by Harry Potter
The next morning, after a good long rest, thirteen naked, sweaty, and fairly sticky people fumbled around in blindness.
“No one remove your blindfolds,” one Hermione commanded. “We don’t want to risk a paradox.”
“It’s funny that we’re worried about a paradox when this whole thing was created by a paradox,” another version of the witch commented.
“Good point,” the first agreed. “We don’t want to create further paradoxes so no one remove their blindfolds.”
“So, what do we do now?” asked one Harry.
“Hhmm, let’s see; we’re all nude... lying on top of each other... what should we do?” another Harry asked mockingly.
“Hey now, you back off,” a Hermione commanded a Harry. “I had two of you at the same time last night. I could use a bit of rest.”
“I’m the Hermione from a few days from now. I could use two Harrys,” another Hermione offered.
“You know, it would be terribly rude not to grant her wish,” a Harry stated.
“True,” another agreed.
“Watch where you step,” a different Harry protested as some of his counterparts began to move about. “I don’t want a knee in my groin as you blokes crawl around.”
“Sorry about that,” a Harry apologized. “Where’s the Hermione who wants to be double teamed?”
“Over here,” a witch answered. “Just follow my voice.”
“Gotcha.”
“Let’s see... one penis,” the eager Hermione began counting. “Two penises... three penises. I only agreed to being double teamed, boys. The owner of this third penis, go find another me.”
“Ooh, I’ll take your extra one,” another Hermione offered.
“Okay, let’s all start... again, except for the current time’s Harry and Hermione,” a Hermione said over the squelches and moans. “You two need to go back in time.”
“Um, I already started,” one Harry admitted.
“Well then hurry up. We’ve got a tight schedule to keep.”
~*~
Odd but incredibly fun was the best way for Harry to describe using the Time Turner to re-participate in the Morgy Ritual. It was odd tapping the past version of himself and suggesting to double-team Hermione, but it was definitely fun doubling up on her.
By his seventh and final pass at the Morgy Ritual, Harry had memorized the sporadic conversations his past selves and the various Hermiones had. For example, when one Hermione complained about her mouth going numb, Harry knew that in a few seconds the version of himself that had not used the Time Turner yet would freak-out when the third time through’s Harry’s discharge landed on the former Harry’s foot.
“EW! EW! GET IT OFF!”
~*~
It was a very hectic period over the next few days. Hermione would stop what she was doing every eight hours (and seeing that it was Hermione, it was precisely eight hours; not seven hours and fifty-four minutes or eight hours and six minutes, but eight hours) and head back to their shared bedroom to utilize the Time Turner. Harry on the other hand, was not as punctual as his girlfriend. At seemingly random points, sometimes after five hours, others after ten, and any length in between, Harry would stop whatever he was doing and used the Time Turner.
And during this time, our heroes’ peers would get very confused. They would pass either Harry or Hermione several times while they walked down the halls. And that wasn’t the half of it. Take for example the morning where Ron was enjoying a chess match with Harry in the Head Students Chamber only to hear peculiar sounds coming from the spare bedroom.
“Don’t pay that any heed,” suggested Harry as he moved his bishop. “It’s nothing.”
“It sounds like you and Hermione going at it,” Ron said while staring at the closed door. “And I can swear that I hear two birds in there who both sound like Hermione.”
“It’s nothing,” Harry countered with a bemused smile, “just the wind blowing and the old castle creaking and whatnot.”
Then, as if to challenge Harry’s explanation, Hermione’s voice filtered through the door, saying quite clearly “That’s it Harry, cum on her titties!”
“See, just the wind,” a smiling Harry stated.
“This castle sure does make weird noises,” Ron said with a shrug.
~*~
The Morgy Ritual was a resounding success. The morning after they performed the aforementioned ritual, the Daily Prophet’s headline read in great bold letters:
“MASSIVE BLOW TO DEATH EATERS!
St. Mungo’s, which was just sacked yesterday, was overrun once again by the minions of He Who Must Not Be Named. Nearly one hundred and ten Death Eaters rushed the hospital late last night. This time, however, the Death Eaters did not come to raid the hospital, but rather begging and pleading for help.
The scores of evil doers were screaming in agony. Initial diagnostic charms couldn’t reveal the source of the suffering. Many Death Eaters claimed the pain was worst than You Know Who’s dreaded Cruciatus Curse. Some were even bleeding from various orifices.
Ministry Aurors were quick to sweep up the scores of Death Eaters, many who were wanted and dozens more who were not known to the Ministry as members of the Death Eaters. Several of these previously unsuspected Death Eaters, including Hilbert Rogers and Lantana Smyth-Billings, were actually spies for He Who Must Not Be Named, working deep undercover within key position in the Ministry. These spies, according to an anonymous informant in the Magical Law Enforcement Department, could have done ‘great harm to the Ministry and its people.’