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Part 4 Feasts & Floggings Harry swallowed hard and clutched at Hagrid’s leg, which was the size of a small tree trunk, with whitening knuckles. The baleful glare of Madam Pomfrey, chief Medic of Hogwart’s, fell upon him and his blood ran cold. Harry envisioned watching the Grim Reaper Himself standing in the doorway to Hagrid’s cabin, and almost wished that it WAS Death Himself instead of Madam Pomfrey! He gulped. “You didn’t!?” Hagrid admonished him, picking the pale and shaking boy up the shirt collar’s back and looking at him in confusion. “You know better, wat wi’ wat Vold-er-um-HE did t’ ya the other night! Ya shou’n’t e’en be outta bed, ‘Arry!” Harry nodded weakly. “I … I … just wanted a … a shower and then … then … well, Ron and me … and … and then Seamus and …,” Harry tried to explain, but the steady of tapping of Madam Pomfrey’s foot filled his ears and he lost his train of thought. He wondered if SHE knew about Seamus’ condition, but he couldn’t even begin to think of how to ask. He suddenly felt very nauseous again and his brow broke out in a sweat. Suddenly very tired and sore all over, his head slumped down and bobbed around like the dashboard animal ornament of a Muggle car. Both Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey gasped, and Hagrid shook the boy gently. Harry groaned and mumbled something incoherent, wilting in his arms. “Carry him up to the Hospital Wing at once,” she ordered, and the huge man didn’t think twice. He scooped Harry up in one smooth movement, and cradling him like a baby, ran for the Castle. In fact, he arrived there well before she did. “There he is!” The attendant on duty exclaimed, dropping a tray of strange smoking potions as Hagrid burst into the room with Harry in his arms. “Where did you find him?” Hagrid grunted and headed for a bed that looked hastily vacated, assuming that it had been Harry’s earlier in the morning. “One thing t’er remember,” he advised, beginning to gently strip Harry’s shirt off of him after he’d lain him down, “Is that when Harry, Ron, or Hermione goes missin’, ya can usa’lly fig’ur that I know wheres ta find ‘em.” The attendant nodded and remixed a potion, handing it to a boy a few beds over who had the worst case of sinus congestion that Hagrid had ever heard. “Buht I don’ wahn’ drik dat’!” He protested nasally, staring with huge eyes into the smoking and foul smelling brew. “Drink it, or it’ll be injected somewhere ELSE!” The boy’s eyes went impossibly wider, and he gulped down the potion. Hagrid watched out the corner of his eye, tugging off Harry’s ratty sneakers and darned socks. The congested boy suddenly coughed, and steam began to roll out of his ears and nostrils. He sneezed, and two thin jets of fire shot from his nose. “Nothing like Dragon-fruit juice with a touch of Witch-mint for a bad head cold,” the attendant said. Hagrid nodded. “Yep, works e’ry time! Cleans up that damn nose hair too!” Hagrid then propped Harry up with one massive hand and slid the mysterious T-shirt up over his head. The lion roared at him, and the snake was turning blue. He paused to remove the boy’s glasses, and his hand tingled as his fingers brushed over Harry’s scar. Hagrid shivered as the boy groaned. “’Agrid,” he whimpered, “Don’ … don’ feel so good …” Tears welled up in the giant man’s eyes. Despite his massive form, Rubeus Hagrid was an extremely gentle soul with a liking for dangerous Magical creatures and children alike. He carefully laid Harry’s glasses on the small stand near the bed, staring through them, which made his eyes water even more. “Blimey, ‘Arry, are ya blind? Sorry,” he mumbled, “Dint’ mean nuthin’ by it, jus’ ne’r looked through yer specs before.” Harry tried to laugh, but failed. He felt like a rag doll to Hagrid, and he was dripping cold sweat. The attendant watched, but suddenly found himself very busy as the congested boy sneezed again and caught the curtain divider to his left on fire. “Hagrid, where IS Madam Pomfrey?” He asked. “Guess I outran her,” Hagrid muttered, glancing around but not seeing her. “Well, see if you can get Harry into his pajamas and covered up, thanks. He’s shivering! Has he had anything?” “Ter eat?” “Yes.” “Only some fudge ‘n tea at me cabin,” Hagrid replied, “Harry, you ate anything today?” Harry managed to nod, and Hagrid eased his cold, wet head back onto the pillow. He played 20 questions for a bit before finally guessing that Harry and Ron had nipped some sandwiches from the kitchen since the boy had missed both breakfast and lunch. “He’s held it down this long, he’ll be fine,” the attendant stated, as the sick boy sneezed again and ignited his own bedspread. “’Agrid,” Harry whimpered, his voice hardly more than a whisper, “Hurts! Make it stop!” “What hurts, ‘Arry?” Hagrid almost cried. “Where at?” “Get him covered, man!” The attendant barked, struggling to hold a bewitched handkerchief over the sneezing and flaming boy’s nose. “All over,” Harry moaned. Hagrid nodded. “Harry, ya can’t get up and dress yerself, can ya?” Harry shook his head weakly. “Hurts…” “Well now don’ be embarrassed, ‘Arry, ol’ Hagrid changed yer diapers a coupl’a times, ya know. Nothin’ I ain’t seen before.” Hagrid then took hold of both sides of the elastic waistband of Harry’s Quidditch printed boxer shorts and slid them down around his thighs. His eyes lingered a bit on Harry’s thin and pale frame, taking in the sight of his boyhood and finding it satisfactory, almost as if taking inventory of hard goods. Everything seemed to be present and in order. He nodded, and rubbed Harry’s chest down towards his tummy as he slid the shorts down off of his legs. Hagrid noticed that the boy hadn’t begun to sprout hair yet, and that his small and underdeveloped prepubescent genitals looked perfectly fine to him. He shivered again, ashamed of the thoughts he was having, and tossed the boxers onto the pile of Harry’s clothes at the end of the bed. He shook his bushy head, and rubbed Harry’s tummy again. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about what he was feeling as a great lump rose in his throat. He must be totally Evil, to hate such a sweet and innocent and perfect thing as this, Hagrid thought, his large hand almost covering all of Harry’s front as he rubbed him. “C-cold,” Harry whined, but he did manage a slight smile. “Still hurt?” Hagrid asked, at a loss for what to do as the only other person on duty fought to keep the whole Infirmary from going up in smoke. “Not so bad.” “There you are, you great oaf!” Madam Pomfrey cried, bursting onto the scene just as Hagrid was beginning to fumble with Harry’s pajamas. His face turned beet red. “It wasn’t a footrace, you know!” She bellowed, looking rather winded. “Sorry,” Hagrid apologized, pulling a cover over Harry out of modesty since the boy seemed too weak to do it himself. “How do these damn things work?” Madam Pomfrey surveyed the scene, handing the sneezing and flaming boy a bottle of some type of nasal spray and discharging him. “Go sneeze outside,” she ordered. “Miserable summer allergies, colds, whatever. Gods, I hope he has Wizarding parents and not Muggles! Can you imagine? And don’t bother with those.” Hagrid shrugged, tucking Harry in and discarding the pajamas. Then, despite Madam Pomfrey watching, he softly kissed Harry’s sweaty forehead. Without realizing it, Hagrid kissed him too near his lightning bolt scar, and a jolt of the strangest feeling that the giant of a man had ever felt in his entire life shot through his very being. Suddenly he felt very much at peace, his worries eased, and the lump in his throat disappearing. Hagrid got up, relaxed but a bit pale, and Harry sighed softly and seemed to fall asleep. “You care very much about him, don’t you Rubeus?” Madam Pomfrey asked, laying a hand on Harry’s forehead, careful to place it on the LEFT side to avoid his scar. Hagrid, at a loss for words at his confused welter of emotions, could only nod. I think I like him a LOT, he thought guiltily, realizing how close hand had come to Harry’s nether regions. “He’ll be just fine, Rubeus,” she told him, shooing him out the door, “He’s just exhausted and hungry. You can’t take on He-must-not-be-named and not pay for it the next day, you know. Foolish boy, running off like that and missing