Author: John Sexton
Genre: Harry Potter Slash
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Chapter Eight -- Harry's Descent into Hell

"Good one, Jerry!" Tommy blurted out his shock in no uncertain fashion.

He threw his hands up in frustration.

"He needs to know, Tommy!" Jerry snapped back at his mate.

Then Jerry turned to Harry and gripped the terrified young wizard's forearm firmly, but not aggressively.

"It's okay, Harry, luv. You're safe with us."

He smiled warmly, and gently tugged on Harry's arm, encouraging the startled, young wizard to relax back onto the dishevelled mattress.

Harry complied, but he was still trembling.

Tommy stroked his smooth black forearm gently, then reached up slowly and cupped Harry's cheek.

"Sorry, luv," Tommy cooed at Harry then scowled at his mate. "Jerry's a twat! He didn't mean to startle you like that."

"Okay!" Jerry snapped.

He threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender, but the sudden movement merely startled the already-shaken, young wizard.

"Will you just stay still!" Tommy snapped at Jerry again, "you've already given the lad a heart attack!"

Tommy gently turned Harry's face back towards his and smiled warmly.

"Harry, luv," Tommy cooed again, "your secret's safe with us, okay! Just relax... calm down... nothing's going to harm you."

"Yeah, Harry," Jerry tried to reassure him, "I didn't mean to frighten you, luv. We won't let anyone lay a finger on you."

Harry sat rigid for a few seconds as he tried to digest the situation; he glanced from Tommy's smiling and reassuring face to Jerry's.

The dark haired lad was flushed and looking rather sheepish in the still dim light.

The rain continued to fall heavily, and the only sound was a cacophony of water falling and gurgling through the broken downpipes and gutters of the dilapidated building.

"How long have you known?" Harry finally relented, and acknowledged the veracity of the lad's assumptions.

"We first suspected when you cried out `Oh Merlin!' yesterday," Tommy explained.

"Then, when we passed the newsagents," Jerry continued, "well at least I knew for sure then," he grinned smugly. Then he turned to Tommy and announced triumphantly, "and you owe me twenty Quid."

"But your nightmare confirmed it," Tommy smiled sadly, "you called to Voldemort, and mentioned Dumbledore as well."

"But," Harry cried and looked suddenly confused, "how do you--"

"We're wizards Harry," Tommy explained calmly. "It was from Hogwarts that we were expelled."

"What's going on here?" Harry demanded, looking suddenly agitated, "if you two went to Hogwarts, I'd have recognised you... but I'd never seen either of you before yesterday!" he declared adamantly.

"We were only in Fourth Year at the time, Harry," cried Jerry, "before you had even started there yourself, the year before, in fact."


Harry was undone by that bit of logic, and his head was reeling with these surreal revelations.

But why?" he finally cried incredulously.

Jerry looked stunned by the question; he looked to Tommy, who seemed no less confused. The blond lad took up the task of clarification...

"Why what, Harry?" he asked gently.

"Why were you expelled?" Harry asked impatiently.

He was still sceptical and on the defensive. Everything that he had thought he'd known about these two lads had suddenly just been turned on its head. Now he was bitter and angry that they had lied to him... from the very beginning!

"If you really did go to Hogwarts--"

"Harry, luv," Jerry interjected reassuringly, "we've never been anything but honest with you... we've never had any reason not to be."

"Oh," Harry's reply was laced with bitter sarcasm, he felt hurt and trapped by this sudden loss of trust, "so I'm supposed to believe that it's all just a coincidence that the two lads I hook up with in Muggle London just happen to be wizards!"

"Look, Harry," Tommy's reply was warm and reassuring, "we were more surprised than you. We had no idea who you were, when we first met at the Victoria cottage."

"Yeah, Harry," Jerry tried to reassure him, "if it wasn't for the Merlin thing, and the nightmare, and your reaction to the news headlines on the posters, I'd probably never even have guessed."

"We've had almost no contact with wizards for nearly five years," Tommy tried to reassure him.

"Tommy's right, Harry," Jerry reached across towards him, but paused, and was clearly hurt when Harry cringed away from him.

"I told you not to say anything!" Tommy castigated Jerry angrily, "all you managed to do was spook the lad!"

He turned to Harry.

"You're safe here with us, Draco," he smiled reassuringly, "it's probably safe to stick with that... anyway, it's what we know you as."

He smiled reassuringly again at Harry.

But the young black wizard was still badly shaken.

"We're not going to turn you in to the Muggle authorities," Tommy tried again, then he shrugged his shoulders and laughed lightly, "besides, what would we do with one hundred-thousand Quid!"

