Harry Potter and the world of Reversed Sexual libido (SI as Harry)

Harry tapped on the girls' dorm door at dawn. Usually, Hermione would already be dressed and dragging a groggy Lavender out of bed. Today, only muffled groans answered his knocking.

"Five more minutes..." came Lavender's sleepy voice.

Hermione, who never slept in, just mumbled something incoherent and burrowed deeper under her covers.

"You lot alright?" Harry called through the door, frowning at their unusual behavior.

"So... fucking... tired..." Parvati managed from her bed. "Skip today..."

Harry walked over to his room, finding similar responses. Ron was drooling on his pillow, dead to the world. Neville barely stirred when Harry shook him.

"Weird," Harry muttered, grabbing his meditation gear. Everyone choosing to sleep in on the same day set off warning bells, but he couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe they'd all stayed up late studying... or doing other activities.

The lake was peaceful in the early morning light. Harry settled into his usual spot, pulling out the small magical timer he'd enchanted. Simple solution really

- set it to vibrate after an hour, strong enough to break his meditative state. No need to drag everyone out of bed just to watch him sit there anymore.

"Let's see if this works," he mused, activating the timer. His eyes drifted closed as he sank into the familiar void of meditation.

The magic around the lake was particularly strong today. Harry practiced drawing it in, letting the raw energy flow through him like water. He'd gotten better at absorbing and redirecting magical currents but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, breaking his concentration. Before he could react, foreign magic slammed into his system - dark, invasive, overwhelming. His last conscious thought was realizing why everyone had been so suspiciously drowsy this morning...

He felt his consciousness fade as the foreign magic took hold, his body going limp as darkness claimed him. The timer slipped from his nerveless fingers, landing silently in the dewy grass beside the lake.

Harry's consciousness returned sluggishly, his head throbbing like he'd chugged an entire bottle of Ogden's. The stone floor beneath him was ice-cold against his cheek. He blinked, trying to orient himself.

"Not Halloween yet..." he muttered, his thoughts oddly focused on the calendar as his vision cleared. The sight that greeted him made him wish he'd stayed unconscious.

Professor Quirrell stood before an ornate mirror, robes hiked up, desperately trying to get his flaccid cock to cooperate. His trembling hands fumbled uselessly as he stroked himself.

"Pathetic..." Harry thought, unable to look away from the grotesque display. Quirrell's whimpering echoed off the chamber walls.

"M-master, I c-can't..." Quirrell stuttered, his face flushed with shame and frustration. "It won't..."

"Then take the potion, you incompetent fool!" A horrifying voice rasped from somewhere behind Quirrell's head. The sound made Harry's skin crawl.

Quirrell's whole body shook. "The p-potion will drain too much m-magic... it will k-kill me..."

"TURN AROUND!" the voice commanded. Quirrell's body jerked like a marionette, spinning to reveal what lay beneath his turban.

"Fucking hell," Harry breathed. This wasn't the sanitized movie version of Voldemort. This was pure nightmare fuel - a face that looked partially flayed, with exposed muscle and sinew. Razor-sharp teeth filled a mouth that was far too wide, gleaming wetly. The eyes blazed like burning coals, radiating malevolent intelligence.

Those hellfire eyes fixed on Harry as that grotesque mouth stretched into a predatory grin. "Use the boy," Voldemort commanded, voice like gravel on glass. "His young flesh will serve our purpose better."

Harry tried to move, only to find invisible bonds holding him spread-eagle on the floor. He reached for his magic, probing the restraints. They were strong, but not unbreakable - he just needed time to wear them down.

Time he apparently didn't have. Quirrell grabbed him roughly, hauling him upright. Harry's head spun as he was shoved face-first against the Mirror of Erised's cold surface.

Nothing happened.

"You must make him look!" Voldemort shrieked in frustration. Quirrell's gloved hand fisted in Harry's hair, wrenching his head back and forcing him to stare into the mirror's depths.

"Now for the truly disturbing part," Harry thought as Quirrell's other hand worked at his waistband. His pants were yanked down unceremoniously, cock exposed to the chilly air.

