Harry Potter and the Knife of Klingsor, Part 10

“It’s not gonna work,” Harry muttered in disgust, seated upon a three-legged stool with a barber’s cape wrapped about him. “Every time I get a haircut, the mop grows back in an hour! The Dursleys gave up on cuttin’ my hair a long time ago!” He squinted around the room as he said it, his glasses having been removed for the impending haircut. There was a drop cloth beneath him to catch the cut hair as well, and a small mirror on the cabinet door just in front of him.

He and Ron had come downstairs that morning to be informed that it was time for their disguises, which included new haircuts.

Mrs. Kearny made a small clucking noise and held up a book in front of his nose so that he could see it: Taming Unruly Hair for Wizards – Magical Cuts for Magical Boys by Mr. Cuthbert I. Moptop. The picture on the cover sleeve showed a smiling boy with a pair of enchanted scissors flying about his head, and hair falling everywhere.

Harry groaned and Ron laughed. Mrs. Kearny shot him a look that was so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that Ron squeaked into silence in mid-snicker.

“I think that means that YOU’RE next,” Harry informed him, and Ron swallowed hard.

“Time to shear a lamb or two!” The mirror said in a tinkling voice.

“Oh shut up,” growled Ron.

Mr. Kearny laughed as well, seated at the kitchen table where he could easily look around the corner to keep an eye on Darby.

The small boy had had a rough night. Although Mrs. Finnegan had stayed to help watch him, taking turns with Mrs. Kearny throughout the night, it hadn’t helped much. Darby had awakened, screaming, three times during the evening and night. The first time, he’d simply been in a panic, not knowing where he was. This had been easily cured by Mrs. Finnegan, who had held him and rocked him back to sleep. The second bout had been worse. Along about Midnight, Darby had jumped out of bed, naked as the day he’d been born, slapping at himself and crying in agony. He’d thought he was on fire, and Mrs. Kearny had had to use her Wand to put him back to sleep when he’d insisted that the house was burning down.

The third and final time had been a round of sleepwalking, which had very nearly destroyed Mrs. Finnegan’s nerves as well. Following the old advice not to wake a sleepwalker, she’d simply picked up her Wand and followed the boy around the house for a bit. She’d followed him across the living room to the ceiling-high double doors that led to the parlor to the left. After exploring the parlor and all of the curious antiques contained therein, Darby had said, “He’s not here,” and gone back to the living room. Mrs. Finnegan had tried to steer him back to bed, but the boy had gone into the kitchen instead. She’d watched as he’d opened all of the cabinets and cupboards, peering in as if looking for something he’d misplaced. He even looked inside the gigantic old stove, which had informed him, in a rumbling voice, “Ya ‘av to light the fire first, sonny!”

Finding the door near the sink on the east wall locked, Darby had then gone outside. There was no danger of him being seen, of course, since the nearest neighbor was good tenth of a mile distant. She’d watched as he looked about the porch, over the rail, and asked her – his blank eyes uncomprehending – “Where’s me bike at?”

“It’s at home, dear,” she’d told him, “You spent the night at the Kearny’s, remember?”

Darby’s face had gone rigid then, and his jaw had clenched. He’d leaned over the railing, his knuckles turning white, as he’d grasped the wood. And then he’d cried out in a heartbroken wail, “Seamus?! Where ‘r ya, Seamus?”

Stunned, Mrs. Finnegan had dropped her Wand. At the sound of it, Darby had turned to stare at her. She stared back at him, her teary eyes taking in every part of his unmarked form. She’d thought of Seamus, her only child, emasculated because of a Wizarding birthmark on his tenth birthday, as she stared at Darby’s tightly circumcised little cock. His scrotum was pulled up tightly under it, pressing his small testicles up against his body as if seeking warmth. The night air was a bit chill, and her own flesh had erupted in goosebumps. Darby, however, was sweating.

“I can’t find him, Miss!” Darby wailed, tears streaming down his face. “They’ve took ‘im, they did, BANG!” He cried, making Mrs. Finnegan jump and gasp. “Took ‘im far away, that dark man wit’ the Wand. I dint’ know ‘ow ter stop ‘em! An’ that boy, that bad boy wit’ the white hair … ‘e scared me. SEAMUS?!” Darby screamed again, with the sound that only a boy who’d just lost his best friend could make.

His only answer had been Mrs. Finnegan’s soft touch at his shoulder, and her low cry of grief.

Slowly, he’d turned to face her. “Ma?” Darby had asked in his sleepiness, “Ma? Yer not me Ma! Yer Seamus’ Ma!”

“That’s right,” she’d managed, holding him close and guiding him back into the house where she’d been met by Mrs. Kearny.

“I wan’ me Ma,” Darby whined as they tucked him back in.

“Heavens, but I thought a banshee was about in the night!” Mrs. Kearny had exclaimed. “An’ where’s Mr. Finnegan at?”

“Gone home to watch the house. And funny you should mention that,” Mrs. Finnegan replied in a choked voice as Mrs. Kearny guided both her and Darby back to the daybed, “That’s the thing that Seamus always had nightmares about, what he’s scared worst of. Banshees. But he’d always wake up screaming for his father, not me.”

“Boys ARE a handful, especially OUR boys,” Mrs. Kearny stated sagely.

Once back in bed, after a good, big drink of cool water spiked with a tiny drop of Wolfsbane extract, Darby fell back into undisturbed slumber. The weak Potion did its work, quieting him to the point of being near comatose.