However, his attempt at levity did not cause Harry to relax, it rather had the opposite effect.

"And we're certainly not going to dob-you-in to the Ministry of Magic," Tommy tried to push-on reassuringly.

"Yeah," Jerry attempted to sooth Harry, "we know you're not a murderer, luv; we know it was only Wild Magic."

"How would you know that?" Harry spat suspiciously, "you wouldn't have read that in the Muggle papers... and since you haven't spoken to another wizard in five years--"

"I never said that, Draco--"

"Let's cut the Draco bullshit, okay!" Harry spat.

"Fine," Tommy conceded gracefully, "I just thought it would be safer to stick with that, to minimise the chance of a slip of the tongue in front of others," he tried to rationalise to Harry.

But the boy wizard wasn't buying any of it.

"So," Harry spat defensively, "you suggesting that we continue on, as if nothing has changed?"

"Why not?" Tommy calmly replied, "your secret is safe with us, and it certainly hasn't changed anything between us."

He stopped short, then rolled his eyes and glared at Jerry.

"Well, it has changed things between us, obviously... you don't even trust us anymore! But, what I meant," he started again, "was that it hasn't altered our attitude towards you, Harry."

"How can I trust you?" Harry backed up against the wall again, "when it's obvious that you're lying! You reckon you haven't seen a wizard in ages, but you've obviously had some wizard contact since Friday."

"Jack Chesney is a mate of ours, Harry," Jerry chimed in sheepishly.

Harry looked horrified, "the Auror! You know him?"

"Since primary school," Tommy explained, "since before any of us even knew what a wizard was. He's the only wizard we've kept contact with since we were expelled."

"Anyway," added Jerry, "he contacted us yesterday morning, just before we hooked up with you at the cottage. He wanted us to keep an eye out for you, because he suspected that you'd head for Muggle London, and since we've been on the streets for a while now, he figured we'd be his best chance of tracking you down."

Harry looked horrified.

"It's okay, Harry," Tommy tried to reassure him, "Jack is one wizard you can trust. He told us what really happened, and he's determined to see that you get a fair go, lad."

"Yeah," Harry retorted irritably, "but if you two found me so easily--"

"Harry," cried Tommy anxiously, "we only know because of the dream! Okay? If it hadn't been for that nightmare--"

"But you said," Harry spun on Jerry, "that you started to suspect when you saw my reactions to the posters!"

"Yeah, well Sherlock here," Tommy rolled his eyes as he nodded towards Jerry, "only started surmising because of what Jack had told us."

"Well," Jerry defended himself, "Jack told us you had an invisibility cloak, and since you had everything stolen I figured that was amongst the things you lost. So when we saw the Invisible Man headline on the poster, I noticed your reaction... you confirmed my suspicions the second time," he smiled sheepishly, "and, well, with the Merlin business... it was pretty simple really."

"Yeah, well I thought he was totally daft," Tommy groused, "and I still think it was a lucky guess. Especially with what you've done to your skin and hair and eyes!" he peered into Harry's dark orbs, in the dull light.

"I'd love to know how you managed that, by the way, it's wicked."

Harry wasn't any more relaxed by Tommy's diversion, and the tall blond lad seemed to sense that.

"Anyway," Tommy pushed on, "if it wasn't for the nightmare, we would never have known for sure... and I'd still think Jerry was a prat!"

Harry did grin at that, and did relax slightly, but he was still unnerved by these startling revelations.

"Look, Harry, luv," Jerry bought back into the conversation, "I'm sorry for upsetting you, and it's pretty obvious that Tom and I disagree on this, but I just thought you should know the truth. Jack only contacted us because he hoped we might be more likely to hear about any new kids on the streets of London than any other contacts he has."

"He believes in you, Harry," Tommy said with conviction, "and we'd trust Jack with our lives! He told us to keep our eyes open and, if we heard anything, to let him know. But we won't even do that if you don't want us to, okay?"

Harry simply nodded, and Jerry continued.

"But now that we do know, we just want to keep your secret safe, and we want to protect you, okay?"

"Okay," Harry answered coyly, then the young black wizard relaxed and smiled at the two older lads, at last.

The relief on both their faces was patent, and Jerry held out his arms to Harry.

"Come here, luv," he cooed, and Harry embraced him warmly, then found himself in an even warmer embrace as Tommy hugged him from the other side.

The lads were all still stark naked, and Tommy just pulled one of the blankets back up over them and snuggled closer to comfort Harry, with Jerry doing the same from the other side. No one said a word for several seconds, until Jerry finally broke the ice.

"So... what's with the Draco alias?" he asked coyly, "you seemed to be pretty focussed on him in your nightmare."

