Harry Potter and the Knife of Klingsor, Part 2

“Do you mind?” Dumbledore inquired of his hat, rolling his eyes up and reaching up to fetch Scabbers the rat. The fat rat poked his yellow tipped nose out and squeaked at him. The old Wizard smiled and gently brought him down, stroking his fur. Scabbers flopped over on his back in the old man’s palm and closed his eyes. He handed the rat back to Ron Weasley, who nodded, looked at his Familiar, then blinked.

“Blimey! ‘is nose is all yellow! ‘ow’d that happen?” The red haired boy asked in surprise.

Harry and Seamus looked at the rat, and Seamus grinned. “’e took a nibble outta the frame ‘o Harry’s specs while ya was both in the showers,” the Irish lad explained, “I saw it meself – bit the frames, an’ his nose changed, it did!”

“Stranger things HAVE happened,” Dumbledore observed, smiling at the boys as they started back down the corridor towards their Gryffindor dorm rooms. Harry didn’t know about his friends, but he felt a little embarrassed being escorted back to his room by the head of Hogwart’s while he was wearing only his Quidditch printed boxer shorts. He was, however, too full of curiosity to dwell upon it. They hadn’t gone very far before he’d summoned up the courage to ask about what was bothering him.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir,” he piped up, moving in closer to Seamus as they walked, “I don’t mean to be rude or poke my nose into where it doesn’t belong, but I … I … well … I just don’t understand the whole thing about Seamus and …,”

Harry paused for a moment to try and think of a way to phrase his question so that it didn’t sound too blunt. Ron raised his eyebrows as if knowing what his friend was about to ask, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he put an arm around Seamus’ shoulders protectively and subconsciously pulled his legs a bit closer together as they walked.

“What I don’t understand, sir, is what making a eunuch of a boy has to do with him being a more powerful Wizard. How does it cause this ‘million-fold’ increase in Power?” He asked in a tone that indicated his sudden fascination with the subject.

There was no answer, and when the three Gryffindors stopped and turned around, Dumbledore was gone. Their warm towels were the only evidence that he’d even been there.

“’ow’d ‘e do that?” Seamus asked in wonder, looking this way and that, even up at the ceiling, only to find no trace of the old man.

“Neat trick!” Ron exclaimed.

When they arrived back at the Gryffindor dormitory, Ron and Harry followed Seamus to his room. The smaller boy was about to pull off his towel and put it away when he paused in front of his bureau. It took a moment for Harry and Ron, both accustomed to showering and changing together, to realize what was going on. After all, they’d been seeing each other naked and making comparisons and jokes for almost a year. Given what they’d discovered about the Irish lad, it only made sense that he might be just a bit self-conscious of getting naked in front of them again so soon. They both turned their backs, but Seamus sighed.

“I guess it don’ matter now, least not wit’ you two,” he said, dropping his towel and beginning to root around in a drawer. It was Saturday, after all, and formal dress of shirt, tie and black robe were not required. In fact, most of Seamus’ clothes and personals were already packed up and waiting to go home for the summer. The room was filled with the soft scent of the madly blooming geranium, and Harry sneezed.

“Hay fever?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s just this one silly flower,” he commented. “Seamus, ya got a hanky in there?”

Seamus nodded and tossed a white hanky over his shoulder. Harry caught it and sneezed into it, then blew his nose loudly. It woke up Scabbers.

Ron cleared his throat, and sat down on the unused bed. He turned to look out the window, and Scabbers took up residence on the pillow. “Worthless rat!” Ron laughed, as Scabbers stretched out and fell asleep.

Harry had just turned to join his friend on the bed when Seamus turned a bit sideways. He pulled out a pair of maroon short pants with a House crest on the left leg, but he paused for a moment, still looking around his drawer for something. He slammed the drawer shut and opened another to continue his search.

Almost as if drawn by the sound, Harry turned his head a bit. His glittering green eyes, focused on the floor out of politeness, slowly began to follow the line of Seamus’ leg upwards as he stared. He took a couple more steps, and his eyes made their way up to the little eunuch’s hips, pausing for a time on his round little butt. Seamus was standing sideways, still holding his short pants in one hand and digging for something with the other. He was throwing assorted bits of laundry this way and that, as boys are often prone to do when they can’t find the one thing that they want to wear. Harry took a few more steps, and Seamus turned around, shaking his head. Harry’s eyes met with the Irish lad’s smooth crotch then, totally devoid of any sign of boyhood, and he crashed into the bed and fell unceremoniously in a heap on top of Ron.

“Watch it, now!” Ron exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Harry offered, his eyes tracing the shape of the very thin and pale scar that began at just below Seamus waist and disappeared down and between his legs. Whoever had cut him had used a very good knife, if not Magic, and done a fine job on him. The scar was very faint, unlike the one on Harry’s own forehead, and almost undetectable. It was almost as if Seamus had been born that way instead of being cut.

“As ya told me earlier, Harry,” Ron advised him, “It’s not nice to stare.”

Harry, however, was completely enraptured and suddenly trying to cope with feelings for which he was totally unprepared. His mouth opened just a bit, and his emerald eyes seemed to almost glow. He pushed his glasses back up his nose a bit, and his lightning bolt scar above his eye began to burn again. Unconsciously, he licked his lips. He could feel himself growing erect, and it wasn’t long before there was once again a small tent in the front of his boxers. The tingling sensation returned, and he recalled how it had gone away earlier that morning when Seamus had touched his scar. He also noticed that his injured hand had begun to ache again, which drew his attention away from Seamus.

