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The Knockturn Alley Ballad

Fic: The Knockturn Alley Ballad

Nov. 26th, 2011 08:34 am



Title: The Knockturn Alley Ballad
Author: carolinelamb
Prompt: #156. In the dark corners of Knockturn Alley, you can find every manner of indulgence and sin imaginable, if you know the right place to look. What better place for Harry to seek out a 'pretty little thing' to bring in his 25th birthday with.
Prompt submitted by: deirdre_aithne
Pairing: Harry/Snape, Harry/Others, Snape/Others,
Word count: ~26,500
Rating: NC-17, baby ;))
Warning(s) (Highlight to view):*Prostitution, Crossdressing, Genderbending, Felching, Rimming, Non-con (mentioned), Dub-con, Fisting, Rape (not explicit), Het, Snape/Kingsley Shacklebolt (mentioned)*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Dear Prompter! I tried to keep true to your prompt but forgot to include Harry’s birthday :( I’m very sorry! Thank you, dear Betas and Helpers who shall remain unnamed for now. You know who you are!
THANK YOU DEAREST MODS FOR HAVING SO MUCH PATIENCE WITH ME!(I hope you let me sign up next year too ;)
Summary: The Wizarding world has changed drastically after the war. While many have fled or gone into exile, Harry Potter has chosen to stay.

The Knockturn Alley Ballad


Just Another Night


"Like that?"

"Oh yes." Harry sighed and sank against the brick wall behind him. One of the two girls was on her knees sucking his prick. Her hair was a bright blonde and he could see her head bobbing back and forth like a small, pale cloud in the darkness.

The other one was in his arms, rubbing on him, biting his neck playfully. He thought about getting a room and fucking them both.

The blonde was giving her best, but although he was hard he couldn't seem to feel anything. He’d drunk too much again.

After a while, when he began to feel sorry for her sore jaw, Harry stopped her and paid her fifteen galleons. She thanked him and he even paid the dark-haired one, although she didn't really do anything. Then he pulled his pants up, fastened his belt buckle, and staggered deeper into his new favourite world that was Knockturn Alley.

Harry knew he didn't belong here. He was an intruder. Wandering through this intricate maze of small cobbled streets he always felt the way he had felt in his first year in Hogwarts. (How wondrous and alien it all had seemed to him then.) Since the Wizarding World had almost become a prison, his affection for Hogwarts or Hogsmeade had lessened a great deal. Now that travelling in and out of Wizarding Britain had become so difficult, Diagon Alley wasn’t as enticing to him as it used to be. Things had changed after the war, and Harry understood the need for dire measures to restrict the escape of former Death Eaters, but he also felt that the world he once had perceived as the embodiment of freedom had taken on a sinister cast.

Not that Knockturn Alley wasn’t sinister, of course. But Knockturn Alley had always been disturbing and dodgy. Knockturn Alley had never pretended to be anything else. To Harry, there was something comforting in that. True, many of the new laws that had affected the Wizarding world after the war had also changed Knockturn Alley, but its residents were famous for resilience and endurance even in the hardest and darkest of times.

Coming here always remained an adventure. Him all alone with his wand, strolling through the alleys and little side streets, dragging his feet over cobbled pavements, ducking under low arches, pressing himself against rough brick walls. Often he expected Snape to emerge out of the darkness again, all forbidding in black teaching robes or in his long grey night shirt with that stern look on his white face, the cold black eyes, admonishing him.

The main street of the area that had given Knockturn Alley its name had been broadened over the centuries and looked nearly respectable now, especially since many of former supporters of Voldemort had moved here. Behind that main street smaller alleys branched off, some of them even equipped with Fidelius charms so that one could only find them if one knew the name or a specific password.

Harry liked the small squares, with their little moving statues and fountains in them, naked, blind cherubs with sad, mournful eyes and dark, blackwinged seraphs that were looking down on him from their pedestals. Some of the larger squares were lit with a few floating candles that threw ghostly shadows over the walls. Some were shrouded completely in darkness. The inhabitants of Knockturn Alley and most of its visitors had no interest in being seen. And naturally, he didn't want to be seen or recognised either, which was why his hair was a dark brown and his eyes were a pale blue. There was no scar on his forehead and he didn’t wear his glasses. The darkness in Knockturn Alley was equally kind to everyone and since the end of the war he had come to appreciate that.

Voices, sighs, obscene sucking noises, and moans drifted up through the darkness to him. He smiled. Here and there he could see silhouettes with a small, candle-like Lumos staggering around, likely drunk or drugged tricks.

Harry looked for his bottle, found it and took a swig, and spit it out. Champagne ... he must have taken the wrong bottle, he didn’t even like champagne. Still, a drink was a drink, so he took another swig and forced the vile bubbles down.

The proverb "All cats are grey in the dark" came to his mind. Well, that certainly applied to Knockturn Alley. When the night crept in, all the whores looked alike. Each one wore a Glamour anyway, and most of them were capable of modifying their appearances and their genders on request.

Tonight he was in the mood for watching. He kept strolling around, aimlessly, but quietly, looking for a rentboy and a female hooker. He wanted to take them to one of the rooms one could rent hourly and let them fuck each other and he would just sit and watch, and then he wanted to fuck the boy while eating her cunt and her ass.

It would be an acrobatic exercise, but lately his tastes were running wild. His sexual fantasies had been rather tame in the past, but recently the images burning brightly inside his mind were more than disturbing, and oh, fucking hot.

It was so dark he couldn't even see his own prick in the darkness. After stumbling around for some time, his faithful bottle in his right hand, he found himself suddenly leaning against a brick wall opposite a tall figure dressed in a shabby, hooded cloak. Knockturn Alley magic, cheap, dirty, and borrowed swirled around him. A long white leg contrasted starkly with the darkness. The figure tilted its head, then drew slowly drew back the hood. A pale long face and bony white shoulders emerged from the darkness. He tried to focus on the features but he couldn’t really see much. Maybe the whore's glamour was spelled to disguise him.

"Looking for entertainment?"

The voice did him in.

It was so dark, a man's voice. The whore looked at him with an amused smile on his face. (For a brief moment he got a glimpse at the whore’s face, the malicious glint in his eyes, the ugly bared teeth.)