Mrs. Kearny had also insisted to her that she join him, since she looked quite a fright herself. About then, Harry Potter came stumbling down the stairs. He didn't look too good either. Another drink of water, another bad dream smoothed over, and the house quieted down again.

Darby, however, wasn’t the only one who’d had a hard time sleeping that night.

Ron and Harry had been sent upstairs to sleep in one of the spare bedrooms above the kitchen. This surprised both of them, since the house appeared to be only one story tall from the outside. At the top of the long and ornately carved dark wood staircase, however, they’d found two very large rooms, each with a doublewide four-poster bed covered in thick, soft blankets. They mutually agreed, albeit without words as they’d undressed, that they were sharing a bed. Each one of them had grabbed the comforter and pulled it back at the same time, looking up to grin broadly at one another.

Ron’s nearly four and a half-inch uncut cock was standing at attention, as was Harry’s somewhat shorter one. Harry noticed that the few wisps of hair there were also red, just like Ron’s scalp hair. He was also painfully conscious of the fact that he’d not sprouted any of his own yet, figuring that they’d be as black and unruly as the mop on top of his head when the did grow in.

“I just thought we might…” Harry began, to be cut off by Ron.

“It’s a strange house, ya know, and sleepin’ alone, well…”

“I don’t think I can sleep in a room here alone, Ron, I mean, at school there’s all of us in one room…”

“I know, me either!” Ron agreed, smiling, as both naked boys slipped under the blanket. Harry took off his specs and placed them on the nightstand.

Then, as if for security – or perhaps something else – they moved closer together. Harry felt Ron’s skin warm on his own, and he snuggled in closer. The candles in the overhead hanging fixtures went out, as if knowing that they boys were in bed. Only faint shadows from the light of the near-full moon lit the room, casting shadows here and there. It made Harry feel uneasy, and he put his arms about Ron. Ron didn’t resist.

“Nervous?” He asked.

Harry sighed. “We’ve just got two more days, Ron. It took us all of one to get here and find out what happened. What if … what if we…”

”We’ll find him, Harry,” Ron reassured him, and Harry felt his warm lips on his ear. Ron kissed him. “I know you miss him, Harry. I mean, I know how you feel … but … no, tha’s not right.” Ron sighed as well. “I know you like him, Harry. It’s not that I don’t think you’re … oh hell! I don’t think badly of ye’s, ya know.”

The relief that Harry felt at Ron’s statement was like weight sliding off of his shoulders. He hugged Ron tighter, trying not to cry. He did miss Seamus, and the feeling of not seeing him, not being able to hold him, not being able to touch him, was tearing him apart. Harry was finding it hard to concentrate, his thoughts often wandering as he thought of where the Irish lad might be, if he were as scared, or if they’d hurt him.

“Ya love him, don’cha?”

“Yes,” Harry replied without hesitation.

“Me Mum tried to ‘xplain it ter me once, ‘Ron,’ she said, ‘There’s love ya have fer your family, and love ya have fer your friends. But if you’re lucky, sometime in yer life, you’ll love someone special. You wont’ think about anyone else, and if they’re ever gone, it’ll feel like your heart’s been torn out,’ Or somethin’ like that. Does that make sense, Harry?” Ron asked.

Harry swallowed a large lump that had risen in his throat. No one had ever told him before that they loved him, at least not that he could remember. He was sure that his parents would have, but he couldn’t remember them. He had only pictures and what the Mirror of Erised had shown him. He’d felt as if he’d never feel any worse than he had staring into its illusions, wanting something so badly. And then Seamus had been abducted. Unable to voice what he was feeling, Harry’s mouth found Ron’s in the darkness and closed over it.

They kissed and touched each other all over for quite some time. Each boy’s hands explored every part of the other’s body. Harry was just running his palms over Ron’s chest, feeling his ribs, as Ron’s hand found its way to Harry’s pulsing erection. Very smoothly, he slid the foreskin back and forth as he sucked at Harry’s mouth, sending waves of pleasure through Harry’s body.

Harry was returning the favor as best he could, stroking Ron’s larger member, when Ron just happened to touch him right behind the lower seam of his tight scrotum. Harry pulled back gasping.

“Stop!” He almost begged, a wave of guilt overtaking him so badly that he felt sick. The pleasure he’d been feeling instantly evaporated.

“’S’matter?” Ron asked nervously, thinking he might have hurt his friend.

“S-seamus touched me like that when he … when he made me … when … he got me off that first time,” Harry explained, glad that Ron couldn’t see him crying in the darkness as he turned over on his pillow.

Harry heard Ron make a small sound, and he knew that Ron was choking back a tear as well. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, “I din’t meant to…”

“It’s just that I feel … I feel so … damn, Ron, it makes me feel so guilty when I start to feel like that! I feel like I’m just gonna blow up or rip in half and it feels so damn good! And I know that Seamus, he cahn’t EVER feel that, Ron. We can do this all we want, and it feels so damn good, but he’ll always be left out, Ron. He’s never going to feel like we do, and it’s just not fair!”

There was a long silence, and Harry wondered what Ron was thinking. He could tell that he wasn’t asleep.

“It really tears ya up inside, don’t it?” Ron asked.

“Yea,” Harry replied after a long pause.