“Ya need to have Madam Pomfrey change that bandage, Harry. It’s all wet,” Ron told him, shaking him by the shoulders, “And it’s not nice to stare! Ya got a woody too, ya know.”

“Huh?” Harry mumbled, tearing his eyes away from Seamus.

“Yer bahndage,” Seamus offered, still standing there and holding his shorts in his hand and giving them both a full-frontal view of himself. “Iz wet, and I think iz startin’ tuh bleed again!”

Harry brought his injured hand up and looked at it, ignoring his tented out boxers. Sure enough, the bandage was soaked with blood. “Bloody hell! I was just lucky enough to be released from the Infirmary to attend the Farewell Feast tonight and go home tomorrow as it was! Now I bet she’ll put me back in bed and lock me up in there for the whole summer! Not that that would be too bad, though. Beats going back to the Dursleys, I guess, where I’d be locked in my room, prob’ly.”

“Let’s go get it checked,” Ron advised, patting his best friend’s shoulder. “After all, you did sort of get banged up and very nearly killed. You sure the key cut it open?”

Harry nodded, and noticed out the corner of his eye that Seamus was slipping into his short pants. He closed his eyes and shook his head, sending his mop of black hair waving this way and that. His scar actually HURT, and his hand was beginning to pulsate and burn. He was tingling all over as well, and as he stood up, he fell back onto the bed in Ron’s lap with a groan as the world began to blur and spin.

“What’s the matter?!” Ron exclaimed, propping him up. Seamus buttoned up his shorts and ran over, giving Ron a hand.

Scabbers began to snore.

The moment that the Irish lad’s hands touched Harry, however, the pain stopped. His head began to clear, and his vision sharpened. His hand, although still bleeding a bit, stopped pulsing. His erection, however, didn’t. Harry felt like he was going to explode as Seamus slowly unwrapped his wounded hand.

“Harry,” he whispered, “Is this the hand ya were holdin’ the Sorcerer’s Stone wit’?”

Time seemed to stop for Harry as he stared up at the young eunuch.

“What?” He asked, as if not understanding the question.

“When they found ya and brung ya back, Harry! After ya beat Voldemort the second time and done Professor Quirrell in! They say Dumbledore found ya knocked out and holdin’ the bloody Stone in yer hand. Was it this one, the cut one?”

Harry looked at him as if he had no idea what Seamus was talking about. He stared at the angelic face, down at his own hand, over at Ron, and then back at his hand. Blood was still seeping from the cut, but nothing seemed to hurt anymore. There was only the tingling sensation all over, and Harry found it not unpleasant. Still, the whole of his attention remained focused on Seamus.

What’s wrong with me? He wondered, unable to look away from that flawless face framed by sandy hair. Why have I got a hard-on? What’s this tingling, and why do I feel like this? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I look away from him?

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry managed to say, “I … I’m n-not sure. Why?”

“Because,” Ron advised him, “Remember what Hermione found out about the Stone? It not only turns anythin’ into gold, but it produces The Elixir of Life. Ol’ Flamel was 665 years old, ya know, livin’ off the stuff. What if it oozed some of that out while ya was knocked out and it seeped into yer cut? Blimey, Harry, you could wind up immortal!”

Seamus nodded, and slowly reached up to run his hand over Harry’s famous scar. His eyes looked haunted, and the expression on his face was a mystery. He held Harry’s bleeding hand in his other, and then drew a deep breath. “I dinno if I need me Wand fer this’un or not, but ‘ere goes,” he warned. “Me Auntie used to do this fer me when I was hurt or just very sad.”

Almost under his breathe, as Ron yelped and jumped back, Seamus whispered something. It sounded dangerously like a Spell.

Harry’s eyes went wide, and in his scramble to get clear of the impending explosion and possible flambéing of his best friend, Ron knocked Scabbers the rat off of the pillow. Scabbers looked at them all, flicked his tail in contempt, and crawled under the pillow.

Harry, however, didn’t catch fire or explode. His ragged breathing slowed, his eyes drooped half shut, and his jaw dropped open. Warmth seemed to radiate from Seamus’ small hands as they touched him, and the tingling sensation moved down and into his entire body. His erection jerked several times, and the explosion that he and Ron had both feared suddenly seemed to come to life deep within him. His nose was filled with a thousand strange scents, and a miasma of colors seemed to hang in the air before his eyes. His ears seemed to fill with a cacophony of roaring sounds. Very slowly, he leaned towards Seamus.

What’s wrong with me? Harry cried to himself again, thinking himself seriously ill – or perhaps wounded worse than Madame Pomfrey had diagnosed. Is this what dying feels like? AM I dying? Bleeding to death? Or am I just hurt bad? And what’s Seamus trying to do to me? Why does it feel like this? What do I do?

Seamus, however, answered this last question for him. The Irish lad uttered two more strange words, something in an ancient Gaelic tongue, Harry would later believe, and leaned forward as well. His mouth closed over Harry’s, and The Boy Who Lived suddenly found himself being kissed by The Boy Who Didn’t Exist.

