Mr Harry Potter
Requests the pleasure of the company of
Mr Rocky Presley Clements
On the occasion of his
Forty-first Birthday Semina on
Saturday 31st July, 2021
Meet at the Leaky Cauldron 4.00 PM
Keep Sunday Free
R.S.V.P.
Rocky was bemused: he had scarcely spoken to Potter at Hogwarts, though he had spied on him, interfered with him when asleep, and saved his life; Potter being unaware of any of this.
It was going to be a gigantic bash if it included acquaintances as far-flung as Rocky.
No it wasn't: he flipped over the card and read: Please come! There'll be six of us. Harry.
So Harry Potter was inviting Rocky and four others to have sex with him—Rocky was sure that there wasn't a misprint—on his big day. What about his children? And his Ministry colleagues? Would Damian, his lover, be there?
Rocky decided it must be because of his gay activism. Imagine: he had been a gay activist for thirty-two years!
He would accept the invitation: partly out of memory for the almost maternal affection he had once felt for Potter; partly out of politeness; partly out of curiosity; and partly because it would be good for Benjie's soul, Benjie being unpleasantly envious of Rocky's wizarding capabilities.
He laughed to himself as he thought of his own forty-first: they had got together again during the celebrations. Either Benjie or Rocky had begged the other to take him back; but when they woke to find themselves hung over in each other's arms, neither could remember who had said what.
He was still thinking of Benjie when the phone rang. It was Grise Vealings, Benjie's manager, nagging as always.
He made some coffee and took it through to the bedroom.
He kissed his husband awake, with a bright: Morning, Better Half!
"What time is it?" asked Benjie, looking every one of his twenty-seven years.
"Half eight. Grise rang to say the car to take you to the Pepsi shoot will be here at ten."
"Stuff that!"
"Stuff nothing! They're paying you two thousand dollars a minute for this."
"We don't need the money."
"But we're getting it anyway. Would you like some help?"
"Alright, alright! I'm getting up."
Rocky always won this type of argument: he was as strong as half a dozen Benjies.
Benjie saw the card. "What's that?" he asked.
Rocky passed it over.
"Forty-one: that's when middle age begins for wizards, isn't it?" said Benjie.
"That's right," said Rocky.
"What's special about forty-one?"
"It's a prime number; I told you."
"What's a prime number again—oh, never mind: tell me tonight. I thought you hardly knew Harry Potter."
"I don't."
"And you said he was a nonentity."
"He is."
"So why's he inviting you?"
"Probably to do with gay things."
"Get him to convince women that when men say they're gay it makes them less available, not more."
"You've got to suffer for your art."
"You should know: those cows on Loose Women were all over you."
Benjie laughed for the first time.
"There; you're awake," said Rocky, "Shit, shave, shampoo and shower."
Benjie got out of bed. His rear view was still as spectacular as when Rocky had first seen it the day after they had met in the green room of a TV chat-show, where they were guests. It was a shame that the skin—particularly in the buttock region—was blemished—no, not a pity, he thought, as the occasions of these old and new love-bites replayed within his mind.
For a moment he was tempted—but no: if they started lovemaking, they'd want to continue long after ten o'clock. Enjoyment of the physical side had been just about the only constant factor during their ten-year relationship.
He got Benjie off on time, and got himself off at twelve.
He mailed his R.S.V.P. to Potter, and went to be bought lunch at a fabulously expensive restaurant by someone touting for something.
When you were a celebrity, like Benjie and Rocky, you never bought your own food.
Then it was off to the cinema company to pick up a couple of grand for being a script consultant: ten pounds a minute: a bit less than Benjie.
That evening, Benjie came home in whiney mood: they'd sent a low-grade car; the director had picked the wrong takes and tried to scrap the audio as he didn't like one of Rocky's lyrics.
"Your lines, sweetheart!" snapped Benjie, "You shit out more literature every morning than he'll read in forty-one lifetimes."
"It's good to be appreciated," smiled Rocky.
"Appreciated nothing! He says I'm walking funny. Why d'yer think that is?"
"Haven't got a clue."
"Nor have I, but I'm gonna divorce you and marry a dude with a pencil. And the goddam editor's still got to cut the thing to garbage."
"You're a spoilt brat; and with spoilt brats, you need plenty of ice cubes: either up there or in a Martini."
After several Martinis, Benjie was in a happy mood, and ready to discuss which restaurant to visit, and to whose account they should charge the meal.
God, it was difficult being married to a celebrity.
A week later Rocky received a newspaper from Potter, with a note: Rocky: I don't suppose you see the Prophet often. H.
There was a picture of Harry Potter minus specs: he must have taken up contacts. He was still recognisable from his boyhood self, and gave Rocky the same impression as he had all those years ago: dependable, but dim.
Rocky read:
NO FAMILY AT HARRY POTTER FORTY-FIRST
REUNION OF GAY PIONEERS
From our award-winning correspondent JamesCarter, who was a fellow Gryffindor when Harry Potter was at Hogwarts School.
It was expected to be the biggest festival since the extraordinary Day of Freedom held twenty-three years ago following the defeat of Voldemort.
