The following story is meant for more mature audiences and the rating is earned. I do not own or lay any claim to Harry Potter or any of Rowling's works. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy. For those who notice the names of the chapters, they correspond to the actual chapters that they would occur in the Goblet of Fire.

Unusual Fascinations

A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Mesmerist

The First Night

It was the dead of night and quite close to the witching hour when Harry Potter tossed and turned on his four-poster bed. Some would have called it fitful had he been asleep yet Harry, unfortunately, was still quite awake. What truly bothered Harry, however, was not the cause of his frustration but rather the events that forced it onto his attention in the first place.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Champion of the Light against Voldemort, the Slayer of Basilisks, and whatever host of other titles and epithets…

… had an erection.

It was terrible and thrilling all at the same time. Yes, he had the experience on and off throughout his life, at times innocently during the mornings and at others for causes he did not quite understand. But this was a new experience for Harry altogether. This was brought on through circumstances that he was quite aware of and, while disgusted, ones he was helpless but to entertain.

Oh yes, Harry knew about women. He knew about attraction and the fairer sex. It was impossible for a boy of any age, surrounded by other adolescent men in the cramped setting of a boarding school, to ignore the playground education that inevitably followed with hushed whispers and wondering glances at what lay beneath their female classmates' robes. Not to mention having roommates like Seamus and Ron around, it was even harder to avoid such topics of conversation.

But Harry Potter, bless his soul, had never really thought of girls and sex in that way before. It was always such a nebulous concept, lust and attraction. In his head, he knew he had crushes and he knew that there were girls that were prettier than others, but that was fairly academic knowledge before tonight. He was never aware of them until… until that lesson.

Harry cursed a bit under his breath as he felt himself stiffen and strain against his mattress at the memory of the class. He had been trying to ignore the cause, trying so hard, but all that accomplished was to bring the memory even closer to the surface of his mind's eye. And even that turn of phrase only lent more fuel to the fire of his arousal, summoning images of what he remembered behind his closed eyes.

Pretty Hermione Granger, always so tense, always so frustrated and anxious, stood before him with the most serene and relaxed smile that he had ever seen on her in his life. She thought nothing of bending her arms into wings, her hands pushing her breasts together as she flapped at her elbows in an imitation of a chicken. For a moment, she looked squarely into his eyes with that blissful, happy gaze and Harry felt his heart leap to his throat and a fire light in his belly. He sat there transfixed in his seat at the front of the classroom, expecting something that he didn't know but wanted very badly to happen from Hermione.

And when Hermione bent down, her head dropping lower, the flash of expectation turned to realization that burned at Harry in ways not even Voldemort could have elicited. He wanted her lips to go to below his waist, for her mouth to do unspeakable things to his flesh. The sudden awareness made Harry pale as a sheet even though he felt like a furnace under his collar. But Hermione bent further, lower than what was needed in his imagination, and she let out innocent clucks, scratching the floor of the Defense classroom and searching for feed as she obeyed the instructions of her trance.

Harry licked his lips. That same fire was burning again, undeniable to him. His sleeping clothes were so tight to him now, so constricting. He unbuttoned his pajamas, hoping for some relief against the onslaught of memories, but it was useless. The stream of fantasies continues to assault him.

Lavender Brown, much more a woman than any other in his year, sat upon the teacher's desk with all her curves that refused to be hidden by uniform or robes. Diligently she chittered and chirped, a squirrel busying herself with her nuts, and already that little snippet had done more than enough to stoke Harry's fire in the classroom.

Then like any good squirrel, Lavender felt the undeniable urge to bury her stores. Bending down, she pawed and scraped at the wood beneath her, and Harry couldn't help but follow the curve of her shoulders, the small of her back, and the silhouette of her delicious ass and legs. He did not know how or why he had thought of Lavender as succulent, but the word fit instantly in his mind, his mouth watering and his appetite for the girl like that of a starving prisoner. She was presenting herself like the animal she was, the animal she was made to be. Wriggling her ass that was not meant to be in a skirt but free to show herself to her mate as nature intended. And all that Lavender could do was continue to follow her suggestions, to be the squirrel that she was told she was.