"Could've at least bought me dinner first," Harry quipped, trying to mask his growing unease as Quirrell positioned him. "Or turned yourself female - there are spells for that, you know..."

His words died in his throat as Quirrell pressed Harry's member against the mirror's surface. To his shock, instead of cold glass, his cock met what felt like warm, wet flesh. A hole had appeared in the mirror exactly where his groin pressed against it.

The mirror's surface rippled like liquid mercury where his cock penetrated it. Harry watched, equal parts horrified and aroused, as Scarlett Johansson's Black Widow materialized in the reflection. Her perfect red lips aligned precisely with where his member disappeared into the glass.

"Fuck..." Harry groaned as supernatural suction began. The reflection shifted and morphed - one moment he was fucking her mouth, her lips stretched obscenely around his girth. The next, he was balls-deep in her pussy, watching her face contort in pleasure.

"This is so wrong," he thought hazily as the mirror cycled through increasingly erotic scenarios. Black Widow's perfect tits wrapped around his cock, then her ass grinding against him, then back to her mouth. Each transition brought new sensations that had his knees weak.

Quirrell's gloved hands gripped Harry's hips bruisingly tight, forcing him to maintain the pace. Behind them, Voldemort's raspy breathing grew more excited.

"Yes... give in to it, boy," the Dark Lord hissed. "Let the mirror taste your essence..."

The images began shifting faster. Scarlett on her knees, looking up with bedroom eyes. Scarlett bent over, looking back at him wantonly. Scarlett riding him

reverse cowgirl, her perfect ass bouncing. The sensations grew more intense with each change - tighter, wetter, hotter.

"I can't..." Harry panted, feeling his release building. His hips jerked involuntarily, fucking into the mirror's magical orifice.

"That's it," Voldemort's voice dripped with satisfaction. "Fill it..."

With a strangled cry, Harry came harder than he ever had in his life. He felt his seed disappearing into the mirror as Scarlett's reflection winked at him. Something solid materialized in his possession - but instead of his pocket, he felt the Philosopher's Stone materialize somewhere far more uncomfortable.

"Oh fuck me," Harry thought as he realized exactly where the ancient artifact had appeared. "Of all the places..."

The magical bonds holding him snapped as the stone settled fully inside him. Harry stayed pressed against the mirror, trying to process the fact that he now had a priceless magical artifact lodged up his ass.

Behind him, Voldemort began to laugh.

Harry spun around as the bonds shattered, awkwardly adjusting his clothing while trying not to wince at the uncomfortable presence of the stone. His face flushed with both exertion and anger.

"Fucking hell, why isn't the protection working?" he muttered, before noticing Quirrell's gloved hands. "Oh, for fuck's sake... really? That's all it took?

Gloves?"

A hysterical laugh bubbled up as he imagined canon Voldemort surviving simply by wearing proper winter attire. The Dark Lord's grotesque face twisted in confusion at Harry's inappropriate mirth.

"Where is it, boy?" Voldemort demanded, his razor-teeth gleaming. "Where is the stone?"

"Before I answer that," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably, "mind telling me why you're so desperate to come back? Other than your massive ego demanding worship?"

Voldemort's hellfire eyes blazed brighter. "Immortality," he hissed, saliva dripping from his fangs. "Ultimate power. No one will ever control me again. No rules, no limits, no MASTERS!"

"That's... actually pretty fucking stupid," Harry replied bluntly. "There's always going to be something or someone against you. It's like you've never heard of Newton's Third Law."

"What?" Voldemort snarled, caught off guard.

"For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction," Harry explained, warming to his topic despite his awkward situation. "The more power you grab, the more resistance you'll face. Basic physics, really. Or did Hogwarts not cover that?"

"Muggle nonsense!" Voldemort spat. "I will be beyond such limitations!"

"Really? How's that working out so far? Because from where I'm standing - very carefully standing, mind you - you're literally living on the back of someone's head. Not exactly screaming 'ultimate power' there, mate."

The Dark Lord's face contorted with rage. "You dare mock Lord Voldemort? I, who have gone further than any wizard-"

"Yeah, yeah, further down the path of being a massive tosser," Harry interrupted. "But seriously, what's the endgame here? Rule everything just because you can? That's not a plan, that's a toddler's tantrum with extra murder."