“Harry,” Ron said in a low voice, “Fred and George showed me something, and I watched ‘em a coupl’a times. They never did it to me, I wouldn’t let ‘em, and Fred said he was probably big enough to hurt me anyway, so they didn’t try. But I watched, and used to wank while THEY did it, and I think I know what you’re sayin’. You’re feelin’ guilty because you can cum and Seamus can’t?”

“Yea,” Harry replied in a sick voice.

“And Seamus can’t cum because they cut him, right? No cock ‘n balls, so he’s got nothin’ to be getting’ off wit’?”

“Yea.”

“Well what if you COULD get off, Harry, without ever touchin’ yer cock? What if I could make ye get off, without touchin’ it? Showed ye how, then you could do it to Seamus when we get him back? Would that make ya feel better, if we proved it?”

Harry sat bolt upright in the four-poster, his mouth open wide. “How, Ron? I mean, if you’ve got no cock, you cahn’t wank or anything … how in bloody hell do ya get off when yer a eunuch?”

“Ya get buggered,” Ron replied grimly.

“HUH?” Harry squeaked, “Wha’s that mean?”

“Fucked in the arse,” Ron replied. “Fred and George recommend it highly.”

Harry swallowed so hard that Ron could hear the sound of the ‘gulp’ in the darkness. He ran a hand slowly up Harry’s tummy and pinched one of his nipples. Harry gasped, shaking. He remembered what Madam Pomfrey’s enema nozzle had done to him, thought that it might be possible, and wondered if he would have indeed have had an orgasm even if he hadn’t given in and started wanking as the nozzle had worked at him.

“It did feel really good,” he confessed, filling Ron in about the details of his enema session.

“So, you wanna try it?” Ron asked nervously, “I watched Fred and George enough, ya know. I think I know how to do it right.”

Harry thought for a long while as Ron’s hand stayed still on his tummy. His erection was pounding at him, and he knew that Ron’s must have been doing the same thing. His mind raced over the possibilities. What he didn’t know was that Ron’s was racing as well.

What if I hurt him? What if it doesn’t work? What if I get off, and he doesn’t? How’s he going to feel then? How much guiltier can he get? What if I LIKE IT?! Ron worried in silence, awaiting Harry’s reply.

Finally, Harry exhaled heavily. Overcome by the feeling that he just HAD to know, he finally agreed. “But if I say to stop, you stop!” He ordered.

Ron smiled in the darkness, and jumped out of bed. “Where you off to?” Harry asked.

“Have to find something to use for lube,” Ron advised him, “Otherwise, you’ll hurt like hell when I do it!” He then quietly made his way down the stairs to the bathroom and returned with a small bottle of baby oil in his hand. Harry had propped his Wand up on the nightstand and ignited the tip, and the Wand looked a great deal like a nightlight.

“Blimey, I just walked down there and back starkers!” Ron cried, and they both laughed. Then Ron got down to business. “Good thing you made some light,” he observed.

First, he pulled back the blanket and had Harry lay on his back with his knees pulled up. He poured some of the baby oil into his hand, sat the bottle down, and dipped a finger in it. Explaining what he was doing, Ron spread some of the cool oil on Harry’s bunger. Harry gasped.

“Ok, first we get the outside coated, then the inside. My finger’s goin’ in, ya ready?”

Harry nodded, and gritted his teeth, thinking about the enema plug. Surely Ron’s finger wasn’t THAT big!

It felt enormous, however, as Ron gently pressed it in. He sank it up to the first joint, then the second, pausing to move it about a bit. Harry groaned and shook a bit, and Ron pushed his finger in the rest of the way, moving it about a bit to spread the oil on the inside. He then pulled it out and repeated the process. “This is gonna take all night,” he mumbled, picking up the bottle in his free hand. “Hold on,” he said, pressing the slim tip to Harry’s bunger as he pulled his finger back partly out. He then pressed the spout of the bottle, which was blunted, up to where his finger was. At the same time, he pulled his finger out and pushed the tip in, giving the bottle a gentle squeeze.

“Shit, Ron!” Harry almost yelled, trying to stifle it so as not to wake the whole house, “That’s not exactly warm, ya know!”

“Sorry bout that,” Ron replied, coating his achingly erect cock with oil. Then he took a deep breath. “I still want ya to know, Harry,” he explained as he positioned his uncut tool at Harry’s back door, “That I STILL like girls! I wouldn’t DO this for just ANYONE!”

“You’re such a friend,” Harry retorted tartly, but Ron knew that he meant it.

Then, very slowly, he began to push as he raised Harry’s legs. Ron felt his foreskin push back a bit as he entered Harry. He paused for a breath, with Harry breathing hard and shaking, and pressed again. The head of his cock slipped in with a little resistance, and he pushed a bit harder. His shaft began to sink in, and Harry moaned.

“Hurt?!” Ron asked quickly, ready to pull out and quit.

“N-no, well … a bit, yes … but don’t quit, Ron.” I cahn’t believe I agreed to this, after what Madam Pomfrey did to me!” Harry thought.

I cahn’t believe I agreed to arse-fuck Harry to prove a point, Ron thought, as his cock slid all the way in. It was just long enough to bump Harry’s immature prostate.

Harry’s eyes popped open and his breath caught in his throat. Ron wasn’t as big as the nozzle, and as he moved back and forth, in and out, so slowly and deliberately, Harry found himself growing used to the minor pain and actually starting to enjoy it. Ron was soft and warm inside of him, whereas the plug had been cool and hard. He moaned again as Ron worked his tight little bum, sighing in pleasure.