Harry's family—glamorous wife Ginny; brother-in-law, best friend and boss Ronald Weasley, and innumerable offspring—had started planning a huge party.
Minister Shacklebolt had authorised a public holiday.
Hogwarts School devised a complex drama and pageant.
The International Association of Quidditch announced a World Team Championship.
Then Harry pulled the rug from under everyone: he announced that he intended to devote his climacteric to a private celebration of gayness.
He expanded on this in an exclusive interview with your correspondent: "The struggle against prejudice was as tough as the struggle against Voldemort," he told me, "A quarter of a century ago, wizards were ashamed to be gay, and those who admitted to it, or were exposed, suffered all sorts of hidden and open discrimination. It was my generation that changed that—first at Hogwarts, then in Britain, and finally throughout the world.
"Looking back, I've come to realise that my identity was doubly defined: as 'The Boy Who Lived' and as 'A Gay Boy'. The former took away my childhood, but the latter provided it with bright spots and has been a source of wonder and happiness throughout my adult life.
"I'm going to mark my most important birthday by honouring the wizards who did most by word and deed to make gayness acceptable and honourable."
Your correspondent was intrigued: "There were so many, Harry," I said, "By the time I'd left Hogwarts, most boys had experienced some form of gay love or sex. How on earth do you select the most significant?"
Harry smiled and brushed his receding, but still unruly, black hair from his forehead, revealing the famous lightning-bolt scar.
"Not easy," he agreed, "But in the end I picked five names, each of whom made a unique contribution: there was Cho Crocheron who, with the late Cedric Diggory, demonstrated that effeminacy was a wonderful attribute for a boy to possess; Rocky Clements, who proved that gays could be as tough as anyone, and who showed how to fight homophobia with words, spells and fists; Danny Jorrocks, who initiated sex education at Hogwarts, supported by gay counselling and dating; Adam Watts-Poxon, who, from his first week onwards, established inter-house relationships and, later, with James Poxon-Watts, starred in the first gay marriage; and Chris Harris-Neil, the first Gay Champion, and the first boy to demonstrate to all the world the romantic side of gay life—look at him with his Lifer, Jonny, and see what I mean."
Two of these names will be very familiar to readers of TheProphet: Cho Crocheron and his Lifer, Michael, have often featured in our pages—most recently when they adopted their thirty-seventh child. Crocheron boys and girls have grown up to take all sorts of rôles within the Ministry—and indeed within TheProphet.
Danny Jorrocks is, of course, famous for many adventures, the full facts of which are, only now, gradually becoming known.
He is also renowned for his reconstruction and regeneration of wizardhood in Russia: at the Navsegdapottrovsk Centre for Mysteries and Education—the name means Potter Forever—wizards who pledge to be exclusively gay up to the age of nineteen receive as good an education as any in the world—though Professor Granger, the surprise choice as Headmistress of Hogwarts, will no doubt be doing something about that.
Readers will be aware of the recent controversies concerning Russian wizardry, many involving suggestions of Dark Siberian Magic—none more so than the sensational resurrection of Colin Creevey (another exclusive for The Daily Prophet!).
Danny Jorrocks has always emphasised the distinction between OldMagic and Dark Magic—a distinction apparently justified through his endorsement by Harry Potter—surely the embodiment of anti-Dark ethos.
The other three names will need some introduction to readers.
Adam and James work in different parts of Jorrocks Senior's empire: Adam in Insurance; and James in Banking. They are Chief This and Head of That: enormously powerful without being newsworthy. They live in a pretty cottage in Kent.
Chris (known to his friends as Sea Jay) and the tall, intelligent-looking Jonathan Neil-Harris run a potions shop and owl-order business in the picturesque Oxfordshire village of Moreton-in-Marsh; and, as if that were not picturesque enough, they generally spend Sundays and Mondays at their beautiful chateau in Normandy.
Rocky Clements is more of an enigma. He was born a half-blood and only spent six years as a wizard, running away from Hogwarts at the age of sixteen to marry his beloved American Muggle friend, Benjie Burtis. Both Rocky and Benjie are what the Muggles call A-List Celebrities, and have lived a happy, peaceful life together for more than a quarter of a century.
Given the vast array of experience, I asked Harry what he expected them to discuss.
"I don't think discussions will be too deep," he said, with a twinkle in his eye that was seldom present in the days when he was having to battle Voldemort & Co, "Within wizardkind, things aren't bad, but for Muggles it's still awful: gay is second-best; gays get beaten up or murdered; adolescents have no right to sex; kids suffer nightmares at school; the politically correct line is one of hypocritical prurience."
"Which is what Rocky Clements has been fighting for all these years," I prompted.
"Yes; I never knew him well at Hogwarts. Of course, you couldn't miss him, but I never penetrated his intimate circle. I hope that'll be put right at my party, but there's not much I or any other magician can do: though it's heart-breaking at times, the policy of non-intervention is correct."
"Perhaps he'll be able to explain why Muggles have their extraordinary attitudes," I suggested.
"Perhaps the root cause is simply that they take sex too seriously," surmised Harry, "It's only recently that the magic world has started to appreciate that, as long as pregnancy, disease and pain are not involved, sex is harmless fun. It's emotions that are really important. Anyone who's met Danny learns that important lesson."