Harry felt like he was falling. His eyes closed, and he soon realized that Touch was the only Sense left to him as Seamus’ lips enfolded his own. Almost shyly, he opened his mouth a bit. Seamus, as if sensing this, did the same. Very soon, their tongues found one another and the two Gryffindors shared a moment the likes of which neither had ever experienced before. Rational thought dissipated as their mouths explored each other’s, and Harry soon realized that his aches and pains had completely disappeared as Seamus’ hand moved from his forehead and down the side of his smooth face. It passed over his chest, stroking his belly, and when it reached the small tent in the front of his printed boxers Harry moaned in ecstasy. Something deep inside of his body let go, and he shook violently. He cried out as if in pain, but the look on his face betrayed the confused pleasures that he was experiencing. It felt as if his body was being split in half from the groin up, and he lost track of everything.

Everything but the two warm little hands that were touching him; touching him as he’d never been touched before. One of those hands was on the back of his neck, and the other was down the front of his boxers. Seamus was touching him, gently, moving his hand all over Harry’s genitals as if exploring, trying to remember what it felt like to have something down there to play with. Harry almost told him to stop, that it wasn’t right to be touching someone like that, but it simply felt too good. Seamus’ warm little hand seemed to know what it was doing as it moved up and down his aching penis, down and under his smooth scrotum, and all around his testicles and back up again. Harry pulled Seamus tighter to him with his good hand, trying to breath through his nose and not wanting his mouth separated from Seamus’.

It seemed to be over in flash, however, as Harry cried out in pleasure and fell over backwards.

Unbeknownst to Harry, he had just endured his first orgasm. A dry one.

“Harry, Harry! Wake up!” Ron was screaming, gently smacking his cheek.

With a deliberate effort, Harry forced his green eyes open and stared up into Ron’s freckled face. “Huh?” He mumbled.

Seamus was holding his wounded hand again, or rather, examining it. Harry saw a first aid kit in his lap.

“What happened?” He demanded, sitting up suddenly as his senses returned. “What was that Spell, Seamus?” Then he pulled his hand away from him and looked at it in awe.

“Jus’ sum’thin’ I lernt from me Auntie,” Seamus smiled at him. “Easy! Dint even need a Wand to do ‘er!” Then his faced flushed. “I hope ya dint mind me jus’ doin’ it, Harry?”

He kissed me in front of Ron! Harry realized, and his own face took fire in embarrassment. Hadn’t Seamus already asked him, and hurt him as well, with the remark, ‘Yer not a poof, er ya?’ How could he KISS me like that, and in front of Ron, too? And he touched me! He … he … jacked me off! But … but … how could I have liked it like that, and what was all that shaking and feeling torn up all over? God, what’s Ron going to say?!

Harry looked from his hand to Seamus, and then back to Ron, who shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t scare me like that, Harry!” Ron almost cried. “Seamus was going to try Magic on your hand, and the next thing I know, a’for’ I could stop him, he touches you and you fall over on me again! And he didn’t even catch the blankets on fire! Wow!”

Ron’s statement, however, didn’t make sense. The kiss had lasted for so long! And what about the seizure he’d had? Seizure, or whatever it had been? What about Seamus touching him? How could Ron have not seen it, all that time with his hand down the front of Harry’s shorts? He glanced back at Seamus, and the Irish lad winked at him.

“Time flies,” he grinned, taking Harry’s now-healed hand back in his own and wrapping some gauze around it.

“We’re not tellin’ anyone,” he ordered with uncharacteristic firmness. “I don’ need no’un tuh know ‘bout this. Nor do you! We’ll wrap ‘er back up, and no’one’ll be the wiser. We’re a’goin’ home tuh-night, and we’ll not be needin’ the Teachers getting’ all stirred up over nothin’.”

Harry, however, was at a total loss for words. “Thank you, Seamus,” he said softly, then lay back on the bed with an explosive sigh of relief. He was suddenly very tired. Scabbers squeaked loudly and came out from under the pillow to walk across Harry and back to Ron.

Seamus nodded, and finished wrapping his newly healed hand. Then he shook his head and sniffed. The scent of the geranium was filling the room, but Harry wasn’t sneezing. The blooms had stopped changing colors, finally settling on white. Harry gazed at it, following his nose. He then looked back at Ron and Seamus and Scabbers and yawned a yawn that almost split his head. He wanted to ask Ron what he’d really seen, to beg him not to tell, but he couldn’t find his voice. He tried to protest as Seamus and Ron covered him up, and really tried to protest when Ron turned his back and Seamus quickly and softly kissed his cheek. His soft, red lips brushed over Harry’s ear, and he felt as if some great and thick blanket had fallen over his senses.

He was just slipping into sleep, fighting it, as he heard Seamus telling Ron, “…could be, Ron. I hope not, but I think it is. Don’ tell no’un Ron, ya can’t … but, aw hell! Ya already know me worst secret ‘bout not bein’ a boy n’more an … the Stone could’a … while ‘e was out cold … more powerful’n him … I dinno … might ‘av …”

But Harry couldn’t catch the rest of what his friend was saying, only bits and pieces, as he drifted off. Between waking up too early and experiencing his first orgasm, he was simply too exhausted to stay awake. My friend, he mused, as he slipped into sleep in Seamus’ spare bed, I never thought of him … as … not like … but I …

Ron and Seamus, picking up Scabbers the rat, left the room and decided to let Harry sleep it off. After all, he’d just been discharged from the Infirmary and he really didn’t look all that good, all things considered.