so many meals … probably low blood sugar or something,” she complained loudly. She was interrupted, however, as Ron and Hermione burst through the door with Seamus between them. The Irish lad was holding his hands over his right eye as they steered him in. “What is it this time?” Madam Pomfrey sighed. “I’ve got an exhausted hero on my hands, and I just got rid of a flame-sneezing allergy case! Really, and it’s the last day of school! Gods, I am SO ready for a vacation!” “We were playing Wizards’ Chess,” Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him. “Ron’s white knight got a bit carried away, and his lance is stuck in Seamus’ eye!” “Oh for Heaven’s sake,” Madam Pomfrey sighed, “You, Finnegan, on the bed next to Potter. You, Weasley and Granger, out! I’ll handle it!” “But…” Ron began, only to be swept up by Hagrid, who caught Hermione as well. “Ya’s heard the lady, out we go! ‘Ow’s ‘bout we go for a nice snack before the Feast and ya’s kin tell ol’ Hagrid all about yer adventures in taking The Stone again!” “The Feast!” Seamus gasped, flopping down onto the bed next to Harry, “I almost fergot!” Then he saw Harry, and his jaw dropped. His hands fell away from his eye, revealing the tiny lance sticking in the corner of it with equally tiny flag waving from the tip. “Madam, wha’s wrong wit’ ‘Arry?!” “He’s worn out and hasn’t eaten much in days,” Madam Pomfrey explained, bending down to examine Seamus’ eye. “Another tiny bit to the left and we’d have had to have been fitting you with a Magical Wizard’s eye,” she advised, tapping the small chess lance with her wand. The lance evaporated into a small puff of smoke. She then reached into a tray she’d brought and produced a small bottle with a bulb pump that looked to Seamus like a bottle of expensive perfume as his mum fancied. “Wha’s dat?!” He squeaked, hand over his eye, which was bleeding a bit in the corner and watering badly. “Phoenix tears,” Madam Pomfrey replied, “I only use it for the most delicate stuff. Don’t ask, just hold your eye open.” Seamus did that, trying not to watch Harry, and Madam Pomfrey spritzed his eyeball with the pearly fluid. Seamus felt a very soothing sensation, and his eye instantly healed. “You may go now,” she advised. Seamus glanced at Harry again, who seemed to have fallen into a fitful sleep, and then back at her. “Cant’n’ I stay a bit, Ma’am?” he asked in a low voice. “And do what? Hold his hand?” She replied waspishly. Seamus’ face blushed a rather interesting shade of red, and Madam Pomfrey sighed. “You don’t want to watch what I’m going to do to him,” she replied. “I’ve got to wake him up and get him all recharged then make sure he stays IN bed until dinner this evening. It’s a long ride home tomorrow morning, and I want to make sure he’s up to it.” The Irish lad sighed heavily and hauled himself to his feet, muttering under his breath and stalking away with loud steps. He had almost reached the door when Madam Pomfrey looked up from some potion that she was mixing, obviously for Harry, and called out, “Oh, and YOU! Before you go home, any problems with … with your … umm …” But it seemed to be Madam Pomfrey’s turn to flush a bit as Seamus shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “No’m,” he replied, rolling his eyes, “No burning when I pee, no itching, no redness, no pains. No NOTHIN’ really!” He complained, rubbing a hand quickly over the front of his dress shorts, which fit him rather snuggly. It wouldn’t be long that he’d be outgrowing them, as they were already hardly a quarter of the way down his thigh. “Well, you know what to watch for,” she advised, “Since it’s much easier for you to get a urinary tract infection down there now. You take care of yourself over the holidays.” Seamus nodded and turned to go. Madam Pomfrey’s eyes lingered on his little round butt for a moment, then she shook her head and turned back to Harry. “Wretched birthmark,” she muttered, pouring the mixture into a large red bag and screwing a white hose into the end of it so that none of the smoke would escape the bag. “Poor boy, what they did to him … two hundred years … dammit … that’s all we need, Wild Power running about what with Mr. Invincible Potter here and You-Know-Who stalking about too. These two get together and hell’s probably …” “Huh?” Harry groaned, opening one eye and squinting it at her. Madam Pomfrey stopped grumbling with a sharp intake of breath. “Drink this,” she told the boy, handing him a small cup of something, which like everything in the Infirmary, seemed to have to smoke. Harry, who had come to know better than to argue with her throughout the Year, did that. It made him feel very warm inside, and his aches and pains began to vanish. He handed the cup back to her, then stared, squinting, as she snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. She then reached over and suddenly yanked the blankets back. It took a second for Harry to realize that he was naked, and his hands shot to cover his genitals. Madam Pomfrey laughed. “Modesty will get you nowhere, Potter,” she told him, reaching for a small bowl of something that looked thick and slimy. “Now, the potion should have had time to start working. I think you’ll find that you have strength enough to get up and walk now. So, you’ll do just that and walk yourself over to the exam room. I have a feeling that after sneaking out this morning, you might be clean on the outside, but we also should rule out the possibility that you might need to be cleaned out on the INSIDE as well.” “Huh?” Harry gasped again, shivering despite the warmth in his tummy. “Do you know what an enema is, Harry?” Madam Pomfrey asked him, holding up the red bag with white hose. Harry shook his head, but glancing at the bag and hose and the bowl of slimy stuff and adding in the fact that he’d been put to bed naked, he had a good idea. He didn’t much like the idea, either. “I … I … don’t suppose I get to DRINK anything to, er, um, clean my insides out?” Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “Up, and over to the exam room with you,” she ordered. “But I’m naked!” Harry protested. “And no one else is here,” she retorted, “Now go!” Harry got up, finding that he didn’t feel all THAT bad after all, and made his way to the exam room with Madam Pomfrey pushing a small trolley behind him. Harry figured that it must be some trolley full of horrors, and kept his hands over his small genitals as he went. Thinking that he was moving too slowly, Madam Pomfrey smacked his bare bum, which sent him to moving faster. When they arrived in the exam room, she closed the door and pointed to a small mat near a drain in the tiled floor. There was a pillow on it, and Harry had the idea that this had been well planned. He did as he was told, and laid down on his tummy. About two seconds later, he felt Madam Pomfrey’s gloved hand touch is bare butt and flinched. “Lay still,” she said. Harry yelped as he felt what must have been in the bowl being spread on his bunger. It was very slimy and somewhat warm, and he gritted his teeth. He’d never had anything, not even a thermometer up his ass before. Of course, given the state of care he’d received form the Dursleys, it was a wonder that he’d survived the usual childhood illnesses. He’d never been sick that often, however, and hadn’t required that much care. Until now. Harry groaned and his eyes went wide as Madam Pomfrey’s finger then slowly began to penetrate him, filling the entrance to his rectum with the warm slimy paste. She moved her finger back and forth, in and out, very slowly; Harry could feel a great deal of the slimy stuff building up inside of him, and his butt felt very slippery as well where a large amount had been spread on the outside. He glanced over his shoulder as she withdrew her finger and lifted up the red bag. “What this is, Harry, is an enema. The white hose, to which I’ll attach a special nozzle, goes up inside of you, via your little bunger there. That’s why I had to lubricate it so well. When the hose is well up inside of you, the fluid in the bag drains down the hose and fills your guts with the solution. It washes out anything and everything that’s up inside of you and thoroughly cleans you out. Any questions?” “D-does it h-hurt?” Harry stammered. “You may feel some cramps, yes, but no worse than if you’d