We talked for a long time about Danny Jorrocks. Your correspondent was a member of his first-year Hogwarts Gay Support group. From there, the conversation moved naturally enough to Danny's brother, Colin Creevey.
"Colin was someone I got to know really well," I said, "Can you tell me your reactions to the wonderful news?"
Harry laughed, promoting himself to major fanciability. "Come off it, James!" he said, "You know that the only comment I've got to make is on the technical skill of Danny and his psychics and potioneeers. They brought Colin in at the nineteen year point, which no-one else could have done."
I felt reluctant to encroach further on the Great Man's time. I rose and wished him Happy Birthday on behalf of all the Prophet readers.
As I prepared to leave, Harry put his hand on my arm. "As we're by ourselves," he said, "Why not take your clothes off?"
A typical gesture from a humane noble-hearted man. I'm sure my wife and children will forgive me when I tell the readers that I did not make my excuses and leave.
Rocky enjoyed the references to Benjie: at the time of Rocky's pre-agreed departure from Hogwarts, Benjie had been just three months old—probably being conceived in Canada on the same night that Rocky and ten other boys were in the Hogwarts Fun House doing things that would have outraged those prurient Muggles.
And as for their happy, peaceful life: Rocky chuckled as he thought back on the reality of himself and Benjie: married nine years ago; the marriage lasting three years before ending in one of the first gay divorces; then a reunion; remarriage; separation; reunion; separation with allegations of violence; reunion; separation with allegations of rape within marriage; a reunion—forever, with a bit of luck—outside a police station, with fifty flashing cameras going off, and a TV helicopter hovering overhead.
He found himself eagerly anticipating the meeting, and remembering his happy, four-or-five-times-a-night sessions with some of Potter's guests.
He e-mailed his family, telling them about Harry's party.
For his brother Lukey, though, voices were essential, and they had a long chat on the phone—most of the time taken up by Lukey explaining why NHS stood for Not Half Strange.
"Try and keep away from policemen, darling," was Rocky's parting advice.
Lukey had found it needful to Confund half the Essex Constabulary in his time.
Smiling at the antics of the sex-mad Lukey, Rocky took the tube from Canary Wharf.
It had been twenty years since he had last been in the Cauldron, and his first impression was that nothing had changed: the same smoky atmosphere—such a pleasure after the politically-correct Muggle bars—the same surly Tom presiding; the same, or similar, collection of disreputable boozers.
One thing was different, though: a bright bunch of flowers hit his eye, resolving into a woman's dress.
It was a beautiful Chinese woman . . . it couldn't be . . . but there was Potter next to her—it was Cho!
Rocky shook hands with Potter, as his host, then swept Cho up into a kiss and a hug.
"Still the same Rocky," gasped Cho.
"Sorry," he said, releasing him—or her, "It's emotion: all the memories flooding back . . . I'm sorry . . . I hadn't realised."
Cho tittered: "I haven't changed sex, if that's what your thinking, Rocky; I dress up for special occasions."
"This is a special occasion for me," said Rocky, "I'm glad you're a man. I remember every square inch of your body. Tell me about all these kids."
Cho told about the nine children that he and Michael were currently looking after, but was interrupted by a squeak from Rocky as a hand grabbed his genitalia.
It was Adam: an Adam matured from devastating boyhood prettiness to devastating film-star glamour.
"Just checking, Rocky," he said, as the two old friends embraced, "It was so long when you said so long—"
"It'll be high now we've said Hi," interrupted Rocky, "It's good to see you, Adam."
"Good to see my first—"
"Don't start the old flannel, Ad," laughed Cho, "You always said I was your first."
"He told me that too," said Sea Jay who had come in with Adam, "And Danny, and goodness knows how many others. Good to see you, Rocky."
"I just wanted to make you all feel good," said Adam, as Sea Jay shook Rocky's hand, "It's my warm-hearted soul."
They were all warm-hearted souls, thought Rocky, as the four others caught up with their latest news; why was the niceness-percentage so much higher for magic folk?
For a moment he regretted joining the Muggle world; then he thought that he was like the Pinball Wizard: living a happy, skilful life, despite being deficient in the attributes that help a normal wizard to function—not that he didn't keep his magical skills in trim: he spent several hours a week practising in, or above, Epping Forest.
"That's a fabulous cheongsam, Cho darling," he heard Sea Jay say. Rocky thought that Sea Jay was definitely moving from chubby to tubby.
"How come you know about cheongsams?" he asked, "That's all Muggle Fashion, and Lifestyle, and Image, and stuff."
"That's what you think, Rocky" laughed Cho, "Cheongsams were the original Chinese witches' dress."
At this point Danny Jorrocks appeared from the direction of the Floo. He was greeted with a chorus of How's Colin?
"He's fine," said Danny, "Brian and Alexander are with him. They're having a broomstick ride above Cannock Chase—no, they're down and they're just going into a teashop. Come here, hunk!"
He yanked Rocky into a kiss and cuddle. Rocky had to bend down a long way, though Danny had advanced from squirt to nearly-average height.
