Harry Potter and the Knife of Klingsor, Part 5

Other than a few rude cracks from Draco Malfoy, who seemed to have lost most of his swagger and superior attitude, the ride back to King’s Cross Station in London aboard the Hogwart’s Express was rather uneventful. Malfoy had waited almost a whole half an hour before finding the compartment that Harry was sharing with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, and Seamus. Surprisingly, he showed up without his two thugs in tow and his insults and threats to break off Seamus’ middle finger were weak. His pale, gray eyes still looked a bit red and puffy, and Harry guessed that he probably wasn’t enjoying sitting down in his own compartment for the ride back.

He was just opening his mouth to insult Hermione when Ron, who was helping Harry to dispose of his surplus of candy, pulled out his Wand and nonchalantly scratched at his ear with it. He opened a chocolate frog, and it hopped across into Seamus’ lap and croaked loudly. Neville’s toad, Trevor, croaked in reply and burrowed into his pocket. Ron looked over the card, an unknown Wizard that he didn’t have in his collection, and smiled. “Cool! Wonder who HE is?”

Harry looked at the card, but didn’t recognize the name of Alessandro Grimaldi.

Malfoy sneered at him. “Going on Second Year, and still playing with trading cards, Weasley? Haven’t you got anything to better to do?” He hissed, distracted from what he had wanted to say to Hermione.

Ron looked up at him and smiled, just as Seamus bit the head off of the runaway chocolate frog. He aimed the Wand at Malfoy, who reached for his as well. Draco stopped, however, when he heard the quick rustle of robes and found a total of six wands pointed at him. His face fell a bit, almost imperceptible, but Harry saw it. “I think that Spell was Gluteous … gluteous fur … fer … something like that,” Ron thought, stopping to scratch his ear and pop an Every-Flavor bean into his mouth, waving his Wand in Draco’s general direction and scrunching his face up in deep thought.

Everyone laughed, even Neville, who usually went to pieces at the sight of Malfoy.

“That shit’s bad for your teeth, anyway,” he snapped, heading back down the aisle. Everyone noticed that he was walking a bit funny.

When he was gone, everyone burst in gales of helpless laughter.

“Did you see his face when that hand came after him?” Ron asked. Even Scabbers seemed to be enjoying himself, sitting on Ron’s shoulder and squeaking in delight as he gnawed on a rather large yellow Bean.

“Ah, me! ‘Ow cud ya’v missed it? Yanked ‘is pants off, it did!” Seamus stated, his lips and mouth covered in chocolate.

“And those shorts,” Neville almost whispered in conspiratorial tone, “Puppies and kitties? Who’d’a thought?”

“Shorts? Yea, who’d’a thought?” Laughed Dean, “Or his tiny little cock! That was hilarious!”

Harry, feeling as if something were quite wrong all of a sudden, just sat next to Seamus and listened to them all cut on Malfoy. He didn’t like Draco at all, really, since their very first meeting had set off a good case of ‘hate at first sight’. However, Harry felt that Malfoy had received just a bit too much punishment. The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t feel like joining in with making fun of Draco. He was more worried about heading back home, to the Dursleys, and that thought made him wonder what Malfoy was facing at home. He sighed and leaned over, his head of unmanageable hair bumping hard into the window with a loud CLUNK.

“If’n ya can call the little t’ing a cock?” Seamus said to Dean, holding up his fingers about a half a centimeter apart.

“Oh, how rude!” Hermione snapped, her eyes wide. They all fell silent, and then Hermione grinned. “It was rather puny, though, wasn’t it?” She added, which sent them all – except for Harry – off into another gale of laughter.

“Got what HE deserved, if’n ya ask me,” Ron stated.

“Rich little arsehole,” Neville added, glancing around as if he were afraid that Malfoy might here him, “I hate that kid!”

“Rich kids suck,” Seamus added. “The boy down the road frum me’s a Muggle, ya know, poor as a church mouse, but ‘e’d give ya the last breadcrumb he had if’n ya was hungry.”

Harry opened one eye and glanced over at Seamus. The Overlook Me Spell seemed not to be having any affect now that they were on the Train, and Harry was a bit surprised to find that Seamus’ best friend – away from Hogwart’s – was a Muggle boy.

“Well I still want to know if they’re all that small,” Hermione was saying, delicately nibbling at a toffee with her little finger stuck out. “My folks would just DIE if they saw all of this candy. You know, you should all come over to my place and get your teeth checked. We’ve consumed a awful load of candy this year.”

Everyone looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head. Hermione, being a child of two Muggles, was the smartest kid in their class and her parents were both dentists. They had gotten a rude shock when she’d received her letter from Hogwart’s.

“Trust Hermione to come up with something like that,” Ron sighed, eyeing his next chocolate frog and staring at her in wonder. “Now I’m scared to eat this.”

“Oh, bother!” She replied, “I was kidding!”

Then she looked over at Seamus. “YOU could use a good tight set of braces, though,” she commented. “There might be a tooth-aligning Spell that Madam Pomfrey could use, but my parents, I’m sure, will insist on the Muggle way of doing it.”

Harry looked up, and Seamus was smiling at her. He had most of his last frog smeared all over his mouth, and Harry saw that his teeth were, in fact, very crooked. He sighed again, moving his hands into his lap to hide his erection as he straightened his robe over himself. What he could use is a penis restoring Spell, Harry thought darkly, his stomach rolling around from a combination of too much candy, motion sickness, and a good load of guilt. He glanced at Ron, who caught his eye, and Harry could feel his own face flame.

“But getting back to cocks,” Ron said, and Harry almost choked.

“Yes, tell me all about it,” Hermione was saying, and Neville looked as if he were about to faint from embarrassment.

“MINE isn’t that small,” Ron said proudly, then added, “I think I’ve got a spot of hair down there too, I could be shavin’ my face any day now!”

“I told you it was LINT,” Harry corrected him, forcing a smile. Ron grinned back at him, and Harry’s worries eased a bit. His stomach was still bothering him a bit, but it looked like Ron wasn’t going to pop off and ask him about being naked in bed with Seamus that morning. At least not in front of everyone.

“Oh, spare me,” Hermione was saying, and then she laughed again. “Makes me wonder if there’s going to be any more Malfoys, what with Draco looking as if he’s a eunuch and such.”

At the mention of the word ‘eunuch’, Seamus choked on an Every-Flavor Bean and Harry had to pound his back until he coughed hard and the Bean shot across the compartment. Scabbers caught it in midair and squeaked, promptly running down into Ron’s robe with his plunder to hide it.

“Eww,” Ron gasped, “Now you make sure YOU eat that so I don’t grab it! Gross!”

“What’s a eunuch?” Neville asked innocently.

Seamus glanced sideways at him, his face red from nearly choking. “Er…it’s a … it’s when a boy … well … it’s when ya don’ have any balls, or no cock, too.”

Neville’s face flamed.

Dean shivered, clutching his crotch.

“I should read up on that,” Hermione said with a devious grin. “There might be something to it, you know.”

Ron rolled his eyes and also covered his crotch. He glanced up at Seamus, then at Harry. “Why?” He asked Hermione. “Why this sudden interest in boy-parts?”

“Well, you know,” she replied, glancing around with a menacing stare, “Poor little Draco looks to be in bad shape. I just think it’s really interesting. Can’t a girl read up for fun?”

“YOU? Read for fun?” Ron gasped, and they laughed again. Hermione had had the highest marks of all of them, and though she tended to boast a bit, they all thought highly of her. Especially when they needed homework help.

As the countryside rolled by and they passed town after little town, the compartment rang with laughter and reminiscing about their first Year at Hogwart’s. Harry, however, didn’t really feel like joining in. He was thinking about what he was going to be doing for the Holidays: washing Uncle Vernon’s car, mowing the lawn, trimming hedges and bushes, listening to them praising Dudley and insulting him. He figured he’d probably spend most of his off time in his room, ignored as usual. The fact that he couldn’t use Magic at home in front of them was daunting, but then he remembered Hagrid’s words: “Yer cousin don’ know that, now, do he?”

