Harry Potter and the Terrible Urges

"It's no good, Ron. I can't do it." said Harry Potter. He turned, a beautiful scowl twisting his handsome adolescent face, making the scar on his lovely forehead stand out even more, like an angry red tree against the pink dusk of his lovely forehead, while his adolescent muscles knotted in frustration, and his adolescent foreskin withdrew from the angry, shiny red head, hidden in the darkness of his grey slacks, but red with anger and passion. "Try again, Harry." Said Ron, his eager, open, stupid, willing face turned up to Harry's like a held-open arse being proffered to a bummer. He ran an amenable, simple hand through his beautiful copper locks. His triangular, strong but submissive chin, spotted with a light ginger down like a partially-stripped field of organic candy floss, was still wet and glistening with vaginal mucous. "Try..." he whispered. Hermione's fist came down again in an arcing, powerful, vicious and yet gentle punch, opening up his beautiful but prone chin like a second red mouth that was full of blood, with a sound like a wet brown paper bag full of testicles being thrown out of a coach onto a hot embankment. "You should have known that this was all part of my plan all along from the very beginning, Harrypotter", spat Voldemort. He threw off his cloak and began to dance. At first Harry thought he could handle the dance, but the more it went on the more he realised that the dance was so twisted that his brain was decaying inside his head. To see an old man throw off his cloak and do a weird, flowing dance, while whispering little satisfied sounds to himself, in time to each movement, is a really horrible sight, Harry knew. He looked away from the gyrating old man, and his giant quivering liquid but manly due to the massive arching masculine eyebrows above them eyes looked imploringly into Hermione's glaring eyes which were soullessly angry but underneath there was still a hint of her soft, pulpy, yielding, warm, damp femininity. Harry could practically smell her musk, its cloying scent like sweet, decaying fruit, clogging up his nostrils, making him gasp as his cock reached up, up and out. That was it, the spell broke. "I love you Harry, and Ron." said Hermione, as she staggered backwards, her powerful blue eyes burrowing into Harry's mind, then she turned and ran at Voldemort really fast, who was in the middle of a complicated sashay, his head moving in a delicate and beautiful liquid movement, a gentle whispered 'Da da DA, da da DA-DA' escaping his puckered lips of evil. But Voldemort was really good at magic and he turned and fired a big blue bolt of fizzing energy which hit Hermione right on her perfect adolescent chest. She fell to the floor, but before she had fallen to the floor her body had changed; her beautiful, passionate, soulful eyes and her pouting, gasping mouth all shrank instantly to anuses, and her firm, high, delicate but firm adolescent buds, unclothed from where she had been on Ron, immediately swelled into giant cocks, which were erect and started spunking straight away, long gummy strands of warm salty sperm landing silently on the cold dusty stone floor. In her distress she tried to scream or look around, but she couldn't see because she had eye-anuses now (which her shaking fingers were now exploring, the perfectly manicured nails pressing gently against the delicate, soft anus skin) and the only sound she was able to make was a gentle rasping or buzzing sound from her tight, pursed mouth-anus. "In a few hours there will be nothing left of her but a massive heap of warm sperm, and a little shrivelled body with cocks for tits and anuses for mouth, eyes" laughed Voldemort horribly. The laugh went straight down Harry's spine and into his soul, as he remembered Voldemort laughing that laugh when he gave a similar fate to Harry's mum, Enid. He summoned all his strength, closed his eyes...and TUGGED the chain free that was cuffed to his wrists, the chain that was attached to the ring that was pierced through Ron's helmet. "Auuuagghhuhhhhhhhhhh", breathed Ron, his eyes closing in equal parts pain and pleasure as there was a gout of dark blood across his face and lips, his helmet split in two, never to be whole again, due to Harry's actions. He had never felt closer to Harry in his life.