Neither of them noticed the large black and silver Maine Coon Cat lounging in the windowsill next to the geranium. The cat purred and swished her tail, then stretched out to watch Harry sleep.

The Knife wasn’t large. In fact, it was quite small and looked like something from a woodcarving set. The shining blade was curved and it had a hilt with a grip that resembled that of a French sword in that it curved back to shield the hand holding it. There was some kind of emblem on the blade, near the midst of the curve, but Harry couldn’t quite make it out. The handle was inlaid with emeralds and sapphires, and it was actually longer than the blade. It also looked razor sharp and frightening as Harry stared at it in wonder. He wanted to lean in closer, to push his glasses back up, and to get a closer look at it. But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t, he soon discovered, because Hagrid was holding his arms pinned behind his back with one massive arm and holding that Knife in his free hand. Harry looked down, and much to his embarrassment, saw that he was quite naked and sporting an erection again. His uncircumcised penis was standing at rigid attention at its full three-and-half inches – a half an inch shorter than Ron’s – and it was twitching in time with his racing pulse. Harry swallowed hard and looked up at Hagrid.

The unbelievably large man smiled down at him and then looked at the Knife. He then gave Harry a look that said ‘Oh, I’ve forgotten something!’ and laid the Knife down on a table. Still holding the naked boy in one arm, he reached behind him with the other and produced a birthday cake with twelve candles on it. Then Seamus was there, and he was carrying Hagrid’s pink umbrella with Fluffy and Fang standing at his sides. Very carefully, the Irish lad touched the umbrella to each of the twelve candles and they lit. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the cake didn’t explode and catch fire. It was not, that however, that captured Harry’s attention.

Seamus was naked as well, and Harry’s eyes drifted from the candles to him. His green eyes moved down slowly from Seamus’ innocent smile to stare at his lack of boyhood, and the feeling of pending explosion deep within Harry’s body returned. Hagrid tightened his grip as Harry tried to move forward towards the young eunuch, his eyes now fixated on the strange birthmark just to the left of where Seamus’ penis should have been. Suddenly he jerked his head back to look at the blade, and Hagrid moved it close to just under his nose. The emblem on the blade was a perfect replica of Seamus’ birthmark!

“’Ere now, ‘arry,” Hagrid was saying, “Just a moment. You two can go run off and play just as soon as we’re done ‘ere! Now blow out yer candles. Not every day that a boy turns twelve, ya know!”

At that point, Harry knew that something was not right and looked up. Hagrid had said those same words when he’d rescued him from the lighthouse with the Dursleys on his ELEVENTH birthday, and right at the stroke of Midnight at that! His mouth fell open as he stared around the Great Hall, fully assembled with EVERYONE from Hogwart’s at their proper tables. Even the Teachers were all seated behind him, and the ceiling reflected the brilliant and cobalt blue afternoon sky as it had been bewitched to do. It looked as if there were no ceiling there at all, but Harry knew better. He also knew that he must have been dreaming, but try as he did, he couldn’t do anything but blush a furious shade of crimson as everyone stared at him. He turned to look at his Teachers behind him as Hagrid held him.

The Teachers, however, weren’t laughing. They all looked very serious.

“This is a dream,” Harry stated, “And a bad one at that.”

Everyone at the tables in the Great Hall – the members of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin – all applauded. Harry glanced back at Seamus, and the very thought of the boy who hadn’t even showered with anyone else brought him totally to his senses. There was absolutely NO way that Seamus would be prancing about with Hagrid’s dogs, naked, in front of the entire School!

The applause quieted down, and then a high and piping voice that sent Harry’s blood to boiling called out, “Oh, it’s not just a dream, Potter! It’s a fuckin’ nightmare! Don’t even try to wake up, ‘cause you can’t!”

Harry’s icy gaze fell towards the Slytherin table upon the white-blonde Draco Malfoy, the very bane of his existence at Hogwart’s. The young pureblood Slytherin boy was smiling at him, fondling his Wand, and pointing at Seamus. “I see you made ANOTHER worthless friend, Potter. First a Weasel, from a whole litter of worthless weasels, then a mudblood little tart who’s just sooo smart, in fact, too smart to have time to fix her hair! Now look at you! Pairing up with an Irish half-breed waif with no Father, and no genitals at that! A weasel, a bitch and a eunuch! You really know how to pick ‘em, Potter. Oh well. You had your chance with ME and my family and you blew it. There’s no going back now, you know, is there Hagrid?” Malfoy concluded.

“Draco Malfoy!” Professor McGonagall cried, rising up from her seat at the table behind Harry and Hagrid and pointing a long and bony finger at him. “That will cost Slytherin House 100 points for four counts of slandering a fellow Hogwart’s student and another 10 for use of profanity!”

Draco hung his blonde head and looked away. His own House Sponsor, Professor Snape, glared at him. “I would advise you, Mr. Malfoy, to NOT comment upon matters of which you know nothing about. You will also be receiving another detention for it.”

Snape’s reply obviously hurt Malfoy, and his jaw dropped. He put his head down upon his folded arms and began to cry.