The only thing keeping Harry going until he could return to Hogwart’s was the promise to come and stay with Ron for a bit that summer. It was his one bright spot, and he made a mental note to ask Ron if they could invite Seamus over too sometime. The more he thought about it, though, the more it made him feel guilty. Why’s he so damn cute? Harry wondered to himself, And why do I feel like this? I’m supposed to like girls, aren’t I? So why do I just want to tear his robes off and roll around on the floor with him? This thought, however, only made Harry feel even guiltier, since he could orgasm at any time, almost, and Seamus couldn’t.

“Whas’ wrong, ‘Arry?” He heard Seamus and Ron both ask in tandem. It reminded him of something he’d heard a couple of boys say once at his old Muggle school, before he’d gotten his Hogwart’s letter. Well, tons of letters, really, coming from everywhere as if every owl in the world were out to hunt him down and bring him to Hogwart’s. When two of them said the same thing at the same time, one would shout ‘JINX!’ and the other wasn’t allowed to talk until the Jinxer told him he could. Knowing what he did now, though, Harry failed to see the humor in it. He looked back to see Ron and Seamus grinning at one another.

“I just don’t feel well,” Harry replied, “Excuse me, please,” he said, getting up and heading out into the aisle. Aside from his stomach bothering him, Harry could almost feel as if he were being drawn somewhere, and it wasn’t to the toilet – although that did sound like a good idea when he thought about it. The last chocolate frog he’d had seemed to be trying to escape his stomach, and he didn’t want to spew in front of his friends. Still, he followed his nose down the aisle, trying not to look obvious. He ran out of train car, however, and he found himself in front of the door to the next car with a powerful urge to explore it.

“You’d think I’d know better by now,” he told himself, opening the door and stepping through.

All of the compartment doors were closed, and Harry felt chilly as he walked into the car. It was darker in this car, and from little bits and snatches of conversation he could pick up, he came to the conclusion that he’d stepped into a car occupied mainly by Slytherin House students. He made a face. “Just my luck,” he muttered, turning around to go back.

Then Harry was nearly pulled off his feet by what felt like someone grabbing his black robe. He spun around, Wand in hand, but there was no one there! The feeling to keep going, though, was still there. His scar began to tingle a bit, and he cocked an eyebrow. “Probably some kind of sick joke,” he mused, putting his guard up and continuing on. He’d made it down to the end of the long car when the tugging suddenly stopped.

Harry found himself outside of a door, closed of course, and he stopped to listen. The tugging had stopped, but his scar felt like a dozen ants crawling over his forehead. With every Spell that he knew lingering on the tip of his tongue, Harry knocked on the door.

There was no reply, and he pressed his ear to the door. He could just make out what sounded like soft whimpers and crying. He knocked again.

“Y-yes?” Came a muffled reply.

Harry stomach rolled again. Malfoy! He realized, and turned to go. However, that feeling caught his robe again and jerked him back.

He rolled his eyes in disgust. The last thing that Harry wanted to do was to talk to Draco! What he really wanted to do was to run to the toilet and vomit, come to think of it, and the thought of being exposed to Malfoy again REALLY made him want to do just that. He remembered Hagrid saying, “I never met a boy I didn’t love until I met that worthless little git!”

Still, Harry slid the door to the compartment open and stepped inside.

Draco Malfoy was riding alone. His usual sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle, were nowhere to be seen. Draco’s head was up against the window, bumping on the glass as the train moved on over green landscapes drenched in summer sun. Harry noticed that he seemed to be in the same distracted state that he’d been in earlier himself, just staring as the countryside rolled by, oblivious to anything else. He didn’t even realize who’d just stepped into his compartment.

Bad posture for a Wizard, Harry thought. Wide open to attack.

But even though he was sorely tempted to just put Malfoy, whose guard was obviously down, into a Full Body-Bind Curse and leave him, Harry didn’t. He cleared his throat and softly said, “Malfoy?”

The effect of Harry Potter’s voice was instantaneous. Draco Malfoy sat bolt upright, and reached for his Wand. Harry saw that he had been scratching at his left forearm vigorously, and that his pale eyes were red and puffier than before he’d come by their car to try and make trouble. Harry raised both hands, palms out, and stepped back. “Oh, put it away, Malfoy!” He snapped, “If I’d wanted to attack you, I could have done it long ago. You were miles away, you know.”

As if realizing this, Draco lowered his wand. “What do YOU want?” he sneered, shifting himself sideways as if trying to sit comfortably. Obviously, his bum was still in bad shape and hurting him.

“May I come in?” Harry asked politely, still wondering what had drawn him to the Slytherin car.

“You’re already in,” Malfoy complained, “You might as well sit. If there’s one thing I get hammered with all the time at home, it’s manners and propriety and such.”

Harry blinked. “You do?”

“Tell anyone I asked you to sit and I’ll deny it!” He snarled. “Besides, at least YOU CAN sit,” he said, wincing in obvious pain.

“Didn’t you go up to Madam Pomfrey after the … er … well…”

But Draco interrupted him. “You mean after the Magical spanking that tore most of the skin off of my ass?” He snapped, and Harry nodded.

“No, as a matter of fact, that bitch refused to do anything about it. Said if Dumbledore spanked me, then he must have done it for a good reason. The only thing she did was put some jewelweed juice and witch hazel on the sores to stop the bleeding and to take some of the sting out. Told me to get over it, and to stay out of trouble. You just wait until my father hears about this!”

That, Harry knew, was Malfoy’s favorite thing to say, ‘You just wait…’. It was getting old. However, it made Harry wonder.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Harry asked, noticing that Draco was digging at it again.

“Nothing,” he retorted, pulling his sleeve down and staring back out the window. “Nice place for a manor house,” he mused, pointing to a large meadow near some gigantic oak trees. “Looks nice and peaceful.” Then he sighed heavily. “So did you just come by to rub salt in my wounds, or what, Potter?”

Harry reached up and scratched his scar, which was still tingling itself to the point of itching. He found it odd that Malfoy’s arm itched, it seemed, in tune to his own scar itching. He scratched it, and as he did, Draco began to dig at his arm again. Malfoy looked up at him.

“THAT is a really bad scar,” he said, “Makes you look like an idiot.”

“I didn’t come by to rub salt in your wounds, as you say, Malfoy,” Harry snapped back, “I came by on my way to the toilet because it felt like something was pulling on my robe and it stopped right outside YOUR door.”

For a brief moment, Harry thought he saw something in Malfoy’s face as his jaw dropped just a tiny bit. “You have a bit of chocolate on your upper lip, you slob,” Malfoy said distractedly, and Harry knew that he’d struck a nerve as he wiped it off.

Then he caught a glimpse of Draco’s left inner forearm. Harry saw what appeared to be a darker area running from wrist to elbow as Malfoy rolled up his sleeve to scratch again. There was an outline there, a darker outline, and Harry thought it looked like a snake. “Is that a TATTOO?” he asked in wonder.

Malfoy gasped and jerked his sleeve down. “No! And don’t mention it so loud, for God’s sake, Potter, shut up!”

Harry could see that Draco was genuinely worried, and he knew that he’d seen something that he shouldn’t have. Of course, being a Slytherin and all, it didn’t really surprise him. Harry thought about those temporary tattoos that were popular with the Muggle boys from his old school, and figured that Malfoy had gotten hold of one – or made one – and that it was itching him. Still, his own scar itched and he didn’t like the feeling pervading the compartment. He looked around, feeling watched, and then got up.

“You’ll excuse me, I’m sure,” he muttered, turning to go. Then, to his astonishment, he heard a strangled sob coming from behind him. Harry froze.

“J-just go then,” Malfoy managed, and Harry turned around to see him leaning over in the long seat so that he didn’t have to sit on his wounded bum. His pale face was buried in his hands, and he was crying.

Something wasn’t right. This was NOT the Draco Malfoy that he knew and loved to hate. This wasn’t the rich little Slytherin brat who taunted Harry and his fellow Gryffindors endlessly and bragged about himself and his Pureblood family all of the time. This wasn’t Professor Snape’s golden boy who could do no wrong and always seemed to be able to gig Harry and Ron in Potions class. Instead, Harry saw something that he’d never seen before, and thought he never would see.

Malfoy was going all to pieces right in front of his worst enemy.

He could have taken pleasure in it, but Harry Potter wasn’t that kind of boy. There wasn’t any joy in watching someone else suffer, even his worst enemy. He thought that Ron might enjoy it, but he dismissed the thought as Malfoy cried. It wasn’t as bad as the previous night’s spanking, but it was certainly close.