Voldemort's response was a wordless shriek of rage as he forced Quirrell's body to raise its wand.

Spells erupted from Quirrell's wand in rapid succession - cutting curses, blasting hexes, bone-breakers - a rainbow of lethal magic screaming through the air. Harry raised his hands instinctively, channeling his ability to absorb magic.

The first few spells dissipated against his defenses, but Harry noticed something odd. The stone, still awkwardly lodged inside him, was pulsing with each spell he absorbed. The ancient artifact seemed to be amplifying his abilities, turning each absorbed spell into pure magical energy he could use.

"Impossible!" Voldemort shrieked as another barrage of curses simply vanished into Harry's outstretched palms. "What magic is this?"

"Would you believe I'm just that talented?" Harry quipped, taking a step forward. Each movement made him acutely aware of the stone's presence, but its energy was intoxicating. "Though I'm getting some... unexpected assistance."

Voldemort's hellfire eyes widened in sudden understanding. "The stone... you have it! Give it to me!"

"Bit preoccupied with where it is at the moment," Harry muttered, advancing another step. "Besides, I'm rather enjoying this new party trick."

Quirrell's body stumbled backward as Harry approached, Voldemort forcing him to cast increasingly desperate spells. Red light, purple light, sickly yellow beams

- all absorbed into Harry's waiting hands, each one making the stone pulse stronger.

"You're running out of options," Harry taunted, now only ten feet away. "Want to try something more interesting?"

Voldemort's twisted face contorted with rage. "Crucio!" he commanded through Quirrell's wand.

The red beam of the torture curse struck Harry's palm. For a heart-stopping moment, he wasn't sure if he could absorb an Unforgivable. Then the stone flared hot inside him, and the curse's energy joined his growing reservoir of power.

"Well, that's new," Harry said, genuinely surprised. "Want to try the other two? Make it a complete set?"

The Dark Lord's response was immediate: "Imperio!"

The sickly yellow beam of the Imperius Curse struck Harry's chest. Instead of the expected fog of false bliss, he felt the stone pulse rhythmically, converting the mind-control magic into raw power. Harry's grin turned feral as he felt the energy course through him.

"Two down," he said, now only five feet from the increasingly panicked dark wizard. "Care to try for three?"

Voldemort's grotesque face twisted in pure hatred. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The killing curse erupted from Quirrell's wand, its sickly green light illuminating the chamber.

Harry didn't try to dodge. Standing his ground, he watched the death curse approach with a mix of curiosity and resignation. "Well, if I'm wrong about this, at least it'll be quick..."

The killing curse struck him directly in the chest. Unlike the other spells, this one didn't absorb immediately. Harry felt it impact like a physical blow, the magic seemingly confused about where to go. The stone grew scorching hot inside him, vibrating with unprecedented intensity.

Then, in a flash of brilliant light, the killing curse simply... vanished. Harry felt consciousness slipping away briefly, finding himself in a white void for a split second before snapping back to reality.

"What... what ARE you?" Voldemort's voice trembled for the first time.

"Just a guy with really weird luck," Harry replied, reaching out to grab Quirrell's throat. "And really unfortunate artifact placement."

His hand connected with Quirrell's flesh, and the reaction was immediate. Smoke began rising from where they touched, Quirrell's skin blistering and charring under Harry's grip. The professor screamed in agony as his body began to crumble.

Voldemort's face writhed in pure torment as his host literally disintegrated beneath Harry's touch. The Dark Lord's spirit tore itself free from Quirrell's dissolving body, a wraith of darkness and hatred that howled in fury before fleeing through the chamber walls.

As Quirrell's ashes settled on the stone floor, Harry felt his legs give out. The stone's energy was fading, and with it, his consciousness.

"At least Snape's detention ends tomorrow," he thought as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. His last coherent thought before passing out was a desperate hope that his equipment still worked after this particular adventure.

He collapsed beside the mirror, the Philosopher's Stone still lodged uncomfortably in place, as magical exhaustion finally claimed him.