Chapter 6: Slytherin House

After the Sorting, Dumbledore said, "Let the feast begin," and food of every description appeared magically on the table, but Harry didn't feel like eating.  He was in shock over being placed in Slytherin House. 

Horatio gave him a hug when he walked over to sit down next to him, but the others glared at him.  He heard someone say, "A fucking Potter in Slytherin house.  It's a disgrace." 

Another replied, "A Potter and a fucking mudblood.  Look at them.  I think they're queer for each other.  I think they're gonna kiss, right here in the Great Hall."

The boy sitting next to the chair Harry sat down in got up and moved., taking his chair with him.  He moved to the end of the table. 

For years, Harry had been looking forward to his first day at Hogwarts, but no longer.  He certainly wasn't looking forward to that night.  At least, he'd have Horatio.  It was obvious that all the Slytherin members hated him; and he'd never done anything to him.  They hated him because he was his father's son.

They didn't like Horatio either, but because he was a Muggle-born, not because of anything one of his parents were done.  How could they have done anything?  They were Muggles. 

Horatio was the first Muggle-born in history to ever be placed in Slytherin.  After all, Salazar Slytherin, the founder of Slytherin House, had tried to have all Muggle-borns expelled from Hogwarts.  He'd even left because they hadn't been.   

He had put an imperative on the Hat, so it would never place a Muggle-born in Slytherin, but now it had.  Old Salazar would turn over in his grave to learn that a Muggle-born was in Slytherin.  For that reason -- even though Horatio had done nothing -- he would be as despised as Harry.  It would be just the two of them against the rest of the house.

Tom Riddle, the boy that was to become Lord Voldemort, was a half-breed, the first such to be placed in Slytherin.  His father had been a Muggle, but his mother was a relation of Salazar Slytherin, and Tom had inherited his abilities. 

Although a half-breed, he had been Salazar Slytherin's heir.  For that reason, he'd been put into Slytherin.  Tom Riddle had been the last of the heirs of Slytherin, unless the Horcrux were one, too.

Harry wondered how the Hat had put him in Slytherin House.  It was true that the Hat had almost put his father in it, but Harry supposed that was because of he had been given some of Voldemort's powers when Voldemort had tried to kill him when Harry, Sr.,  was a baby. 

For instance, his father could talk to snakes, using Parseltongue, the snake language.  Few wizards could speak it.  Salazar Slytherin had been able to speak Parseltongue, and so had Lord Vodemort. 

Harry didn't know whether he could speak Parseltongue or not.  He'd never had the opportunity to talk to a snake. 

Besides, it wasn't a talent his father would have encouraged.  His ability to speak Parseltongue had set him apart at Hogwarts, causing other student to distrust him.  Being able to speak it had caused him more grief than it had helped him.

Although he was hungry, Harry couldn't eat.  He was mired in his thoughts.  If felt as if he were walking through a bog.  Occasionally, a thought would bubble to the surface like swamp gas, each as foul as swamp gas. 

Being placed in a house was permanent.  He would be in Slytherin for as long as he was at Hogwarts -- five long years. 

This should have been the happiest day of his life, but it was the saddest.  He would have cried, but he couldn't.   Whatever he did, he couldn't cry.  He couldn't let the others in Slytherin see him cry.

At least Horatio was in Slytherin.  He liked Horatio and had wanted him as a friend.  He hadn't thought that would be possible when Horation had been placed in Slytherin, but then he had been placed in there, too. 

Now, it was just the two of them,  he and Horatio, against the world, at least, against the world of Hogwarts.  The other members of Slytherin hated them, and everyone else in Hogwarts would -- at the very least -- dislike them, just because they were in Slytherin.

What was wrong with the Hat?  How could it have done this to either of them?

Harry felt someone grab his hand.  He had both his hands in his lap, since he wasn't eating.  He glanced over at Horatio.  A smile -- not much of a smile, but still a smile -- was on his face.  Harry could see the sympathy in his eyes, perhaps sympathy for himself as well, but nonetheless, also for him.

He clutched Horatio's hand, holding onto it like a life preserver, and at that moment, it was.  He was about to drown, and Horatio was holding out a hand to him that said, "Grab hold.  Hold on tight.  Together, we'll weather this." 