“Malfoy…” Harry began, “Are you going to be quite alright?”

Draco didn’t answer verbally; he just leaned over and shook his white-blonde head. It took him a moment to compose himself, and when he looked up, his gray eyes were sparkling through the redness in anger. “NO, I’m not quite alright, you git!” Malfoy shouted at him, “I got less than perfect marks this year, I got spanked – right in front of everyone in the Great Hall – a bareass whippin’ no less! I got laughed at, and everyone saw … they saw … shit!” He swore, his face reddening in anger, “They all laughed at me, Potter! No Malfoy has ever brought such shame to his House. When my father finds out…”

But Harry interrupted him. “When Mr. Malfoy finds out, he’s going to beat you all over again, isn’t he, Draco?” He asked, addressing him by his first name, which was unusual. “He’s going to punish you for your grades, probably spank you again, I daresay, worse than Dumbledore did, and you’re scared silly of him, aren’t you?”

Draco Malfoy paused, his mouth agape. “Y-you don’t kn-know him, Potter,” he stuttered, wiping at his puffy eyes. “My ass won’t have time to heal by the start of Second Year, I’ll wager,” he said in a resigned tone. “That and that damn hand. Everyone saw … they saw … and they laughed at me! I’ve shamed my House, and my father, too. I might as well find someone with a good Death Curse and have them use it on me. Did you know that a Wizard can’t use his own Wand to kill himself, Potter?”

Harry gaped at Draco. Had the boy just confessed to attempted suicide? What had the spanking and the humiliation of everyone seeing his cute little boxer shorts and almost total lack of boyhood done to him? Harry wondered at his fear, a fear so great that it was almost tangible. He’d never met Lucius Malfoy, but from the way Draco was acting, it seemed that he wasn’t a really kind and loving father. He thought about the Dursleys, and was suddenly grateful that they pretty much ignored him. Then, slowly so as not to frighten him any more, Harry stepped closer to his worst enemy and touched his shoulder.

Draco Malfoy straightened up immediately, flinching back. “Don’t touch me!” He snapped, as Harry sat down next to him. “I thought you were leaving?” He then asked in a more subdued tone.

“Malfoy,” Harry asked quietly, “What did you mean just then, about the Wand?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “I was just ranting. But I AM going to get it so bad when I get home.” Then he sighed again. “I wish there was some sort of summer session at Hogwart’s. I’d stay there all year if I could.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. Malfoy was uttering the same thing that Harry himself thought about on a regular basis! But why? He knew that Malfoy had a big house, as he’d seen a picture or two that the brat had been showing off in class one day. His family was rich, Draco was an only child, and he had both parents and a whole battalion of servants to wait on him. He also had everything that Wizard gold could buy, anything that a Wizard boy could want. In fact, he had everything that Harry had never had growing up. So why, other than being spanked again, did Malfoy not want to go home?

You know why, Harry, he realized, Because there’s no one there who loves him. Everyone hates him just as much as you do, as much as all the Gryffindors do.

Then Harry realized something else, and his perception of Draco Malfoy changed in an instant. Malfoy was the way that he was because he’d been molded that way. He probably wasn’t really a bad boy, or wouldn’t have been, had he just had a better upbringing. Harry thought about it, and wondered which was worse: Being neglected but not harmed, really – or – being raised by two overbearing parents that expected far too much of the boy? Malfoy’s whole persona, he then realized, was just a defense mechanism that he used to keep the hurt out. By flaunting his seeming superiority and making fun of others that he deemed less desirable, Malfoy could gain some kind of self-esteem.

But Draco had turned away from him to stare back out the window at the rolling green scenery. “Good place to run off to, no?” He mumbled, biting at his fist as he leaned on the window glass and wincing as the train hit an occasional seam in the tracks. “What a year,” he muttered. “Well, at least YOU had a good year, Potter.”

And then Harry understood the tugging that he’d felt on his robe. He knew what had drawn him to Slytherins’ car, but he didn’t mention it. It would only make Malfoy feel worse, and although at any time during the past Year he’d have jumped at the chance to do just that, Harry kept quiet. It would only make him feel worse indeed, and the statement about the Death Curse and his own Wand had made Harry worry. True, their lives at Hogwart’s might be easier without Malfoy around, and he didn’t like him at all, but Harry certainly didn’t want to see Draco dead. He’d already had his fill of death.

The Slytherin boy had just needed someone, anyone, to talk to – to get it out.

Harry reached into his pocket, still loaded down with candy he’d received while in the Hospital Wing recovering from his bout with Voldemort and Quirrell. Having slept for nearly four days and missing his last Quidditch match, he’d not had time to eat it all. It was, he knew – as his stomach rolled again – not for lack of trying. “Malfoy,” he said softly, “Want a frog?”

“Huh?” Draco replied, turning from the window and lowering his fist. Harry saw that all of his fingernails had been chewed down to the quick.

“Maybe an Every-Flavor Bean, then?” He offered, piling a load of candy on the seat.

He wasn’t sure, but he thought that he saw a gleam in Malfoy’s puffy eyes and a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“The safe way to eat these,” Malfoy replied, aiming his Wand at the box of Beans, is a secret. Tell anyone, and I’ll deny it. Flavorus Selecto, he said without much heart in it, and fully half of the Beans vanished. “Safe as Muggle jelly beans now,” he said, picking a handful of them. “No dirt, dust, grass, earwax, or vomit flavors now. My father doesn’t allow much candy in the house. Bad for the teeth, he claims.”

“Hermione’s folks are dentists,” Harry offered, and then flinched. He knew that Malfoy hated her the most because she was a Muggle-born, or Mudblood, as he called them.

To his surprise, however, Draco Malfoy ripped open a chocolate frog and caught it by the back legs. It croaked and kicked, and he vengefully bit its head off. He did not, however, discard the Wizard trading card, Harry noticed. Then he laughed. “Oh wouldn’t father just adore that? ‘Dr. Granger called, Draco, you need two fillings and a retainer.’ Just what I want, ANOTHER doctor to keep poking at me.”

Another doctor? Harry wondered. What was that supposed to mean? You can’t kill yourself with your own Wand, he remembered Draco saying. What was that all about? Harry glanced at the stack of candy and felt the lopsided pull at his pocket. He was still loaded with the stuff, but then again, it was a long ride home still. “You’re welcome to the rest,” he offered, standing up to go.

He had just reached the door when he heard Malfoy say, in a very small and quiet voice that was hardly audible, “Thanks, Potter. Have a good Holiday. I know I won’t.”

Then Harry closed the door and made his way back to his own car. His scar stopped itching once he was in there, and he realized that he’d forgotten to ask Malfoy what was bothering him about his arm. He shrugged and headed to the toilet, his stomach not nearly as upset as it had been.

Harry had had a great deal of time to mull over things in his mind as the summer slowly progressed. It seemed that the only time the Dursleys took note of him was when something – usually something dirty – needed doing. He had become sick to death of trimming rosebushes, hedges, mowing the grass, washing Uncle Vernon’s car, and cleaning out gutters. No one had even been writing to him, and he was beginning to become depressed. Then, of course, Dobby the house elf had shown up and wrecked Aunt Petunia’s prize pudding for a very important dinner party*. THAT had explained a great many things, Dobby not wanting Harry to go back to school at Hogwart’s, and Harry had been locked up like a prisoner in his room ever since that night. The Dursleys, thanks to Dobby using Magic in their house, were now aware of the fact that Harry would be expelled if he were to Magic himself out of his room. They had him, it seemed, locked up tight with no chance of escape.

And so, night after night, Harry was left alone to think about Seamus and worry about whether Malfoy had killed himself – or been killed by his father. But there was not way to ask, no way to tell anyone.