"Oh," Harry almost laughed, "just a boy from Hogwarts," he continued casually, "in my year, you wouldn't know him. Actually we never got on at all, Draco Malfoy, he was a total wanker!"

"Related to Lucius Malfoy, I'll wager," Tommy snarled.

"You know him?" Harry looked startled.

"We know the bastard, all right!" spat Jerry angrily, "if it wasn't for him we might both be Aurors now, with Jack Chesney, instead of trading our arses for a Quid, and slumming our lives away in this dump."

"He was the reason we were expelled from Hogwarts!" Tommy scowled.

"But, how?, what did he--"

"He was on the Board of Governors, and he was the one who forced Dumbledore to confiscate our wands and send us down."

Harry looked suddenly sceptical, again; "I find that pretty hard to believe!" he replied, "I've seen Dumbledore in action with Malfoy before, he hates him! I can't see Malfoy getting his way with Dumbledore that easily," Harry added vehemently, before either lad could respond.

"Well, according to Snape," Jerry elaborated bitterly, "it was a simple case of blackmail!"

"Yeah," Tommy added, "Malfoy threatened to out the old man."

"And that would have been the end of Dumbledore... at Hogwarts!" Jerry quipped.

"Period..." Tommy chorused, "being queer and being a wizard don't mix."

Harry shook his head incredulously.

"Dumbledore's Gay?"

"Yeah, but not too many know that"

"What really pissed me off," Jerry snarled, "is that Snape, who isn't Gay from what we can tell, stood up for us; while Dumbledore, who is as bent as a witch's hat, threw us to the dogs! So there you go, love, we wouldn't trust that old prick as far as we could kick him."

"But why?" Harry asked incredulously, "what on earth did you do?"

"Because we're Gay, of course," spat Jerry, even more bitterly, "Malfoy tried to blame it on our Muggle background."

"Yeah," Tommy agreed, "went on about Mudbloods polluting Pure Blood Wizarding tradition and dignity with their filth!"

The tremor in the voice of the beautiful blond revealed the anger that he obviously still felt.

"As if no Pure Blood was ever Gay!" Jerry laughed haughtily.

"You were expelled for being Gay?" Harry asked incredulously.

His eyes were agog and he gawped at them with his mouth open.

"Well," Jerry smiled awkwardly, "it wasn't just for being Gay, as much as it was the third time we'd been caught fucking each other's brains out."

"Snape caught us that last time," Tommy sneered, "which is probably how Malfoy found out."

"Snape!" Harry spat the name, "I could write a bloody book about that bastard! You obviously weren't in Slytherin then."

"Yes we were actually," Jerry replied proudly, "and you misunderstood Tommy's reference to Snape finding us."

"He caught us in our dorm," Tommy elaborated, "so the whole house knew, and that meant that one of the Slytherin Pure Bloods was bound to get word of it to Malfoy."

"You can imagine how popular we were amongst the Pure Bloods," Jerry grinned.

"What makes you think Snape didn't go straight to Malfoy himself," Harry asked without attempting to mask his feelings for both men.

"Well," Tommy replied calmly, "Snape went to Dumbledore to demand to be allowed to address the Board of Governors. He insisted that the matter should be dealt with in-house, and made a comment to the effect that if every boy who had sex with another boy wizard were sent down, that half of the houses would be empty, including Slytherin."

"Snape said that to the governors?" Harry exclaimed in amazement.

"Yeah," Jerry laughed, "he won no friends, I can tell you... but you know Snape, he never worries about that rot."

Then Jerry squinted at Harry.

"But I gather," he grinned, "that you're not a Slytherin, and you didn't get on particularly well with the Potions Master."

"That would be an understatement," Harry snarled, "but let's not go there."

"Fair enough," Tommy patted Harry's arm, "but I've got to say that if it wasn't for Snape, Jerry and I would never have survived the three and a half years that we did in Slytherin."

"I do find that hard to believe," Harry spat, "especially you being Muggle-born and in Slytherin. I don't know how you survived, and I just can't imagine Snape being too fond of anyone who wasn't Pure Blood."

The lads both erupted in hysterics; Harry was stunned.

"You don't know then?" Jerry asked Harry incredulously.

But the question was rhetorical, infuriatingly so, and Harry could do aught but shake his head and wait for the punch line, which he could tell from both lad's behaviour was a right ball-tearer.

"He doesn't know!" Jerry exclaimed over-dramatically to his mate.

Harry rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Just stop being a prat, Jerry, and tell me... blow me away!"

"I'd rather blow you," Jerry cooed salaciously at the young black wizard, then he nipped at Harry's nipple that was riding just above the top of the blanket now.