Then slowly the whore parted his shabby cloak, caressing himself in an obscene manner. Harry followed the movements of the long, spidery fingers with drunken fascination.
The whore wore high heeled, tall, hooker boots, laced and black and emphasising the white flesh of his thighs. A dark satin corset didn’t cover his erect nipples nor the winter-white, smooth skin of his soft belly, equally white even as the tight lacing created the illusion of curves, a pinched-in waist, hips. The artificial, shaved cunt the hooker had borrowed for this night, bought with expensive galleons in one of Knockturn Alley’s notorious "apothecaries", was barely hidden behind black knickers.

Nothing else. That was all the whore was wearing under his cloak. Sure, in that line of work no other clothing was required, but still that … outfit was quite daring. What if he was caught by the Aurors for soliciting?

Harry swallowed.

"Show me your arse," he demanded, and the whore laughed. The sound sent shivers down Harry's spine. The whore not only obediently turned around, lifting the cloak but even bent down and pushed the knickers aside.

"Light your wand. Have a good look, boy," he said.

Harry’s lips formed a wordless 'Lumos' that caused the whore to sharply turn around and study him intently with narrowed eyes. "If you handle your other wand as well as your magic we’re both in for a good time," he murmured with a sneer. He deftly grabbed his buttocks and pulled them apart to give Harry the best view possible.

The little arse hole was nice, all pink and clenching, and that cunt was wet.

"Fuck," Harry said. It came out like a whimper. Before he could even think Harry put his hand greedily on the whore's arse.

"How much?" he asked already opening his pants, freeing his hard prick.

"For fucking my cunt? Ten Galleons."

"Can I fuck your arse too?" Harry panted, his hand digging hastily in his trousers for the heavy coins. He felt like a greedy child in a sweet shop.

The whore laughed again. "Another ten galleons, then. But you fuck my cunt first, then my ass, not the other way round, and no going back and forth either."

Harry didn’t make a remark about Cleaning charms. Some Knockturn Alley inhabitants didn’t have all of their magic, especially former supporters of the Death Eaters. He could clearly feel that the man in front of him possessed no magic whatsoever.

"Twenty galleons? For fucking you both ways? God, you’re cheap," Harry said hoarsely.

"Maybe you shouldn't point that out during negotiations," the whore replied tersely, in a strangely familiar accent but still in the same position, bending lower so he could show more of his arsehole and the wet, swollen cunt.

Harry felt that if he pressed his tongue against it, it would pulse hotly. He noted interestedly that the pale pink colour of the cunt got darker and redder as he looked. He pushed the money carelessly into the whore's hand and tentatively inserted a finger.

God, it was wet. And tight.

No need to get too excited about that, Harry reminded himself. It was very likely spelled. Most whores here took potions or frequented one of the countless wizards and witches who offered their services for a small fee … but this was good work. If that beautiful cunt was spelled to be so tight and hot and wet, it was outstanding work.

As was to be expected, the whore started moaning. Usually Harry didn’t like them to be too vocal. He didn't really care about the whole fake moaning show and preferred them to shut up. It took him even longer to achieve orgasm because it threw him off his game, and once or twice he’d even asked a very loud girl to be more quiet. Sometimes, when he was drunk enough, he asked them to talk dirty, but probably most men did.

He was about to open his mouth when he found that he actually liked the sounds. They sounded real to him. The dark silky voice seemed to wrap itself around his cock.

He searched for a place to put his wand, then simply stuck it into a gap between two bricks a bit above the whore’s head where it threw a bleak, dirty light over them.

"Don't worry about protection, sailor. I got it all covered," the rentboy growled. "Just shove it in."

That sounded almost like begging and it excited Harry even more.

With the tip of his hard cock, he teased the opening of the cunt. So wet. He didn’t plunge in, just enjoyed the warm silky skin, spread the juice and massaged the clit.

The whore braced himself against the wall, legs spread, pushing his arse against Harry’s cock without caring if anyone could see them. His shamelessness aroused Harry even more.

"You're fucking incredible," he whispered.

"Come on, fuck me, you paid already for it," moaned the whore.

And Harry did.

He wanted to fuck him hard and fast, but in the last moment he braced himself, and grabbed the pale arse. He held it firmly in place while he slid in as slowly as possible. When only the mushroom head was in, he stopped.

"Oh yes, please, oh fuck," the whore whined. He tried to push against him, to impale himself on Harry’s cock, and he could feel the urgent, pleading clenching, but Harry only grinned and stopped.

"You’re an eager slut," he said.

The whore said nothing, but continued to move back and forth. Harry could see the muscles underneath that white skin straining.

"Beg for it then," hissed Harry.

The man knew this game of course."Please ... please fuck me."

Harry pulled back.

The whore cried out and begged louder.

Harry noticed that the cunt was so juicy that the inner thighs were completely wet. His cock was glistening.

"Oh, you're a good fuck," he moaned and rammed in hard, and the whore cried out again.

"Yes, yes, yes," the whore babbled, convulsing around him.

From the corner of the eye he saw three men coming into the alley, doubtlessly lured by the sounds. If the man didn't care, Harry wouldn’t care either. The men were near enough now so that the whore could see them, know they were not alone, but he didn’t seem to be bothered.

At. All.

Harry reached around and pressed his palm against the pulsing vulva. With the other hand, he reached for one of the nipples and started rolling and teasing it.

The other blokes were leaning against the wall some metres away, watching the show, and as far as Harry could see all of them had their cocks in their hands. It was odd being watched as he fucked in the street.

He heard one of the men quietly muttering, "Yes, come on, show us your pussy."

The whore spread his buttocks with one hand and stroked the pink pucker with one long finger. Harry watched fascinated, then let his nipple go and gathered some of the cunt juice with his fingers. He inserted one into the arse hole. Immediately, it clenched around him, virtually begging for more.

"Fuck me in the ass ... I need it so badly."

"Yes, you do, don’t you?" Harry pushed in hard, and the whore wailed.

When he’d stretched her enough with his fingers, Harry pulled out of her. He admired the well-fucked, now red cunt, and the eager, clenching arse hole. Smirking, he stroked the cleft with wet fingers.

"On your knees," Harry commanded and the whore obeyed.

He gestured for the men who were still wanking to come closer. "Suck their cocks. Five galleons and they could come into your mouth, all right?"

The whore eagerly nodded and skidded on his knees towards the men. Harry had an idea. He reached into his pockets and found another five galleon coin.

"Here! Five galleons for sucking them and letting them come on your face?" he asked breathlessly.

"Give me my money first," the whore demanded with a hoarse voice. Harry pressed the coins into those long, white fingers, and then he grabbed the nearest cock and began licking.

"Like this?" he asked between licks.