Even poor Hedwig, Harry’s snowy owl, was kept locked up in her cage. Harry had become convinced that the both of them were going to starve to death, until the night that the Weasley brothers had rescued him in the father’s bewitched car. Mr. Arthur Weasley, it seemed, had bought and tinkered with an old Ford Anglia and made it able to fly. Rule breaking or not, the car had saved Harry and Hedwig from their imprisonment and gotten them a wonderful last month of summer holiday with the whole Weasley clan at their home. They called it The Burrow, and to Harry, it was the most fabulous house that he’d ever set foot in. The scolding they’d all received upon arriving there just as the sun had been coming up was well worth it.*

Harry awoke that first morning at The Burrow as he always did – not seeing the point in getting out of bed for a breakfast that might or might not come in through the kitty-door that Uncle Vernon had made so that meager amounts of food could be slipped in to him. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes, until he heard a dreadful snore. He sat bolt upright, and stared around the room in wonder.

Ron’s room was furnished in garish shades of orange, due to the fact that his favorite Quidditch team, The Chudley Cannons, wore orange uniforms. Harry smiled and tried to remember where he’d put his glasses. He found them on top of Ron’s dresser, and just as he was pulling his pajamas off, he heard a woman’s voice calling up the stairs – BREAKFAST!

“I’ve died and gone to Heaven,” Harry sighed happily, pulling on a bathrobe and not bothering with the rest of his clothes. He shook Ron awake, but Ron wasn’t very quick about waking up. Harry shook him one more time, and dashed off to the bathroom. Of course he had a morning erection, as most did, and this made it difficult for him to urinate. He was just finishing up when he realized something else – he was free! Hedwig was free! He could send her to deliver mail to everyone he knew, and he could letters back from them in return! The first thing he planned to do was to write to Seamus Finnegan, and see how his summer was going. The very thought of Seamus, however, made Harry shiver. His erection refused to go down, and he hid the best he could and made his way downstairs to a breakfast that left him drowsy again and groaning in his chair.

“Ron,” Harry was saying as Mrs. Weasley cleared away the dishes with a flick of her Wand, “Have you heard anything from the others, I mean, Hermione or Dean, or … or … Seamus?” He asked in low voice. Harry could feel his ears burning, and hoped that Ron wouldn’t take it wrong.

“Of course,” Ron replied, “Hermione writes all the time. I can’t begin to imagine how many quills she must burn up! Not even in school, either! Neville’s off with his Granny on some trip to visit an old Auntie or someone, and Dean hasn’t written – but then again I didn’t expect him to. Fred and George heard from Lee Jordan, something about a row at a Quidditch game. Seamus wrote too,” Ron whispered to him, pausing as he watched his mum blast the dishes clean with her Wand.

“AND?” Harry almost cried.

“He’s fine,” Ron shrugged. “Ridin’ his bike and wandering the countryside with that Muggle boy he hangs out with from down the road. Can’t imagine life in rural Ireland, meself.”

Harry’s heart sank a bit. While he was grateful that his obvious relationship with Seamus hadn’t made Ron – who was easily his best friend – jealous in any way, Harry was pained at the thought that Seamus hadn’t written and didn’t seem to be missing him.

Ron’s evil grin, however, soon betrayed him. “Out with it!” Harry almost cried.

“Funny turn of phrase, isn’t it?” Ron replied, still grinning, and Harry’s ears felt as if they were going to burn off. He shifted in his seat, trying to manage the erection he’d popped at the mention of Seamus’ name. Then Ron stared intently at Harry. “Let’s go back up,” he motioned.

Once back in Ron’s room, Harry was almost ready to burst. Ron riffled through a drawer in his dresser, tossing socks and shorts this way and that. Finally, he exclaimed, “Ah, here they are. I didn’t read the ones that were for you,” he said politely. “Seems that Dobby didn’t get to them all, after all.” He handed Harry a stack of letters, and his eyes began to sting when he saw that Seamus must have written to him almost twice a week, if not more. Every envelope had claw marks on it from the carrier owl, and they were all marked with an emblem that looked like a perplexed owl that said “UNABLE TO LOCATE RECIPIENT, CHECK ADDRESS AND FEED THE OWL.”

“Seamus sent ‘em to me, guess he remembered you were supposed to spend some holiday here at the Burrow with us,” Ron said, turning his back to give Harry some privacy.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said softly, as Ron turned and tossed another letter at him.

Ron gave him a strange look. “You know, Harry,” he said, stretching back out on his bed, “I don’t mean to pry, but Seamus wrote … well …he said some stuff that …” Ron seemed to be struggling for words, and Harry just stared at him with a lost look.

Of course, Harry realized that both he and Ron already knew Seamus’ secret: that the young Irish lad had been born on the Summer Solstice with the mark of Wild Power on his inner left thigh. They also knew that the mark meant that Seamus was destined to become a Eunuch Wizard, emasculated on his tenth birthday, one year before beginning his schooling at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They both knew that Seamus, after finally showering with them on the last day of their First Year, had voluntarily revealed his secret to them out of desperation and loneliness. That act had broken the Overlook-Me Spell that the Staff – probably Dumbledore himself – had placed upon him to try and hide him.

What Harry didn’t know, though, was what Ron was getting at. It was painfully obvious that Seamus had written to him about something, and Harry was dreading what that something was as he waited anxiously for Ron to compose his sentence.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Ron managed to just spit it out. “Dammit, Harry, why didn’t you tell me you two were doin’ all that stuff to each other? I thought we were best friends!”

Harry’s heart sank again, and his stomach rolled. Suddenly his heavy breakfast seemed to be plotting revenge upon him, and Harry looked away with tears in his eyes. “Wh-what did he say to you?” Harry asked in a broken voice.

“Oh, just that he misses you more than anything, and that he seems to have this strange talent fer makin’ you cum,” Ron said in an even tone, which Harry didn’t like the sound of. “And pretty much, well, everything! He thinks you’re not answering his mail because you’re mad at him for writin’ to me too, and that we haven’t asked him over because I might be mad at you both.”

Harry thought about this as Ron rooted through his pile of old mail from the summer. Harry was suddenly jealous of him. After all, Ron hadn’t been locked up prisoner in his own room because of some stupid house elf. He hadn’t been worried about dying of starvation because he couldn’t use Magic to free himself without getting expelled. He hadn’t lain awake at night thinking, worrying about things like being in love with another boy or wondering if Malfoy was going to try and kill himself. Still, though, hadn’t Seamus written to Ron as well? And hadn’t Ron and the twins come and rescued him anyway, despite those letters? Ron had said that Seamus had told him things. Harry began to think that he might be drawing the wrong conclusions, but he didn’t dare hope. He just assumed that Ron was about to chuck him out for being a poof.

Picking up his pile of undelivered mail, Harry slowly stood up and headed for the corner where his things were all piled on top of his trunk of school stuff. “I’ll just get dressed and go,” he said in a choked whisper, “I don’t blame you, Ron, really I don’t. You have every right to…”

“Of course I got every right to,” Ron interrupted, “Like I said, I thought you were my best friend! Bloody Hell, Harry, why should YOU have all the damn fun?!” Ron cried, smiling at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you could cum already? I have the right to cum, too, don’t I?!”

Harry could hardly believe his ears. Ron wasn’t angry at him for his relationship with Seamus! He was just a bit annoyed that they hadn’t included him! Very suddenly, Harry felt as if a great weight had fallen from his shoulders. He felt even better than he had the previous night, when he’d been rescued.

“Well?!” Ron demanded, “What’v’ ya got to say for yerself?”

Harry blushed again, awkwardly shifting his mail from hand to hand. “I … Er … we, well, Ron, I mean … how was I supposed to know how you’d take it?” Harry suddenly blurted out. “It’s not like I could just up and say, ‘Hey, Ron, guess what? I think I’m gay and Seamus is too!’”

Ron thought about this for a moment, still grinning. Then he looked serious. “Seamus can’t be gay, for likin’ you, Harry. You’re a boy and he’s not.”

“That’s mean,” Harry said, shocked that Ron would come up with something like that.

“Blame Hermione,” Ron replied, tossing Harry a stack of bound notes that looked that it had to have damn nigh killed the owl that had brought it.

“What’s this?”

Ron sighed. “Hermione’s dissertation on eunuchs,” he said with a shiver, grasping his crotch. “Gave me bloody screamin’ nightmares after I read it!”

Harry looked at the thick volume and shook his head. “WHY did she do all this work?” Harry wondered. “She doesn’t know that Seamus is … is a eunuch, does she?”