NOW I know it’s really a dream, Harry thought, Malfoy would sooner die than do something like cry in front of anyone, and Snape certainly wouldn’t punish him even if he took a dump in the middle of the table.

“Well, c’mon, ‘arry, blow out yer cahn-duls!” Hagrid drawled. “We ain’t got all night!”

Harry swallowed hard, embarrassed that everyone was staring at him. It was bad enough to be naked in front of them all, but to be naked AND erect was even worse! Reluctantly, he did as he was told and blew out the candles.

The Great Hall erupted into applause. Everyone was clapping, and the Gryffindor table was especially loud. George and Fred, Ron’s older twin brothers, threw their hats into the air and the rest of the table followed suit. Everyone seemed thrilled - everyone except for Malfoy, however. The blonde boy was simply staring at Harry and Seamus, as if hoping that he could suddenly discover some Magic that could make looks that killed.

“Silence!” Albus Dumbledore then announced in a pleasant voice that somehow filled the entire Hall without being loud. Everyone quieted down. “Hagrid, it’s now time for Harry’s present. As you said, we’ve not got all night,” the old man advised, and Harry saw him reaching into his pocket for something.

Then suddenly Hagrid’s other hand was free of his birthday cake and the huge man was grasping Harry’s genitals. He squeezed them gently, and then pulled down. He applied a bit of pressure, forcing the blood back out of Harry’s erection so that he went flaccid. Harry gasped in shock, unable to believe that he was being groped in front of the whole School! Then Seamus stepped up to him, carrying a small length of leather cord. The Irish lad moved quickly, looping the cord around Harry’s genitals behind Hagrid’s large hand and pulling it tight. Harry yelped as the cord was drawn tight, and could feel that it was cold and wet.

“Wh-what’s going on?” He almost begged, his eyes filling with tears as his lightning bolt scar began to throb in pain, as did his genitals as Seamus made sure that the cord was tight.

“Your birthday present, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, nodding. “It doesn’t take a genius to see how jealous you are of Seamus’ Powers, and how much you like him. We thought that since you are The Boy Who Lived, and the one who has beaten the Dark Lord Voldemort twice already, that a million-fold increase in your own Powers as a Wizard is the perfect gift!

Harry’s genitals felt as if they were on fire. The cord was biting into his soft flesh, cutting off the blood flow to everything that defined him as a boy. He stared at Seamus, his eyes filling with tears, and although he had enough rationality of thought left to realize that it was going to hurt his friend and hurt him badly, Harry screamed, “But I don’t WANT to be a eunuch!”

The entire Hall gasped. Seamus hung his head.

“Harry Potter,” Hermione said in a firm voice, standing up and shaking her finger at him, “Of all the self-centered and rude things to say! You’re probably the greatest Wizard to come along in centuries, and you act like this! A lot of people have gone to a lot of trouble to put you where you are, Mister! And how do you think you’ve made Seamus feel? It’s not his fault that he was born with the birthmark of a Eunuch Wizard. He’s like he is for a reason, just like you are as you are for a reason, too. You’ve got that scar on your forehead that you never let anyone see or touch,” she ranted on, and Harry could hear more than just a hint of jealousy in her voice.

“That scar defines you, much as the birthmark defines Seamus. You’re not the ONLY special person here, Harry. You ought to also get a haircut, to show off that scar. It’s so cute, but I’m sooo disappointed in you,” she concluded with a flip of her bushy and wild hair and sat back down to chat with Ron. Ron seemed unaffected by the fact that his best friend was being held up, naked, in front of the entire Hall. It also didn’t seem to phase him one bit that Harry had a leather cord tied about his genitals and that Hagrid was holding a very evil looking Knife.

Harry crossed his legs in pain. His genitals were beginning to really hurt. His testicles screamed at him for relief, and his small penis felt as if it were on fire. He struggled against Hagrid, but it was hopeless.

Professor Dumbledore sighed. “Professor Snape,” he called, “Would you please help us along a bit?”

Snape stood up with a grand flourish of his black robes, and pulled out his own Wand. He stepped up to Harry, his dark eyes glittering. “With pleasure, sir,” he answered. Snape then muttered a few words and touched the end of his Wand to the leather cord that bound Harry’s boyhood. A small puff of steam rose from the wet leather as it instantly heated up and dried out, and Harry screamed as the cord contracted to half of its former diameter. The leather bit into his skin anew, and he struggled for all he was worth.

“Please, no!” He begged, “Please don’t hurt me, Hagrid! Make it stop! Ron!” He cried, “Hermione! Make it stop!”

“Oh, it won’t stop, Harry,” Snape hissed at him. “In fact, it’s going to go on for a long, long time. Wizards live much longer than Muggles do, you know, and Eunuch Wizards live even longer. Just ask old man Flamel about that!”

THAT name brought Harry up short. Nicholas Flamel, in tandem with Dumbledore, had created The Sorcerer’s Stone. The Stone, which turned base metals into gold and gave off the Elixir of Life, thus providing immortality. It had been the desire of Voldemort to gain The Stone and its gifts, and Harry remembered finding it in his pocket in front of the Mirror of Erised that Dumbledore had hidden from him.

As his genitals grew cold and began to die, Harry writhed in pain and remembered the Mirror of Erised. He had spent many a night sitting in front of it, watching his phantom parents hold him. He could see them, but he remembered that he couldn’t feel them. He couldn’t talk to them, but it had been enough. Then the Mirror was gone one night, and with it his dreams. What would I see if I looked into it again? Harry thought, What would Seamus see? Would he see himself as an intact boy? Will I? Or will I see something else?