"Are you in psychic contact with Colin?" asked Rocky.
"A touch," said Danny, "But it's Brian that's telling me everything. You just missed meeting Brian at Hogwarts didn't you?"
"Yes; is he your Lifer?"
"I'll say! But we can't quite match your twenty-five years!"
Rocky laughed: "The only thing that seems not to have changed in the last twenty-five years is that you still shouldn't believe a word you read in the Prophet."
"Be fair, Rocky," said Harry, "James was only doing his best. We've none of us had much to do with the Muggle world recently. We're all either orphans or somebloods or married to somebloods."
"And I've been away from the magic world. I didn't know about Colin. What's he like?"
"Physically and mentally tip-top," said Danny, "Physically, he's twenty-one and still looks like a boy. Mentally he just sails through it: he was out of the world for nineteen years, and he treats it as casually as when he was out for six months."
"I remember that. Eleven of us celebrated in the—upstairs."
Harry laughed: "Still security-conscious, Rocky. That's good."
"Colin's given Brian a message for you," said Danny, "He says: Forever Gay!"
"He remembers that night too!" laughed Rocky.
"And me!" said Cho.
"And me!" said Adam, "Goodness, I learnt a lot of things that night!"
"Why wasn't I invited?" asked Sea Jay.
"You weren't one of us then," said Adam, "You were too busy growing hairs on your bottom and making eyes at Jonny Neil."
"True," said Sea Jay, "We had our first kiss about that time; then two years of innocent Heaven before I met Danny one day in Diagon Alley, and the Universe came into being."
"A Universe with millions of Big Bangs!" laughed Cho.
"Adam and Cho," said Rocky, "Tell me about our friends in Queer Corner."
"All alive and well, Rocky," said Adam, "Christopher Selwood and Pete Bradley are married men with families. Selly's got a Ministry job in the Difficult Sums Department; Pete's on the board of Nimbus Racing Brooms, and a semi-pro with London Manx."
"If you see them, remember me to them," said Rocky, "Tell Pete that the smell of his tootsies is a fond memory."
"You were a pioneer!" laughed Harry, "It's now part of the Gay Superstars competition they hold at Hogwarts every year."
"That leaves Anthony Goldstein and Michael Boe."
"Anthony's still with Patrick Gillies."
"That must be the most romantic story ever."
"It's still romantic, except for the name of their company: The Scottish Pawnbroking, Usury, Shipping, Mercantile and Tourist Corporation."
"It's obviously keeping them busy," laughed Rocky, "What about Mickey?"
Adam laughed, and said: "The only man ever to initiate a voluntary reduction in his rôle, pay and status," he said, "In his last two years at Hogwarts, he turned out to have a first-class Quidditch brain, and worked his way up to be Youth Training and Development Officer for the International Quidditch Association. A global celebrity."
"What's wrong with that?" asked Rocky.
Everyone else laughed.
"Just one little thing," said Adam, "Given away by his current job-title: Youth(Male) Training and Development Officer for the International Quidditch Association."
"Good for Micky!" said Rocky, "I bet he does a good job."
"A brilliant job," said Adam, "The parents sometimes moan about unorthodox training methods, but Micky's hands-on approach has brought people together and fostered more international friendship than all the Ministries in the world."
They had a go at The Boy Quidditcher's Song, cheering up the dreary interior of the Cauldron in the process:
Be a chap with a purpose,
Be a fellow with a rôle,
Don't just go for part of life:
Be bold, and seek the whole.
Take up the broom of diligence,
Ride always without falls,
And you'll find great joy in playing with
So many different balls.
Be a chap who is merry
Let your skies be never grey,
And if you're getting problems,
Just do it another way.
When the game's proceeding badly,
At the limit of your tether,
Then stick closely to your buddies,
You can pull it off together.
Be a gent who is gentle,
Be a pal who isn't proud,
Don't try to be a big knob,
and stick out in the crowd.
If a chum gets into trouble,
Then offer him your hand,
Clasp each other firmly,
It will make you both feel grand.
When your pals and you are dripping,
And the weather is unkind,
Then keep your broomstick rigid,
Never leave your pals behind.
Rocky was about to ask about more old friends, but Harry had seen the clock.
"Come on chaps," he said, "Afternoon tea; I've got a room booked. Danny, please Disillusion: I'd be embarrassed to be on a Muggle street with you."
They were all in Muggle togs except Danny, who was wearing a summer cloak of many fluorescent colours.
"It's a present from Boris and Pavel," he said, "They saw it at Merlin's Market in San Francisco, and thought it just the thing for the wizard-about-town."
He vanished and immediately reappeared, as he took his five friends into his Disillusionment Charm.
"Flashy devil!" said Adam, "Wandless, non-verbal, silent and instantaneous. Most of us have to wave our wands around like robots conducting an orchestra."
"Or like you having a sneaky wank at the back of Mrs Englishen-Latin's class," laughed Sea Jay.
They walked the quarter-mile to Berners Hotel, where Harry had arranged a private room.
Refreshments included all sorts of elegantly-cut sandwiches, and bewitching cakes.
"Good job Jonny's not here, Sea Jay" said Adam, "You can really get stuck in."