Ron shrugged. “Either he told her, or that thing with Malfoy’s tiny little cock got her interested in castration or something,” Ron mused. “I just hope SHE never finds that Knife of Klingsor that they used on Seamus. I hope they lost it somewhere.”

Harry shook his head. “Nope, it’s in Hagrid’s kitchen drawer.”

“Bloody hell! What for?” Ron screamed, his face white.

“Sausages?” Harry replied, and both of them laughed until they were near tears.

Then Harry stared at his pile of missed mail that Dobby hadn’t intercepted. There were letters from them all, a postcard or two from Neville, and some issues of the Daily Prophet. There was even one from Professor McGonagall – a simple postcard of a Quidditch game, with all players in flight, of course, that said one thing … PRACTICE!

Oh, hell, Harry thought, realizng that he hadn’t been on his broomstick since before going after The Stone.

There was also, naturally, a small box or two from Hagrid. One of them smelled funny.

But Harry didn’t’ dwell upon them. He felt so relieved that Ron hadn’t turned on him. It was almost impossible to grow up in the Muggle world without picking up several things on the news or from the papers or from other kids at public school. In trying all summer to cope with what he was feeling for Seamus, one thing had been certain in Harry’s mind – if they found out, his life would be hell. He certainly didn’t want to be outted to anyone, much less risk losing his best friend over being gay.

I admitted it, Harry thought, At least to myself. I wonder how Ron will act though, if I come right out and say it to him?

“I’ll leave you alone to catch up on your mail, Harry,” Ron told him, getting up to leave. “You best use Hedwig for all of it if ya answer, Erol’s pretty much wiped out.”

Erol, Harry knew, was the ancient gray owl that the Weasleys used for their mail. He was old, tired, and resembled a worn out feather duster.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry replied, tearing open the earliest dated letter from Seamus with trembling hands.

Ron smiled at him, and then leaned down as if to read over his shoulder. Harry slowly turned his head to look at the freckled face and pronounced nose of Ron’s. They stared at each other for a moment, then Ron simply said, “Like I was sayin’, why should you two have all the fun?” and kissed Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat as he watched Ron walking to the door. Once again, he had a pounding erection, and although Ron hadn’t chucked him out, he didn’t dare mention it yet. “R-ron?”

“Yea?” he replied, stopping at the door.

“Thanks … thanks for … er … not throwin’ me out and all,” Harry replied in a choked voice, “An’ for keepin’ my mail.”

Ron stepped back into his own room and watched as Harry, obviously on the verge of a nervous breakdown, stared back at him with haunted eyes.

“Oh for God’s sake, Harry, I grew up with Fred and George and me older brothers, too, you know. You think there’s not been some foolin’ around goin’ on here at The Burrow at one time or another?” Ron reassured him, kneeling down and offering Harry his shoulder, which Harry gratefully accepted. “Besides, don’ matter if’n you’re a poof or not. You’re me friend, and NOTHIN’ is gonna change that,” Ron told him, stroking Harry’s wild black hair and patting his back. “Not Dark Wizards, giant chess sets, three-headed dogs, or even Snape’s detentions!”

While Harry didn’t really cry on Ron’s shoulder, he held him for a long time, as his worries seemed to lighten. Ron had accepted it, seemed willing to even try it, and hadn’t turned on him. Despite the horrible summer, it seemed that things were improving and Harry couldn’t wait to read his mail from Seamus.

When he was finished with the pile of mail, Harry grabbed a ratty quill off of Ron’s desk and scribbled some hasty replies to Hermione, Neville, Hagrid and Prof. McGonagall. He briefly described his summer to Hermione, and then realized that he didn’t need to fully write it all out. With a wave of his Wand, he copied his story onto a draft to each of them and then added more to them, personally. Hedwig hooted and flapped at him, perched on his shoulder the whole time. Obviously, she had been worried that she was out of a job.

And then he came to composing his letter to Seamus.

With quill in hand and erection in pants, Harry began to write below the copied text of describing his horrible imprisonment.

Hedwig lifted her leg for Harry to attach the mail, and then she was off. Harry’s heart soared out with her, pounding in his chest at the thought of seeing Seamus again.

Then he thought of Draco Malfoy. Harry thought for a bit, watching the speck that was Hedwig vanish into the clouds, and decided to write the school. Then the thought came to him that Mr. Weasley worked in a very important Wizard office. Surely he would know what to do, even though he didn’t like the Malfoys. He ran downstairs, and watched in wonder as Mrs. Weasley used the fireplace and some magic powder to call Arthur at the office*.

Mr. Weasley’s face appeared in the dancing flames, and he looked concerned when his wife relayed Harry’s tale to him. “I’ll send a note to Wizards’ Family Services,” he replied. “I could care less if the silly little git blew himself up, extinguishing the Malfoy line in the process, but if Harry’s upset over it, there’s no use in all of us being troubled. Besides, if the little devil does succeed, then we’re liable.” Then he thought for a bit. “I’m sorry,” he continued, “That was petty of me. It’s not the boy’s fault, I supposed. I’ll let you know how he is if they find out anything.” And then his face vanished.

Harry stared at it in wonder. “Beats the heck out of a telephone,” he commented.

Mrs. Weasley’s face was grim. “You’re sure he said that, Harry?” She asked.

Harry nodded. “He told me that you couldn’t kill yourself with your own Wand. But … but how – unless he tried, how would he know? Do you think he might try something, else Ma’am?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” she replied. “I can’t begin to imagine the day to day horror of living with Lucius Malfoy, though.”

Hedwig didn’t return the next day, but Hermione’s owl did. Obviously, Seamus lived somewhere in the south end of Ireland while Hermione was much closer. There was nothing conclusive in her letter, so Harry and Ron decided to wait until she showed up to spend a few nights. Mrs. Weasley, of course, all surrounded by men and boys except for her one youngest daughter, was ecstatic. “Oh, another woman in the house,” she exclaimed at odd intervals, “Won’t it be grand?”

Ron shook his flaming red head every time she said it and muttered, “Mum’s gone mental.”

The next day brought a bit of shock, however. Hedwig turned up very early that morning, ruffled and out of sorts. She swooped in through Ron’s open window, landed on Harry’s head, and bit his ear. She then dropped his letter to Seamus back in his lap as the boy sat rubbing his ear. Like all of his own undelivered letters, Harry’s letter to Seamus was stamped with ‘UNABLE TO LOCATE RECIPIENT, CHECK ADDRESS AND FEED THE OWL.’

“What in bloody blue hell?” Harry swore, sniffing at Hedwig as she hooted at him. Ron raised his head up and yawned.

“What’s she on about, Harry?” he asked.

Harry sniffed. Hedwig’s breath smelled funny, and there was something green and scaly on the tip of her beak. She beat her wings once, and soared off to the barn for a nap. “My letter,” Harry held it up so that Ron could see it. “It came back.”

Ron came instantly awake. “You think it’s that damn elf again, Harry? All of mine to Seamus been goin’ through fine all summer!”

“But why would Dobby not want Seamus to talk to me, or me to him? I mean, now that I’m free of the Dursleys, what’s the point? He should know I’ll be headed back to school with you and the others, won’t he?”

“I don’t know Harry, but if Hedwig can’t find him, I know Erol won’t be able to. Hell, he’d die of a heart failure halfway to Dublin, you know.”

Harry sighed and got up. As usual, he was erect and his pajamas were tented out. Ron gawked at him and then laughed. “Don’t ya just hate that?” He asked innocently.

“Every damn morning,” Harry complained, clutching his erection. “WHY does this have to happen in the morning?”

Ron grinned. “Well at least Seamus doesn’t have this problem,” Ron mused, shivering a bit. “Damn, can you imagine? Reachin’ down there and findin’ nothin’ to grab onto?”

Harry could imagine, though, and the thought of Seamus’ smooth body instantly made him break out in a sweat. His erection twitched and he put on his glasses. Ron laughed again. “They say you go blind from doing that, you know,” he reminded Harry.

“Screw off!” Harry said jokingly. “I dint’ even know about it until … until …”

“Until Madam Pomfrey put that plug up your arse?” Ron laughed again. Then he raised a bushy red eyebrow at Harry. “Seems a shame to waste a good stiffy, doesn’t it?” Ron then scooted over in his bed and Harry pulled the blankets back, climbing in.