The girls, no, the young women that flitted all through Harry's mind compelled him more than the curse that they were subjected to that afternoon. Seeing them like that, their faces in their trances, so content, so free, so incredibly satisfied, was driving Harry mad with need. He had never touched himself, not before tonight. He thought it so strange and dirty and never saw what the great fuss was about, but now he knew. There was no other choice, he thought, as his hand snaked down and under the untied waist of his pajamas. Especially after the girl he knew was coming next.

She was a vision of beauty and perfection. Her platinum blonde hair flowed around her like a halo and her silver eyes were the picture of serenity enhanced by the Imperius that she wore better than the finest evening gown. Her display was just as innocent as the other girls', just as innocuous and inane though it had driven Harry wild. But hers was the moment that Harry knew he was ruined.

Daphne Greengrass, radiant Purblood princess of the House of Slytherin, danced for his pleasure. In his mind, Harry knew this was just a display of an Unforgivable. That this was meant to educate and inform. That Daphne wasn't under his control, completely and undeniably bound to serve for his pleasure at her own. But that didn't matter. Not to his heart, not to the burning in his loins.

She must have had lessons as it wasn't so far of a stretch to imagine a girl of her breeding taking ballet in her youth. When she was told to dance, it was with practiced grace and effortless poise that Daphne plied her body. She stretched, she dipped, she showed off her legs and her curves and thrust her chest out as she displayed herself to the class. And all with that smile, Harry noticed as his breathing became ragged and his knuckles wore white on his grip of the desk's edge. That damnable, mindless, thoughtless smile of pure and warm bliss.

It was a dirty, messy affair when Harry came. His hand was only partway out of his pants and his grip was as much cloth as it was his fingers. But it was long, and it was complete, and in its own way, it was as perfect as the girls hypnotized and helpless in their enchantment. And Harry shuddered and knew that he was hopelessly addicted. He had signed himself over to a demon he knew he had only made the acquaintance of. Other girls flashed through his thoughts, recollections of that class recurring as he spent himself into his palm and his sheets. Pretty Hermione, Sultry Lavender, and even girls he never cared for before like Parvati Patil and that hanger-on Parkinson, they all were now women held under a spell that made them irresistible to Harry. Hermione might have started it all, but Daphne was what broke Harry. Daphne was what made Harry know his new purpose in life, and how lost he would now be. Daphne and Hermione, the perfect creatures that he only came to know because of how the Imperius curse made them.

Harry had to learn the spell. Harry had to become the master of the Unforgivable to be the master of whom he wanted…

The Day After and Every Day Since

It was so strange to have conviction in something. Harry felt abuzz with energy, like he could vibrate off into space at any moment. All through his life, he had so little control. Control over his fate and destiny always seemed to be at the whims and wills of people outside of himself. Voldemort, his parents' legacy, Dumbledore, even the public in general all claimed him and his actions in one way or another. It was just as heavy a realization for him as his sudden galvanized need of his deviancy. But he had a purpose now, as twisted as it was.

And it felt good.

His desire troubled him, it honestly did. Why did he want to snuff out the wills of girls so badly? Why, of all things, was this what he knew he needed for the rest of his life? It certainly did feel as if the desire to control others was a cause of all this, of the helplessness he had suffered. Did that make him a bad person? Was this curiosity and fantasy any worse than anyone else's? The thoughts turned over and over in Harry's mind so much that most of the day was a blur. He only barely registered the excitement over the Tournament. Everything felt like background noise over the constant philosophical and moral debate he had with himself and the undeniable knowledge that he had to at least know more about the spell when something finally pierced through the fog.

"… brainwashed."

"What was that?" Harry said, almost snapping at Hermione. It was enough to make a few of their tablemates to glance at Harry's direction, but those quickly looked away when they realized that he was being brought into Hermione's tirade.