"Jonny never nags, shitface," said Sea Jay, "He says he never will as long as his hands can meet when he hugs me."
Sea Jay did indeed get stuck in, but then so did the rest of them.
Through a mouthful of cream cake, Harry said: "Rocky, you're older even than Cho, and we know very little of your life. Why not give us the full story?"
"Not much to tell," said Rocky, "I'd sooner the rest of you talked."
There was an immediate chorus of disagreement and a flurry of questions: What made you found Queer Corner? . . . How did you get into the dorms? . . . Did you really discipline Draco Malfoy? . . . Did you really go troll-hunting? . . . Why were all the Slytherins afraid of you?
"Shut-up, lads!" said Danny, "Rocky, Harry had a slightly ulterior motive in asking for your history: recently there have been signs that the Dark Forces are rising—impelled by nasties from other universes and four or more dimensions."
"I've never really got into that," said Rocky "All credit to those of you who did. Wasn't there something called Dumbledore's Army?"
"It's not what you did, but what you were," said Danny, "It's possible that you're a key link in a mystical chain, so Harry and me would like to hear your full story; and the others would be interested too."
"Okay," said Rocky, "How full is full?"
"Just start at the beginning and take it from there."
"I suppose the beginning was on my tenth birthday," said Rocky, "No. I'd better tell you a little about my dad first . . ."
Rocky told the tale of his six years as a wizard.
The five listeners were enthralled.
There was a hush when Rocky had finished.
There had been a hush while he was telling his tale, except for the odd gasp of astonishment from Harry and Danny, and occasional glosses from the others, along the lines of: Good shag! I remember it well (Adam); Me and Jonny missed out there (Sea Jay); Dear Ced. The finest of us all (Cho).
Harry was the first to speak: "I suppose I ought to thank you for twenty-seven extra years of life, Rocky, but there aren't words powerful enough to express my meanings."
"No thanks necessary, Harry," said Rocky, "And I failed in what, looking back, was the key task: delivering Scabbers to Sirius earlier."
"And yet, Scabbers saved my life in the end."
"That hand of justice was one of the rare touches of sophistication from Voldemort," said Danny, "But like his cruder efforts, it backfired on him: as always, he couldn't conceive of Harry's gesture of mercy to Peter Pettigrew."
"And yet it was all part of the cosmic web," said Harry, "We knew you were part of it, but didn't know how much. I suppose my Damian—a Muggle, if an unusually gifted one—is the key figure."
"Damian?" said Rocky, "I know I met him, and had sex with him—once by accident, and once by design—but surely that's coincidence, and it doesn't tie me and you together at some cosmic level."
"Rocky," said Harry, "After my babyhood, I had five head-to-heads with Voldemort. Something you won't be aware of is that on the first four occasions, it was something Damian had said or done, or the mere thought of him, that gave me victory."
"And on the last occasion?"
"I had the victory, but Voldemort would have escaped, except that Damian killed him."
"Damian!"
"Yes," laughed Danny, "Like Cluedo—you know: Damian Fay; in the Great Hall; with the Silver Bullet."
"Does the magic world know this?"
"No," laughed Harry, "I beat Voldemort six times. The fact that it was all thanks to my mother and Damian, plus the fact that I couldn't even kill him, might be bad for morale; folks needed their brave little hero. I've had three Ministers wanting me to be the pin-up boy, but Kingsley had all the right reasons."
"It didn't need Shacklebolt to make you our pin-up boy," said Adam.
"And I felt like a mother towards you when Mr Lupin was helping you and me," said Rocky, "Do you really believe that was significant?"
"Consider, Rocky," said Danny, "You met Damian Fay before Harry met him; you had sex together, which Damian says was far more important than lessons from his friend Gareth in making him a fan of youngsters—and eventually of Harry. You watched over Sirius Black and Harry for six months—a watch that culminated in you saving their lives. You started the work of Gay Awareness which I continued, with the result that I was able to help Harry on several occasions that you don't know about. I think it's too strong a linkage to write off as coincidence."
"Maybe not," said Rocky.
"And, as if that were not enough, you raped Piers Polkiss."
Rocky laughed, and said: "I've raped dozens of people, but I can't remember any Piers."
"The boy in Little Whinging?"
"Oh yes. Blondie. That must have been the first time I saw Harry, though it was only for a fleeting moment: he was running away from Piers and the other bullies."
"You saved Harry from a beating, just as Damian saved Harry from a beating when he first met him."
"Yeah? It's almost getting interesting."
"And when you raped Blondie: it awoke in him a knowledge of his sexuality, which led to me meeting him and becoming his lover, which led to Harry being saved from a guilty verdict at the Wizenmagot."
"And expulsion from Hogwarts, I suppose. Anyway, chaps, I'm totally in your hands."
"I think we might make a move to Grimmauld Place now," said Harry.
"Before we do, why not give Rocky a quick sniff in appreciation of his story?" said Danny.
So, one by one, the men bent over a chair and bared their bums for Rocky to spear with his nose.