“You sure?” he asked in disbelief. “I mean, you ever done this before … I mean, with … with … another boy?”

“I have a ton of brothers, Harry, what do you think?” Ron reminded him, and Harry grinned at him, sliding his pajama shorts off. His 3 ½” erection, the foreskin sliding back almost far enough to reveal the glans, pointed right at Ron.

“I was so scared you’d hate me … hate us, I mean, me and Seamus,” Harry said in relief. “It’s not that I … er … well, you know, Ron … nobody really likes …”

“Doesn’t mean you’re a full-blown poof just ‘cause you wanked another boy, Harry,” Ron defended him, “And as for Seamus, well, like I said – he’s not really … you know … I mean, how could be – homosexual –“ Ron whispered the one word, “- if he’s not got … if he’s cut smooth like that? He’s sort of un-sexed now isn’t he? Not really a male?”

Harry thought about it for a bit as Ron slid his own shorts off to reveal his own erection, which was slightly larger than Harry’s and uncut as well. “You know, I hear in some countries, like the States across the pond there, that they circumcise all baby boys at birth!”

“What’s that mean?” Harry asked.

Ron then reached down and touched Harry’s foreskin, sliding it back as far as it would go. Harry moaned as the moist, sensitive glans was exposed. Then Ron let go, and the foreskin slid back into place, covering it totally with some tip to spare. “Now imagine,” he explained, pulling it back again, “If it was gone for good. This is what you’d look like!”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Tha’s nasty!” He exclaimed in shock. “Why would anyone chop of a little baby boy’s cock like that? Look at all that skin that comes off!”

“Fred and George told me about it,” Ron informed him. “You know Lee Jordan, that kinda biracial boy with the black braided hair in our House? The Quidditch commentator?”

Harry nodded, mouth agape. He remembered what Hagrid had said about the Weasley twins in his tool shed.

“Well, Lee IS circumcised,” Ron said flatly.

“NO!” Harry gasped, grasping his own uncut penis in shock. “WHY?!” Harry was, of course, almost completely unwound by this time.

“Got me,” Ron replied, playing with his own foreskin, “Some do it for religion, like the Jews. Some do it for medical things, like infections or it gets too tight to let you pee. I can see the medical part, but why just cut it off because it’s there? It’s not like it’s in the way. Some idiots even think it’s cleaner, safer, and makes your penis ‘cosmetically pleasing’.”

“Like anyone’s looking at it but YOU all the time!” Harry almost yelled, angry that anyone could even think of doing it to a boy unless it just HAD to be done.

“Well, they say that tight foreskins lead young boys to masturbate,” Ron supplied.

“How do they do it?” Harry breathed, fascinated and feeling like he was about to explode at any time.

“Probably with their left hand. Kidding! Well Lee was even able to show the twins how they did it,” Ron told him.
“A week before school took up, he had to get his done. Said it was too tight for him to even wank. THAT I can understand, you know, if it can’t move and it chokes your cock, you’d have to cut it loose, wouldn’t you?
Anyway, they said it had to come off while it was still loose enough to force it back. So they pull it back and put this plastic ring on his cock, right behind the head. Then they pull the skin back over it, far as it can go, and put another ring on outside the skin to pinch it. Lee said they wrapped a string around it like five times, pulled it really tight, anchored it, then trimmed the string and put the outer ring back further up and over the inner ring. The string cuts off the blood to the foreskin, and the rings hold it in place. Three days later, they take the outer ring off, which is screwed down tight. They snip a bit of the dead skin off, he said it was black by then, and left the string on over the inner ring. On the eighth day, they cut the string, peel it off, and then he just had to take a bath twice a day and soak until the inner ring come off with the dead foreskin! Bang, circumcised!”

“And it looked like this,” Harry asked, pulling his foreskin back and holding it, “Looked like this for good? Gone?”

Ron nodded. “And get this, Harry! Lee’s brother – a Muggle if you can believe it, does piercings an’ tattoos in London. They also told me Lee’s got a gold ring in the end of his cock, now, too! Goes in the peehole and comes out the bottom of it where the foreskin used to hook on.”

“WHY?!” Harry asked, fascinated, and eyeing Ron’s twitching erection.

Ron shook his flaming red head, and Harry tentatively reached out to touch him. He could hardly believe he was doing it. He could hardly believe that Ron was letting him do it.

I wish Seamus were here, he thought, I wish he could do this with us. I wish he could feel like … like he made me feel … I wish …

And then he saw it. Harry was amazed at the few wispy red hairs Ron had above his penis. It was not much, but to Harry, with his still hairless pubis, it was a rain forest of hair. And it certainly wasn’t lint! Harry was the first to take a hold of his three and a half inch tool and stroke it. Ron was not far behind to start rubbing his own four inch cock.

Both boys watched each other wank for a short time, and then Ron used his free hand and reached out and took a hold of Harry’s small balls. Ran felt each ball in the silky bag of skin and then pinched them together just hard enough to give Harry a small jolt of good pain. Harry gasped at the feeling and wanted to return the kindness to Ron, so he then reach out and took a hold of Ron’s small orbs of joy. Unlike Harry’s balls, which had not fully dropped yet, so as his scrotum was still close to his body, Ron’s balls had dropped about a year ago and so hung down pretty far. Harry loved the feel of Ron's family jewels as he played with them.

Both boys pulled away their hands and Harry shifted his body so his head was by Ron’s feet. This way they both had a much better view of each other jerking off. After a bit, Rob stopped his wanking and sat up. He pushed Harry’s hand away and then took a hold of the small, uncut dick. He slowly stroked the ridged tool. He loved how Harry’s foreskin was not as big as his, so when he had pulled down on the cock flesh, the purple head would show itself, but was soon to get covered up with the skin again as Ron’s hand pulled it back up. Ron used his other hand to once again play with Harry’s, not even hairy balls, once again.

Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of having another boy wank his toy. He could not believe how enjoyable it was. All to soon, Harry felt his orgasm start. Surprisingly, his first thought was of Seamus, and he had just enough time of coherent thought left to wonder if it would feel the same.

Ron felt Harry’s dick give a hard twitch, so he let go. He had a huge smile on his face, as he watched Harry’s penis give larger twitches, trying to shoot out fluids his young body had not started to make yet.

It’s NOT the same, he thought, panting.

When Harry’s dry orgasm was over and he had recovered, he sat up and looked into Ron's eyes. Not a word was said and Ron laid back. By now, Ron's dick had gone soft, but it did not take to much work from Harry’s warm hand to make Ron's rod as hard as a nail. Ron used his hands to play, pinch, and pull on his nipples as Harry masturbated his cock and pulled and rubbed his balls. Harry loved the feel of the small hairs above Ron’s dick and at times he would stop playing with Ron’s orbs to pull a little on the small hairs. Harry slowly sped up his pumping as he sensed Ron’s orgasm coming on.

Ron felt the orgasm hit him with more force then he was used to. He then felt his dick give a mighty twitch and then he felt wetness on his chin. He opened his eyes and looked at his cock. Harry had pulled the skin back all the way and the angry red glans was fully uncovered. Ron was very surprised when he saw a small blob of fluid spit out of the piss hole of his cock and land on his chest. Two more small spurts of cloudy and thick fluid came out and landed on Ron's belly. One more large blob of fluid came out of the tip and dribbled down and into Ron’s sparse hairs. Both boys examined and sniffed the fluid as they talked about it.

“Blimey!” Ron cried in surprise, “I shot! I’ve never shot before! Thanks Harry!”

Harry was looking perplexed, however. “It smells bad. Is that sperm?” he asked.

“Must be,” Ron agreed, “Hell, I could have kids now!”

But Harry’s were miles away, trying to figure out where Hedwig was with his reply. Despite the fun he’d just had with Ron, he was overrun with guilt. It’s not fair, he thought to himself.

The rest of the day passed with the boys practicing Quidditch in the orchard with apples instead of balls. All of the Weasley clan took turns riding Harry’s’ Nimbus 2000, and Harry was back in the swing of flying in no time. As they’d all said, he was a natural at it. The crown jewel of the day came when Mrs. Weasley, who had never ridden a newer broomstick than a Cleansweep, took off on the Nimbus 2000 and nearly collided with a passing jet at several thousand feet before she got control of it and landed, frazzled and fuming.