“I thought you din’t wanna do this, really,” Harry reminded him, “You sure seem to sound like you’re having a good time!”

“Aren’t you?” Ron asked.

“N-not really,” Harry replied, but he was lying and they both knew it. And they both knew why he was saying it.

“I still say it don’t make me gay to fuck YOU, since I’m only doing it as a friend and to make a point,” Ron justified, groaning as Harry’s arse gripped him tightly.

“Whatever you say,” Harry wheezed, his eyes half closed and his mouth open. Ron glanced down and saw that he was drooling. Ron slapped his hands away from his genitals when Harry involuntarily reached for them.

“OWW!” Harry cried. “Not so hard!”

“Sorry,” Ron gasped, “But remember, you have to cum with NO touching yerself!”

It took about ten minutes and Ron was breathing hard when he began to feel it. The spasms were just beginning to form, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long. “H-harry,” he asked, panting, “You close?”

Harry had felt like he was close for a while. His arse burned and he felt hot inside. His aching cock was crying out for relief, but he didn’t touch it as Ron’s cock moved in and out of him. It rubbed at his prostate, teasing at him, as if almost daring him to cum. His balls felt like they were about to burst, and in the dim light of the Wand, he could just see a tiny drop of clear fluid shining at the end of cock, peeking out of his foreskin, which hadn’t pulled back all the way.

“I don’t know, Ron,” he choked, “I feel like it, but I don’t know. I feel like I have to shit really bad, or piss, or something! I feel like something has to get out!”

Harry wanted to cum and cum badly, but he couldn’t. He wanted to grip his own little cock in his shaking hand, but the thought of Seamus stopped him. He ain’t got one, Harry reminded himself, You have to know! You have to wait for it!

“Wan’ me to stop?”

“Oh, hell no!” Harry replied, “I have to know! Go faster if you have to.”

Ron did just that, and he felt Harry’s arse tighten about his cock. It felt like his friend was trying to use his hole to tear Ron’s cock off, and Ron almost panicked. Still, he continued to thrust his cock in and out of Harry, speeding it up and hitting his balls against Harry’s backside harder and harder.

Suddenly, Harry groaned as if he were dying. His whole body jumped, and Ron felt the first explosion of his seed. Blimey, I’m blowing me load up Harry’s arse, he thought, as the first jet of fluid launched itself deep into Harry’s bowels. Still, Ron, didn’t let up.

Harry was almost crying then, his body shaking as if in an epileptic seizure. He gripped Ron’s upper arms, pulling him down a bit, and gritted his teeth hard. His arse clamped down in spasms, and he felt the first jet of Ron’s ejaculation enter him, Harry convulsed in ecstasy.

A thin stream of nearly clear fluid shot out of his pulsing cock to strike him on the chin, followed by the hot sensation of Ron filling him with his load. Another shot, which hit him in the chin. His cock began to wilt a bit, but Ron continued to move within him. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Even the episode with the enema nozzle hadn’t felt that good. Every nerve in his body seemed to take fire, and Harry gasped and moaned as his body pumped out the first real wet orgasm of his young life as Ron emptied his seed into him.

Ron cried out, and Harry managed to get a hand up to his mouth to stifle him. He could just see the Kearnys bursting in to find him being arse-fucked in their guest room! Harry’s mind began to spin, as his body began to relax. The tearing spasms of pure delight began to lull a bit, and Ron slowed down. Harry could tell that his best friend was spent, and He lowered his legs a bit so that Ron could collapse on top of him. His cock pulled back a bit, but not all the way out.

Both of them were panting hard as they lay there, stunned.

“Blimey, we did it!” Ron gasped, noticing that he’d fallen onto Harry and seemed to be sticking to him. “You got off and you shot!” He cried, “Congratulations!”

“Th-thanks, I think,” Harry managed, squirming under Ron’s weight and trying to get comfortable. Ron hadn’t pulled all the way out of him yet, and Harry found that he didn’t really want him to. Ron’s cock was wilting a bit, but it still felt warm and soft and great just where it was. “You can do it,” he sighed in relief, almost in tears, “You can do it and Seamus can FEEL THIS! JUST like this!”

“Yea,” Ron agreed, rolling off of Harry. His cock slid out the rest of the way with a slick sound, and they laughed.

Harry saw that he’d gone totally flaccid, but his arse still felt like it was open and that something was still getting at him. Ron seemed to sense this, and he grinned. “George and Fred always said something about getting fucked and staying fucked,” he mused.

“Maybe tha’s what they meant,” Harry mused, clenching his oily cheeks together and squirming. “I still feel like … like … dammit, Ron, I don’t know what it feels like! It wasn’t like this with Madam Pomfrey and her damn hose!”

“YOU liked it,” Ron confronted him, “And don’t say it was in the name of research, like Hermione would!”

Harry’s blood suddenly ran cold. “DON’T even think about telling anyone!” He almost yelled.

“Wha? Ya gone nutters or such? ‘Course I won’t! Can you imagine what Malfoy’d say if HE knew?!” Ron asked in horror.

But Harry didn’t answer. He’d fallen fast asleep.