"Just… just that the elves have been conditioned to this all their lives. They don't know any better." Hermione repeated herself, a little surprised but heartened by Harry's attention. She would have thought differently if she knew that it was just so Harry could see her lips form the word again and to hear her say that blessed sound in her own voice. And that was when the first evil seed took root in Harry's heart. That's when he really saw Hermione, for the second time.

Hermione had already blossomed into a gorgeous young woman. Harry never noticed it before, but his sexual awakening had caused him to look deeper now more than ever. He looked past the frizzy hair and the awkward teeth of the girl. Those were just a few details that in the past had stopped him from taking her as a whole. Her face was exceptionally pretty, in spite of the bags under her eyes and that constant look of worry. How Harry longed to smooth Hermione's countenance and thoughts out, back to that calm delight that he knew was hidden in her and could only be coaxed out with her trance. Her figure was something else as well, and if he remembered those tensed shoulders and hunched back bent over in books and discussion, when relaxed, hid a lithe and slim beauty that could turn any man's head with a little effort. It scared Harry that he could judge Hermione, objectify her on her looks alone so readily. It didn't help that the only argument of substance that he had against that, that the deeper meaning of his attraction was that he wanted to have her submit to his will.

The internal war still raged on. Harry was still good. He still wanted a peaceful world. He didn't want to kill any muggleborns or start another war. He was still very much dedicated to ending Voldemort if it was in his power. And he didn't want to hurt Hermione, just bring her pleasure that she never knew she wanted. It was due to those small, flimsy reasons that he found himself saying what he knew would damn him even further.

"But what if it was brainwashing?" Harry offered, looking around conspiratorially and happy that no one else was entertaining Hermione.

"Actual… brainwashing?" Hermione repeated, and as much as it aroused Harry to hear her say so again, it was also quite frustrating that Hermione, smart as she was, didn't seem to pick up on what he was suggesting.

"Well, just think of it. There are so many curses and charms that nudge someone into doing what you want. Why not the same for house elves?" Harry shrugged, trying his best to seem nonchalant. He wasn't sure of his acting skills, but he hoped that Hermione was too frazzled or incensed to notice.

"Come of it, mate. The little buggers just like helping wizards out." Ron said in between stuffing his face, and it was clear to Harry that the Weasley was trying to nip this in the bud, sensing that Hermione was about to take this tangent and run. It was another stab of guilt for Harry that it was exactly what he wanted.

But it had the opposite effect of what Ronald intended when the idea caught on with Hermione and she broke out into a smile that almost rivaled the one she had under trance, in Harry's opinion.

"Oh Harry! You're brilliant! Of course there must be some magical reason for this compulsion. Why on Earth would they debase themselves in such a way? Sometimes, Harry, I could just kiss you!" she beamed, gathering her books up and rushing off to what they all knew was some breakfast time library perusing.

"You've done it now, Harry. I can't wait to hear all the new conspiracy theories she'll be spouting when she comes back…" Ron grumbled, almost losing his appetite, but not quite. Harry just nodded absently, the consequences already blooming in his mind. He didn't really think too much at the time, but he realized that he had just given himself the best chance of learning about mind magic that he could. He might have the drive and the will to use the spell, but Hermione would definitely sniff out the knowledge and knowhow to do it. It felt even more like taking control of his destiny, and as much as Harry knew the darkness of that path, he felt himself relishing the thought.

He only had a moment before the crushing guilt that always seemed to follow these thoughts could prick at his heart when the flurry and rushing of owl wings interrupted his musings for that morning.

Imperio

While it was interesting to hear Ron switch gears so quickly between hero worship and lechery, only one of the two topics that his best friend brought up held any weight in Harry's mind.

"Yes… definitely a Veela or something close to it." He mused, letting Ron wax on about Beauxbaton girls for an extra thirty seconds before switching back to his idol, Krum. Hermione groaned and menaced Harry with a glare for bringing that sore spot up, and Harry could only shrug and smile at the harried girl. He was too busy thinking about the past events of the day.