The joy was still there: after thirty-five years, Rocky was still in thrall to the God of Bum. These particular bums had aromas that seemed richer and more subtle than the hundreds and hundreds of bums that he had enjoyed since that wonderful night in Rigmarole's caravan. Perhaps it was to be expected: Muggles were less rich, and less subtle than wizards in lots of other ways.
Adam caused a moment of humour: "A quarter of a century, and you're still a messy wiper!" said Rocky.
He saved Cho until last. He knew that Cho's girlie smellies would overpower any of Nature's scents—including Cho's own uniquely oriental musk, which had formed such a prominent part of Rocky's Hogwarts years.
Having confirmed his expectations, he put a brave face on things, and gave Cho the same in-depth treatment as the others.
He didn't blame Cho in the least: Michael Crocheron was essentially heterosexual, having had affairs with Megan Jones and Ginnie Weasley in his time; and his adoring Lifer would want to please him—and, Rocky thought, be a motherly figure to the hordes of Crocheron children.
Rocky had become more and more caring over the years, but had never wanted children of his own. He put this down to his having grown up with the most wonderful child in the world.
They walked to Grimmauld Place and made themselves comfortable in the Phoenix room—so-called because of the picture-board showing the members of the Order which, together with the Dumbledore's Army board, took up one of the interior walls, the other being occupied by photos of Harry's family and friends.
Rocky had a feeling that the Order of the Phoenix still met here, even though Twelve Grimmauld Place was openly known to be Harry's London address.
Danny took the floor:
"As you know, Rocky, we live in a world apparently of three dimensions and subject to a continuous stream of time. You've lived among Muggles, and I must ask you to dismiss from your mind the Muggle Einstein's theory of Space-Time."
"I'll do my best," laughed Rocky. The nearest he had ever come to Einstein was the comprehensive rape of a homophobic bully called Weinstein.
"The Department of Mysteries has been long aware of a fourth dimension, but it was only ten years ago that they established the existence of a second dimension of Time. What they didn't know, until I reported the fact, was that shaman wizards and witches in Siberia had, for hundreds of years, known of three dimensions of time.
"Brian and I became conscious of the dangers of meddling with Existence. We had an example on our doorstep—well, in Russia, anyway: in Nineteen Hundred and Eight, a group of shamans attempting to communicate with the higher dimensions of one or more parallel universes accidentally drew into our world a huge confused agglomerate of magical spells which caused an enormous amount of damage in what was, fortunately, a sparsely-populated area.
"We've worked hard to ensure that this sort of thing doesn't happen again. We've Confunded Ministries around the world, and we've diverted shamans into Gay reproduction—that should keep them busy for the next millennium.
"We've worked with the British Ministry of Magic to ensure that research into the Mysteries stays safe and avoids going up blind alleys. We've even agreed nomenclature: A for Area, T for Tempus and U for Universum.
"We live our own little lives quite happily in A3 and T1, and freely move about—subject to limitations in the use of the Time-Turner— in our own little world.
"We get along very nicely with A4, which gives us a good means of moving magical, psychic and physical energy in a controlled manner."
"Does that include falling in love?" asked Rocky.
"Absolutely. True love needs a lot of A4, though the lovers don't realise it; psychic linking needs an order of magnitude more, which is why it is rare and needs a lot of skilled effort to bring about."
"And presumably premonitions bring in T2, with similar skilled effort?"
"Well done."
"What about Good and Evil?"
"That's the key point. Lifetimes have been spent, and libraries have been created on the definition of Good. Forgetting complications, the answer is quite simple: Do as you would be done by. There's even advice on the best way to focus on doing the right thing: Duo: nude boy-body, also we."
Rocky laughed: "I didn't need you to tell me that a duo with a nude boy is the path to righteousness."
"Precisely!" said Danny, "Who has ever risen after making love with a boy and felt the need to harm a fellow-creature? Who does not feel the unity of Self and Universe? That is the meaning of Good."
"And when we do Evil?"
"Then A nude boy-body dies and we can expect to Be done by as you did."
"Well, we all know that gayness is a primary life-affirming force, and homophobia a primary evil; still it's nice to have another bit of confirmation. But now, you say, Evil is on the attack?"
"Yes, Rocky; the shamans have always tapped into T3 to summon prophecies from parallel universes, and the prophecies have always been of a random nature: interpretable or gibberish; true or false; significant or trivial; self-contained or pointing to further prophecies.
"The prophecies have come in the form of thoughts, dreams, cloud-formations, trees, animal behaviour or, most famously, stones—Muggles call these meteorites.
"A few years ago, it became clear that the prophecies were becoming more organised. There was more incitement to direct action than before; and the direct action was always in the direction of anarchy and cruelty.
"Like Muggle scientists trying to explain the tiny things that make up matter, the wizards and witches investigating Mysteries were forced to consider additional dimensions. We're pretty sure that the new generation of prophecies implies higher dimensions—or an A5, at any rate. And an A5 would also help to explain the linkage between Harry and Damian; and, to a lesser extent me and you."
"How can it be fought?" asked Rocky.
"In all sorts of ways that will involve thrills, suspense, puzzles, surprises, cerebration and a profusion of gay sex," said Danny.
"Sounds exciting. I'll take out a subscription to the Prophet, and follow events with interest."