Ron shook his bright red head and lay back down, putting his arms around Harry and pulling his sleeping friend close. He gazed upon Harry’s face for a moment, noticing the way his scar seemed to glow with contrast in the Wandlight. He wasn’t used to seeing him without his specs on, and his smooth face was symmetrical and almost perfect. There wasn’t a zit or freckle anywhere to mar it. Struggling with his conscience, Ron tenderly kissed his cheek. “But I still like girls, too,” he grumbled, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He then peeked an eye open. “Nox,” he told the Wand, and it went out. As he too drifted off, he wondered where Seamus was sleeping and if he was alright.

It was Darby’s scream that awakened Harry, yanking him harshly out of a nightmare that he was having himself. The word echoed in his ears over and over again, along with the agonized wail with which Darby had uttered it: Seamus!

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, covered in sweat. He was gasping and shaking, but not from sexual pleasure. At least, not from intentional pleasure; his was wet and sticky from a wet dream, but he was afraid. Very afraid. His eyes were wide, and he fumbled on the table for his glasses. Slipping them on, they slid down on his sweaty nose. Unfortunately for Harry, as he heard the door close and Darby being put back to bed, the dream did not dissipate as most did. Instead, it remained in his mind in stark clarity. Wet dream or not, it had been horrifying and not pleasurable at all.

Glancing about in the dim light and clutching his Wand as if for security, Harry muttered “Lumos,” and the Wand lit up to chase the shadows away. He got up, went to the window that couldn’t be seen from outside and opened it. There was fluttering of soft wings, and Hedwig landed on the sill to offer him a dead vole. “Er, thanks but no, you eat it, I’m full,” he told her. Hedwig hooted and swallowed the vole whole. Harry cringed. Then, as he liked to do, he climbed up into the windowsill and sat with his bare feet hanging over the ledge. He assumed that if no one could see the window, they wouldn’t see the naked boy sitting in it either.

“I had a bad dream,” he told the owl, and Hedwig sat in his lap, cocking her head at him and clicking her beak.

“I was at Hogwart’s, but I was lost. I was outside in the grass, and it was dark. I’m not afraid of the dark, girl,” he told her. Hedwig hooted at him, her large, luminous eyes shining. Harry went on.

“Hagrid’s cabin was lit up, in the middle of the night, so I went there. I felt like I had to go there, Hedwig. The door was open, but Hagrid and Fang and Fluffy were gone. No one was home, but I went in. I’d never do that, it’s rude!”

Hedwig nodded.

“But it was like I wasn’t in my right mind. It was like someone was making me do it. I went to his kitchen, and I was rooting about in a drawer. I spilled the silverware, I did, made a hell of a racket. I was going to clean up, but someone was telling me not to bother. I kept digging in the drawer, girl, I kept looking and looking until I found it, because it was like I knew that it was there. I had to find it. You know what it was?” Harry asked with a chill.

Hedwig didn’t know, and she bobbed her white head as if to say “Go on!”

Harry swallowed hard, clutching at his crotch. “It was the Knife of Klingsor, Hedwig. It was there in the drawer, and when I grabbed it, I felt all calm and relaxed inside. I felt … happy! Gods, that awful Knife, and I was so happy to have it in me hand! Isn’t that nuts?”

Hedwig nodded again.

“But when I grabbed it, I turned around, and … and that someone … who was making me do it … It was ME, girl! I was standing behind myself, pointing my Wand at ME and making me pick up the Knife! Am I nuts er what?”

Hedwig didn’t reply.

“And then the other me leads ME back up to the Castle, and I’m naked! He, I mean me, no, the ME that had my … our … Wand, was dressed up for Quidditch and all, guards, gloves, the lot! And when we got there, there was a feast and Dumbledore made me come up on stage! I was NAKED and everyone was looking at me and laughing and pointing. But you know what’s odd?”

Hedwig flapped her wings in irritation.

“Alright, alright … I’m getting to it! Only one person wasn’t laughing at me, and it was Malfoy! He looked so sad, and he just stared at me. And I was lookin’ about, for Seamus, but he wasn’t there. I wanted to run, to go look for him, but the other ME wouldn’t have it. He made me sit on the Teacher’s Table in front of them all, and … and … I handed the Knife of Klingsor to Professor Dumbledore. He just looked at it, smiled like he does when he’s on the sly, you know, and handed it back to me. And dammit, I felt so GOOD when he gave it back! Like I didn’t wanna ever let go of it.”

Harry paused again, sighing. “I’m cracking up, I am,” he groaned, and Hedwig hooted again.

“I … I took the Knife and … and then the other me, in the Quidditch Robes, he … he took it from me and smiled at me. He was smiling so big, and everyone just laughed. Then he … he pushed me back and he …” But Harry faltered, clamping his legs together and trembling. Ron’s gentle snores told him that his best friend was fast asleep, and as bad he wanted to, Harry didn’t wake him.

“He slashed me, Hedwig,” Harry cried, hugging her and beginning to cry. Hedwig cooed in his ear, rubbing her head at his neck as if to comfort him. Harry was shaking badly by then. “He … he slashed my … my parts OFF! Blood flew all over! Everyone saw it, they did, and they all laughed! Everyone but Malfoy,” he whispered. “It was so strange, but when he ... I ... he did it, he was just standing there with the bloody Knife in his … our … hand and I felt so good … so good that I … I … I dreamed that I … that he … that WE … we just cummed right there in the Great Hall on the Teachers’ Table and everyone clapped and cheered then! But Malfoy … he didn’t clap. He just got up and walked out. Then Madam Pomfrey was there and she was healing me up with her Wand, just like she always does bad cuts.”