“And they let YOU ride these things at your age?!” She shrieked, shaking the broomstick at Harry, who nodded helplessly.

That night at the dinner table, Mr. Weasley came stalking in with an odd look on his face. He held up a copy of a Muggle newspaper, pointing to the headline. Red-haired Witch Almost Crashes Broom Into Jet! Being in the Office of Magic, of course, Mr. Weasley had had a lot of explaining to do and the Ministry was scrambling to smooth over the incident. “Blame it on me,” Harry suggested, “I’m in enough trouble already, wot with Dobby and all.”

“Well Harry, I think we can salvage …” but Mr. Weasley was interrupted by a blast of flame from the fireplace as a flickering image appeared in those flames. It was a young boy with closely cropped blonde hair cut into a flattop style. He wore a silver earring in his left ear, and a beaded chain around his neck. It looked as if he were tanned as well, and not wearing a shirt. His hazel eyes were red and puffy, and he was fanning his face. He looked to be about Ron and Harry’s age, maybe a bit younger.

“HELLO, ‘ellooow? Can anyone hear me?” The boy almost screamed. “Is Harry Potter there? I ‘av to talk to Harry Potter!” He cried in a thick Irish accent.

“Oh Lord,” Mr. Weasley groaned, staring into the flames at the frightened looking boy. “Who IS that?”

Harry, however, had already dashed to the fireplace. “I’m Harry, who are you? What’s wrong?”

The boy in the flames seemed to peer in at him. “Back off or you’ll singe your face,” Mrs. Weasley called out, “Arthur, I think that boy’s a Muggle! Look at him! No Wizard gets that close to the floo!”

“Seamus calls me that too!” The boy cried, fanning at the smoke and coughing. “Harry, he said ye ‘ave to come! He said you’d know whut ta do! What in hell is this stuff he gimme?”

“Seamus?” Harry cried, “Who are YOU, and what’s wrong with Seamus?”

“Me name’s Darby, I live down the way a bit from Seamus. Harry, can ye come? Come to Waterville, Ireland, ‘n fast, Harry! Seamus said you wuz the only one wut could help!”

“Tha’s gotta be the Muggle boy that Seamus knows!” Ron explained, “Remember Harry? The one he bikes with that lives nearby? Remember when he was worried about no one knowing him at home?”

“Yea, we wuz bikin’ today,” Darby cried, his voice raspy from the smoke. “Seamus kept tellin’ me ‘e was a’waitin’ fer a letter from ya, ‘Arry. We was o’er near the pond, crossin’ the bridge when this fella in a black robe come outta nowhere! Seamus just stared a’ ‘im fer a bit, then he turned ‘round an’ told me to run, told me t’ go in ‘is room and get a bag off his desk, ‘twas yeller, ‘e said, said to throw it in the fire and start yellin’ fer you! Said you’d be at Ron’s place!”

“This man,” Mr. Weasley asked, shaking, “Was he wearing a black ROBE? Could you see his face?”

Mrs. Weasley, however, had pulled out something that looked like a phone book gone mad. It was gibbering at her in a woman’s voice as she flipped the pages. “Waterville, Ireland? Are ya daft, lady? Thas’ on the other side of the continent, don’t’cha know?”

Then Darby shook his head, ignoring Mrs. Weasley’s book. “No sir, but ‘e held up his arms t’ grab Seamus, and I seen this ugly tattoo on his left one. Looked like a snake, an’ ‘bout then a big white owl come screamin’ down outta the sky an’ ripped a chunk outta his arm! Bit the hell outta ‘im, it did! Biggest bird I e’er saw. Then he grabs Seamus, pointed a stick a’ him, and Seamus just fell over, like ‘e was dead! Then the man picked ‘im up, an they just VANISHED! PUFF! Right inta thin air, takin’ Seamus wit’ ‘im! I come and got the powder fast as I could, I did jus’ wha’ Seamus told me!”

Harry set his jaw. The tiny, fine little hairs were standing on end all over his body, and his stomach was rolling. He pulled out his 9” Holly wand and held it up for Darby to see. “Did the stick look like this?” he asked.

But Darby’s face had gone deathly pale. “Tha’s the same bloody stick, ‘Arry! ‘ow’d ya know?”

“You did the right thing, Darby,” Mr. Weasley told him, shaking his head. “The Ministry is going to have a fit on this one! Seamus having a Muggle friend do magic, emergency or not! This flies right in the face of my Muggle Protection Act! Abduction in front of a Muggle witness!”

“Dad,” Ron interrupted, “If this Wizard grabbed Seamus, then he saw Darby. The boy’s not safe. You better bring him here while the fireplace has him connected, unless he’s at Seamus’ house, you’ll never find his Floo again! They might come for him too!”

“But dad,” Fred interrupted him, with George close behind him, “If Darby got the Floo powder to work, doesn’t that mean that he might be a Wizard, just too young to know it, I mean, if he’s got Muggle parents?”

“Good point, son,” Mrs. Weasley agreed. “Arthur, reach in there and get the boy, now!”

Harry was shaking in rage as Mr. Weasley tossed another powder in and vanished into the fire. In seconds, he was back with a shaking and crying Darby in his arms. He didn’t’ have a shirt on, and he was wearing only blue nylon soccer shorts and a pair of ratty looking sneakers. The boy rubbed his soot-stained face, wiped his eyes, and looked around.

When his eyes fell on Harry, however, he jumped down and ran to him. Harry caught him, and the boy suddenly burst into tears, clutching Harry as if he were afraid to let go and hanging on for his very life.

“’E took ‘im, ‘Arry,” the boy sobbed, “Who wuz it? Wha’ wuz it? Magic?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, breaking about five rules in the process. “That was a Dark Wizard, Darby, and he’s probably taken Seamus somewhere far away,” he told him, not wanting to upset him by telling him that the Wizard would probably come back looking for him too.

But Darby was beginning to get a bit of control back, and he eased back to stare at the Wand in Harry’s hand. “Seamus does magic, sometimes, ye know. Most ‘o the time, he just burns his hair off, but he tries. An’ tha’s the stick,” he whispered, choking, as he reached out to touch it. Harry pulled it back.

“No, Darby, it wasn’t THIS Wand … er … stick. It was one like it, though.”

“He did magic in front of you?” Mr. Weasley groaned, and Darby nodded at him. “But then how … why didn’t he get a letter like you did, Harry?”

“The Overlook-Me Spell,” Fred and George said in tandem.

“Seamus was ‘a’tellin’ the truth then,” Darby breathed, gazing at Harry’s face. Very slowly, he reached up and parted Harry’s bangs. He gasped as he saw the lightning bolt scar. “You’re really Harry Potter,” he whispered. Then he started to cry again.

It took a while for Darby to get control of himself. Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley was deep in conversation with several heads floating in the fireplace. He’s placed a conference call to the Ministry of Magic. They were arguing about Memory Charms for the boy, erasing the event from his mind, what to do with him, contact his parents, how to locate Seamus, and several other petty details involved whenever a Wizard made such a mess with Muggles. Their conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast, though.

Finally, Harry had had enough. He stood up, passed Darby to Mrs. Weasley, and approached the fireplace.

“Sirs,” he interrupted in a loud voice, “May I talk to you?”

“Harry, now is not a good time,” Mr. Weasley told him.

“Seamus is missing, sir,” Harry replied, “And I don’t think these men know exactly why. All they know is that someone grabbed him, Disapparated with him, and that Darby – a Muggle – saw them.”

“What else is there to know, son?” One of the heads asked from the flames.

“Weren’t you listening, sir?” Harry asked, annoyed, “The man had a snake tattoo on his arm. He was wearing black, and Darby says his Wand looked like mine,” Harry explained, holding his 9” Holly Wand up for them to see. “I sent Seamus a letter, but my owl came back with it today, UNABLE TO LOCATE RECIPIENT, CHECK ADDRESS AND FEED THE OWL stamped on it – just like all of mine that Dobby intercepted. Ron had no problems prior to today mailing Seamus. AND my owl also had a bit of green skin clinging to her beak, and her breath smelled bad. Darby said a big white owl attacked the man who took Seamus. It must have been Hedwig!”