eaten too many Chocolate Frogs or Every-Flavor Beans. Nothing as bad as green apple cramps. Ever had green apples?” Harry nodded. He’d raided the neighbors crabapple tree once when the Dursleys had been trying to starve him for one of Dudley’s infractions; the resulting bellyache had been monumental, to say nothing of the bad case of ‘the runs’ he had later. “Well, it’s not THAT bad,” Madam Pomfrey told him. Then she picked up something from the trolley that looked to Harry like a small egg with a threaded hole in it. It also had a hole all the way through the center of it. Madam Pomfrey screwed it onto the white hose, and then pulled out her Wand. She lubed the egg-shaped thing as well as the levitation spell raised the red bag up about a meter above Harry, floating in the air so that he could watch it. “Wh-wha’s in that?” He asked, squinting at it and wishing he had his glasses. Harry was very nearsighted, and not being able to see anything but fuzz made him nervous. “Oh, a bit of this and that to scrub out your guts really well,” she replied, waving her Wand at the red bag. “Translucence,” she said to it, and the bag went crystal clear. Harry’s jaw dropped open and he yelped again, squirming with panic and disgust as he felt the slimy lubricant on his bum as he moved. The contents of the bag were smokey and gray, and looked to be boiling. There was a violent amount of smoke in the bag, but it had nowhere to go. Nowhere except up MY ass, he thought, wondering if he could get lucky and suddenly learn to Disapparate to somewhere far from Madam Pomfrey. “I … I … I’m feelin’ much better now,” he offered, trying to sit up so that he could make a run for it. He did, in fact, feel better, thanks to the potion he’d drank. He was used to drinking potions, as he’d been in the Hospital Wing a few times in his First Year, but he wasn’t too keen on the idea of taking one up his ass. Especially not one that looked like something that Professor Snape would probably cook up to poison him with! “Oh, no you don’t,” Madam Pomfrey told him, pushing him back down by the small of his back and placing the egg-shaped nozzle at his bunger. “Colonis Ascendum!” She said to the nozzle, and Harry cried out as the thing entered him. He could feel it inside of him, sliding up and into him as if trying to find a home. The nozzle was warm, and it didn’t hurt as much as it felt odd, but Harry wasn’t sure that he liked it. It felt like it was getting larger and larger inside of him, and in a few seconds, he was SURE that it was. The thing was fitting itself into him, carefully plugging him up so that none of the potion could leak out of him once it was all up inside of him. He squirmed, but was too afraid to try and get up. Then suddenly, the nozzle touched something inside of him, something that made his little penis shoot straight to full erection and his balls pull up. Harry gasped, and laid very still, his eyes half closed. The first thing he thought of was how he’d felt when Seamus had touched him ‘down there,’ and the feeling was almost the same. This time, however, it seemed to come from INSIDE of him and he moaned. “The nozzle has seated itself now, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey told him. “It’s probably bumped into your prostate gland, and even though you’re still prepubescent, it probably feels good, doesn’t it?” Harry didn’t know what to do or say. If he said ‘yes,’ then she might think he was a poof or something that liked having things up his bum. If he said ‘no,’ though, she would probably think he was lying and call him a liar. He took the chance and nodded. “You have a stiffie, don’t you, Potter?” she asked. Harry’s faced flamed in embarrassment. “Seamus was here to see you when you were unconscious,” she told him then, releasing the clip on the white hose. It seemed as if he were going to explode. At the mention of Seamus’ name, the hot smoking enema fluid began to fill Harry like an exploding geyser. The clear bag was hovering just off to his left, and Madam Pomfrey rolled him gently onto his left side and folded his right leg up to his chest. Upon being rolled, his near four-inch erection sprang up and she laughed. “Every boy does the same thing,” she observed, and Harry wondered how many other students she’d administered this treatment to. “I’d love to see Malfoy with something like this, only BIGGER, up his arse!” Harry thought, as the feelings of impending explosion from within filled him. It wasn’t the same as when Seamus had touched him, but it was close. The nozzle was moving inside of him, touching that thing she’d called his ‘prostate’, then letting off. It swelled and moved within him, delivering the smoking and hot liquid payload deep into his bowels. Harry sighed, and watched in terror as his tummy swelled out. In a few moments, it looked as if he were pregnant. He glanced up at the bag, but it wasn’t empty. It was only about half that. Then the first cramp hit him. Harry cried out, loudly, but Madam Pomfrey expertly began to massage his left side in upward stroke, forcing more of the fluid up and deeper inside of him. Harry watched, feeling as if Time had slowed down again as it had with Seamus, as the clear bag slowly drained of its vile mixture. That stuff’s all up inside of me, he thought, wanting to cry and his guts twisted and churned. The cramps were getting worse, despite Madam Pomfrey’s massaging his tummy, and he just wanted it to be over. He then watched as she disconnected the hose from the nozzle and stood up. The nozzle was still inside of him! “Ma’am,” he called out through gritted teeth, feeling as if a swarm of ants were running wild inside of him, “You left that … that … tip in me! How do we get it out?” She shook her head and looked at the bag. “Well, we almost succeeded in getting all three quarts of this up into you,” she mused. “Now, you just lay there and be a good boy. The plug won’t come out, so don’t even try. It’s inflated itself so that it’s actually much, much too big for your little bunger to expel. It has to be that way, so you can relax and not worry about leaking anything out. Just lie still, and I’ll be back in ten minutes to deflate it and give you your rinsing.” “Rinsing?” Harry cried, curling up as another cramp hit him. He was now desperately regretting sneaking out that morning, and thought he’d rather face Voldemort AGAIN before dinner than endure any more of the enemas! “I have to give you a clear, saltwater rinse to clean out the solution, Harry,” she told him, carrying the clear bag away to wash out and refill, “Otherwise, you’ll have that cramping sensation and feel like you have to go for hours and hours. The rinse is very important.” “But I have to go NOW!” Harry cried, tears coming to his eyes and his erection throbbing so badly that it almost hurt. It was all he could do not to touch it – right there in front of her - touch it like Seamus had; he wondered if he would feel the same way if he did. Would he feel that exploding sensation, and that unbelievable wave of pleasure, or was it just the discomfort form the near three quarts of the vile mixture that was doing its best to dissolve his colon away? “Well, you can’t go NOW,” she replied, “So you just hold it until I get back.” Harry couldn’t believe the predicament he was in. As his guts churned and cramped again, he gritted his teeth harder and closed his eyes. It must have been two minutes already, maybe three. He imagined Time dragging on and on as he suffered, sweating as the hot fluid did its work inside of him. He clenched his legs together, and the nozzle that was plugging him shifted and pressed into his prostate. Harry’s eyes popped open, and he glanced down at his erection, which was pulsing in time to his racing heart. He felt like he’d never been this hot before, the sweat rolling off of him. Surely it had been six or seven minutes, but the nozzle was beginning to have a strange effect on him. Suddenly Harry wondered if Seamus if had ever endured one of these enemas. He thought of his friend, devoid of any remnants of the boyhood he’d been born with except for the birthmark that had condemned him. Harry wondered, if the nozzle felt that good doing what it was doing to HIM, how would it feel to Seamus? He also wondered why he was wondering, when suddenly he felt the