"Oh, yes," Harry hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue.

"Oh, yeah, you dirty slut." The bloke in the middle was furiously wanking. He looked at Harry questioningly and Harry nodded. The man grabbed the whore's hair and yanked him away from his mate. "Now suck my cock."

The whore obeyed and took the cock of the middle bloke into his mouth and started sighing and moaning. Then he took his friends' cocks in his hands and started pulling and wanking them. Harry couldn't believe how deep he could take it. He stroked his own cock as slowly as possible, afraid to come too early.

All of the three blokes were close now, groaning and panting.

"Come on his face," he ordered them, and since he was the one paying, nobody objected. They directed their cocks at the rentboy’s face and soon the man in the middle shot his load directly into an eager face and a wide open mouth. The whore lapped at it like a dog, and Harry groaned openly now. Then the bloke to the left came as well, and he yanked the whore’s lanky hair so that he faced him and spent himself onto that pale face and dark hair as well. Finally, the bloke on the right came as well and Harry was nearly pushed over the edge when he saw how eagerly the whore licked up the come. With a laugh, the man wiped his cock into the whore’s face and hair and then pushed him away. They all tucked themselves in and Harry made an impatient gesture for them to leave.

Finally alone again, the whore lowered himself onto all fours, wiped some come of from his face, and begun to roughly prepare his hole, presenting his arse to Harry.

"Fuck me," he begged again. Harry placed his cock at the loosened, slick hole and pushed in. The hole gripped Harry's cock and he whined, revelling in the heat. Faintly he heard himself, his own voice nearly unrecognisable, his balls slapping against the whore's ass.

"So you like that, don’t you?"

When Harry was close, he pulled his cock out, took the wand from its place the brick wall, and cast a Cleaning charm on it, just to be safe. After Harry had to repeat that charm three times because he was too excited to focus, the whore laughed, then sucked Harry’s aching cock greedily.

Harry started teasing and rubbing the swollen, erect nipples with shaking fingers.

"Oh, yes," he panted. He was coming. Desperately, in Harry’s last coherent moments, he tried to decide if he would let him swallow everything or if he wanted to shoot it into his face. But then his orgasm overtook him, rolled over him like a wave pounding the shore, and he came hard down that strong throat. Harry heard him gulping and swallowing and felt that long tongue teasing the last bit out of his slit.

"Oh, fuck," the whore panted. Harry looked down and saw that he was still furiously fucking himself as he knelt. Harry sagged against the opposite wall, boneless, limp, still in a sweet haze.

The whore changed position. His knees must hurt. He was lying on his back now, the cloak underneath as he let his legs fall apart. He moaned more quietly now and masturbated faster, eagerly impaling himself on his fingers.

Harry looked at the widespread cunt and couldn't tear his eyes away. What a feast! Harry went down on his knees to see more and crawled closer, between those long legs just as the whore came with a long sob, his fingers pushed all the way in, convulsing and arching his whole upper body.

The whore relaxed slowly, lying there for quite a while and panting harshly, uncaring of potential passers-by.

Harry sat back on his heels. When he could speak again, which took a while, he said, "You really are quite a good fuck."

"So I’ve been told," the man replied. Again Harry thought he could see a smirk in the dark, which was odd because he couldn't see much else. Harry felt the ridiculous urge to stroke that pale face, but suppressed it at the last moment.

"Well, I don’t know about you," said the whore, still in his exposed, open pose, the powerful scents of spunk and sex wafting from him, "but I am done here."

Finally, he closed his legs and got on his knees, grabbing at one or two coins lying on the ground. His eyesight must have been remarkable since he could see those coins in the dark.

"So, what's your name?" asked Harry.

"I beg your pardon?" the whore asked back in an incredulous tone. Harry nearly reared back. For one moment the deliberate street slang had slipped and exposed a refined accent. The other man seemed to have caught on to his mistake as well, as he immediately followed up with a hoarse


"Your name!" repeated Harry impatiently. "Whatever you call yourself. Candy, Honey, Fuck toy, whatever."

"Do you want to write me a letter or something?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, but you're a nice, cheap fuck, so I'd like to find you again next time when I come here."

The whore laughed. "Just for you, insolent boy, I'll raise my rates." He got up and pulled the filthy cloak close around his body and pulled the hood up. "Now bugger off, won't you?"

"Your name," insisted Harry.

"Bugger off I said, didn't I! If you want to fuck, you'll find me next time. And if you don’t, you'll find another fuck. I’m too tired to make up some name for you. So long, mate. Off. You. Go."

Somehow the voice and the tone was familiar, but Harry couldn't place where he’d heard it before. Very likely it was spelled to sound different anyway.

"Not very eager to build a client base, are you?"

"If you blab on, I'll charge you for my wasted time."

"Right, for the time you waste not getting buggered by some random blokes." Harry snorted and got up. He almost lost his balance. The rentboy held him in a stronger, firmer grip than Harry had thought he’d have and then even squeezed Harry’s butt.

Harry giggled. "Thanks, 'm a bit drunk."

"Really? You don’t say," the man drawled and pushed him off. "Alright ... off with you."

Harry walked away, shaking his head about himself and the whole encounter, when something else occurred to him.

"Hey!" he called into the darkness.

"Still here?" came a hissed answer. "What now?"

"Are you always a … woman?"

"No, you imbe—it was a potion!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know but–"

"But what? For Merlin’s sake, if I would have known what a nosy, clingy boy you’d be I wouldn’t have wasted my time with you! The answer is no! I sometimes work in my male form. And now for the umpteenth time, off with you!"

Harry walked away, still a bit unsteady and heard the whore mutter to himself, "Imbecile."

Harry smiled to himself even though he didn't know why he smiled at being called an imbecile. It was like being back in school.

Only a week later, Harry ran straight into him. He recognised him at once, too. Same pale, bony shoulders, same corset. This time, though, no shaved, naked cunt on display. Instead, transparent black knickers clung to a nice, hard dick. The tip of the rather short but impressively thick cock peeked over the waistband, no doubt strategically placed there by its owner to entice potential clients.

Harry was so enticed, he could barely swallow.

His nerves were singing, the greed and the hunger in him already awakening.

"So how much for a fuck?" he asked. He didn't recognise his own voice.

"I told you my rates last week already and they're fairly simple," the man snapped impatiently.

Charming. And a real sales talent.

"You also told me that you were going to raise your rates," Harry replied evenly.

"You seem to be eager to get rid of your money, boy," the whore said in a bored tone.