Harry didn't think that he'd ever loved anyone as much as he did Horatio at that moment, not even his father or mother.  His father and mother weren't there, after all.  Only Horatio was. 

He had never before felt so lonely.  It was as if Horatio was the only person he had in the world.  At that moment, he would have done anything for Horatio -- anything to keep his love.

Because of the formal nature of this dinner, they had to wait until they were dismissed to go to their house.  When they stood up from the table, Harry, upon glancing at Horatio, noticed that he had a Slytherin crest on his robe.  Looking down at his own robe, he saw he had one on his, as well.  That cinched it.  He was in Slytherin.  Now, all his shirts and sweaters would have the Slytherin crest on them.  It would have magically occurred.  Wherever he went, everyone would know he was in Slytherin, even when he went home on vacation.  Oh, once he was second year, he could wear clothes without the crest, but not during the first year.

The Slyterin students followed their prefect, Harry and Horatio bringing up the rear.  They were going down into the depths of the castle, not to a tower.  Slytherin house was in the dungeon, some said, beneath the lake itself.  In any case, it had no windows.  They wouldn't see the stars or moon -- or the sun -- from their rooms in Slytherin House.

They had to hurry along.  It almost seemed like the others were trying to leave them behind; and neither of them knew the way to Slytherin House.  Harry and Horatio managed to keep up, though. 

Eventually they stopped.  The prefect opened a trap door, and the students ahead of Harry and Horatio began filing down the narrow steps leading even farther into the depths of the castle.  They had to be careful.  The steps were narrow and had no hand rail.  If would be easy for someone to fall from them -- even if they didn't have some help to do it.

Even in the common room, the ceiling was low.  It was a dank, dungeon-like, room, with green lamps and green chairs.  The air even had a faint hint of the odor of decay, as if something had long ago died, possible somewhere in the walls, where it couldn't be removed.  The very air of the place seemed oppressive.  How could anyone live here? he thought.

For some reason, the place didn't oppress Horatio as it had Harry.  If felt like home to him.  He'd always liked caves, sometimes exploring one without the aid of a lamp.  It had always seemed he could tell what was ahead of him, even without a light.  It was as if he'd been able to reach out with his mind, so  that he hadn't needed his eyes.  In many ways, physical senses were so limited, when compared to what the mind could do -- at least, to what his mind could do. 

He'd always been amazed at how blind his parents were in that regard.  If they couldn't see, hear, smell, or touch something, they didn't know it existed.  But Horatio knew there were so many thing that existed that couldn't be discerned with the physical senses. 

Ghosts, for instance.  Tonight in the Great Hall hadn't been the first time he'd seen ghosts.  He saw them all the time.  They were everywhere; but his parents never saw them.  Oh, he had read sometimes of supposed ghost sightings, but they had always been dismissed as the ravings of crazy people. 

Horatio had thought he might be crazy, because he had seen ghosts, and that was before he started hearing the voice in his head -- before he his head had started feeling crowded, as if too many people were trying to crowd into a small room, one not large enough to hold them all.

Sometimes, his head hurt, as if he were the one about to be pushed out.  What would happen if he were?  Where would he be, if he were pushed out of his own head?

Once inside the Slytherin common room, the others gathered around Horatio and Harry, enclosing them in a circle, leaving them no opening for an escape.  One of them said, "What are you two doing in Slytherin?  Didn't old Dumbledore put you in here, so you could spy on us?"

"That's what they are," said another, "fucking spies."

"Let's show them what we do to spies," said a third, another first year boy, just inducted into the house.  There had been five altogether, Harry, Horatio, Orion Malfoy, Digby Hobb, and Yardley Yates.  It was Digby Hobb that spoke.  He stood next to Malfoy.  "Let's beat the crap out of them."

"We can't," said another, older boy, probably a third or fourth year student, "there's a spell on all common rooms and dormitories that prevents physical violence.  You can't fight in here.  The house, itself, won't let you."

"I know a spell," said Malfoy, "it's just the one to use on Potter and this mudblood.  My father taught it to me.  Strip them, and I'll do it.  I'll do it, right here and now.  We can hold them, can't we?"