Harry thought for a moment, checking himself to see that it was all still there. It was.

“The worst part, girl,” he told the owl, “Was that when she was done healing me up, I was smooth. Smooth like Seamus, and I wanted to run and tell him. But he wasn’t there. I couldn’t find him, and I ran all over the Castle, naked, but I couldn’t find him! Oh, Hedwig,” Harry moaned, tears flowing down his perfect face, “It felt so good, and I … I … touched myself down there while I was looking for him. I was … excited … I liked it … but … it felt so smooth, and right … but … but I don’t wanna be a Eunuch Wizard!”

Harry cried for a bit longer, not so much for himself, but for Seamus. The dream just wouldn’t leave him, and although he’d had nightmares about Hagrid castrating him before, in the Great Hall in front of everyone, it hadn’t been the same. Before, Seamus had always been there, smiling at him, encouraging him.

And this time, he hadn’t been there.

The ache in his heart was so great that Harry felt sick. The intense pleasures that he’d experienced with Ron, and the relief that he’d felt when discovering that a boy COULD cum without even touching himself, all faded away as he stared out into the night. He held Hedwig, tears running down his face, watching the pale moonlight and realizing that he was running out of time before the full moon and the time to complete the Spell.

No, he thought resolutely, as Hedwig finally took flight and soared off into the night sky, I won’t go all to pieces! I WON’T do it! I’ll die before I let them have Seamus!

Finally, with his knees weak and his legs shaky, Harry pulled on his boxers and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Mrs. Kearny was there at Darby’s side when he came down the long stairs.

“Bad dreams, Harry?” She asked in a soft voice, giving him a hug that somehow seemed to make it alright again.

Harry nodded and sniffled, looking much like a frightened child and not a brave Wizard on a quest to save his friend.

“Get a cold drink from the blue pitcher and go back to bed,” she told him.

When he’d gotten his glass of water, the Wizard Clock on the kitchen wall was pointing at “Go back to bed,” which had an emblem of Harry at the one hand of it. He went back upstairs, not wanting to go back to sleep. He was very thirsty, however.

He drank his water and did just that, thanks to the diluted Wolfsbane Potion in it.

The rest of the night, at least downstairs, had passed uneventfully. The sun had come up, right on schedule, and Mrs. Kearny had made breakfast. Everyone, with the exception of Darby, had eaten more than was probably good for them, and the next task at hand was Harry Potter’s haircut.

“I still don’t see WHY!” Harry complained loudly, fidgeting on his stool.

“Yeh ‘av to go in disguise,” Mr. Kearny reminded him. “Every Witch ‘n Wizard in Diagon Alley knows ye’s on sight, you two,” he said.

“Right ye are, Mr. Kearny,” his plump wife agreed, producing a long black comb and a pair of scissors, “An’ we’ve not got a month ‘r two ter wait fer a good Polyjuice Potion ter cook up!”

“A what?” Ron asked.

“Never mind,” Mrs. Kearny retorted.

“Fine,” Harry conceded, “It’s a good idea, but it won’t work!”

And then Harry felt the comb being pulled through is messy, tangled hair. Water, or perhaps a Potion of some sort - dripped down his nose as Mrs. Kearny wetted it down, and then stepped back. She waved her Wand at him, studying the book, as Darby stumbled groggily back out of the living room to take a seat on Mr. Kearny’s lap. The old man pulled the boy, dressed only in a blanket he’d wrapped himself in, onto his lap and kissed the boy’s cheek right below his ear. Darby sighed and laid his own closely cropped head on the old man’s shoulder with a great sigh. The boy watched, only half interested, as Mrs. Kearny muttered a Spell from the book. It came off of a page with a great many pictures of boys squirming in barber chairs. Very suddenly, Darby’s eyes lit up.

“Cut it like mine!” He piped up, rubbing a hand over his nearly-shaven sides. Mrs. Kearny smiled and nodded.

Harry’s mouth fell open, and the bewitched scissors went to work. He dared not move as he listened to the SCHNICK-SCHNICK sound of the scissors. He could only stare in wonder as mounds of thick, black hair fell onto the cape and then onto the floor below his bare feet. He sat rock still, afraid that he might be in danger of losing an ear! The scissors seemed to go on and on, cutting and cutting, until finally, they stopped. Harry then felt something hot and wet pressing onto the sides and back of his head, and his scalp began to tingle. Inside of his head, he heard a scraping sound as what could only be a razor moved carefully over his nape and around his ears.

Not bald! Harry thought desperately, Surely they’re not shaving me bald?!

And then it stopped. Mrs. Kearny flipped a page of the book, tapped her Wand to the top of his head, and said “Helle blonde!

Harry’s whole head seemed to take fire for an instant, and then it passed.

Ron gasped, then uttered one word: “Cool!”

“’E looks like me now!” Darby cried out, a smile finally breaking his grim little face.

Very slowly, and holding his breath, Harry looked up and leaned in closer to the mirror. He gasped in shock, struggling to get a hand out from under the cape to feel at his head.

He was skinned bald over the nape and up to just above his ears. He felt smooth skin as his trembling fingers touched the sides of his head and move up. The stubble began there, and the remaining hair slowly lengthened as it reached up to the crown in a neat fade. At just above his temples, it blended into almost a half-inch of hair that stood straight up in a neat spiked pattern, but was shorter in the center by half again. His remaining hair felt stiff and unyielding.