"We want you to do more than follow, Rocky, dear: we think you're a key player."
"Me? I'll tell you straight up: I'm not rejoining the magic world. I've had twenty-seven years with the Muggles, and I've got a husband, friends and family that mean more to me than any multi-dimensional wizard war."
"But that's your strength, Rocky! The Muggles are going to be under attack too. Who better than you to be our agent among the Muggles? To monitor, report and act."
"If you put it like that, the answer's yes."
"Good man!"
There were encouraging words round the table, before Harry suggested: "Time for dinner. Au table!"
The house-elves produced a feast that was good enough to satisfy a congress of emperors. It was Service à la française so that everyone could dive into their own favourites. Harry no longer asked the elves to dine with him: it was sufficient that they shared the kitchen table with Madam Tibbs, the Head Cook, and Mister Dovey, Harry and Damian's housekeeper/secretary.
After dinner, the subject of sex was raised, as were six penises.
A game of Strip Spoof divested them of clothes.
Then it was decided that each wizard should kiss his five companions all over, a task which involved as much giggling as if they were all still Hogwarts teenagers.
A game of Twister was agreed—six is probably the optimum number of players.
As they lined up for the start, Adam said: "That's a lovely collection of knobs."
Rocky admired the six knobs: all different sizes, shapes, angles and tints.
Cho had the smallest: a ladylike five inches.
Adam and Danny were around the average.
Sea Jay was larger, and earned extra points for the celebrated curviness and large glans.
Rocky and Harry both had genuine truncheons, but Rocky's was the winner (or loser, depending on your taste). He looked down at it, thinking what a wonderful instrument of rape it was; and how many rapes it had done: for fun, for pleasure, for punishment, and by request.
Rocky was a connoisseur of bums, but that didn't stop him enjoying the delights of the penis.
The most delightful of games got underway. With some supposedly absent-minded help from others, Rocky got away with a bit of cheating: his mouth, knob and fingers all wanted a bumhole.
At last the game collapsed, and bollocks were called on for the first time.
They settled down for a nice chat, telling each other the latest news. Interspersed were fornication-breaks. Cho, Adam and Sea Jay declined anal acceptance of Rocky's monster, but Danny and Harry proved noisily and jerkily that they did like it up 'em.
At three o'clock, they called it a day, and settled down to sleep in a delicious six-way huddle of the sort that they had enjoyed at Hogwarts—except for Harry, who was a bit secretive in those days, restricting his huddles to Neville and the equally-secretive Seamus—the schoolboy Harry had been as reticent about Sex as he had been about Voldemort.
Sunday was reminiscent of Hogwarts too: a good breakfast followed by a kickabout in the Park.
And no homework—though Danny raised the subject of the Dark Forces at lunch: "Some of us will be meeting soon to plan a formal campaign, but let me ask you all to keep your eyes open for unusual behaviour—particularly in young people, as they are the most susceptible to psychic attack; and particularly in gay boys, as they have the highest intelligence, and greatest psychic powers."
Cho smiled, and said: "Most of our young people already have unusual behaviour when they come to us, but we'll be on the lookout."
"As for the Muggles," said Rocky, "There are millions of members of Benjie Burtis fan clubs around the world. About thirty per cent are male, and most of them must be at least gayish."
"Good idea," said Danny.
"The only thing is: the average age is likely to be higher than the ideal. Thinking aloud, perhaps I can fix it for Benjie to have a sixteen-year-old protégé."
"Excellent," said Danny, "Though I think the main attacks are likely to be targeted at young wizards."
"So it's likely that Hogwarts is under threat again, after all these years," said Rocky.
"Very much so," said Danny, "And I'm very pleased with the Ministry's response to the threat."
"Grainger as Headmistress, I saw."
"Yes. No teaching duties, but there'll be more teachers to look after."
"More teachers?"
"Yes," said Harry, "They're doubling up on Charms and DADA."
"Who's coming in? Do I know them?"
"You'd remember Peter Berg?"
"Sex maniac and brilliant scholar."
"Well, he's moving from the Department of Mysteries to be nominal deputy to Professor Flitwick. In fact, from first-years on, he'll be taking students on Modern Charms, while Filius sticks to Classic Charms."
"What about DADA?"
"We had to find two: Bill Weasley, who took over as a stopgap when Professor Slughorn retired, has done ten years and says he's had enough. Deputy Professor stuck out a mile: Adrian Woodman has years of experience as a front-line Auror; innovative; proactive; even looks like a teacher."
"And the Professor?"
"There's only one man in Britain who can do it properly."
"Not . . . not."
"Darling Rocky!" laughed Danny, "The fact that your eyes are bulging and your mouth is wide enough to give at least three of us a blow-job, shows that you agree that there's only one choice."
Rocky laughed too. "Oh what a corker!" he said, "I will start taking the Prophet to read what they have to say!"
"They're a lot more sensible than they were in your day, mate," said Adam "And they'll probably think it's a pretty sound thing that Hogwarts once more has a Professor Snape."
They let rip with some reminiscences of Snape in his last professorial incarnation, until Harry called them to order to remind them of the seventeen years of courage followed by the twenty-three years of hard work.