"Stop that," Harry slapped him playfully on the shoulder, "and let it rip for Merlin's sake!"

With a suddenly devilish grin on his angelic face, Jerry raised his leg in a theatrical gesture and did just that.

"Aw, fuck!" and "You dirty bastard!" were Tommy and Harry's respective responses.

They grabbed the top of the blanket and fanned it furiously.

"You better not have shit the bed with that!" cried Tommy indignantly.

Harry leapt up and onto Jerry in a flash, pinning him to the mattress. He pushed himself up, with his arms straight and his hands on the huge lad's broad shoulders, his head hung directly over the dark-haired demigod.

"Are you going to tell me," Harry laughed, "you beautiful prick-tease, or am I going to have to fuck you to get the punch line?"

"I don't think either of us could get it up again right now, Harry, luv, so I'll take it easy on you... Severus Snape is a half-blood!"

Harry never moved, he just hung above Jerry, with his warm arse planted firmly, over the fit lad's cock.

Despite Jerry's claims, he was actually starting to stir. Harry's rigid arms maintained him at arm's length from Jerry.

"You did it," Harry cried, "you just blew me away!"


Harry and the lads were ambling their way along Brixton Road, on their way to the local KFC for another "chook attack," as Jerry insisted on calling it.

It was more than a day since the lads had told Harry about Snape, and he was still stunned by the revelation.

It was not a state secret, that much was certain. But apparently Snape had indicated to the lads that it was not something that he wanted spread around. So they hadn't told anyone else, through all those years, except Harry just then, out of respect for the man.

Snape had even shown the lads one of his old school books from his time at Hogwarts, a History of Magic text, in which he had inscribed: "This is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince."

Harry was still shaking his head as they passed Brighton Terrace. Of course none of this changed his mind about Snape, how could it? Harry still blamed him for Sirius's murder, and he was still a bastard towards Harry.

So... no matter what Tommy or Jerry... or even Dumbledore... thought about him...

"Dumbledore... now there's a pretty package!" thought Harry, bitterly.

He was stoned out of his own pretty little head, himself, just then; they'd pulled a few cones just before they'd left the squat...

"Squat!" Harry giggled aloud at that... what a funny word!

"Keep it down, lad," Tommy cautioned Harry, as they'd passed Brixton Markets, "don't want to advertise," he warned the boy.

But all Harry could do was giggle at the word again.

"What?" chimed his lovers, from both sides, in perfect synch.

That elicited an even more puerile snort of amusement, from Harry, that eventually devolved into another fit of giggles.

Harry thought of the twins, but, instead of pining over lost friendships, he gave over to the hilarity of the moment...

"Squat!" he cried, almost in tears, "what a funny word! ... SQUAT!" he cried even louder, then giggled some more.

"Steady on, luv!" Jerry cautioned Harry...

"You'll be drawing attention to yourself, Draco," Tommy whispered in his other ear, "you don't want to go there, surely, lad?"

Harry sobered rather quickly, at the implications of that, and he grew suddenly grim, as his thoughts flashed back to Dumbledore.

The young fugitive was having another moment of profound insight, as he'd found himself doing in some of the more lucid moments of his recent stoner sessions, when he wasn't in hysterics, or fucking his brains out, with these two incredibly fit spunks.

"Dumbledore... a couple of things the lads said last night... or was that this morning?... who cares!" Harry mumbled.


Harry was making connections that he'd never made before, having insights that he'd never experienced, or even imagined, before...


Every encounter that Harry had experienced with Voldemort, had always involved the old man in some way... he was even there immediately after Harry's parents were murdered... he gave Harry the invisibility cloak, that enabled Harry to find Voldemort... back in First Year... the old man was the one who controlled the Goblet of Fire... he was the one who forced Harry to Snape, knowing that it wouldn't work and that Voldemort would invade the boy's dreams and visions again.

Harry wanted to say something to the lads, but this was not the place. Instead he focussed on them.

He was over the shock of their revelation... of being wizards. In fact he felt safer with them now, than at any other time. They were both Muggle born and, like Jack Chesney, they'd known nothing about wizards until they'd received their Hogwarts letters.

So... now that their wands had been destroyed and they were living on the streets of Greater London, they were, for all intents and purposes, the very Muggles that Harry had originally assumed them to be. Until their recent encounter with Jack, and hooking-up with Harry, the lads had pretty much forgotten that they were ever wizards.

But Harry was on a high and still relatively new to the entire experience; he had a difficult time staying quiet.

By the time they entered the KFC restaurant, Harry was totally wasted.

They were standing in line at the counter, waiting to order, when Harry asked Jerry, for the third time, what he was going to order.