"As long as we don't physically hurt them," said the older boy that had just spoken.  "We can strip them.  We just can't physically hurt them."

Several of the boys grabbed Horatio and Harry, but although some of them tried to squeeze hard enough so it would hurt, none could.  They did strip them, though. 

In a moment or two, both boys were naked, their clothes tossed somewhere back in the crowd.  "Jeez," said one of the boys in the crowd around them, "look at the little willies.  And not a hair on either of them.  Smooth as a baby's bum, they are."

"Then they won't miss them much," said Malfoy.  "I'm going to use the Neuteramus curse on them."  He had his wand out.  "Nullify," he said, before Horatio could react, saying the Balbus spell as he had before.  Malfoy had aimed his wand at Harry.  He would be neutered, and Horatio had done nothing to save him.   Malfoy had been too quick for him.

But, nothing happened.  Malfoy's wand glowed, green at the tip, and some green sparks shot out from it, but nothing else." 

"Now, we're in for it," said the prefect, pushing his way to the front.  Put the fucking wand away.  That's a proscribed curse.   Old Dumblebefuck has put wards on the school preventing any proscribed or unforgivable spells from being used on Hogwarts grounds; but he'll know you tried to use it.  You'll be lucky not to be expelled; and that's going to cost us points, about fifty, I would expect."

So, Horatio hadn't saved Harry outside the Great Hall, when Malfoy had tried using it before.  It wouldn't have worked, even if he had been able to say it.  But Horatio hadn't known that at the time.

Malfoy didn't look happy, and not happy, he was no longer beautiful.  Even Hobb edged away from him.  Then Malfoy must have realized what had happened, because suddenly, he was beautiful again.  Hobb sidled up to him.

"What'll we do to them then?" asked the other first year, Yardley Yates, "Do we just have to put up with them?"

"No," said the prefect, Winslow Vicker.  "I'm certain we can find ways to make their lives hell.  We might not be able to hurt them physically, but there's nothing to keep us from making them wish we could, but not tonight.  It's late, and we start classes tomorrow.  Breakfast is at 7:00 AM.  Everyone -- to bed."

The others filed off to bed, but several of them tarried to spit on Horatio and Harry before they did.  It was humiliating, but apparently, since it didn't hurt, the house took no steps to prevent them from doing it. 

By the time they'd all left, both Harry and Horatio were covered with their spittle.  It was in their hair and streaked Harry's glasses.  Horatio wondered just how much the spell on Slytherin House would protect them.  Apparently, Slytherin House didn't want them either.

They found most of their clothes, which had been flung about the common room.  Neither of them found their underwear.  Apparently -- for some reason -- someone had taken them.  "We'll probably find them later in our beds, filled with shit," Harry said.  He looked like he was about ready to cry.

Horatio put his arm around his shoulders, "Fuck them," he said.  "Don't let them get to you."

The boys found their bunks, way in the back under an overhang, as far away as possible from the entrance to the common room and from the bathroom.  They would have to walk past all the other boy's beds anytime they had to pee or shower.  What if they got spit on every time they came back from taking a shower?  You don't have to take it, said the voice in his head.  I can help you.  Just let go.  Let me have control.  I can fix all of them.

It was tempting; but if he gave up control to the voice in his head, would he ever get it back?

Their trunks were waiting beside their beds, a bunk bed with Harry's name on the bottom bunk and his on the top one.  Towels were hanging from the ends of the beds.  At least no one had taken them.  They hadn't been left out of kindness, Horatio was certain.  The others had probably just forgotten about them.  At least, their trunks were locked.  They hadn't been able to mess with their stuff.

* * *

Each boy walked to the showers with a towel around him.  Neither had wanted to put on his pajamas, covered in spit as he was.  At least, no one else was in the showers. 

All the other Slytherin boys had gone to bed without showering; although from the odor emanating from the dorm room, that distinctive odor given off only by boys -- never by girls -- one that screamed that they'd been too long without a bath, most of them needed one.  It was accompanied by the smell of dirty socks and underwear, and by the odor of shoes that ought to be burned.  Only that, would ever get rid of the smell.

But while all boys seem impervious to such odors most of the time, it seemed that the Slytherin boys were immune to them.  They often got demerits for their lack of cleanliness. 