He remembered finding The Stone in his pocket then, watching his reflection wink at him and show him how to find it. Harry cried out again, and then everyone fell silent as Dumbledore stood up and stepped forward.

He was carrying The Sorcerer’s Stone.

Everyone gasped.

“B-but you said y-you destroyed it!” Harry gasped in astonishment.

The old man shrugged his shoulders and waved The Stone at Harry. “I lied,” he replied nonchalantly. “Hagrid, ol’ boy, it is time. Make use of the Knife of Klingsor on Harry Potter, here. Time grows short.”

”The Knife of ‘who’?” Harry cried.

“Klingsor,” Dumbledore replied, “Only the most powerful Wizard in history, you know, or would have known if you’d not gotten a ‘C‘ in History. It was THIS very Knife that cut him, dear boy. It made him very, very powerful. More powerful than even Voldemort, in fact! It’s the only Knife that’s ever been used to cut Boy Wizards, and it’s not been used in, oh, about a year, I’d say,” the old man explained, glancing at Seamus, who blushed.

Everyone in the Hall cheered, and suddenly Hagrid was placing the Knife just under Harry’s blackened scrotum. He gripped the squirming boy tighter and whispered in Harry’s ear, “This is gon’ta sting a bit, ‘arry! Brace yerself!”

And with that, Hagrid pulled the razor sharp Knife of Klingsor upwards in one smooth stroke. Harry watched in horror as his boyhood fell to the floor before him, trailing blood, and the crowd cheered. The pain was incredible, and Harry Potter screamed in agony. But as crazy as it seemed, he took his eyes from his bleeding groin just long enough to look up and see Draco Malfoy sneering at him and making a ‘jerking off’ motion with one hand.

Although the noise in the Hall was near deafening with cheers, Harry could hear Draco’s voice clearly.

“You’d better hope that Lord Voldemort doesn’t come back after you again, Potter, because you certainly don’t have the balls to face him now!”

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall cried again, “That will be another fifty points!”

“Damn you, Draco!” Snape roared. “Shut up before you GIVE the House Cup to Gryffindor! Or perhaps YOU would care to join Mr. Potter and Mr. Finnegan up here?”

Draco jumped up with a yelp and ran from the Hall.

Harry felt faint. His now-empty crotch was bleeding, and everyone had fallen silent again. Dumbledore was moving closer, holding The Stone, and Harry could see through his tears that it was oozing something. Something that looked like blood. He instantly knew what it was the moment that the old man touched The Stone to his fresh wound. It burned and began to soak into him, the ooze moving and flowing up and into the bleeders of his terrible emasculation wound to circulate through his bloodstream.

Seamus smiled and patted his cheek. “It’s The Elixir o’ Life, Harry,” he piped up, seemingly overjoyed to have company in his eunuchism. “Now you’ll be a’powerful as me, ya know, and nobody’ll be a-messin’ with US!”

“AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!”

Harry Potter awoke in Seamus’ room in the Gryffindor dormitory with a scream. He was soaked in sweat and shaking. His entire body felt limp, and his scar tingled. He realized in a moment that he wasn’t really in pain, but as he fully came to his senses, his hands shot down to his crotch and began feeling about.

He sighed a great sigh of relief to find that everything was still there, and that his erection was back and pulsing again. He held onto it, squinting and glancing about the room. He gasped as he saw a gray blob at the end of his bed moving towards him. It made one sound.

“Meeeowww.”

Harry shook his head and fumbled about on the nightstand for his glasses. He found them, put them on, and saw the large striped cat that he instantly recognized. “Professor McGonagall!” He cried in relief.

The cat blurred and shimmered, and McGonagall took the place of the cat on the edge of the bed. She smoothed her dress and reached down to brush Harry’s wet hair from his face. Her fingers lingered on his scar a bit, and she patted his flushed cheek. “Bad dreams?” she inquired calmly.

Harry started to reply, but the nightmare was still too fresh in his mind. One facet of it stood out, however – the part where he’d screamed ’I don’t wanna be a eunuch!’ and the absolutely crushed look on Seamus’ face when he’d said it. He told himself that it had only been a dream, that he’d not said that to Seamus in Reality, but it didn’t help. His stomach churned, and his chest ached.

His green eyes went wide, he pulled his hands from under the covers (and out of his shorts), and fell into her arms. She held him for a bit while he cried and shivered, patting his back. Harry Potter wasn’t the first student at Hogwart’s to have had nightmares, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. In fact, McGonagall was amazed that the boy was bearing up so well in light of all that had happened to him that year.

“It’s alright, Harry,” she said to him, still holding him tightly. How proud she was of him! As the House Sponsor to Gryffindor, she remembered the first day of Broomsticking Class when Harry had disobeyed Madam Hooch to fly up and chase down Neville’s stolen RemberAll. She’d been so impressed with his flying abilities, in fact, that she’d not only installed him as Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but had purchased a brand new Nimbus 2000 Broomstick for him as well with her own money. She was, however, confused at Harry’s outburst over a simple bad dream. The boy was exhausted, true, but she hadn’t expected this in her silent cat-vigil that she’d stood over his bedside all morning and into the afternoon.