"How much do you take for a blowjob?" Harry asked, ignoring that last statement.

"Five galleons."

"How much for the whole night?"

"I really left a lasting impression on you, didn't I?" The man sneered unkindly.

"Well, yes, so how much?"

The rentboy lit a cigarette and blew the smoke directly into Harry’s face.

"I don’t do whole nights."

"How. Much. Do. You. Charge?" Harry hissed. Merlin, that man was insufferable. He couldn’t remember the last time someone was able to drive him nuts like this. Also his cock was aching. He rubbed it through his trousers, adjusted it.

"Don't bother, boy," the whore hissed. "I. Don't. Do. Whole. Nights." His response was a mockery of Harry’s tone.

"What? What do you mean?" Harry was dumbfounded.

"For Merlin's sake, you truly are an imbecile," sneered the whore and the feeling of a déjà vu hit Harry on the back of the head like a bludger. He was only a thin sliver of a moment away from catching a name, but then it faded again.

"So," he said slowly. "You suck my cock. You got to suck three blokes off and let them come on your face." He had to pause, he was so hard. He was close to the whore now, could see black hollows where the eyes should be, the smirk, the pale white skin of his face stretched taut over high cheek bones. Both hands were against the wall blocking the whore’s escape route; the whore who didn't seem to be intimidated at all. "But you won't go to a fucking hotel room and let yourself be buggered in a proper bed? That you can’t handle? I'll pay you more than double what you’d earn standing on this corner."

Harry was so close now, his breath was ghosting over the whore’s long neck. He could see his Adam’sapple bobbing, almost feel it.

"You don’t need a bed for what we’re about to do," the man whispered, baring his throat to him as if sensing that Harry was aroused by it. Harry was unable to resist, and licked the man’s Adam’s-apple.

"I just want privacy. I want to fuck you, have you suck my cock, and fuck my arse. I want to have you fucked by another cock, and you screaming and begging for it like last time."

The man grinned at Harry’s words, went down on his knees, and pulled Harry’s pants down as he went, and then licked Harry’s hard cock. While he was sucking with dedication, he looked up at Harry and it felt better than any blow job he had ever had. The whore let Harry’s cock go and then stood up abruptly. He took Harry’s hand and led him around the corner into a dead end street, where the walls were even closer.

"That’s enough privacy," the man said.

"You ... now," Harry managed to groan out, and the whore leaned against the wall immediately and presented his well-lubed hole. Harry could see the pink, heavy balls hanging below and intrigued, he grabbed the rentboy’s cock.

Then something very strange happened.

The men Harry hired or took to his room had often had semen in their holes from earlier rounds, were loose and ready, and he mostly didn’t mind. He was one of the more courteous clients and cast Cleaning charms on them if they wished so, or some spells to prevent sexually transmitted diseases. The only thing that could put him off rather significantly was feces but otherwise Harry was rather blasé about the whole hygiene thing.

He did not know what possessed him tonight, but Harry felt a sudden and very strong aversion of fucking this man with the loads of other … clients still inside him. It was almost a visceral reaction. Confused Harry struggled for breath.

Before he could stop himself he held his wand up "May I …?" he asked.

The rentboy turned around. "As you wish," he said, bracing himself against the wall.

Harry cast a Cleaning charm, and the man flinched a little. "Be a bit more careful!" he snapped.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, feeling chastised.

The man turned around again and grumbled, "Get on with it then. But prepare me a bit, will you? You’re my first one tonight!"

Harry felt more relief at this than he really should, sank to his knees and spread the pale cheeks. Wordlessly, the man passed him a small bottle of lube and Harry began to massage it around that lovely hole. He pushed his slick fingers into it, savouring the hot arse clenching around him, and with his free hand stroked the other man’s cock.

Soon the rentboy was skilfully undulating his hips and rocking back, trying to take Harry’s digits deeper. When Harry had three fingers inside him, he rubbed the prostate a bit. The man exhaled sharply.

"Your cock would feel better," he said.

Harry stood, freed his erection with shaking fingers and then pushed his cock in past the loosened ring of muscle. The whore went quiet and pushed his arse back, grinding himself against Harry, almost until their balls were flush.

"Oh, yes!" he breathed.

"Good?" asked Harry breathlessly.

"It could be if you would only move!" the man said.

Harry thrust. Both of them cried out. The man’s arse gripped Harry’s cock perfectly. Harry didn’t remember when he’d felt so good, it had been so long.

The rentboy growled and clawed at the wall before him, bucking like a wild animal, demanding more and deeper, and Harry, sweating all over tried to comply. He felt like an inept rider ready to be thrown off any minute by a stallion.

"Faster," the man hissed. Harry, nearly mad with lust, obeyed and sped up.

"I can’t keep it up…" he panted.

"It’s all right, come!" said the man hoarsely and clenched. "Come inside me, come on. You want to."

"Yes!" The next time the man clenched his arse, Harry lost it and tumbled into his orgasm, flooding the man’s insides with his come. There was so much that it instantly dripped out, and Harry, without thinking, sank onto his knees and lapped his own come from the man’s still spasming arse.

"Fuck!" the man in front of him groaned. His hand was moving rapidly between his legs. Harry turned him around and batted the hand away, taking the cock into his mouth. He swallowed it to the hilt and sucked with vigor. After a few moments the whore grabbed Harry’s head and fucked his face.

Harry could feel the head of the blunt, thick cock against the back of his throat and growled, trying to take him deeper.

"Do you want to swallow?" the whore asked.

Harry nodded, and doubled his efforts. Almost instantly the man threw his head back and came. Harry felt the cock in his mouth twitch and jerk, then tasted the hot spunk, hungrily swallowing it all down.

Panting, the man sagged against the wall as Harry remained on his knees, sitting back on his haunches.

"That will be fifteen Galleons!" said the whore when he had caught his breath.

Harry felt generous and gave him thirty. The man regarded the money in hand with a smirk, then bowed ironically. A curtain of brownish hair swung forward, obscuring his face in a way Harry had seen before.

"Thank you," he said slowly, standing up.

The man peered at him. "I thank you, sir. A pleasure to do business with you." The whore’s grin was ugly and greedy.

"There is more," Harry said in a low voice, feeling a little like he was luring in a hungry stray cat. "I’d be willing to pay generously for a night with you. You won’t regret it."

The whore seemed to be torn between greed and mistrust. "Next time?" he said. "I can’t tonight … how much would you be willing to pay?"