Ever since his eyes had been opened to the charms of the ladies, it was hard not noticing all the fit girls that Hogwarts was literally chock full of. Susan Bones suddenly entered Harry's radar, as well as noticing just why Fred and George allowed Angelina and Katie to hold such a leash on them. Now the Slytherin women's reputation for being seductresses was one that he felt keenly, and he knew for a fact that the hot feeling inside his stomach whenever he looked at Cho Chang was more than just indigestion. All of these impure thoughts were always followed by the even more sinister image of each girl smiling in the warm, thoughtless embrace of the Imperius Curse.

The guilt was eating Harry up inside, and while the rest of the castle held the air of excitement that the arrival of the Tournament participants, it was all Harry could do to keep the gloom from showing on his face. Even Hermione's bubbling report only served to remind him of his sinful wants. She had found a plethora of information about which mind-altering spells could possibly be the culprit of an entire species being enslaved that only served to stoke Harry's lust and the wrenching remorse that followed. He was seriously debating on whether or not he should just let the cloud over his head rain down and beg off the welcoming feast.

He was glad he didn't.

Seeing the Beauxbatons girls electrified him. While he didn't turn into a blubbering simp like Ronald or the rest of the male population of Hogwarts at the sight of the young women, never before had he thought he would appreciate the collection of beauty as he did now. Each pretty face brought the flash of that same girl in a calm and peaceful trance, and much to Harry's dismay he was finding it harder and harder to stop such images from being his normal reaction.

Especially terrifying was the meeting with the vision Ron had an obsession over, one that he found himself beginning to share. Harry knew that in the past he may not even have noticed the creeping tendrils of the stunning young woman's glamour, but now that he found his sensitivity to mind-bending magic and his experience at the World Cup, he would never mistake the veela's aura for anything else.

It led to a weird standoff with the girl when she asked for his bouillabaisse. There was recognition in both their eyes there. Harry was sure that she knew her effect on boys, and it must have been some surprise to see one that wasn't tripping over himself to serve her. But on that note, it must have also been strange to have one stare at her so intensely as Harry knew he was doing at the time. He wondered what kind of impression he made on the Beauxbaton student, good or bad, because Harry was sure that he must have had one on her.

Harry was brought back to Earth when he felt delicate fingers brushing at his side and the rustling of paper rubbing against him in his pocket. He turned to see Hermione drawing her hand back and giving him a meaningful look. Before Harry could say anything, someone called out the password for the Fat Lady's portrait and Hermione hurried off to the girls' quarters, no doubt trying to get away from Ron's shift into complaining about the sorry state of affairs that had the Durmstrang school sitting in with the slimy Slytherin snakes. Truth be told, Harry wanted to follow her, and not for the reasons of his newfound desire for the fairer sex.

Imperio

While there were a few students mulling about in the Common Room, the Gryffindor tower was unusually sparse for a Friday evening. Harry had no doubt that it was something to do with the anticipation everyone had for the Goblet and tomorrow's ceremonies. Unlike all the other students that had suddenly decided to taking a liking of being an early bird, he and Hermione were huddled together in one of the study tables. That a strange sight even if it was a normal Friday night.

"It took nearly all of our free periods, but I think I've found something, Harry. You were right. Completely and absolutely right. The elves… they're all under a spell!" Hermione said excitedly, hovering somewhere in between keeping her voice low and squealing in delight because no one was around to hear her anyway. For a clandestine rendezvous hastily written on a secret note, Hermione certainly wasn't very stealthy about any of this.

While Harry didn't really care much for this information, not really fancying any of Dobby's kind to be very attractive, this was still news that made the fire inside him roar to life. Magic so powerful and so pervasive that it would make happy servants out of an entire race? For once Harry let himself bask in such villainous thoughts because it didn't seem like Hermione was quite finished and he would rather save his guilt for later when he had all the facts.

"Here, a century before Merlin. The ancestors of house elves today in Roman times swore fealty to wizards in exchange for protection and a home. Apparently, their magic was so wild and ephemeral that it wasn't unheard of for elves to just pop to nonexistence due to their nature!" Hermione said excitedly, bringing out a history tome and pointing to a comical depiction of an elf exploding into confetti. Hermione then turned the page to reveal another scene, where the elves were subsequently shown doing something with their fingers and being zapped by a human, presumably a wizard, and then bowing at the human's feet.