cramps subside and the feeling of that impending explosion deep within him. He squirmed a bit in response to it, and the nozzle pressed harder on his prostate, moving back and forth as if it knew what to do to him. Within seconds, he was moaning and crying out as his sweaty form shook and shivered in pure ecstasy as his second dry orgasm of the day attacked him. His mind’s eye was filled with a vision of Seamus’ face, and Harry moaned again in pure bliss as the nozzle continued its work on him. I’ve GOT to tell him about this! He decided silently, finally giving in and grasping his erection, without thought of being seen, and stroking it as if he were trying to break it off. Without trying, Harry Potter had just instinctively learned to masturbate. He kept doing it, too, uncaring if Madam Pomfrey saw him. Surely she’d refilled the bag to punish him again and must be watching, but Harry didn’t care. The only things that mattered were his hands, his cock, and the nozzle working inside of him. It felt so good that Harry thought that he was going to faint as he moaned and squirmed on the mat. He thought of Seamus, of how he’d touched him, and of how his soft hands had felt as they’d moved over his own body. He remembered the feel of Seamus’ lips on his own, and the feel of his tongue in his mouth when they’d kissed. One final spasm shot through him, and Harry’s little cock gave a mighty lurch. He felt as if there were something in there that desperately wanted to get out, but couldn’t. Then another thought occurred to him, and despite the hot fluid inside of him and all the sweat, Harry chilled and his fine fuzzy hairs that all little boys have here and there stood up on end as he tugged at his throbbing cock: Seamus can’t do this! Not ever! He’ll never know what THIS feels like, how good it feels! It’s not fair! And then it was over. Harry sighed a hard breath of relief, and he collapsed onto his back. The curvature of his distended tummy hid his wilting erection from his sight, and the plug suddenly just felt as if it were ‘there’ and not doing anything else but for plugging him so the he couldn’t leak his enema out too soon. He felt very guilty, thinking about Seamus being a Eunuch Wizard now, compared to what he’d just done to himself. It had felt very good, and although it had left him almost exhausted, it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that had felled him at Hagrid’s cabin. He made a mental note to ask Hagrid. Hagrid knew a lot, and he was a grown man. Certainly HE’D know all about this, and he could tell Harry if it was bad for him or not. Then a wave of guilt passed over him as he thought again of Seamus’ perfect face, of his red lips, the sandy hair, and the smooth cheeks that would never need to be shaved so long as he lived. “What’s not fair?” Madam Pomfrey asked, and Harry very nearly died of shame. With tears in his emerald eyes, he turned away and softly said, “Seamus.” Then he heard Madam Pomfrey make a clucking sound, and he knew that she must have been shaking her head. Whatever she might have thought, she didn’t say anything. Harry wondered what she’d do to punish him for what she had certainly seen him doing to himself. Detention? Another medical torture? A talk with a counselor? Gods, what if she told someone ELSE?! Harry wondered what the chances were of dying from enema abuse. Then, very gently, Madam Pomfrey rolled him over onto his side and deflated the nozzle that was plugging him as she rolled him in one movement to the floor drain. Harry felt as if his guts were being expelled along with the enema solution, and his tummy deflated fast as the fluid left him in a violent explosion that took eleven, almost twelve, years worth of colonic buildup out with it. The smell was deadly. The feeling of relief was amazing, and Harry moaned in contentment as he deflated. When he was done, Madam Pomfrey gestured to a showerhead that he hadn’t seen before and handed him another potion in a cup. He drank it and let her help him up. He felt much, much lighter. “Clean up and let’s get you that rinse,” she said softly, seemingly not upset at all. Harry began to clean himself up, but felt that explanation was in order. “Ma’am?” he began, but Madam Pomfrey just waved him off with a shake of her head. Harry didn’t understand. As if sensing this, she carefully refilled the clear bag with clean saltwater and explained. “Harry, you’re not the only boy who has ever had an orgasm while receiving an enema. That plug does it to all of them, damn thing; I think it’s bewitched! You’re also not the first boy to discover the art of masturbation while waiting the ten minutes. And in case you’re wondering, you won’t go blind from it.” Harry sighed in relief, finishing his shower and laying back down the mat as she instructed him to. Once again, he could feel her spreading the slimy gel onto – and into – his bum. It was too soon after his last orgasm, however, and he didn’t get hard again. “Good thing,” he said, squinting at her, “It’d be a short go, ya know, blind I mean!” They both laughed at his joke, but as the nozzle slid into his bunger again and plugged him and the hot water began to flow up inside of him, Harry began to feel guilty again. He started to sweat as the hot water filled him once more, and we watched as his tummy swelled out, hoping that he wasn’t going to burst. He had accidentally learned how to masturbate, or wank – as some called it – and it had felt good. Harry wondered how he was going to keep from doing it, or doing it too much, but he quickly realized that the feeling in his guts wasn’t from the enema rinse. He was thinking about how good HE’D felt doing it, and how unfair it was that Seamus couldn’t. They cut him, Harry realized, He’s a eunuch boy. He’ll always be a eunuch, for the rest of his life. He’ll never be able to do it, and I can do it anytime I want to! It just isn’t fair that I can feel this good and he can’t! But the saltwater didn’t cramp him like the first enema potion had, and he lay there quietly for the ten minutes with only minor discomfort from his swollen tummy. Most of his pain was coming from the guilt. He started to ask Madam Pomfrey a question, but she held her hand up. “You can ask Hagrid later tonight, Harry. This is something that a boy should talk to a man about. I may be a doctor, you know, but I’ve not got the answers for a boy who wants to talk about wanking.” She then pulled the nozzle, and Harry evacuated again. The fluid was mostly clean, and she seemed satisfied. After Harry had showered up again and dried off, Madam Pomfrey handed him some warm flannel pajamas. He put them on, and suddenly felt very drowsy again. He yawned, and she led him to back to bed. Harry felt funny walking, but he didn’t mention it. He just didn’t want to go back to bed again so soon. He wanted to see Seamus. He protested a bit when she tucked him in, but his eyes went wide when she held up his hand. “How did this heal up so fast?” She asked in hard voice, handing him another potion which almost immediately made his eyes fall shut. “Seamus did it,” he yawned at her, “Don’ tell. He was upset. Ma’am, he’s not … uh … I mean, he’s …” But Harry couldn’t finish his sentence. He was just drifting off when he felt something soft and warm holding his miraculously healed hand and he thought he heard Madam Pomfrey saying, “Your Auntie taught you? Well send her my owl, boy, I have to know about how to …” It was still early in the afternoon, but Harry Potter –the cleanest boy at Hogwart’s that day – was asleep again.
