were stripped away as he began to disrobe.

She didn't fight him as he took her as a husband takes his wife. She didn't respond as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear as he moved between her legs. As he buried himself over and over again in the folds of her sex and spent himself in her barren womb.

"Happy 800th anniversary," he said to her as he sat on the end of the bed, pulling on his shirt. When he left, there was a bottle of potion on the night stand. The words "draught of living death" written in his familiar chicken scratch handwriting.

She took it, accepting it for the rare kindness that it was and lay back, closing her eyes and waiting for it to take effect.


The muggles were long since dead. The wizards and other magical races under the iron rule of the House of Potter managed to survive the muggle apocalypse. Their bombs that blacked out the skies. Their poisons that killed off the wildlife. Their destruction that ruined the world.

The magical races scavenged and scraped and rebuilt the Earth just enough to advance themselves. And then they took to the stars, abandoning the world that had given them birth.

To each of the immortal princes and princesses a ship to call their own. A kingdom unto themselves as their fathers remained back on Earth.

Grimmauld Place was buried deep in the foundations of the Empire, and with it the King's despised and ill-gotten wife.

He pondered, sometimes, as he looked out over the vastness of his kingdom, watching as the Earth was healed and repaired by the magic of his people, what might have been had he not wrestled the wand away from Draco. What might have happened had he not given into his darker impulses that the locket had awakened in him – in THEM - before they had destroyed it.

He never thought about it long, however. It did no good to dwell on the past when the future was still unfolding, unending, before him.