"Jesus wept, Harry," Tommy whispered his real name in his ear, "you're really chonged, why don't we grab a table while Jerry orders for us, okay?"

Tommy grabbed Harry's forearm and led him over to a table in the corner of the restaurant.

"You okay, Harry?" Tommy asked discretely, with an edge of concern.

"I'm fine," Harry declared boisterously, then he giggled, "but I've got to order..." he looked vaguely at Tommy, then broke into a wide grin as he asked again, "what are we having?"

Tommy rolled his eyes and slapped Harry playfully on the cheek, "you stay put, while I go give Jerry a hand with our nosh... okay?"

"Anything you say, Tommy, lad," Harry giggled, "I'll hold the Death Eaters at bay!" he snorted.

All Tommy could do was shake his head fondly, as he returned to join Jerry in the queue.

Hours seemed to have passed since Tommy left to join Jerry. In fact it had been only seconds. But Harry was so spaced-out that he could not even remember where he was, or where the lads had gone.

The weed was affecting him like never before, and, in a flash, he had become totally paranoid. He glanced up suddenly, and thought he saw Voldemort in the doorway. He almost leapt out of the chair, but fortunately, the fact that it was bolted to the floor, prevented him from doing so. He re-focussed and realised that it was a woman, dressed in black; the panic passed quickly, but his paranoia was still running rampant.

Harry thought about Dumbledore, and, as he contemplated Tommy and Jerry's take on the old man, his rabid mind made connections that he had never perceived... till that moment.

As the young fugitive connected the dots, he made a startling realisation...

"The old bastard has been trying to get rid of both me AND Riddle!"

He was furious, and was about to go looking for the lads, to tell them of this great new epiphany. But he was startled by a girl, in a KFC uniform, who had just leaned over the table, directly in front of him; she began to wipe the surface with a wet cloth.

Harry was so startled by her sudden intrusion upon his personal space that he nearly leapt out of the seat.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked cautiously.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm fine," Harry answered nervously. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and he wished the girl would leave him alone.

"I'm fine," he repeated, "just waiting for my mates," he smiled, at least he thought he did... but, by the look on the girl's face, he wondered if he'd just told her to fuck off!

"Did I just tell you to fuck off?"

The words were in Harry's head, but he wasn't sure if he'd actually said them. In fact, not only could Harry not remember if he'd just asked the question, he wasn't even sure if he'd actually told her to fuck off in the first place. He was starting to feel really paranoid, and he desperately wished she would go.

But she had gone, and Harry wondered if she'd run off to get the store manager, of if she'd just run off crying... or... Harry started to wonder if there had ever been a girl there to begin with.

"Harry! Harry! I heard that, you're in big trouble!"

A man's deep, angry voice startled Harry into a full-blown panic attack. He couldn't see the man, but he sounded angry, and big.

Harry leapt to his feet and raced out of the nearest door, across the concourse and onto the high street. He never saw the man in the KFC restaurant take a young lad, called Harry, by the scruff of the neck, and demand that he apologise to his sister immediately.

Harry was in a state of total panic, he had no idea where he was and even less idea where he was going. He hadn't broken into a run, but he was very close to a jog. He looked at street signs but none of them made any sense.

The streets were crowded, but he wasn't even sure if anyone was looking at him, because he was too paranoid to glance at anyone, let alone look them in the eye.

When he did look up, to get his bearings, he saw a pair of young bobbies walking down the high street towards him; so he turned off Brixton Road, at the next corner and kept walking as fast as he could without attracting too much attention to himself.

Suddenly, Harry was aware of a car that had slowed down to match his speed. He dared not look at the vehicle for fear that it was the bill, sent by the two bobbies on the high street.

When he sped up the car did likewise, so Harry stopped, and dared to look at the occupants. He didn't recognise them, but the car was definitely not a patrol car.

Before Harry realised what was happening, the two men on the passenger side were standing next to him, and forcing him into the back seat.

"Well, hullo, breakfast!" a familiar but unwelcome voice rasped at Harry, and he shivered, when he recognised the driver. "Draco, isn't it?" asked Max, as he drove off, as soon as the doors slammed shut.

"Fancy meeting you here," the great brute quipped cheerfully.

Harry was wedged between two hulks, who were almost as frightening as Max.

"Chaps, this is Draco."

Max leered at Harry through the rear-view mirror.

"He's a mate of our favourite lads, Tommy and Jerry."

Max never turned to look at Harry; he eyed him through the rear vision mirror.

"Draco, this is Charlie and Andy, they're really keen to meet you," he leered again and the sound of his voice was sinister. "What luck, running into you like this!"