It was also a pale shade of yellow-blonde.

“Great!” Darby told him confidently, smiling for the first time since he’d learned of the tragedy that had taken his family from him the previous evening.

“Awesome, Harry!” Ron agreed.

But Harry was shaking his radically altered head in disbelief. “My scar!” He almost yelled. “It’s uncovered! Everyone can see it! No bangs to hide it!”

“Oowh, thas’ where I come in,” Mrs. Finnegan informed him, just emerging from the bathroom in a thick, red robe and fuzzy slippers. She had a towel wrapped about her own head, much like an Arabian turban, and was carrying a small case in one hand. She was also smiling, a look that sent chills down Harry’s spine.

Very deliberately, she opened the case and Harry almost screamed.

Seamus’ mother was packing an evil looking makeup kit.

Mrs. Finnegan aimed a rather large and poofy powder puff at him (which giggled maniacally) and in her other hand was a pencil of some kind. Harry slammed his eyes shut, blocking out the already blurry scene.

Ron nearly fell off of his own chair in laughter as she did Harry’s makeup. She re-colored his eyebrows to match his now-blonde hair, and used the giggling poofy puff liberally to apply coloring to his forehead. Harry felt something poking at his face, and he closed his eyes even tighter.

“Cahn’t I just take my chances at being recognized?” Harry almost begged, embarrassed to the core at being made up.

“With that scar? Are ya daft?” Ron asked him. “One look at you in Diagon Alley and the first person to see us would be callin’ the Ministry ‘o Magic ter bust us!”

When she was done, Mrs. Finnegan handed Harry a small compact mirror. He gasped again. His green eyes were still staring back at him, but the boy in the reflection was not Harry Potter! In fact, he looked like a cross between Darby and Seamus, with a very conservative amount of pale freckles across the bridge of his pert nose.

“Well?” Mrs. Kearny asked.

Harry nodded. “I don’t even know me!” He exclaimed. “Great idea!”

“You look good,” Darby offered, still leaning on Mr. Kearny, who rubbed his head. Darby grinned up at him.

“Alright, Weasley, you’re next!” Mrs. Kearny ordered, taking the cape from Harry and sweeping the mess away with a wave of her Wand.

Ron gulped, trembling visibly.

Harry jumped down from the stool and went to sit at the table. He put his specs back on, bringing the world back into sharp focus, but Darby piped up in protest. “No way,” the small boy pointed out. “You look silly with those on now.”

“But I cahn’t see without them!” Harry protested.

“What’s a spell for fixing broken specs?” Darby asked.

“Occulus Repairo,” Mrs. Finnegan supplied. “Harry, do be a dear and pass Darby your Wand. I don’t think he’ll set your eyebrows on fire, and if he does, I can fix that. I’ve had lots of practice, ya know.”

Harry sighed, meeting her eyes. A sort of understanding seemed to pass between them, and the ache in Harry’s heart grew worse. He had only two days and counting to find Seamus.

Darby handled Harry’s Wand, the Wand that had proven the he was in fact a Wizard and not a Muggle, very gingerly. He touched the tip of it to Harry’s specs and said the words, concentrating hard on what he wanted. He added the word ‘wirey’, though. There was a slight pop, and Harry felt his glasses shift on his face. Darby’s laughter was enough to tell him that the new little Wizard had succeeded.

Harry took his specs off and examined them. Darby had transfigured them into gold toned metal frames, and they were also smaller; still round, but much smaller. Harry could see the fuzzy edges of the frames as he put them back on, but he was satisfied by the looks of the stranger in the mirror that stared back at him.

“You’ll get HIGH marks in McGonagall’s Transfiguration class,” Harry told him, and Darby beamed.

“An’now, what fer yu, Mr. Weasley?” Mrs. Kearny pondered, flipping through Mr. Moptop’s book. “Ah, ‘ere’s a goodie! ‘Muggle Cuts for Wizard Boys. I think we’ll try this long undercut style, mebbe in brown?”

Ron swallowed hard as the cape was secured about his neck. He closed his eyes as the enchanted scissors went to work on him, but he felt odd. The comb seemed to be pulling UP at his hair, as if trying to stretch it while the scissors cut at it. He snuck a peek to see small clippings of his bright red hair falling here and there on the cape. He gulped again, but didn’t move. The scissors felt dangerously close to his fair skin.

“Mall rat!” Darby crowed, “You look like a skate punk!”

“What?!” Ron gasped, “What’s a Mall Rat?” He jerked his eyes open, afraid that he’d been transfigured into a playmate for Scabbers. He breathed an explosive sigh of relief to find that he was still human.

“Ya know, a boy who hangs out at the shoppin’ places and skates a lot,” Darby replied.

“Sorry,” Ron answered, “Never been to one. No one skates in Diagon Alley … and YES, I know what skates are!”

“Cain’t ‘elp it,” Darby said back, “Been a Muggle fer eleven years. Calls ‘em as I sees ‘em!”

Ron, however, was staring in seeming horror at his reflection in the mirror. His flaming red hair was now a brown color, and it was longer on top than it had been. He brushed his thick bangs out of his eyes, but they fell right back. All of the hair from the top of his head was one length, straight, and it parted in the center. It stopped just below his eyebrows, and sloped back up to expose his ears. He felt around the back, but found no hair there. It seemed to stop at the crown, shaved to the skin underneath, and hung down around the back in bowl-cut style.