"One hundred galleons," Harry said. The whore snorted in disbelief.

"Well, yes. Right. Have a good night then!" The man wrapped the cloak around his shoulders in a strangely majestic gesture, whirled around, and walked away.



"Long night?"

Tom Ackerley.

Harry grimaced internally, reached for the quill, and began signing the papers absentmindedly.

"Well, I went for a drink yesterday," he said. "Or a few."

Ackerley drew his brows together. "Oh. On a Monday night," he said. "You start early."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Indeed," he snapped.

"I see," Ackerley said when Harry didn’t say anything else. "So. Well. I need the papers tomorrow. Do you think you can do it?"

"No problem." Harry didn’t look up.

"By noon. Is this possible?"

"You need address entries from last year’s census by tomorrow noon?" Harry couldn’t suppress his disbelief.

"We need them in order to compare them with the entries of this year’s census," Ackerley snapped.

"This year’s census questionnaires aren’t even sent out yet," Harry replied.

"Don’t question my decisions," said Ackerley, his voice shrill. "I’m working under a tight schedule and you’re not very cooperative. With your work ethic you won’t make it far, not even as The Boy Who…"

"I apologise," Harry said dismissively, continuing to look at the entries and sign them.

"Tomorrow noon is fine!"

Ackerley, cut off by Harry’s insincere apology, just stared at him.

"You know, Potter, I am really trying here!" Ackerley said finally in a huff. "I mean, I don’t mean to piss you off, but–it’s not my fault I was made Head Auror instead of you!"

Harry’s hand clenched around the quill. "And that is surely the reason why I have to correct and sign the addresses of the whole of Wizarding Britain? Because you can’t imagine any other task for me?"

Ackerley’s eyes nervously flickered to the right, then to the ceiling.

"For fuck’s sake, I know we’re being monitored all right?" Harry said coldly. "And I can’t get any relevant assignments because–"

"Potter," Ackerley whispered, pale now. "Please."

Harry stared at him, then drew in a deep breath. "I apologise," he said again, then bent his head and continued to sign the papers. Ackerley stepped closer to Harry, so close he could smell the man’s aftershave and the fear underneath.

"I–I’m sorry too," Ackerley whispered. "You’re a good man."

Harry shrugged.

After Ackerley left the office, Harry threw the quill against the window.

After minutes of staring at the black ink blotches on the window pane, he cleaned up the mess, Accio’ed the quill, and continued writing, barely looking at the entries.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. His colleagues were nice enough to him, new fresh-faced Aurors joked with him. He went to the Ministry’s cafeteria for lunch where some of the girls and the boys flirted with him, and he dutifully flirted back. One or two caught his attention, and he amused himself by letting them closer. He saw Williamson, who he had been friends with in the beginning and waved cheerily at him. Williamson nodded back and like usual ducked away, red-faced. Helen Ross, one of his superiors, passed his table and when he greeted her she gave him an odd, embarrassed grin but was polite enough to stop.

"Hi, Harry! What’s up?"

"I am bored!" said Harry loudly so that everyone around could hear him, wearing the same fake smile she wore. "Helen, is there really nothing else to do than checking addresses and signing them? Is there nothing else going on in this country? I’d love to help."

Helen’s smile was forced. "Thanks for bringing that to my attention. I’m not your direct supervisor, so … why don’t you have a chat with him?" Her eyes darted away from him.

Harry could have pointed out that he had already talked to Ackerley, but suddenly he felt only the tedium. Nothing would come out of this, so he only shrugged.

"All right, then," Helen said. Her voice sounded strained. "I’ll see you later!" She fled and Harry turned to his food again.

He had a nice chat with Cho Chang, one of the few who talked to him despite her being the head of the Department for Magical Transportation. At eight o’clock, he left. Ackerley’s office was dark when he passed it.

As usual he took the lift upstairs first. The elevator doors opened into a corridor completely done in marble. Gilded mirrors hung on the walls.

"Good evening, Auror Potter," the secretary said without surprise. She had become used to his visits.

"I’d like to talk to Mr. Shacklebolt!" Harry said, and before he had finished the secretary responded politely.

"I am very sorry, but Mr. Shacklebolt is not available today."

"Is he on holiday?"

"Unfortunately, I am not permitted to discuss his schedule, Auror Potter," the secretary told him as she always did. "You may leave a message and I will relay it to Mr. Shacklebolt."

Harry decided to change their ritual a little bit, and instead of turning on his heels and stomping away, he stepped closer and put both hands on the table.

The secretary looked up at him, startled.

"Ms. Burke," he said softly. "Do you know how many times I’ve come here to ask for a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

Burke remained calm. "I am sorry, but I have no idea, Auror Potter."

"Exactly one hundred-fifty-two times."

"I see."

Harry stared her down for a minute, perversely enjoying her discomfort. Then he straightened up and left the waiting room.

On the way home he purchased a bottle of firewhiskey, and as a nice contrast, a beautiful bottle of crystal vodka that seemed to be cut from a block of ice. His new flat, bigger than the one previous was directly opposite the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Sometimes he sat on the window sill and drank and watched people coming in and out, the wards glowing whenever someone entered. Every evening, underage wizards and witches tried to enter, always different ones, and were promptly thrown a few feet away by the wards. Passers-by witnessing the scene usually laughed and went their way, and the young wizards and witches slinked back to Diagon Alley rubbing their sore bottoms.

The Floo bell chimed.

"Marietta Edgecombe. Do you want to take the call?"


"Harry?" Edgecombe nearly leaned out of the fire place. "Ah, there you are!"

Harry slid off the window sill and walked over to the Floo where he plonked himself into his arm chair.

"How are you?"

She peered at him. "All right. I guess. You look as if you already had a few drinks?"
Harry shrugged, but sat up a little straighter. "Any news?"

"Actually, yes," she said. "Bad news and good news." She smiled grimly. "First, the bad news: We were wrong about Anne Withers. She didn’t handle Snape’s case, as she had a case of severe, erm, Vanishing sickness."

Harry sighed. "So we’re back at…"

"Wait! Don’t interrupt me!"

Harry raised an apologetic hand. "Sorry! Listening!"

Edgecombe gave him a withering look and said. "So, a little bird told me that Severus Snape’s memories were in the hands of a Ludmilla Harwick. Now, listen. Ludmilla Harwick’s father and Cecil Vance’s fathers have been close friends for almost sixty years. And Cecil Vance was…"

"… Emmeline Vance’s husband," Harry said.