"At first I looked through Confundus and Compulsion charms, but then I realized that it would have had to have been something much more powerful than that. A spell that never wore off and that stayed with the elves all throughout their lives and beyond!" Hermione rambled on, and part of Harry felt the tug of destiny, as if he knew what Hermione was about to say even though he had no clue what she was hinting at.

"All of the elves, each and every single one of them, are under the Imperius!" She exclaimed, flipping the page one last time to show a much larger picture of the elf, with swirling eyes and a wide grin, with the big, blocky Roman letters that even Harry could make out as the very spell that started him on this path.

"Of course… the Imperius Curse…" Harry whispered in awe, tracing the Latin on the page and suddenly realizing the scope and magnitude of what the spell could be made to do. Apparently Hermione wasn't finished, and she took Harry's look of reverence as enthusiasm.

"No… not the Curse… the Charm!" she said in an elated fashion, snapping the book closed and bringing Harry to stare right into her manic eyes. When his wits came back to him from the surprise, his mind caught up to the implications and he found that Hermione's frenetic grin was spreading on his face as well.

"It's a charm, Harry! A charm! Magic that lasts, that can be passed on to." Hermione babbled, rocking back to her chair and pulling out another book from her fluffy purse, one that apparently had no pictures as she just opened it and began to summarize for Harry. "The normal Imperius curse needs constant focus and recasting. It's always a battle of wills between the wizard and the victim. But what if the victim wasn't a victim?" Hermione rambled, her face hidden behind the textbook she brought with her.

"Here it is, in Anton and Milton's! Theories about mind magic made with consent. Blood rituals that bind in, well, a beneficial manner, apparently, but I'm sure they wouldn't have meant that. But it's not a curse, Harry. It isn't something we have to force to be broken, but something we can learn and hopefully someday reverse. The magic that's the root of all mind altering spells, the Imperius Charm."

"That makes sense. It all makes sense. That's why all the elves are still under enchantment, it isn't an Unforgivable as the Ministry would see it. And why the elves aren't damaged by it. An Imperius Curse that isn't a curse… that isn't Dark magic." Harry said, almost a whisper, drawing a furrowed brow from Hermione.

"Well, yes, another failing from our Ministry to properly identify harmful magic, but I suppose it is a stroke of luck that it isn't technically Dark. Imagine all those poor elves if they had to live with some sort of curse in their blood, and for so many generations." Hermione mused, obviously not taking the same track of the revelation as Harry did.

"In any case, there's far more to research, and I know for a fact that the books we'll need are right there in the restricted section. Oh, Harry. I know this is asking a lot of you and… and that you might think of it as just another silly cause, but please, we have to. We have to know more." Hermione pleaded, not knowing that Harry needed no convincing.

"Exactly, Hermione. We have to know more." Harry nodded, not sitting around a second longer and jogging up the stairs to his room, his snoring roommates, and most importantly, his cloak.

Imperio

'Thee Knowleydge Moste Blitheful' was the most beautiful book Harry had ever laid eyes on. Like many of its kind from the restricted section, the red leather Arcanum boasted an intricately charmed cover with a human face. However, unlike the screaming and agonized grimaces that were on the fronts of other books, this was something entirely different.

It was the lifelike aspect of a lovely woman, and the way her hair was embossed on to the scarlet binding reminded Harry of Ginny's pretty face, another unbidden image of the charming Weasely girl forming in his mind. It was fitting because the girl on the cover had the expression that Harry had started to dream of, the same carefree, sensual, and peaceful look that he knew could only be brought on by the spells Imperius. What drew Harry in the most were her eyes. They were deep, verdant emeralds caught in her half-lidded gaze, promising Harry so many things that he would never speak out loud but desired more than anything in his life.

Hermione, however, did not seem to share his appreciation of the book and shivered at the sight of the girl.