"I knew I shouldn't have left him like that!"

Tommy railed against himself as he and Jerry searched the restaurant in vain.

"He was all giggly when I left him at the table, but I'll bet he went totally para when he lost sight of us, and now he's gone for a fucking Burton, and we don't know where he is... and what's worse, he probably doesn't know either!"

"Stop beating seven shades of shit out of yourself, Tommy," Jerry shook his mate's shoulder tenderly, "he can take care of himself, luv," he leaned closer to Tommy and whispered, "he is `The Boy Who Lived,' after all."

"Jesus, Jerry," Tommy whispered back, as he gripped the hand on his shoulder, "after everything that little bugger's been through... I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to him."

They left nearly thirteen Quid's worth of chicken on the table, well they would have if Jerry hadn't insisted on taking the bucket with him, as they headed for the exit.

Once they hit the high street, Tommy suggested they split up and meet outside Brixton station at five o'clock.

It was ten past five, and Tommy was frantically pacing the footpath outside Brixton station. He was at his wit's end, and he thought he might throw up at any tick of the clock.

He looked up, almost instinctively, as Jerry came racing up the high street towards him. But the look on Jerry's face, even from a distance, sent a shiver down Tommy's spine.

"Max!" Jerry roared in anger, though he was still several yards away. "The bastard's got him," he almost cried.

Jerry collapsed on his lover's shoulder in despair. He caught his breath, momentarily.

"Lucky Lenny saw him pull up next to a young black kid, about Harry's height, along Coldharbour Lane, not thirty minutes ago." Jerry took another deep breath before he continued. "Lucky reckons two of Max's thugs jumped the kid and forced him into his car."

"It had to be Harry," Tommy cried angrily, "let's go!"

The lads tore around the corner, up Electric Avenue, as fast as their legs would carry them. They raced into the lane-way, then up the stairs and began pounding on the heavy door to Max's lair.

They had both decided to abandon even a pretence of protocol, no rat-tat-tat, but a relentless beating of their fists in unison, until they heard the locks on the door.

"Where is he?" they roared in unison, as soon as Max eased the door open just a crack.

"Well, look what the cat dragged up here," Max greeted them facetiously, "we were just talking about you two lads... now isn't that a coincidence?" he asked rhetorically.

"Cut the crap!" Jerry roared, well beyond his confidence and his weight division, but he was desperate, "where have you got him, and what have you done to him?"

"Now, lads, I have no idea who or what you're on about," Max laughed at them unpleasantly, "but I'm rather busy at the moment," he adjusted the belt on his jeans, suggesting that he'd just zipped them up.

"We know you've got Harry here, Max," Jerry roared again.

"Who's Harry?" Max demanded.

"He meant Draco," Tommy covered, then frowned at Jerry in frustration.

"Oh! Oh well... oh well then, that changes everything," Max laughed from somewhere below his diaphragm, "you know how much I love chocolate drops, lads. There he was just wandering aimlessly, off his cute little dial! What was I to do?"

"We want him... now!" Tommy stepped forward angrily.

"I'd be a little less cocky if I were you, lad," Max warned, then cocked his head in Jerry's direction, "he could get one, maybe two swings in, but you... boyo... you wouldn't get to lift a finger; I'd bend you like a twig, then I'd fuck the brains out of what was left unbroken."

Max hissed angrily as he turned to Jerry.

"Take your missus home with you, lad. You can come back at five tomorrow morning, then you can take your little chocolate drop home before it gets too light."

"That's nearly twelve hours!" Tommy cried in anguish, "he's only fifteen for fuck's sake!

"Well," Max sneered viciously, "just my lucky day then, you know how fond I am of chicken."

"You might have the local pig's under your--"

"Tommy, luv," Jerry cut him off anxiously, as Max began to bristle.

"Clever lad," Max smiled at Jerry, and it sent his flesh crawling.

"Tell you what I'll do, lad... just to show I'm serious about treating the lad right and proper... I'll bring him home, to your place, tonight at say... ten o'clock. How's that sound then?"

"Fine," Jerry replied coolly, and he tried to project a nervous grin, but his Slytherin training was letting him down badly.

"Good," Max's smile was laced with venom, "then we'll have a talk... I'm going to be talking... you're going to be listening... and we'll sort out some sort of permanent arrangement."

"G-g-ood," Jerry replied.

He thought he might piss his pants at any second. Tommy had gone suddenly silent.


The lads were huddled together in the middle of their squat, with every available candle and lamp alight.

They had been discussing and arguing, over how to handle their plight, for over four hours.