She let out a triumphant "Tadaaa!"

She looked at him. "Come on! It was the Vance family! He or someone else in the family must have destroyed Snape’s memories!"

"Do we have actual proof of that?"

"Well, we do have documents that prove that the memories were still intact when they were passed to the Wizengamot. And we can prove Harwick’s connections to the Vance family. And we can prove that the Vance family had a vested interest in having Snape persecuted."

"It’s a big step!" Harry agreed. He looked thoughtfully at Edgecombe. "Thank you, Edgecombe."

She nodded. "Just did what you’re paying me for. Being nosy. Asking lots of questions and poking Rita Skeeter."

Harry smiled. "You’re doing a great job. I couldn’t have done what you achieved. You know, I’m sorry for how things went with…"

"It’s all right. Of course The Boy Who Lived can’t run around in the ministry and ask questions. But no one will connect the two of us. Even Cho thinks we’re lethal enemies and don’t speak to each other," Edgecombe interrupted him. "You apologised already ten times and I’ve already forgiven you ten times. Getting a bit tired of this…" She grinned, but looked uncomfortable. "I’ll owl you the documents and protocols!"

"All right, Edgecombe. Have a nice evening!"

Edgecombe snorted. "And you take care of yourself!" She looked in a meaningful way at his bottle before she cut the Floo connection.

Harry took his seat at the window sill again.

In the Middle of the Beginning


"Back again?" the man said, sucking at his cigarette. Harry’s eyes followed the glimmering orange dot. "Want to marry me, sailor? Fallen hard for me, have you?"

Harry snorted. This time, it was early and there were still other whores about, leaning on lamp posts and walls, lurking in shadowed entrances, all of them cat-calling.

"Hey, darling!"

"What’s up, lover boy?"

"Want to fuck, sexy beast?"

"Is this a wand in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"

The whore in front of him let out an amused snort. "Silence, Philip!" he admonished a young, blonde boy who was only wearing a sort of short toga and a red cloak, leaning against a lamp post.

With a sharp intake of breath, Harry took out a pouch. "One hundred Galleons," he said, holding it up. "One night in a room with me, and it’s yours."

Slowly, the whore moved away from the wall. "One hundred Galleons!" he said. "You have more money than brains, boy." He looked indifferent, but Harry saw the spidery fingers twitch.

There was a long pause after that. Harry watched the light of the cigarette flare as the other man sucked on it.

The whore took his time to think. Some of the boys behind him snickered.

"You’d do better to spend your galleons with me!" the blonde young rentboy named Philip called to him. "I’d love to ride your cock!"

Still the man in front of him took his time. Finally he seemed to come to a decision as he let his cigarette drop and ground it out with the heel of one pointy boot.

"You won’t let this be, will you?" he asked. Some of the girls standing behind Harry giggled.

"Such a cutie!" one said. “He must be in love!”

"Aaaaw!" another cooed. “Sweet boy, come here!”

"He’s offering you a hundred galleons. Why are you even still here?" an older woman in a red dress and big purple hair said to him.

Harry grinned.

The whore seemed to measure him with his eyes, looking at Harry from head to toe and then up again, as if Harry was the one on offer. "Let’s go," he said softly.

Elated, Harry led him through the maze of little alleys and side streets. He noticed how well he knew his way around already. The last, narrowest alley, where they had to walk behind each other to fit through, ended abruptly and they stood in front of a sturdy brick wall. The whore leant against one of the wall and waited. He knew the place. Harry pulled out his wand and spoke the passwords, then tapped it against a brick. All of a sudden, the bricks turned a glossy black and crumbled artfully away and they stood in the small lobby of a Victorian-looking, shabby, genteel hotel.

Behind them, the wall closed again. The rentboy stood behind Harry, utterly unimpressed. He had
been here many times, with many clients.

As usual, there were no concierges, no reception personnel. A large, long table stood in the middle of the lobby, resting on four heavy lion claws. When Harry and his companion stepped closer little squares floated up from the marble-like surface, miniature images of the rooms and suites.

Without hesitation, the rentboy chose the most expensive suite, which alone cost thirty galleons an hour. Harry smirked and pointed the wand at the floating cube. Immediately a disembodied voice informed him about the features and specifics of the suite. Harry enlarged his money pouch and put the galleons into the cube; it promptly began to glow and then disappeared. In its place on the table was a golden key.

They had to enter a lift and, not surprisingly, the man knew his way around. He pressed a button, stroked the elevators grilles and chatted with the black mirror. In the dim light of the elevator Harry could see that what he had thought was a Glamour was not really a Glamour. It was not a spell, that much Harry could tell.

"So what should I call you?"

The man lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Bluish smoke streamed out of his mouth. He seemed to be thinking.

"Slut?" he offered and sneered. Then he pushed himself off the wall and pressed himself against Harry. He was all bones. Harry could feel his ribs. "Call me … Seth."

"Seth? You don’t looked like a Seth."

The rentboy looked impatient, bored. The way he stared down on him reminded Harry of someone else.

"Snape," he said more to himself than to the other.

The man in his arms froze. "What did you say?" he hissed tonelessly.

"Sorry!" Harry really was sorry. "I didn’t mean to insult you! You look nothing like him. You look much better! Really! Just ... you have a bit of his attitude, you know."

"You knew Severus… Snape personally?" The man looked at him with fathomless greyish eyes.

Harry felt uncomfortable. "No, not really," he lied. "But I saw him once or twice!"

The man let go of him again, and leant against the opposite wall. "Don’t call me that," he said curtly. "It’s not a good name."

"No, it isn’t," Harry hurries to assure him. "Seth sounds good."

Then, thank Merlin, the elevator finally arrived at their floor. Seth got out first and although there were three different corridors to choose from, he chose the correct corridor without hesitation. A spell requiring the key and a wand revealed the room number in the elevator, but Seth didn’t have any magic and obviously no wand, so Harry was left wondering how many times the other man hand been there. Still, he walked straight in the direction of room number 1410 as if he knew this place by heart.

Well, apparently he did.

Harry finally had the opportunity to see the other man in better light than down in the street: the shoulders were not broad, but his hips were so slim, so narrow, that they appeared broader. He had long, slender arms and legs, but it was hard to see with the long cloak swishing and billowing around his form.

The way he moved reminded him so much of his old teacher, Harry had to chuckle. At the sound, Seth turned around sharply, raising a derisive eye brow.

"Something funny?" he snapped which made him seem even more like Snape, and Harry nearly collapsed in helpless giggles.