"Her eyes are just so… intimate…" Hermione mumbled, and Harry could only agree. The look was just as sultry as it was submissive. There was an undeniably sensual aura to the book and he could see why Hermione might have some discomfort when those eyes were giving her the same look that he saw. Hermione shivered again, though this time Harry was unsure if it was due to the draft of Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom rather than the book itself.

Getting the book was a simple matter, but finding a place to read it was another thing entirely. Every so often the book would let out a melodious sigh or whisper in an equally sultry voice, and it wouldn't do to bring any attention to themselves considering what they were researching, nearly empty Commons or not. So that was why Harry and Hermione found themselves again in the haunted lavatory in the dead of midnight, sitting on broken tiles and with only the light of their wands and the moon to illuminate their reading.

"Well, no sense in waiting any longer. Books are meant to be read, and I can think of no better cause than…" Hermione began, cradling the book in her lap and making to flip open the cover, when she stopped midsentence. Hermione's eyes rolled up to show white, and her eyelids fluttered as she swayed in place. Her hands fell limp away from the book and she continued to circle. And of course, she began to softly smile.

Harry knew that look. It was only thanks to his Seeker's reflexes that he broke himself from just staring at Hermione's beautifully becalmed face and to catching the girl as she fell to her side. If it wasn't for saving her from a nasty bump, Harry would have wanted nothing more than to savor the expression of a witch enthralled and ensorcelled.

"Wh… what happened?" Hermione mumbled just a second after she was caught, her eyelashes batting as she fought the dopey grin on her face. Harry was glad for his robes just then. It was a simple matter to close the front and hide his rising attentions. He was busy trying to right Hermione back to sitting up and making sure that his robes wouldn't accidentally open when the sound of a susurrus laugh filled the air.

"Silly child. You have known and surrendered to the touch of the Master spell. This knowledge is not meant for the likes of you…" a seductively feminine voice said, and the surprise was enough to make Hermione jump and drop the book onto the floor.

While the two teenagers should have expected something of such an obviously glamoured magical artifact, the fact that the book was now speaking to them was not something that either expected. Harry had no idea how the book managed to do it, but the woman on the cover looked both incredibly submissive yet teasing and cocky at the same time. Hermione had turned from shock to fascination, and both teenagers regarded the book with guarded curiosity.

"What is to be found inside my folds are for those that are fated to be Masters and rulers, with dominance and iron in their wills. Touch me again and you will find yourself sharing in my servitude and searching for a Master of your own for as long as your unworthy hands hold me." The book scoffed, floating and hovering a few inches off of the dusty floor. Hermione's mouth flapped open and close in indignation, while Harry's gratitude for robes just grew with the reason for his thanks. The book turned to face Harry then, and the smile on her face grew almost imperceptibly when her hypnotized eyes rested on the young man.

"But you… you are not one meant for servitude, but to enslave. You have felt the touch of my seduction, yet have resisted me… ruled me. For you, I must serve." The book simpered, dipping in what would be called a bow. "You are my Master, most glorious, most wondrous. I see in you the worthiness, the calling, the… temperament… to command me." Harry had never felt more attracted to an inanimate object than ever before in that moment. He wondered what he might have done if Hermione wasn't around. The book was, after all, the dimensions of a human head, and the face was obviously made to be as accurate a relief of a beautiful woman as possible. Before Harry could entertain any more of such thoughts, Hermione made her presence known and popped his little fantasy bubble.

"You… I… books aren't meant to be like this! How… how dare you withhold knowledge from…" Hermione goggled, making a fair imitation of a fish.

"I sense that you're not accustomed to having books spurn you, child. If you truly wish to know of me, request permission to touch me from my Master. Otherwise the strands of your servitude still linger within you. You would not wish to spend the next fortnight scratching at the ground for worms, would you?" The book sighed, before turning and floating into Harry's lap. Hermione's eyes grew wide with terror and indignation at the threat.

"Why you… you!" she said, radiating fury, but the book once again silenced her with another languid interruption.

"I am ready to serve, my Master. Your wish…. Is my command." The book simpered again, looking up with adoring eyes at Harry. And there was something else in those eyes as well, as the book smiled and bit her lip while she looked on at Harry. The young man knew it was no coincidence where the book rested on his lap, not with what was pressing on the back of her cover. Harry shifted again, though whether it was to stimulate himself further or try to relieve himself of it was anyone's guess at that point.