It was almost ten, and Tommy kept repeating himself: expressing his doubts that this would end well, and adamant that he would go to the London police if they didn't get Harry back in the next fifteen minutes.

Jerry had all but given up trying to turn his mate's pessimism around. Whenever Tommy got into one of these moods it was almost impossible to get him to believe it would turn out for the best.

God he loved Tommy, they were more than mates they were soul-mates. Since they were eight-years-old they'd never been apart for more than a day at a time... that was more than half their lives.

They shared everything evenly, including lovers.

That had been the case for over five years now. Even when they did tricks it was always as a threesome, and their clients invariably loved it.

But with Harry it had been even more intense, and in only a few days, Jerry knew that he and Tommy both loved Harry almost as much as they loved each other. Maybe it was their innate Magic that was still active, they were all still wizards, after all.

Tommy was still chattering, and Jerry was only half paying him any heed, when they were both startled by loud banging.

The lads flew across the room to unbolt the door, where they were almost thrown onto their backs as the door flew open.

Before either of the lads knew what had hit them they were tied-up, gagged and thrown onto the mattress, where Harry's unconscious body was already slumped and motionless.

Two massive brutes had accompanied Max, and while he pulled up a chair, opposite the mattress, the other two began to make the lads' lives hell.

They both had large black bags with them, from which they proceeded to remove equipment. They then began to use the brutal instruments on the two older lads.

Jerry noticed that Harry was bleeding from his arse, and he felt sick at the sight. He was pretty sure that Harry was alive, but he had a lot of bruising already, and there were marks around his neck as well; his right cheek and eye was swollen.

"You know lads," Max finally spoke, "there's just one thing I love more than chocolate and chicken... know what it is?" he asked.

Each of the brutes with the bags had just finished attaching a metallic clamp of some sort to the lads' ball sacks. The boys just looked at Max in utter fear, then shook their heads in the negative.

"Pain!," Max erupted in a guttural growl of delight, as each of the brutes tightened the clamps on the lads' bollocks.

Neither lad screamed, because of the gags, which comprised a rubber ball wedged into each of their mouths and held tight by thick leather straps that even prevented them from moving their jaws.

Thin nylon ropes were then used to truss the boys up, so tightly that the slightest movement pulled on the clamps and induced more pain.

"I think it's time we wake up your little mate, and show you all a good time," Max grinned as he moved over towards Harry's slumped body.

Max had a needle in his hand, and he gave Harry a quick sharp jab in his rump, then handed the empty syringe to his lackey and sat back down facing the boys once again.

Harry started to come round fairly quickly, and he was trussed up just like Tommy and Jerry by the time he was conscious.

A dozen or more of Max's clients, all brutes of one sort or another, had found their way into the lads' squat. They looked like a pack of ravenous dogs, and most were already in various stages of undress, masturbating their massive cocks, and salivating with animal lust.

"Now the fun starts, said Max... let the lesson begin."

That was the cue for Max's two brutes; they each removed various other devices from the bags, then set to work on each of their victims, while the pack of sexual predators ogled in torrid anticipation of joining the fray.


The torture and sexual abuse had continued relentlessly for over six hours. Over forty men must have drifted in and out of the squat over the course of the night, and it seemed as if it was never going to end.

Finally, with soiled and bloodied devices of all shapes and sizes scattered around the room, Max called a halt.

With only his two accomplices still in the trashed squat, Max stood over the brutalised young trio, and sneered at them.

"We'd love to fuck and abuse you lot another hour or two," Max taunted the three boys, "but we need to get you out of here, lad," he addressed Harry, "before it gets too light."

He dragged Harry by his hair, until he was facing the other two lads, who were slumped together on the mattress, side by side, but barely able to turn their heads enough to see one another. They could each see Harry and he could see the tears in their red and swollen eyes.

However, what hurt Harry the most was not the clamp, which crushed his balls with even the slightest movement that strained on his tense bindings. What crushed Harry's spirit was that he knew, with absolute certainty, that -- in the height of their excruciating pain, writ large across their still beautiful faces -- these two perfect boys' tears were not for themselves: they were for him.

"Now comes the climax, so to speak," Max leered at them all.

His goons began to pack up the now idle equipment. He had two syringes in his hands.

"This is where I hand out justice and teach a valuable lesson. These two cocky little shits are going to pay for threatening me, and it's going to be extremely painful. The lesson for you, lad," he yanked Harry up by his hair until he could glare at the boy's soiled and bloody face, "is that this is what happens to you if you cross me.