Seth studied him for a long moment, his unsettling features inscrutable in the reddish half-light of the corridor.

"You paid me well enough, I suppose, so laugh at me as much as you like," he said very softly, and then continued to walk down the corridor.

"I am sorry." Harry sobered up. "I didn’t mean to laugh at you."

Seth didn’t answer. He’d arrived at the door and simply stood in front of it, like a statue. It occurred to Harry that he must have been a wizard once, before the crime he committed that got him arrested and deprived of his magic. From his work as an Auror, Harry knew that the ministry blocked the magic of convicts. Not all of it, but enough. Seth was probably not even able to prepare potions or to cast the simplest charms.

How he could bear it, Harry couldn’t imagine. Seth seemed so proud. He didn’t mind being fucked publicly, but there was something arrogant and disdainful about him. Seth remained in his frozen pose as Harry’s key floated past him and unlocked the pair of black doors.

Golden letters hovering in the air listed the amenities of the room: the Cooling shelves with the champagne, wine and liqueurs; the en suite bath; the ceiling that could be charmed to open (with the Silencing Charms intact). The room was enchanted to look as if it was bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun.

"Night setting, please," said Seth in a commanding tone, and Harry tapped his wand against a crystal panel beside the door. Immediately the walls of the whole suite were covered with black velvet. The illusion of Tuscany in the golden afternoon light outside the open windows vanished and was replaced by indigo-coloured night. The ceiling above them was higher than before and small floating candles gave off a softer, kinder light. An old Jazz song began to play from somewhere.

Without delay, Seth discarded his cloak. He was nearly naked underneath, like all the Knockturn Alley whores, of course.

He turned his back to Harry, who was still fully clothed. White light from above poured over Seth’s silhouette. He looked like something made out of marble. The arms were long and slender, like his upper body. His shape was ageless. Just from his build it would have been hard to determine if he was twenty or forty, but the sallow, dry skin betrayed his age. The way it sagged a little from the upper arms, over the elbows or creased at the knobbly knees. There was something about the way he held himself, like someone who had been defeated plenty of times and still put up a fight.

Slowly Harry approached Seth, and ran his hands over that worn body. Seth didn’t flinch or stiffen. He was used to strangers touching him. Docile, he pushed back against Harry.
Warm flesh, so warm.

His arse was absurdly perfect. Harry put both of his hands on the cheeks and stroked them couldn’t resist squeezing them, marvelling at how well muscular globes filled his hands. Their firm, supple roundness were an odd contrast to the skinny, emaciated body.

He pressed himself against Seth’s back and instantly his heartbeat sped up. He ran his hands over Seth’s chest. Shaven.He could feel a bit of stubble here and there. Seth remained standing unmoving, looking down. Slowly, Harry inched his hands down the white belly. Seth’s cock was half hard.

When Harry took Seth’s chin into his hand and turned him so he could see his face, Seth stepped out of the light in a fluid motion. He got onto the bed on his hands and knees.

"Can I clean you up a bit?" Harry asked. "I’d like to have a taste of you!" He couldn’t resist and touched that amazing bum again.

"Unless you want to have a taste of me and the five tricks who fucked me today I’d strongly recommend it!" Seth muttered.

When Harry lifted his wand, Seth said, "About your wand movement… Instead of going up, then down, do it the other way round, and point it a bit lower in the end. For best results."

Harry obeyed silently, feeling like a student again.

"Did I do it right?" he asked after he finished.

"You’re practiced enough." Seth lowered his head now so that his ass was even higher, a clear invitation for Harry, who didn’t hesitate to accept. He grabbed both cheeks and pulled them apart, marvelling at the warm, silky skin. So… perfect.

He licked the back of the balls. Shaven as well. He licked up to where the skin was thinner and softer, and then circled that enticing pink rim with his tongue. Seth’s breathed harshly, and moaned. His back was already slick with a slight sheen of sweat, His body like a furnace, that seemed to heat up with pleasure.

Harry grabbed him more securely, pulled him closer, and buried his face between those firm, white cheeks.

"Like that, do you?" Seth murmured.

"Sure I do," said Harry, teasing the clenching hole with the tip of his tongue. He licked with abandon, revelling in Seth’s twitching. He shifted and put the weight of his body on his left arm while snaking the right around Seth to stroke his cock.

Seth’s cock was in fact rock hard, and the glans was sticky with pre-come. Harry knew that there were charms and potions to achieve that effect, but it still felt nice.

He spit into his hand and continued wanking Seth’s cock. Then he began working his tongue into Seth’s hole and Seth rewarded him with a long, loud groan.

"Fuck," he said. "You know what you’re doing."

It was strange that Harry asked himself if Seth was just speaking his lines, merely employing his whore skills. With others Harry knew and accepted that they were just pretending to be aroused. It was, after all, part of the job to bring him off. Dirty talk was one of the fastest means to get men off. Idiotic meaningless things like "Your cock is so big!’ or "Harder!" or "You’re so sexy!" In the heat of the moment all that nonsense mostly worked. Men were simple. He doubled his efforts, pushing in and pulling out, fucking Seth with his tongue. He closed his lips around the pucker and sucked and nibbled. Seth writhed. His thighs trembled.

Then he suddenly pulled away.

"Don’t you want to fuck?" he asked. "I’d like to come with your cock inside."

Harry got the lube—a black bottle with Welcome to the Hotel Golden Spider! Please come again. Often. printed in gold letters—from the nightstand while he undressed.

He spread the warm liquid over Seth’s hole, but couldn’t resist playing with him, sliding a finger in and out, tracing the rim, then sliding his slick digit in again. Seth clenched, and pushed back. Soon his hole was glistening with lube, nearly dripping. When Harry smoothed the lube onto his cock, Seth lifted his head from his arms and turned around to watch him.

Harry looked up and caught him staring. For one moment they looked into each other’s eyes.
Later Harry would remember this moment. How he looked up, grinning, excited in a way he hadn’t been for a very long time, filled with a strange emotion, and then saw Seth’s eyes gazing at him. The colour was wrong, but the expression in them was real. For an instant, Harry was unsettled, he didn’t understand. Time seemed to stand still in an odd way. Whatever this was, he wasn’t prepared for it. He was feeling something and he shouldn’t. Not here, not for this person. Not because Seth was a rentboy, a whore. Then why? What was it that he was so wary of? He couldn’t name it, couldn’t put his finger on it. He could only stare back into these eyes.

Then the moment ended.