"No… this… this thing is going straight back to the library. I will not be treated this way by some leather-bound jezebel!" Hermione screeched. It was in that moment that Harry saw her in that way again.

There was Hermione, hair as frazzled as her nerves, always so very irritated and offended. If only she would calm down. Relax. If only she would quiet her mind, let her buzzing thoughts become still and asleep. As if Harry was being guided himself, he knew how to stop Hermione from escalating and for her to see things his way, perhaps not in the way he really wanted to, but enough for the purposes of tonight.

"Please, Hermione. For S.P.E.W. and justice, remember?" Harry said, putting a horse whisperer's lilt in his voice and touching her arm. Whatever protests that still hung on Hermione's lips seemed to be mollified at that, and her look turned from anger to confusion and eventually acceptance.

"But… well… fine…" she said, taking a deep breath and letting her shoulders drop. Harry felt the thrill of handling this woman, his woman, and wanted more. Needed more. And he knew exactly what to do for that.

"Please, um… book? Will you let Hermione read you?" Harry said carefully, unsure of what to do with the book purring at his thigh.

"Mmm… you may call me Blithe, or slave, if you wish, Master. And you must direct me… it is your place to command me, I must obey." Blithe answered, and Harry could hardly contain his blush. But, sensing the tension crackling again in the air around his companion, Harry left embarrassment for later and went on to dealing with Hermione.

"Err, alright. Blithe, you will let Hermione read you." Harry said in a stern voice, and he gasped at the warmth that seemed to flow from the tome. Blithe seemed to savor the command as well, and Harry could feel her vibrate against him in her pleasure. Slowly, the book rose to the air again and floated to Hermione.

"Be grateful that my Master has agreed with your desire. My knowledge is yours for now, slave-sister." The book sniffed.

"Excuse me?!" Hermione bristled, and Harry wondered if this would be the first time he'd see Hermione set a book on fire.

"You have surrendered to the pleasure of servitude before, just as I. In that, we are sisters. Save your indignation for other matters and take from me what you need, child." Blithe sighed, opening to her first page and floating into Hermione's reach. In a burst of tact that was unusual to Harry, he found himself again calming Hermione down with just the right words.

"Blithe, you will show Hermione respect and… um… obey her accordingly. I command you to!" Harry said, hoping that it was the right call.

"I obey, Master. Hermione, I apologize to the depths of my unworthy heart and spine. Please, forgive this slave for her disrespect. My only desire is to show you the knowledge within me." Blithe said, turning so that Hermione could see the genuine sorrow on her cover. Harry didn't know if books could cry, but he was sure that Blithe was on the verge of proving it one way or another. Thankfully, Hermione was equally turned and grimaced, now feeling guilty on her part of all things and awkwardly trying to comfort the tome.

"Oh, well. Let bygones be bygones. Just as long as you behave." Hermione said lamely, even looking to Harry as if he would coach her on how to console a book. Harry could only shrug in the same confusion.

"Ask, and I shall reveal, Hermione. I live to serve my Master and through you, I shall." Blithe said in her most submissive voice, turning again to show Hermione the first page. Within, the flowery scrawl of what Harry could only assume was Blithe's handwriting began to fill the page. Seeing what was written, Harry could only suppress a laugh while Hermione had no such reservations and moaned.

"'Thee Knowleydge Moste Blitheful' or How to Turn Enemies into Friends and Friends into Slaves. Are you sure it isn't too late to return this, Harry?"

To be continued…

Hopefully that was enough of an intriguing start for some of you and enough to get you reading the rest.

There used to be a very intimidating and demanding author's not here, but I think we've passed a healthy threshold of reviews that the negative note is no longer needed. I will just like to say that reviews are very important for the health of interest in this story from other readers like yourself and my enthusiasm in continuing in writing it. I hope you have enjoyed the chapter so far and I hope that your review, follow, and favorite my work.