The silence closed in upon them as they thought about it. It was a serious breach of Wizard/Muggle relations, but the men seemed only interested in damage control, and not in finding Seamus. Finally, after more arguing, Mrs. Weasley announced that she was going to give Darby a mild sedative and put him to bed. “It’s chilly at night, and the poor lad’s practically naked,” she complained, hoisting his slight frame up and heading upstairs with him. “I’ll be puttin’ him in your bed, Ron.”

“You can’t keep the boy,” someone told her, “He’s not a Wizard! He can’t see what’s in your house!”

“Aren’t you listening to me?” Harry screamed at them, and the heads pulled back. Rules or not, manners or not, this was serious and no one seemed to want to listen to him. “There’s only ONE other Wand like mine in the whole world, sirs! The man at Ollivander’s told me so, and it belongs to Voldemort!”

They all jumped at the name, and Harry pointed at Darby. “You say the boy’s a Muggle. Fine. Then how did he get Floo powder to work? How was it he could hang around with Seamus, a Wizard, and be his friend then? How was it he even noticed Seamus to begin with, what with the Overlook-Me Charm?” Harry was trying to think fast, before another letter from the Misuse of Magic lady showed up.* “I propose that Darby is probably a latent Wizard, sirs, since he only looks about ten or eleven to me, and that the laws don’t apply here! Darby, how old are you?”

Mrs. Weasley froze at the foot of the stairs.

“I jus’ turned eleven last week,” Darby replied in confusion, “Me birthday’s late and messed me up startin’ school.”

“You see?” Harry told them, “The Hogwart’s Owl is probably en route now with his acceptance letter. It’s about the same time before September 1 as when I got mine! Therefore, the rules about Muggles don’t apply to Darby, and now you can get going on looking for Seamus!”

It was a scandal, of course, and Harry could hear the words “expelled,” “juvenile delinquent,” and “prison,” in their heated debate. It seemed that they were more concerned with having Harry arrested now for Magic abuse than with finding Seamus! Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Harry motioned to Darby.

The frightened boy came to stand next to Harry with Mrs. Weasley close by, but he could see the trust in those bloodshot hazel eyes. Very carefully, Harry handed him his Wand. Darby let go of Mrs. Weasley’s hand and took it. A strange orange light filled the room, and a blast of cool air blew the smoke away from the fireplace. Darby seemed to glow in the light of Harry’s Wand, a fiery nimbus of Power, and everyone gasped in shock.

“Harry, NO!” Mr. Weasley cried, reaching out, but it was too late. Darby nodded at Harry, as if already knowing what to do, and aimed the Phoenix-feather-powered Holly Wand at a planter on Mrs. Weasley’s windowsill. He concentrated, waved the wand with a movement that would have earned him an ‘A+’ in Professor Flitwick’s class, and suddenly a bushy geranium burst into life and began to bloom. The flowers shifted in color from red to pink to white to red again, and the unique smell of the leaves filled the room as the plant grew and grew.

Harry sneezed.

“Blimey!” Ron cried, “It’s Seamus’ flower! You sneezed, Harry! It’s the same flower!”

Mr. Weasley, however, was beside himself with triumph. “Gentlemen, I believe that the general Wizard in Distress order applies here, since Darby is obviously NOT a Muggle. I think we need to call an emergency Ministry meeting, now! In the meantime, I’m taking the boy into temporary protective custody.”

“Over the abduction of one other boy?” A fat man in the fire said, “Weasley, are you out of your mind? Do you know how much that would cost?”

“ONE BOY?” Harry screamed at them, “One boy? Where were you all at when Voldemort was murdering MY parents? Where were you when he gave me this scar? Where were you when he was out trying to take over? Hiding behind desks?” Harry shouted, angrier than he’d ever been in his life, “Sirs, I’m sorry. I may only be a Second Year Hogwart’s Student, but I promise you, if I have to, I’ll go after Seamus myself, and I WILL bring him back!”

“And what makes YOU think you can stop the Dark Lord, Potter, even if it is him? Voldemort’s almost dead, and he’s not coming back. Last we heard, he was little more than a shade fleeing from Albus Dumbledore. He doesn’t even have a body anymore.”

Harry nodded. “Exactly. Thanks to me.”
Harry couldn’t believe the gloating tone in his own voice, and it almsto made him ill. Still, it got their undivided attention and he went on, loudly.
“I stopped him and nearly destroyed him when I was only a baby. He tried to kill me, and failed. His Powers failed him, and he collapsed. I stopped him from getting to The Sorcerer’s Stone when he took over Professor Quirrell, and he fled again. Do any of you have any clue WHY Voldemort or his followers want Seamus, sirs?”

No one said a word. Obviously, no one did.

“Because he’s just what Voldemort needs, sirs. Seamus Finnegan is a twelve year old boy, a Wizard, and with the Mark of Wild Power upon him.”

“You don’t mean,” one of the men said, but their conversation soon turned into a heated, garbled argument. Harry could tell, though, that he’d gotten their attention again. The fireplace began to widen then, and very suddenly the room was filled with men in neat suits from the Ministry of Magic. Darby gasped in shock as they began Apparating around them, some of them stepping out of the fireplace. One of them took Harry by the shoulder, and asked him, in a low voice, “Harry, how can you be sure? ARE you sure, or did Seamus just tell you that? It’s hardly more than a legend, a fairy tale!”

Harry looked over at Ron, who nodded and smiled at him. Ron got up and came to stand by Harry then, putting his arm about Harry’s shoulders. “I’m positive,” Harry replied.

“So am I,” said Ron, “I saw it too.”

“It’s been two-hundred years, Harry,” another man said, “Two centuries since the Mark showed up, and a century since Alessandro Grimaldi died. How can we be sure?”

Harry took a deep breath. Despite the humiliation, despite the Overlook-Me Charm, despite everything they’d done to keep Seamus safe and his condition as a eunuch a secret, Harry knew that he was going to have to spill it. He politely asked for everyone to leave the room, leaving only he and Ron and the men from the Ministry. Mrs. Weasley led Darby up the stairs to Ron’s room.

“I know sir,” Harry told them, “Because I know the Mark of Wild Power. I saw it with my own eyes on Seamus’ body. I touched it. I know all about Klingsor, the Fifth Founder of Hogwart’s, and how he was castrated and how he was driven off in disgrace. I know how he cursed the Knife that cut him, and all about Eunuch Wizards. I also know all about the Knife of Klingsor, and I’ve seen it. I know that some of you were in on having Seamus cut with it, and I know that Voldemort will probably be coming after it. I also know exactly where the Knife is right NOW.”

No one said a word. It seemed that being a Eunuch Wizard was something that everyone in the higher-ups of the Ministry knew about, and with good reason. Power like Seamus’, even uncontrolled, was something that had to be watched carefully.

“The proverbial cat just ripped his way out of the bag, gentlemen,” the fat man said in a dead voice. “Shit. Might ‘av known Potter would dive right into the middle of it.”

“So what will Vold-uh … HE do with the boy, do you think?” Mr. Weasley asked no one in particular.

“Arthur, I don’t think you want to know the answer to that question,” the first man said grimly, and the fat man nodded. The rest of them said nothing.

But Harry’s face had gone flat. A vision of Professor Quirrell, the backside of his bald head taken over by the remnants of Lord Voldemort, came to his mind. He imagined Seamus, probably held in a Full Body-Bind Curse, helpless to stop the spirit of the Dark Lord from possessing him as well and stealing his Wild Powers. With a grim look, he held up his Wand. Even though he didn’t know how he did it, Harry watched as a small puff of smoke issued forth from the end of his Wand and formed the vision from his mind for all to see.

It was not pretty, and Ron choked back a strangled cry.

“He’ll possess him,” Harry said in a deadly quiet voice, “He’ll take him over. Voldemort needs a new body, and I’m sure he’d be happy with a little boy’s. He’s been disembodied for so long, I don’t think he’ll mind being a eunuch. He’ll probably be glad to be a boy again. So go ahead, don’t believe me. Argue and do your stupid paperwork. Let’s just wait until he possesses Seamus, comes back to Hogwart’s on September 1, and attacks the whole ruddy school! But know this – expelled or not, rules or not – come morning, I AM going after them!”

“WE’RE going after them,” Ron added, stepping up next to his best friend.

*See chapter 1, book 2.