Harry didn’t let go, however. The Boy Who Lived and who had stood up so bravely to Quirrell and Voldemort was now shaking in her arms as if in fear of his very life.

“Please, Ma’am,” he begged in a strangled voice, “Please don’t let them use The Knife of Klingsor on me like they did Seamus! I’ll go away if I have to, anything! I’ll run away from the Dursleys, live with Hagrid or something! Just please, don’t let them cut me! I love Seamus, but I don’t wanna be a eunuch too!”

Professor McGonagall gasped. “What? Like WHO?!” She demanded.

Harry blinked and pulled back a bit. “Seamus.”

McGonagall stared at him and shook her head.

“Seamus Finnegan,” Harry explained in wonder. “The Irish boy who lives in this room. The boy with no roommate, the one with no eyebrows, usually, because he blows things up with his Wand and singes them off? Sandy hair, small, quiet? Smells like smoke? Easy to overlook?”

McGonagall nodded then smiled. “Oh, yes, Seamus. He IS easy to miss, isn’t he? Well, we planned it that way, you know. Must be a dilly of a Spell, if I forgot him. Out of sight, out of mind, they say!”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Professor!” He moaned.

Then she smiled at him. “I want to know, Harry, how do you know about the Knife of Klingsor? You have a talent for stumbling into things that don’t concern you. A certain Stone comes to mind, in fact. Couldn’t you even wait ONE day before getting into trouble again? Where did you hear about that awful Knife?”

“In the dream,” Harry replied, still holding her hands if afraid to let go. “I dreamed that Hagrid used the Knife on me in front of the whole School at the Farewell Feast. I didn’t miss it did I?”

McGonagall smiled at him and shook her head. “You must be a boy on the mend, Harry, thinking about food again so soon! But no, it’s only one o’clock in the afternoon. You must have needed that nap. I’m sorry about the nightmare, but from the looks of you, I had no idea that you were having a bad dream. You weren’t moving, and neither were your eyes. When people dream, their eyes move. Yours weren’t moving, or I’d have awakened you. Still, that doesn’t explain how you know about the Knife. I’ll also assume that Seamus told you about his condition? Or did you sneak a peek into his shorts?”

Harry nodded, and then shook his head. “NO! I mean, he took a shower with Ron and me this morning. Actually, he woke up crying and I came in to see if he was all right. He had a really bad night, Ma’am. I don’t know if I did or said the right things, but … but … I think … I mean, we didn’t mean to be rude, but … oh, Professor, that Spell!” Harry cried, his eyes filling again, “He’s so lonely! We almost never even knew he was here!”

“But you saw through the Spell, Harry, and that says something for you. Even the Teachers here sometimes can’t see through it, and we planned it that way, Albus and I.” Then she sighed. “It’s a terrible thing, really, Harry, and I hated that we had to do it to him. The mark was upon him, however, from birth. It’s a monumental thing, Harry. Your own story is nothing short of a miracle, but Seamus is in for a rough time for it, I’m afraid. He’s going to have a very long and lonely career, I think.”

Harry sat up then, his resolve strengthening. He looked about the Spartan room, and sniffed. The geranium that they’d inadvertently resurrected had doubled in size, and Harry didn’t sneeze. He remembered his outburst in the nightmare, and the wounded look of shame upon Seamus’ perfect face. A lump rose in his throat.

“No, Ma’am, he won’t. At least, he won’t face it alone, not so long as I’m around!”

McGonagall raised a hand to her bodice and gasped in mock surprise. “Why, Harry,” she exclaimed, “Whatever do you mean, and using that tone of voice?”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Harry apologized, “But today I got to know Seamus. Ron and I both did. I think it’s barbaric what was done to him, but since I don’t really understand the matter, I won’t say anymore. Professor Dumbledore told us this morning that Seamus got cut to make his Powers as a Wizard increase ‘a million-fold,’ he said. I guess the birthmark, like you said, was a sign. But I have a question, if I may?”

McGonagall nodded and smiled, carefully taking Harry’s hands back into her own. I am so proud of you, Harry Potter, she thought. “You may ask, if I may ask one as well,” she replied.

Harry nodded anxiously.

“You sort of like Seamus, don’t you, Harry?”

It took a long while for him to reply, but finally, Harry simply nodded. He got the gist of the question right off, and although it sounded very odd coming from someone like Professor McGonagall, he braced himself for a lecture on what a rotten person he was and nodded again. Given that she’d probably been in the room, in the form of the striped cat during the strange incident that Ron had not seen – although it had happened right in front of him – Harry figured that Professor McGonagall hadn’t missed it. He found that he DID like Seamus, and more than just a little bit. He was reasonably sure that what Seamus had done to him right before he’d gone to sleep had NOT been a dream, too. He was also certain that sexual escapades between students, especially between two boys, was probably grounds for expulsion.

“I won’t tell a soul, Harry. There’s nothing wrong with loving someone, you know,” she informed him. “Just don’t advertise it. Some of the Staff might not appreciate it.”

Harry smiled and looked up at her, and the weight of the world seemed to fall from his shoulders. But how do I tell Ron and Hermione? he wondered. “Does it mean,” he faltered, trying to figure out how to ask her, “Does it mean that I’m … that we’re … you know … gay?”