The Feast was held a slight bit later than dinner was usually served. This was a good thing for Harry, since he’d lost all track of time and what day it even was after his ordeal in retrieving The Sorcerer’s Stone. He’d been out cold, woke up, out again, sneaked out, gotten sick, been given the worst shock of his young life – the enema – slept again, visited with Ron and Hermione, Dumbledore and Hagrid, napped, woke up … and he wouldn’t have had any idea of when it was or where he was supposed to be at, had Seamus not shown up to try and wheedle his way past Madame Pomfrey to see him. Harry had been sitting up in bed looking at the fine *leather bound album of wizard pictures that Hagrid had given him – pictures of his parents, and even himself as a baby*. Despite all he’d been through, it made him feel better. Hagrid had also promised to come up to Gryffindor Tower after the feast, since the Hogwart’s Express would be leaving in the morning after they all had a good night’s sleep. Whether that was to be from the sheer amount of food at the Feast, or from finding out their end of year grades, was impossible to tell, however. He’d heard Seamus, and he’d very nearly dropped his album. Seamus was standing at the door to the Infirmary, and Madame Pomfrey was shaking her head and pointing to the door. Harry straightened his glasses and sat up a bit more. Seamus was dressed in his formal black robes and dress shoes, his maroon and gold tie straight and neat at his collar. Of course, one of the biggest of the many ‘get well’ cards on Harry’s small table by his bed was from Seamus, he knew, even though it was only signed in red ink with an ornate letter ‘S’. But the thing that got Harry’s attention the most, however, was the pointy but short black wizard’s cap that Seamus wore with his formal uniform. He knew at once that they’d all have them, and that everyone in the Great Hall would be wearing one. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to be off and getting dressed, but he almost howled in resignation when he tried to get up and remembered that Madame Pomfrey had put him in a leg-lock spell to keep him in bed. Then he realized that Seamus knew the counter-curse, from Neville’s encounter with Malfoy. Neville had, of course, declined Seamus’ offer for fear that the Irish lad would set his kneecaps on fire.** Harry looked up and waved, smiling, and the smile that Seamus returned made Harry’s chest almost hurt. It also made him get another erection, and he laid his photo album over the small tent in his blankets. “Seamus Finnegan,” Madam Pomfrey was telling him off, “Unless you want the same treatment as I used to get Harry back up and going on the road to health again, I’d suggest you vacate now! He’ll be down for the Feast, in fact, he’d be there sooner if SOMEONE were to run up to Gryffindor Tower and bring his uniform and hat down to him so he can dress. Otherwise, he might have to go in his pajamas!” Seamus grinned. “Run!” Harry called, and Seamus vanished so quickly that Harry wondered if he hadn’t used Magic. The boy returned a few moments later, followed by Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor House. Seamus had everything in his little arms, but he was short a shoe; Nick helpfully handed it to Madam Pomfrey and called out, “Well done, Potter! See you at the Feast!” Then he floated off. Madame Pomfrey then ran Seamus out again, after thanking him, citing that Harry did NOT need any help getting dressed and that she wanted to look him over one more time. Harry’s empty stomach growled, and he groaned; he was almost literally starving! On the way out, Harry could hear Seamus mumbling that he didn’t mind helping … Harry made his way down to the Feast alone, after escaping from Madame Pomfrey. When he walked in, a hush fell upon the assembled crowd. He could feel them all staring at him as took a seat between Ron and Hermione, with Seamus beaming at him from across the table. He smiled back and winked, overjoyed to be free of the Infirmary again, if only for that night before going home the next morning.*** They chatted for a bit, and then the Hall fell silent as Dumbledore entered. He glanced up at the Slytherin Banners hanging all around the Hall, and shook his head. “Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were … you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts ... “Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.” A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight. “Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore. “However, recent events must be taken into account.” The room went very still. The Slytherins’ smiles faded a little. “Ahem,” said Dumbledore. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out, or some to take away! Let me see. Yes ... First — to Mr. Draco Malfoy, of Slytherin House. For unruly harassment of Gryffindors at every given chance and lurid remarks about Ms. Granger’s person, and attempted destruction of Mr. Longbottom’s property, namely a RememberAll, I think I shall let Mr. Malfoy decide. One hundred-fifty points from Slytherin, or a spanking?” Draco Malfoy’s pale eyes went flat. He glanced up at Professor Snape, the Slytherin House Sponsor, and Snape made a swatting movement with his hand. “I’ll take the spanking, sir,” Malfoy said bravely, and Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Corporal punishment has not had to be used at Hogwart’s in many years,” Dumbledore informed him, “And I am VERY disappointed in you. Are you quite sure, Mr. Malfoy?” Draco nodded defiantly and grinned. Filch, who was seated off to the side with Mrs. Norris – who was looking the worse for wear after her catfight with Professor McGonagall – smiled and almost fell out of his chair. “Blimey! ‘E’s gon’ta take the spankin’!” Ron laughed, “Wait til ya sees this, Harry!” “Spankings are just … barbaric!” Hermione commented, sipping at her goblet and shaking her head. They all stared at her, mouths agape, but then she added, “Except in HIS case,” and gestured at Draco. “Of course, if he took the points, then Ravenclaw would take the House Cup. Snape would probably beat him anyway.” Neville, who was seated across from them and next to Dean Thomas and Seamus, went pale and began to tremble. “Oh, he’ll regret that! Me Granny spanked me like I think Dumbledore’s a’gon’ta do to him. ‘E won’t ask fer it again, I bet!” They all watched with baited breath as Malfoy stood up. He faced Albus Dumbledore with a rebellious and proud stare, but the old man whispered “Gluteous Ferio!” in voice that, even though soft, filled the Hall. He gave a made a small ‘swat’ motion with his Wand, and small cloudy form issued from the tip and began to coalesce into what looked like a giant hand. The stool that the Sorting Hat usually rested upon on the first day of school suddenly scooted out into the center of the stage, and a smoky form that looked like a leg with bent knee appeared on it. Ron was about to burst. “I got one of these once from me Mum, too! Just watch! Oh, I love it! This totally justifies my whole year here, you know!” Malfoy’s grin faded, however, when the smoky hand flew from Dumbledore’s Wand and headed right for him. At about that point, his bravado failed him. He tried to run, but the hand caught him and dragged him, kicking and squealing, up to the stage where the Teachers’ table was. It jerked his black robe off, and then yanked his pants down, revealing white boxers printed with puppies and kittens. It then grasped the waistband of the boxers, and yanked them down as well, bending him over a ghostly knee in one fluid move. Malfoy screamed, swatting at the insubstantial hand, and the entire Hall burst into laughter as he was spun around and laid over that knee. “Look at those shorts!” Dean Thomas cried, pointing and whistling. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Men,” she grumbled. Then she looked up and grinned. “At last, we see the soft, boyish side of Draco Malfoy. Charming, isn’t it?” Harry just stared, unable to believe what he seeing. Draco glared at him, and tried to swat the ghostly hand away again. The hand seemed annoyed at this, and pulled his black and green necktie off and swiftly bound his hands in front of him with it so that it could proceed with the spanking. Malfoy cringed, not daring to look up. Everyone had seen him, and it was the laughter that cut into Malfoy’s pride, even before the hand drew back to spank his naked bum. They’d seen his worst personal shame, which he had – like Seamus – gone to great lengths to disguise. Draco Malfoy’s penis was very small. In fact, it was hardly more than an extended foreskin covering the glans on a shaft that couldn’t have been an inch long and rock hard and pulsing. In fact, the foreskin tip was just as long as what little shaft he had. His balls were tiny; almost the size of a Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Bean, and his scrotum was so small and tight that it didn’t allow his tiny balls to hang down. Rather, they were snugged up right under his little cock next to his