Seth turned away and spread his legs a bit more. Harry gave a weak laugh. He put a hand on Seth’s wonderful arse, pushed the head of his cock against that twitching hole and savoured the feeling.

He slid in slowly. He resisted the urge to slam.

He could hear Seth gasp.

"Fuck," groaned Seth. "This feels good!" And he pushed back harder, his hands clawing at the bed sheets.

Finally Harry’s balls were flush to Seth’s. Seth moaned, encouraging him with a stream of filthy words. He wasn’t overly creative. The usual porn stuff. Yet every word he said drove Harry closer to the brink, and although it was pathetic on so many levels, Harry couldn’t help but wish fervently that every word, every syllable was really meant forhim.

Seth’s movements became faster, wilder. He arched his long, thin back, and Harry could see the sharp outline of his shoulder blades, the bony spine. There were a few very small birthmarks. They were moving in perfect accord, and suddenly Harry gasped as Seth clenched and convulsed around him.

Harry didn’t need much time afterward. A few thrusts, then he went rigid. Seth tightened around him, set up a rhythm, and squeezed his cock expertly and soon Harry cried out loudly and felt rope after rope of come shooting into him. He was pulled into white, blinding sweetness. Hanging on to Seth he trembled, still coming, long after his cock was spent. He heard him murmur from far away. Then Seth moved and Harry slipped out of him, with a last shudder and was even out cold before his head hit the pillow.

Later he was woken up by Seth getting dressed.

Harry scrambled for his watch, and when he couldn’t find it, cast Tempus. It was only a quarter past midnight.

"I just need to go down to the apothecary and will return in half an hour," Seth said without turning around. "Your money is on the nightstand. I only took three galleons out."

"What do you need?" asked Harry. Seth didn’t turn around.

Fascinated he watched the man’s back. A tiny little birthmark sat right on the middle on the back of his neck, nearly invisible.

Seth froze. Without turning around the man bent down and pulled the cloak toward himself. "There are some … recreational potions I need."

Harry knew that a lot of prostitutes took Aphrodisiac potions and Calming Draughts and often got addicted to both of them. "All dark potions have side effects," said Harry. "In the long term all of these potions cause some sort of damage."

"My choices are limited," Seth said curtly and stood. "As I said before, I’ll be back in half an hour."

"Okay. All right," said Harry, not very convinced. Seth was leaving all the money here, so he would come back, right? "But you know, you really don’t need to take that potion for me …"

"Ah. Of course," dismissed the man. "You have to let me in."

"I’ll get a notification from the Golden Spider once you pass through the reception area," Harry answered.

"Yes. I know that," the man snapped, then opened the door and slipped into the corridor.

Harry tried to sleep while Seth was gone but he felt restless. A few times he was tempted to walk over to the large window and remove the night charm so he could just look down at the main alleys. From his room, Knockturn Alley was almost pretty… The main parts, bordering on Diagon Alley were illuminated. The rest was covered by a web of intricate magic, a bluish dome, sparkling like a sapphire, that protected most parts of Knockturn Alley. The wards were set by the ministry and regularly renewed by Aurors and wardmakers. The only way out for residents of Knockturn Alley was Diagon Alley. Whenever men like Seth left Knockturn Alley, the Ministry of Magic would be instantly alerted and an Auror would Apparate to Diagon Alley to monitor Seth’s activities and question him.

Something in Harry’s chest clenched a little when he imagined Seth slinking through the streets, trying to find the "night apothecary", another word in Knockturn Alley lingo for "drug and potion dealer". Their potions were badly made, laced with dark magic to make up for the missing, more expensive ingredients. They still cost three times more than their legal varieties in Diagon Alley, but these days certain potions were classified, and rentboys like Seth would never get permission to purchase them. Their only way to get a potion was buying the tainted ones that at least were untraceable.

Twenty-five minutes later the Golden Spider informed him that Seth was back. Harry confirmed him, and Seth was let through. After a while, the door opened and Seth entered, holding a linen bag. Harry could hear glass bottles and vials softly clink together.

"You got what you wanted?"

Seth stared at him, as if he had to weigh his words, examine them for some underlying malice, then barely nodded. His eyes seemed darker and larger than before, his skin a bit whiter. Harry didn’t like the hum of dirtied, cheap magic surrounding him, like a cloud of poison. It was dissonant, chafing.

"Come," said Seth, letting his cloak fall to the ground. The commanding timbre and tone of his voice ghosted over Harry’s skin like the soft caress of a whip. Harry rose from his seat at the window and closed the view with a careless flick of his wand and a wordless spell. The window pane turned nearly opaque. A black velvet curtain fell down in heavy folds. For a brief moment something flickered in the depths of Seth’s eyes, but then an expression of icy boredom settled again.

When Harry was close enough, he put a large, cold hand onto his cheek. Without thinking, Harry kissed the long fingers. Seth smiled, and at that sight Harry was so overcome with déjà vu it made him nearly dizzy.

There was nothing he could do about it, so he forced himself to focus on the man’s kisses.



"I’d like to ask you some questions," Harry took a sip of the elf-made champagne. He held the glass to Seth’s lips as he hesitated.

"Look, it’s not poisoned!" Harry took a demonstrative swig. Seth waited a few moments, then took the glass out of Harry’s hand and emptied it.

"So, could I?"

"You may ask me all the questions your feeble, little mind comes up with." Seth gave him a thin lipped, rare smile, "because I in turn could come up with any lie if I don’t like your question and you’d be none the wiser."

Harry rolled onto his stomach. "Yes, but a real liar would have never told me that."

Seth rolled his eyes.

"See?" Harry laughed, undeterred. "I’m right, aren’t I?" He inched closer to Seth.

"A very skilful liar would." said Seth. "I might be a bad liar. Or a very skilful one."

"All right!" Harry pretended to think hard. "What about… your favourite colour?"

"You can’t tell?" Seth asked.

"You usually don’t wear much… but was it black?"

"Impressive perception," said Seth drily. When Harry passed him another glass he drank, this time without hesitation.

"You were educated at Hogwarts?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

Seth regarded him through narrowed eyes. "It was hard to guess your age with that Glamour, but I take it you’re between twenty-five and thirty-five."

Harry smiled enigmatically. "Don’t say anything insulting!" he warned playfully.

Seth twirled the glass in his hand and looked into Harry’s eyes. Harry felt his exhausted cock move again.

"Great," he thought, "he just needs to look at me and I’m hard again!"

"You’re a

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 855

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