Professor McGonagall shook her head and smiled. It was NOT the reaction that Harry had expected. “No, Harry, it might just be a phase. But it could be real love. Then again, it could be just normal, adolescent exploration. And if you are gay, what of it? I’ll bet you didn’t know that there are gay Teachers here? And technically, Seamus isn’t in the gender of ‘male’ anymore, though, so you could get off on the technicality if you pushed it. And your question now?”

“Tell me, please, Ma’am, did Professor Dumbledore REALLY destroy The Sorcerer’s Stone?” He suddenly blurted out.

“WHAT?! Of course he did!” She gasped in genuine wonder, “He told you that he did.”

Harry flushed. “In the nightmare, after Hagrid gelded me with The Knife of Klingsor in the Great Hall at the Feast, Professor Dumbledore had The Stone in his pocket, and he pressed it into my … uhh … well,” Harry stammered, blushing furiously at having to try and explain being sexually nullified to his Teacher – and a Lady Teacher at that! “He used it to heal my emasculation wound, I think, and The Stone was oozing what looked like blood. Seamus, in the dream, said it was The Elixir of Life. But if you say he destroyed it, I believe you, Ma’am,” Harry finished.

But Professor McGonagall sighed and closed her eyes. She made a small clucking noise, and shook her head. “Harry Potter, how DO you do it?” She asked in a defeated tone. “HOW do you find these things out? What Power do you have for stumbling into mischief?”

Harry looked lost. His face paled, and he decided to recite the entire nightmare to her.

When he was finished, after almost dying of embarrassment in the process, Harry saw that Professor McGonagall’s face was looking stricken.

“The Stone WAS destroyed after Albus took it from your wounded hand, Harry. But by the time he’d arrived, The Stone had already secreted a great deal of The Elixir of Life all over you. There’s no doubt that a lot of it soaked into your wounds, which would explain why you’ve healed up so fast, almost overnight in fact. It amazed us all, Madame Pomfrey included. You were hurt, Harry, I won’t lie to you. The Stone probably realized that while you were holding it. But there was ONE thing about your dream that was true, and I’m not sure I want to tell you what is was,” she cautioned him.

But Harry was biting his lip in thought. His scar was tingling, not hurting, and he suddenly felt very alive and vibrant. He sat up straighter and stretched. “You and Professor Dumbledore were there when Seamus was gelded, and The Stone was used to heal him right before it was taken to Gringott’s Bank for deposit. The Elixir of Life was used on him, just like in my dream, to extend his lifespan beyond that of even a Eunuch Wizard.”

Then Harry shook his head. He looked up, but his eyes were looking miles away.

“I don’t know what’s coming, or who, but it must be something big to do something like that to poor Seamus – make a weapon out of him like you did,” Harry stated boldly.

“Harry!” Professor McGonagall admonished him, “We did not MAKE a weapon out of him. Seamus Finnegan was BORN, as you say, a weapon. A lot of bad Wizards would like to get their hands on him, Harry, and probably on YOU as well. I suppose, though,” she mused, smiling at him again, “That you’ll do everything in your Power to protect him? I seem to recall something you said when you fist woke up?”

Harry blushed again, so badly that his ears burned. He looked down at his lap, and was grateful that the blanket was thick enough to hide his erection. Why do I pop a hard-on every time someone mentions Seamus? He wondered.

But Professor McGonagall was right. Harry admitted it to himself as he sat staring at his hands, one of them falsely bandaged to appear still hurt. He remembered Seamus’ face, his touch, his soft voice – so full of pain, and his loneliness and despair when the Irish lad had told he and Ron the story of his recent life.

I love Seamus, Harry thought, I love him, and I can’t bear to see anything else bad happen to him!

Then Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, realized the full implications of something else that they’d discussed – both he and Seamus had been exposed to Flamel’s Elixir of Life! Seamus when he’d been cut, and Harry when he’d recovered The Stone. I held The Stone in my hand, he wondered, And I didn’t know what it had done or where it had been! The thought of The Sorcerer’s Stone being used on Seamus’ emasculation wounds, Harry realized, excited him. He didn’t understand why, or understand the full implications of Seamus’ castration as of yet, but he made a mental note to do some reading on it in the library the first chance he got. Hermione would be so thrilled, he thought, ME reading for the need of it and not for class!

“It looks as if you and Seamus are going to be together for a LONG time!” She suggested, helping Harry to his feet. By pure force of will, he’d managed to get his penis to go flaccid again, or he’d have NEVER gotten out of the bed.

“Professor, just one more question, please, and then can we go find something to eat?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” she replied.

“The Knife of Klingsor is still here, at Hogwart’s, isn’t it?”

Professor McGonagall sighed and took a step back to stare at the young Gryffindor that stood before her in his Quidditch-printed boxer shorts and bare feet. There were still a few nicks and cuts on his face and forearms, and his bandaged hand made him look all the more pathetic. He didn’t look like a ‘thumpin’ good Wizard,’ as Hagrid had called him.

He suddenly looked like a frightened little boy to her.

“Yes, Harry, the Knife is still here,” she answered quietly, and moved to place a protective arm about his slight shoulders.

Harry Potter’s blood ran cold, and suddenly he couldn’t wait to see Ron and Seamus.

Harry Potter and the like, ©JK Rowling, used without knowledge or consent. Don’t tell her!