But what Slytherin boy cared what anyone in another house thought of him?  And the Slytherin girls -- although they didn't stink like the boys -- didn't seem to mind. 

Actually, the boys in Slytherin House got more cunt than the boys in the other houses.  The girls in Slytherin house liked to screw.  Hell, everyone liked to screw.  It's just that the girls in Slytherin House admitted they liked it, and admitting it, did it.

It would be a while before our boys found all this out, and prepubescent, both of them, it wouldn't have mattered to them yet, anyway.  Neither boy even liked girls.  The idea of screwing one would have been repulsive to either of them.  Stick your willy inside some girl's smelly cunt -- how gross.  Of course, neither of them had ever been close enough to a girl's cunt to smell it, but they'd heard that they smelled -- like fish, some said.  Who would want to stick his willy in a hole that smelled like fish?

* * *

Horatio's willy had been becoming stiff more often recently, though; and he had wanted Malfoy.  He had felt a physical need for him.  It was too new an experience for him to know what it meant.  All he knew was that it made his had willy stiff; and it had throbbed.  It had been all he could do to keep from sticking his hand beneath his robe an taking it out of his trousers so he could rub it.

Of course, he'd heard boys talk about wanking off, but it hadn't seemed like much fun.  The couple of times he'd tried it, nothing had happed. 

He'd rubbed until his willy was sore and noting had happened.  He didn't understand why older boys liked it so much.  Did puberty make that much difference?  It must, he guessed.  He'd seen boys completely change after reaching it, go from wanting to do the fun things, like exploring and having adventures, to liking girls and wanting to play with their cocks all the time.

It had seemed stupid -- but now?  Had Malfoy put a spell on him, or was HE approaching puberty -- or both?  Something was going on, because he had a stiffy again.  This time, looking at Harry's bum had done it.  What was going on?  Was he going through puberty and was gay, as well?  Tonight was the first time that another person had caused his willy to become hard, and each time it had been a boy that had done it.

He tried to keep his back turned to Harry, not wanting him to see his stiffy, but Harry must have seen it, because he said, "You have a stiffy, don't you?"

Horatio's face turned red, but he looked back over his shoulder at Harry, not yet decided whether to deny it, or not.

HARRY HAD ONE, TOO.

He was facing Horatio, and his cock was pointing straight at Horatio.  It wasn't big, only three or three and a half inches long, but it was hard, just as hard as Horatio's.  "Will you turn around, so I can see it?" asked Harry.  "I've never seen another boy's willy before.  I've seen babies', of course, but I've another boy's willy, not one on a boy my age."  Horatio turned around so Harry could see it.  "It's bigger than mine," said Harry. 

And it was.  Had it grown?  Horatio didn't remember it's being this large, but then, he'd never really paid much attention to it before.  Still, he didn't remember it's being this large.  Maybe it just hadn't been this hard before.  Maybe that's all it was.  Before that night, he couldn't remember it's being so hard.  He didn't remember a time before that it had throbbed, not like earlier when he'd looked at Malfoy, not like now, when he looked at Harry, and not just at his bum.  The sight of his willy made his stir, too.  The sight of it made his willy throb.

"Can I touch it?" asked Harry.

Oh shit, thought Horatio, what if someone should come in and see them holding onto each other's willy?  Someone had already called them queer.  They certainly would, if they caught them playing with the other's willy.  But they were all asleep, weren't they?  And Horatio did want Harry to touch his.  He very much wanted him to touch it; and he wanted to touch Harry's, too.

"All right," said Horatio, "can I touch yours?"

"YES," said Harry, leaving no doubt in Horatio's mind that he wanted him to touch it.

Harry wrapped his hand around Horatio's cock.  It was just long enough -- probably about four inches long -- for him to be able to.  "It's alive!" Harry said.  No doubt it felt alive, it kept jumping.  That's what Harry must have felt.  Horatio felt it, too.  His cock had started jumping as soon as Harry had touched it.

He reached for Harry's.  It was hard, like a little bone sticking out from Harry's groin.  No wonder they also called them boners.  Harry's willy was as hard as one.