body. Of course, there was not a hair to be seen. Seamus, of course, laughed so hard that he spit pumpkin juice all over the table, blowing a great deal of it out of his nose. He soaked Nearly Headless Nick, who had just risen up through the Gryffindor table to see what all the noise was about. Nick shook his head, and it lolled over to one side. He put it back in place, and looked around. “Eh, wot? Oh my! A spanking! Can I watch?” “Pull up a seat!” Ron cried, slapping Harry on the back. Nick settled into Hermione’s lap instead and shrank a bit. “May I, dear Lady?” he asked. “Of course, good Sir,” she replied. “’Er we sure he’s a boy or not?” Neville asked, finally finding the courage to make a rude remark at his worst tormentor. After all, Malfoy was being punished, in part, for attempting to destroy his RemberAll. “E’s almost bad off as I am!” Seamus coughed, pointing and laughing with the rest of the students. All but for Hermione, it seemed, whose face had gone red. “Oh, my,” she observed, “Tiny little thing, isn’t it? Are they all so small, Harry, Ron? And what do you mean, Seamus?” She asked seriously, reaching over to pat Neville’s hand, who looked as if he were about to faint. “Me three-year-old brudder’s dick is bigger’n dat!” Dean Thomas howled in mirth. “’E’ll never live this’un down!” The Weasley twins, along with Lee Jordan, were too far-gone in mirth to even talk. It was all they could do to just watch as tears of delight streamed down their faces. Ron shook his head, and the laughter died as the hand pulled back. Everyone held their breath, and the silence was ominous. Malfoy still struggled, but he couldn’t escape the spectral spanking. Seamus looked away, his own face flaming as well, but he stared back in rapt attention as the hand swung down at Malfoy’s bare backside. SMACKKK! Everyone in the Hall winced. Malfoy screamed, and his eyes filled with tears at once. The hand pulled back again, and again the sound … CRACKKK! The second hit turned his bum cheeks red, and the third even redder. By the fourth hit, the pale Slytherin boy who was the bane of Gryffindors’ existence was screaming in agony. The fifth hit raised large welts, as did the sixth and seventh, and Draco Malfoy began to hyperventilate and beg for mercy. He coughed and drooled, and his whole frame shook in agony. The Magical hand, however, had none to give him as it continued to fill the Hall with the SMACKKK sound as it pummeled his bare backside. Draco was crying and pleading, promising anything in return for the punishment to stop. “Are ya sure we can’t take ‘im down to the dungeon, Ma’am?” They could hear Filch, the caretaker, asking Professor McGonagall. “I keep the shackles and chains all shined up, pinin’ fer the old days of thumbscrews and the rack, ya know. Hang ‘im up naked and let him spend the night, maybe with some water drippin’ on ‘is head?” She shook her head. Draco continued to cry and beg, finally resorting to offers of gold Galleons. It was pathetic. By the tenth swat, which filled the Hall with a resounding SMACK! and brought such an agonized wail out of Malfoy that it sent chills up everyone’s spines, a few of the welts began to break and bleed. Then the hand released the pale boy, his bum bleeding and raw where it had smacked him over and over. The magical hand then untied the boy’s wrists, freeing him. With a face red from sobbing and shame as well, he pulled up his cute boxer shorts, wincing in pain, and hobbled back to the Slytherin table while trying to zip his fly. He could hear the rude comments about his lack of genital endowment, and his face flamed. He shot Potter a look that could have killed him, if only Malfoy had known the Spell. No one noticed the ghostly hand vanishing. Seamus grinned at him, and then flipped him off. “If he lost THAT, he’d ne’er e’en know it were gone!” Seamus whispered, laughing, to Harry. Malfoy glared back at him, but his baleful stare was somehow undone by the tears still rolling down his face from his red and puffy eyes. “Sir,” he asked of Snape, “May I be excused to the Hospital Wing?” He managed in a voice that was choked and almost incoherent as he was still crying hard. But Snape shook his greasy head of long, black hair and pointed to Draco’s empty seat. “Sit down, Mr. Malfoy, and be glad that we lost NO points over this. Your actions in light of the sake of your House are noble, and shall not go unrewarded. You have kept Ravenclaw from taking the Cup.” Draco Malfoy stared in pure horror at his seat at the Slytherin table between Crabbe and Goyle, his thugs. The LAST thing that he wanted to attempt to do was to sit down! His little bum was a twisting inferno of pain, and his eyes stung as he tried to walk. He made his way back to his chair, pausing only to try and shoot deadly glances at Potter and the rest, but his heart just wasn’t in it. He stopped at his chair, and Goyle made room for him. Crabbe’s face, while usually vacant, was serious. “Can ya even pee through that little thing, Malfoy?” He asked in genuine curiosity. “Nice shorts,” said Goyle. “SHUT UP!” Malfoy snapped, a bit too loudly. “Sit DOWN,” Snape hissed at him, returning to his seat at the Teachers’ table. Draco did that, and he almost fainted in pain as he gingerly lowered his stinging and hurting backside to the seat. He whimpered as he sat, and folded his arms on the table and put his head down so that no one would, at least, see him crying again. He clutched his small, pointed black cap in his right hand, banging it on the table in impotent rage. “You just wait until my father hears about this,” he choked, but no one said a word.
Harry could hardly believe it as he made his way, surrounded by his friends, out of the Hall and back towards Gryffindor Tower. They had won the House Cup, if not the Quidditch Cup, thanks to the points that Dumbledore had awarded them in their recovery of The Sorcerer's Stone. They’d lost that one deciding game to Ravenclaw, since he’d been out cold in the Hospital Wing during the last game and Gryffindor had lost. He had passed all of his classes, even Potions, as had all of his friends. Malfoy had been humiliated beyond belief, most of Harry’s wounds had healed, and Lord Voldemort had fled wailing off for parts unknown. The Sorcerer’s Stone had been destroyed by Dumbledore, or so he’d been told. His belly was full of warm food, and Harry straightened his black Wizards’ cap with a smile and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. All was right with the world, or at least in HIS own little world, it seemed. The only thing he dreaded was going home. Then Harry felt a heavy hand grab his shoulder. It was a tender touch, however, and Harry and the rest of his friends stopped on the marble staircase. Of course, they’d heard him coming. The staircase then took the opportunity to shift around, and the young Gryffindors laughed as if enjoying a carnival ride. As the staircase came to rest right outside of the landing that led to their Tower, Harry turned around and looked up into the smiling and bushy face of Hagrid. “All right, Harry?” He asked. Harry smiled at him and nodded. Hagrid looked the gang of Gryffindors over, one by one, as if fixing them all in his memory. He sniffled. “Hagrid, it’s only a few months,” Ron reminded him. The huge man nodded, and gestured that they move on. “Had t’ come up so as to give ye’s a bit a help,” he explained. “Sort’a last minute thing, wot wit ‘Arry here causin’ such a stir at the last minute. Getting’ ready fer next Year, and yer Tower’s sort’a a mess right now.” “Why’s that, Hagrid?” Seamus asked, as the approached the picture of the fat lady that guarded their door. She looked frazzled. “Oh just one more night, and it’s Holiday!” She beamed at them, clapping her pudgy hands in delight. “Oh, Hagrid! You’ve not been up in ages!” She giggled. “Going to help with the rearranging?” “Yes’m,” Hagrid replied, as she swung her painting over without even asking for the password.