Then Mrs. Finnegan went to work on his face. When she was done, his freckles were all gone and his eyebrows were brown as well.

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Harry asked.

Ron nodded weakly.

“Now all ye’s need ‘r diff’rent clothes,” Mrs. Finnegan announced. “Seamus has got some suitably Muggle-lookin’ ones ye’s can borrow. Mr. Finnegan will be bringin’ ‘em over any time now. I’ll use an Engorgement Charm a bit, make ‘em fit, and ye’ll be ready to go!”

All three boys looked at her, but no one said a thing. Darby hopped down from Mr. Kearny’s lap and went to her. She pulled him into a tight embrace, beckoning Ron and Harry with her other hand.

It was strange, being held like that, Harry thought. He didn’t recall ever being held, even as a toddler, by his Aunt Petunia. It was not unlike the way that Mrs. Weasley had hugged him, and Harry found that he very much liked it. Still, none of them said a thing as Seamus’ mother hugged all three of them, seemingly afraid to let go for fear of losing them as well.

“Bring ‘im back ter me,” she finally managed in a firm voice. And then to Darby, “I’ll not be losin’ another boy, mind ye! An’ here ya are, a fine young Wizard, just like yer best friend. An’ all this time I was worried he’d fallen in wit’ a Muggle fer a best buddy!”

Darby had tears in his eyes again, but he didn’t cry. He nodded resolutely, turning to Harry and Ron. “When we get there, ‘Arry, I wanna see this Wand Shoppe. Cain’t keep a’borrowin’ yers!”

They were all laughing as Seamus’ father arrived with a sack full of year-old outgrown clothing. He stared at his wife and the boys for a moment, a strange longing in his eyes, and then came into the kitchen. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she placed hers over it, smiling. “Growing like a weed, he must be,” he observed sadly as he emptied the bag. “I won’t even pretend to know what you’re going to do,” he told the boys, with almost no trace of accent. “I know that you’re goin’ after Seamus, that you can find him somehow with yer Magic. Just don’t be sendin’ back an owl sayin’ that we’ve lost you, too.”

“We’ve not lost anyone yet,” Harry replied bravely, “We’ve just misplaced him.”

After a few swats with Mrs. Kearny’s Wand to expand Seamus’ outgrown play clothes, the boys tried them on. Ron dressed in an over-sized screaming orange T-shirt with khaki shorts that stopped at his knees, and pair of tan sneakers with wide, white laces that said “Vans” on the side. The sneakers had required two Engorgement Charms before they finally made their way up to size 9 to accommodate Ron’s large feet.

Harry donned a light gray T-shirt with a red emblem of a boy in skates soaring over a parked car and red nylon shorts that weren’t loose at all. After years of wearing Dudley’s outgrown clothes, it felt good to wear clothes that fit him right. He chose a pair of sneakers that slipped on without laces. They were the right size.

When they were dressed, the boys looked one another over. “Seamus dresses like this?” They both asked in unison.

“Yes, all the boys do, why?” Mr. Finnegan asked. “He’s very particular about his clothes.”

“Muggles,” Harry and Ron agreed, and Darby laughed. The smaller boy was dressed as he had been, in a clean white T-shirt and his blue soccer shorts and sneakers. He toyed with the ring in his left ear a bit, and then joined them near the huge old iron stove.

“I still want one of those,” Ron stated, touching Darby’s pierced ear.

“I don’t see why,” Mr. Kearny grumbled, opening the old stove and throwing in some kindling and such. “Been on him ‘bout that fer years. Mrs. Kearny, if’n ya would do the honors, I think these boys ‘r anxious to be off!”

“Oh!” Harry gasped, “Wait! The Broomsticks!”

He and Ron dashed out and returned in an instant with the Broomsticks. Mrs. Finnegan shook her head when she was the sad state of Harry’s Nimbus 2000. “Quality Quidditch Supply,” she told him, and Harry nodded.

Mrs. Kearny then reminded them to grab their packs, and the boys dashed back out for those. When they had finally passed inspection, looking thoroughly Muggle-ish, she waved her Wand at the old stove. Incendio! She cried, and the stove burst into flame inside. She then tossed in a bunch of Floo powder, and the stove seemed to burp and expand, opening its door very wide.

“It’s huge!” Darby cried in excitement. Then he looked at Ron. “I hate this, ya know!”

Then Hedwig swooped in to land on Harry’s shoulder, looking a bit miffed at having to get up so early in the day to leave. She hooted in his ear, loudly and nipped him.

“Hey!” Harry cried, stroking her soft, white feather. “Wasn’t my idea! We’re kinda low on time, ya know!”

Hedwig hooted again and bobbed her head, and Mr. Kearny offered a sausage from the leftover breakfast. She gulped it down and hooted at him.

And then the fire had turned a nice shade of green. “In ya’s go, boys,” Mrs. Kearny ordered them, pushing each of them in towards the now-enormous old stove. Ya know how it works! An’ don’t’cha be fergettin’ where the Kearnys live!”

“We won’t!” Ron promised, as he, Harry, Hedwig and Darby stepped into the green flames.

“DIAGON ALLEY!” Harry and Ron shouted together, holding tight to Darby’s hands as Hedwig sank her talons into Harry’s shirt.

And then they all vanished in a puff of green sparks and flames. The stove burped loudly.