Harry started pumping Horatio's cock, moving his hand out, pulling the foreskin of Horatio's cock over its head, then back, bumping his hand against Horatio's groin, exposing the head of his cock, like playing a game of peek-a-boo.  Now I see you, now I don't.  But, damn --.  It felt good.  If Horatio had know it could feel this good, he would have started doing it a long time ago. 

He did the same to Harry's cock, pumping it just like Harry was doing his.  From the look on Harry's face, he must have liked it, too.  He had his eyes closed and was biting his lower lip.

Horatio didn't want to close his eyes, though; he wanted to watch.  He wanted to see it all: Harry pumping his cock; him pumping Harry's.  Too, he wanted to look at Harry's face.  Harry had his glasses on, even though they were in the shower and they were steamed up.  He had said that he couldn't see anything without them.

Horatio reached over with his other hand -- the one not pumping Harry's cock -- placed it on the nape of his neck and pulled his face toward him.  Horatio saw Harry open his eyes, but only briefly.  He closed his eyes when he kissed Harry -- right on the mouth.  Oh, it was a pretty chaste kiss.  He didn't stick his tongue in his mouth or anything like that.  It still sounded too gross a thing to do.

He was afraid -- at first -- that Harry would pull away, but he didn't.  Instead, he put his other arm around Horatio waist, pulling him closer.  They kissed and pumped cocks at the same time.

Horatio had felt it building for some time, a pressure in his groin.  It was a strange sensation, almost unbearable, but at the same time, one that had only one possible ending.  What would have been unbearable would have been for Harry to stop pumping his cock.  Although the pressure continued to build as he did, so much that Horatio wasn't certain he could stand it -- if Harry had stopped pumping his cock -- he would have had to do it, himself.

Then, the spasms began.   He started thrusting his cock into Harry's hand.  It was as if a dam had broken, releasing not water, but pleasure.  He glanced down, expecting to see white stuff pumping out of his cock, shooting all over Harry, come some called it, or spunk. There were lots of words for it.  But nothing came out.  There was no come or spunk, nothing but a little clear fluid, leaking, not spurting from his cock.  He was disappointed.  Suddenly, he wanted to be able to spurt.

Not to say this hadn't been great.  It had been; and he wanted to do it again.  Maybe he was approaching puberty, but wasn't quite there yet.  Maybe puberty wasn't as bad as he had thought.

"What was that?" asked Harry.  He had noticed, too, but how could he not.  Horatio had actually screamed -- he hoped not loud enough to wake the Slytherin brats -- and he'd become weak in the knees, like he was about to faint.

"I think I had some kind of climax," said Horatio.

"Nothing came out," said Harry.

"I know," said Horatio, but it felt like it was.  Until I looked, I thought I was shooting all over you."

"I wish you had," said Harry.  "I wouldn't mind if you did.  I could always wash it off."

After his orgasm, Horatio was through with sex for the night.  His willy hung limply from his groin.  Still, Harry hadn't climaxed.  Maybe he wanted to.  "Do you want me to keep doing it?" he asked.  He had stopped when he'd had his climax.

But Harry's willy had gone soft, too.  "Naw," he said, "I'm not going to come.  I never even felt close to it."  He paused, then looked up at Horatio, said, "It felt good, though.  Do you think we could do it again, sometime."

"Sure," said Horatio.  Maybe he didn't want to do it anymore tonight, but he would want to do it again.  That he was sure of.  It was strange, though.  Usually when he was distracted, that other thing -- the one that spoke in his head -- came to the forefront.  Well, he'd been distracted tonight.  For a few moments, all that had existed had been his cock and Harry's hand on it, but he hadn't heard the voice.  There hadn't been even a hint of its presence.

Later when they were in bed, he heard Harry whisper to him from the lower bunk.  "Horatio," he said; then said it again, this time a little louder.

Horatio had heard him the first time, but had been lost in his own thoughts, thinking about Harry and what had just happened.  "What, Harry?"

"Do you think we're queer, Horatio?"

"I don't know," Horatio answered.

"I don't care if we are," Harry said, "I -- I love you."

Horatio didn't answer -- except in his head -- there he said, I love you, too, Harry Potter.  Then he fell asleep.  It had been a long day, perhaps the longest of his life.  Certainly during no other, had so much happened

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