“Come back soon!” She called, swinging back into place with a flush. It was pure bedlam in the Common Room when they entered. Seemingly unexhausted by the Feast, Fred and George Weasley, along with Lee Jordan, had staged a party. Harry was, of course, already drowsy. He really didn’t feel like celebrating, though. He just wanted some time to reflect upon all that happened to him. He soon discovered, with Seamus at his side though, that if they stayed close together people would tend to overlook them both. Despite the noise and overall celebration, most of it in HIS honor, he soon fell asleep on one of the squashy sofas near the fireplace with Seamus snuggled next to him. He awoke sometime later to hear Hagrid saying, “Everyone’s windin’ down, finally! ‘Ow they do it, I dunno! Eat, eat, eat … and make noise! Well, some’uns jus’ gon’ta ‘av to share a bed, thas all there is to’t!” He exclaimed, and Harry heard a loud crash from the next room. There was a sound of small skittering feet and some chatter, but through the fog of just waking up, Harry couldn’t figure out what it was. He yawned and stretched, and Seamus sighed. “Mornin’ already?” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. The Common Room looked like a disaster area. Gryffindors were scattered here and there, lying where they’d fallen. Drinks and food were scattered about, and there was confetti paper and part favors everywhere. One by one, Hagrid was going around and waking them up, hauling some of them – bodily – off to their beds. “E’ry year,” he mumbled, trying to rouse the Weasley and twins and finally giving up. The huge man hoisted each of them under one arm like sacks of flour and hauled them off to their room. Harry was just getting to his feet and stretching when he returned. I must be dreaming, he thought, glancing at his watch, which said 2:00 AM. “Aye, yer the last two,” Hagrid sighed. “Getting’ too old fer this, I am!” “What?” Harry asked, as Seamus yawned and stretched. He blinked and looked around. “Filch iz jus’ a’gon’ta shit hisself when he sees dis!” Seamus observed. “Well, ye wuz all s’pozed t’ be out before we started on this, moving stuff an’ getting ready t’ clean up fer the summer, but … someone had to go and find this ruddy Stone and, well, ya know it jus’ wrecked our schedule,” Hagrid explained with a grin, “Then them Weasleys decide to throw a bloomin’ party. Shoulda know’d. Harry looked at Seamus, who shrugged. It looked as if the Irish lad was finally getting a roommate, if not four! Harry thought about it, though, and his head began to ache a bit. Hadn’t he and Ron shared a room, but then again, weren’t there always five beds in each room, or just two? Or was it the fact that they had all been affected by the Spell that made everyone overlook Seamus? He had the distinct feeling that something was not right, but given the way things at Hogwart’s moved about and changed, he didn’t worry about it. One never really knew where things were going to be from one day to the next in the enchanted Castle. “C’mon,” Hagrid was saying, laying a huge arm about their shoulders, “Off t’ bed wi’ya’s now.” They wound their way up the spiral staircase to boys’ dormitories. Sure enough, in the room that Harry was used to, there were five beds. Actually, there were four intact beds and one four-poster that looked as if it hadn’t survived the move very well. Seamus laughed. “Next year won’ be so lonely,” he said, staring around the room with a smile. Then Harry remembered what Madam Pomfrey had told him about having a talk with Hagrid. As he and Seamus stripped out of their robes and formal uniforms, Harry found himself with an uncomfortable erection again. He turned to see Hagrid gesturing towards the four-poster that was his, and Seamus sitting on the edge of the bed. Seamus had stripped down to his shorts, as had Harry. Harry’s shorts, however, had that embarrassing little tent in the front of them again. “In-tuh bed wit’ ya’s,” Hagrid ordered, pulling the blankets back so that both boys could climb in. He then pulled the blankets back up to their chins, tucked them in, and kissed each goodnight. Seamus giggled as Hagrid’s thick, bushy beard tickled his own smooth face. “Hagrid,” Harry asked in a low voice so as not to wake Ron, Neville or Dean, “When I was … er … up in the Infirmary, Madam Pomfrey said I should ask you about … er … something that I …” But Harry was having a hard time putting his sentence together. Seamus had moved over closer to him, and Harry could feel his warm skin against his own and Seamus’ hands touching him here and there. The smaller boy yawned, and turned his head to rest it on Harry’s shoulder. Somehow, it just didn’t seem right to ask Hagrid about masturbation when he was cuddled up with someone who could never, ever be able to do it. Hagrid sat down on the edge of the bed, which didn’t yield despite his great size and weight. He laid a hand, which almost covered the chests of both boys, across them and waited, as if getting ready to read them a bedtime story. “She did it, din’t she? Got that hose out an’ washed yer arse out good and clean, I’ll wager! You shoulda know’d better, ‘Arry,” Hagrid told him. “What hose?” Seamus asked. “Wha’d she do t’ ya Harry? I came in ‘cause Ron’s chess knight stuck his lance in me eye, but ya was out cold again an’ she run me out after fixin’ it! Woul’n’t let me stay wit ya!” Harry then recounted what all had happened to him in the Hospital Wing, but had a hard time explaining what the nozzle had done to him and how he’d figured out, almost instinctively, how to masturbate. In the dim light, Hagrid could see that his face was red with embarrassment and that his emerald eyes looked guilty. Seamus’ eyes were as wide as tea saucers. “It just isn’t FAIR!” Harry concluded, hugging Seamus tightly, as if to protect him. “Wha’s not fair is running a hose up yer arse, like she did,” Seamus replied with a shudder. “Me mum uses a thermometer in there when I’m ill, but damn, ‘Arry, filled ye up with water? Not me, no way! No way would I anyone put a hose up me arse!” Hagrid reached over and gently took Harry’s glasses off. He placed them on the nightstand and then brushed Harry’s bangs off of his forehead to reveal his scar. “What you done the other night, Harry,” he told him, “was a great thing. You’ve been marked, and I think we’re seein’ just what that mark is all about. Seamus, on the other hand, has his own mark to bear. What that’s all about, well … no, Harry, you’re right. It’s not fair. It’s unfair to Seamus to have had to sacrifice what ‘e did, and it’s unfair that the two o’ you were both exposed to the damn juice that Stone used t’ make. At least ya got one another, though, come what may.” Harry remembered his dream, and suddenly wondered just how much of the Elixir of Life that either one of them had absorbed – he through his wounded hand and Seamus when he’d been cut. Despite his warm blankets and Seamus snuggled up next to him, Harry shivered. Seamus felt it too, and pulled himself in tighter, closer to Harry. “Damn birthmark,” he muttered, and Harry could feel the place where Seamus’ boyhood should have been as the smaller boy turned and pressed up against his thigh. At some point during being tucked in, Seamus has slid out of his shorts and was working on pulling off Harry’s as well. His erection was, once again, pounding so hard that it almost hurt. “Maybe ye can jus’ tell me all ‘bout it, ‘Arry,” he sighed in resignation. “Look, ya two,” Hagrid told them firmly, “Mornin’ is gon’ta be ‘ere a’fors ye knows it! We can’t stay up all bloomin’ night chattering about wanking! Fer what it’s worth, ‘Arry, there’s nothin’ wrong with a good wank now and then. All boys do it,” Hagrid coughed, looking down at Seamus. “Well, almost all boys, sorry, son.” “But it’s just so awful,” Harry protested, “And it’s not fair!” He said again. “Seamus didn’t even have any say in what happened to him. They just took it all away from him! How could anyone just take that damn Knife and cut it off like that? Dark Wizards or not, it’s just not right! That’s too high a price for power!” Hagrid shook his great, bushy head. “Blame it on Destiny, I s’pose,” he replied, “Like I said, ‘Arry, marks is marks and all. Seamus couldn’t help havin’ t’be a eunuch, no more’n YOU could help bein’ the one who took down Vol-d …er … um … HIM!” Seamus didn’t seem too bothered, though. “I ne’er e’en got t’ try it,” he sighed. “I used t’ lay in me bed and play wit’ it at night, and wonder why it’d get hard. It felt real good, but ne’er like Harry said whut happened wit’ him. I ne’er actually figured out ‘ow to really wank off, guess I was too little. First night after I was cut, I was layin’ in bed and felt down there and it was all gone. I din’t know what all the mark cost me, tho’, havin’ to be a Eunuch Wizard and such. Hell, firs’ thing I thought was ‘no’un can kick me in the balls n’more!’ But I know is me da’ dint’ think much ‘o it. Hope he’s there when I gets home.” Harry didn’t know what to say, and Hagrid got up slowly. He pulled his old umbrella out of his overcoat, which he wore even though summer was coming in full force, and mumbled something. The curtains around Harry’s four-poster seemed to wave a bit as if shaken by a breeze, and Hagrid smiled. “Keep ‘em shut and no’un’ll hear ya’s,” he told them with a wink. “An’ don’ be tellin’ no’un I did that!” Then he bent over and kissed each boy again and said, “Goodnight.” He pulled the curtains shut, and was gone. “Don’ feel bad ‘bout it, Harry,” Seamus whispered, his warm little hands moving here and there under the blankets over Harry’s body. Harry did the same, not quite as ashamed as he had been since Hagrid’s talk. It seemed that there was nothing wrong with a good wank, as the huge man had told him, and if Hagrid said it, it must be true! And even Professor McGonagall had told him that he wasn’t the first boy to find out that he liked another boy. Still, as his erection throbbed and begged for relief, Harry felt guilty in the pleasures that he knew he could have at almost any time, and that Seamus would never, ever have. He moved his head a bit, and soon found Seamus’ lips. He kissed him rather seriously, as if trying to make up for the pleasures he’d had that day. He let his hands run over every inch of the Irish lad’s form, and very soon, Seamus’ hands found his aching erection and grasped it. Harry gasped, and his heart raced. “You don’t have to,” he almost choked, waves of pleasure tearing at him again as Seamus stroked his small cock, “It isn’t fair to you! I mean, what about YOU, Seamus?” He almost cried, locking his mouth over Seamus’ again before the little eunuch could answer. As if in reply, Seamus tightened his grip as he pulled back from the kiss. “Hagrid said there’s nothin’ wrong wit’ it,” he replied, his other hand moving down to feel Harry’s balls, which were moving up as his scrotum tightened in approaching climax. Harry’s own hand felt Seamus’ smoothness again, devoid of anything that could provide him with the same sexual pleasure. Try as he might, Harry just didn’t know what to do for Seamus in return as the Irish lad slowly wanked him. Seamus was working at his foreskin, rolling it back slowly, and Harry groaned as his glans was exposed to Seamus’ soft hand. “But there’s not anything I can do … I mean … Dammit, Seamus, it’s not fair for me to feel this good when you … you …” But Seamus interrupted him. “’Arry,” he began, slowing down his stroking a bit, “I know they cut me fer a good reason. If’n the mark showed up on me, then I ‘av somethin’ to do later in life, somethin’ big, like you findin’ the Stone or somesuch. I dint’ know it then, but I do now. So I can’t wank meself er screw no’un. I can’t ‘av kids ‘o me own, since no woman’d want me now, an’ I’ll pro’ly ne’er know how YOU feel when I do THIS t’ ya!” He stated loudly, massaging Harry’s genitals and finally sending him over the edge. Harry tried hard to keep his mind working as the orgasm hit him, although he could feel the explosions inside of him trying to tear him apart and he shivered in pure pleasure. Seamus seemed to have a talent for bringing that about in him, and Harry hugged him tightly, crying out softly as his body shook with ecstasy. He was, barely, able to hold onto his train of thought. Still, he felt so guilty as the orgasm subsided and he lay there holding Seamus in his arms, breathing hard. More than anything, he wanted Seamus to know what it felt like. He wanted to return the favor so badly, but then he remembered what Hagrid had told him earlier at his cabin about Eunuch Wizards in general, and Klingsor in particular: His Powers went Wild, they did … since he couldn’t have sex n’more. And if he was having such a hard time controlling his powers now, how powerful was Seamus going to get at adolescence, Harry wondered, when his young body tried to change from boy to man and found that it could not? And what about Klingsor going Bad? Would Seamus go Bad too? Did Eunuch Wizards often go Bad, or just Slytherins in general? After all, there hadn’t been one in two hundred years. Harry, despite how good he’d just been made to feel, wanted to cry. He almost told Seamus – again – that it just wasn’t fair, but Seamus’ mouth closed over his own for a long time before he could talk again. It was rather hard to try, what with someone else’s tongue in your mouth. Then, warmed by the blankets and with Seamus snuggled up next to him, Harry began to feel drowsy again. They’d be going home in the morning, Harry to Privet Drive and Seamus to somewhere in Ireland. He didn’t want the night to end. He just wanted to stay in his four-poster with the small form of Seamus next to him. He kissed him again, and Seamus whispered, “Just don’ be fergettin’ ‘bout me o’er the holiday.” “Seamus,” Harry began, but he felt a hand over his mouth as Seamus shushed him. “Jus’ don’ ferget me, an’ hold me, ‘Arry,” he whispered, “Just hold me so that I know ‘t sum’un knows I exist. Tha’s enough fer now.” So Harry Potter did just that – he held him until they both fell asleep in each other’s arms.
When he awoke in the morning with Seamus still in his arms, he realized something. He stared into the smaller boy’s perfect face. He saw the beatific smile there as he slept, and realized that despite what had been done to him, Seamus was happy. He was also dry, much to Harry’s relief, since he didn’t know any laundry Spells. Harry put his glasses on and picked up his Wand, not really wanting to move and spoil the moment. At some point in the night, all of their things had somehow packed themselves up. Trunks stood ready, packed up to go, at the ends of their beds when Harry magicked the curtains open. He squinted at the bright light pouring in, and realized that they’d been allowed to sleep in a bit late. He was thankful of that, and softly kissed Seamus’ cheek again. He glanced around at the sleeping forms of Ron, with Scabbers the rat curled up on top of his head. There were Neville and Dean across from him, and Seamus’ own bed – or what was left of it – in the corner near the doorway. Harry gasped, seeing that Neville was already up, dressed, and sitting quietly on the end of his bed reading a book on Herbology. He looked up, as if sensing Harry’s eyes upon him and smiled. He hadn’t seen it, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Summer at last!” He beamed, “’Bout two solid months of NOTHIN’ to do!” Harry thought about summer at Privet Drive and shuddered, hugging Seamus with a dull ache in his stomach. About then, Percy Weasley burst in, shouting and shaking everyone out of bed. “Up and at ‘em, now,” he cried, shaking Ron a bit more violently than needed be. Ron moaned and told Scabbers to bite him. Scabbers crawled down under the pillow and ignored him, and Percy continued to try and rouse the seemingly hung-over Dean Thomas. “C’mon,” he cried, “Summer’s a’wastin’!” Then he saw Harry with Seamus in his bed. Percy raised an eyebrow and looked at Seamus’ bed and the rest of the remodeling supplies piled near it. “Wot, he go and blow it up or somethin’?” Harry gave serious thought to trying to turn him into a newt, but Percy was already gone to shout at and rouse the rest of the House. From what he could hear from outside their dorm room, Ron and Harry and Neville could tell that he wasn’t receiving a very warm welcome from them either. Finally, Harry gave a sigh and decided to get up. They’d have a quick shower and then a light breakfast, and then it was off to the train station to head back to King Cross in London, Platform 9 ¾ and home. Harry tossed back his blankets and sat up, but Seamus didn’t stir. He heard Ron clear his throat. “Er ... Uhhm, Harry,” Ron asked innocently, but with an evil grin on his freckled face, “Why are ya over there naked in yer bed with Seamus?” *From the book. The movie has this happening at the train depot to leave Hogwart’s.
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