"The thing that makes this so painful," Max continued coldly, "is that I'm using two extra-large syringes, and over four fifths of their contents is air. So it's going to look like an overdose by a couple of spotty little poofs who got hold of some bad shit, but the air in their veins is going to crush their lungs like a vice. You lads are going to die of the bends; it's what kills divers who stay too far down for too long. Those few that manage to survive say it's the most painful thing imaginable."


Harry lost all track of time in the days and weeks that followed. He had been lucid for mere fleeting moments at a time, over this last week. The only way he could tell day from night was by the activity in the Chicken Coop, where most of the action took place from late at night to the early hours of the morning, he assumed.

But even that was fuzzy now. Harry was out of his head for so much of the time that he only occasionally became aware of what was being done to him.

At first he was most lucid when he was experiencing mind blowing orgasms or extreme pain. But as the hours and endless nights blurred into one another, Harry was only aware of the pain, which tended to be sharper and more frequent.

The worst aspect was that, even drugged as he was, out of his mind for most of the time, this torture was still far worse than anything Voldemort had yet to visit upon his small, frail body.

The men were as countless and ephemeral as the hours, too many to count and too savage and sadistic to be called human. Their lurid cravings and insatiable appetites for cruelty and brutality were beyond the worst Death Eaters imaginable. Their atrocities were thankfully beyond the realm of Harry's consciousness, for the greater part of his relentless ordeal.

However, every semi-lucid moment that Harry endured, no matter how fleeting or insubstantial, was haunted by the sight of the two loves of his life, screaming silent tears of agony, reduced to a wild screeching sound deep in the back of their throats, repressed beneath the straps that bound them. Their fit young torsos thrashing wildly against their restraints, as the poisonous injection scalded their lungs and their brains. Yet two more souls, offered up in selfless valour to save the life of Harry Potter.

Harry's very last conscious thought was of suffocating, with a massive appendage jammed down his throat, pounding relentlessly, with no sign of the rapist tiring.

"Ease up, Charlie, you berk!" Max roared as the young black wizard's frail body started convulsing, in his last futile struggle for air.

"You've done it now, Charlie, you fuckin' great arse!" Max roared at his goon, as he bent over the chocolate drop, to verify that the once cute little shit had no pulse.

"You've just lost me the best bit of chicken I've laid eyes on, and all because you've got no fuckin' control. You're gunna take the wrap for this, you scurvy prick, if the shit hits the fan! Now we've got to get rid of the fucking body!"

Max stepped forward and slapped Charlie around the head.

"Get dressed you useless turd, then go get the van, and bring it around the back. Fill it up with as much shit as you can from the skip in the yard, then bang on the fire escape downstairs, when you're ready to go!"

In a matter of minutes Charlie was knocking on the fire exit door at the back of the club. Max scurried out, with Harry's frail body slung over his shoulder; the corpse was wrapped in two large garbage disposal bags.

Max dumped the body unceremoniously into the back of the van, then they drove off into the early-morning darkness.

They headed north-east through Camberwell and Peckham, towards the Greenland Dock yards. Max turned into a dead-end alley that had several industrial skips down one side.

They dumped the body into the nearest skip, then covered it with the rubbish that they'd brought with them. They were gone in next to no time.

An hour later, as the cold dew settled, and the morning air grew heavy and chill, a faint pulse still flickered in Harry Potter's frail, emaciated body. But he was not conscious.

The sharp beeping sound, of a garbage truck reversing towards the skip, caused a faint flicker in Harry's random heartbeat, yet it would still have been undetectable to all but the most sophisticated and sensitive Muggle medical instruments.

The garbage truck operator scooped up the skip and dumped its contents into the lorry, then slammed the skip back to the ground with a resounding thud. The Muggle operator pressed the button to activate the compressor mechanism on the scoop of the truck.

Little did the witless Muggle know that, on the very eve of the lad's sixteenth birthday, he was crushing the last trace of life from the body of the famous Boy Who Lived.

In so doing, the man was extinguishing the last flicker of hope for one and all. Without Harry Potter to stand against Voldemort, all Wizard kind was doomed to a life of slavery and death, at the hands of the Darkest Wizard in a thousand years. The fate of Muggles would soon follow the same path to doom and destruction.


Author's Note: Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter; I'll try to keep on schedule [about one chapter a week].

If you are enjoying this, you might like my other two Nifty stories...
This is a two-chapter Potterverse short story [complete].
This is on-going and I'm updating it chapter-for-chapter with this story.

The "Shattered Ceiling" story is being written from scratch, while about thirty chapters of "Salazar Comes to Slytherin" were written nearly a decade ago, and are only now being updated for posting. I'm trying to post the two stories in tandem, chapter-for-chapter, to keep pressure on myself to write "Shattered Ceiling" to schedule.

All feedback is appreciated.