On a visit to the bog, Harry secretly passed a note to Rocky, who read:
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number 34A, Berkeley Square, London.
Rocky had a feeling that life was about to get interesting.
As they all enjoyed a final cup of tea, Rocky asked after some more of the Old Hogwartians:
"What happened to the black boy and the Irish boy you used to suck off in secret behind the Quidditch shed, Harry?"
"Not much secret with you spying on us!" laughed Harry.
"Spying was half of the fun."
"Tibby always says that," said Adam.
"Who's Tibby?" asked Rocky.
"After your time," said Adam, "But coming back to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan: Dean's a wood-craver with an international reputation—"
"Dean Thomas!" said Rocky, "Some of his work's escaped to the Muggle world. The critics call it kitsch, but we love it. We bought a nice panel, but Benjie threw it out the window during one of our debates. Gone forever. What about Seamus? God what a stinker!"
"I quite liked it," Harry laughed, "Well, Seamus is breeding horses, Hippogriffs and Thestrals in Ireland, and doing very well."
"What about his love-life? I sometimes wondered how he'd turn out."
Rocky's five friends broke up with laughter.
"If you think he was a randy little sod at Hogwarts," gasped Adam.
"You asked for it Rocky," said Harry, "Well, he's never officially married, but he took an Irish gypsy-witch as his wife. She got pregnant at fourteen, so Seamus took a second gypsy bride to tide him over. She outdid the first by getting pregnant at twelve.
"Since then, they've both been dropping them regularly, so everything's fine there. But there were problems when Seamus's daughters started dropping them."
"No prizes for guessing the father," said Rocky.
"No. That's when the Ministry stepped in."
"I'm surprised," said Rocky, "I hope the Ministry's not getting all Nanny-State and Big Brother like the Muggles."
"No, it wasn't morality," said Harry, "It was inbreeding. Seamus understood that alright, because of his beasts. Besides, his sons were starting to get frisky, and that threatened even closer inbreeding.
"So the current situation is that Seamus lives with his sons in the Boys' Cabin, and visits his wives once a week. With the Girls' Cabin, some have been sold as brides for a hundred Galleons; the rest are on offer at ten Galleons a night; and Seamus will remove contraception and pay suitable men ten Galleons to cover a particular girl."
"What does suitable mean?"
"Powerful wizards, with powerful bodies. Gareth Treharne's Seamus's favourite—he's since your time Rocky—but he's a bit more expensive: he demands fifty Galleons and a week resting in the Boys' Cabin to recover."
"They say Seamus's sons turn forty shades of green when they hear a Treharne-week is coming up," said Adam.
"And they say Seamus stays safely embedded inside Gareth all week, because he's terrified of it going the other," said Seamus.
"But didn't Treharne write that song Tribute to Africa?" said Danny.
"He's extremely versatile," said Harry.
The five lads who knew the song crooned it together:
I close my eyes and picture the dark skins of that land,
From the circumcised young Berbers to the Kalahari band.
I miss the Kenyan foreskins as they start to stretch my crack,
The Xhosa and the Hausa with their Forty Shades of Black.
But most of all I miss him: boy from the Zulu zone,
And most of all I miss his cock as hard as any bone.
I long again to feel him lay me down upon my back,
Where his knob is sweet as oysters and there's Forty Shades of Black.
I wish that I could spend just an hour in Mozambique,
I long to see a randy boy display his ten-inch freak,
To feel again the torment as my arsehole takes the flak,
I'd walk from Cape to Cairo for those Forty Shades of Black.
But most of all I miss him: boy from the Zulu zone,
And most of all I miss his cock as hard as any bone.
I long again to feel him, twelve inches and some slack,
Where his knob is sweet as oysters and there's Forty Shades of Black.
They sang some more songs, and then it was time for the meeting to break up.
There were fond farewells—but not too regretful: all six men had soulmates waiting for them.
They headed for the Floo, except Rocky who satisfied his friends' curiosity, and gave himself a treat, by Changing into his Animagus and flying to the Docklands penthouse.
Benjie was not home—he was probably celebbing it in some flashy restaurant or bar.
Rocky picked up his work-in-progress—a novel about a brother and sister who used their psychic linkage to share their sexual feelings whenever they coupled with men. He added a couple of paragraphs, and conceived a minor plot-adjustment.
He turned on the Internet to check the news.
More trouble in Israel. There would always be trouble in Israel until all the different countries and parties agreed that the answer to the question Does the State of Israel have a Right to Exist? was an unfudged YES!
Then his heart lifted when he saw the headline:
Burtismania Lives
There was a picture of dozens of females, of varied ages, besieging a building that Rocky had seen before. It was . . . it was . . . Oh no! West End Central Police Station.
He raced to his mobile phone—the Very Very Private one—his Very Private phone would probably be full of shit from news reporters.
As expected, Grise Vealings:
B OK but SS holding until you take responsibility. West End Central. Smiling Face
He travelled the quickest way, going, for the second time that evening, as the crow flies.
Protected by policemen, who were looking proud and important at being on the telly, he passed through the girls—two or three hundred: not bad for someone ten years older than the latest teen idol—who were screaming Rocky! Rocky! It always amused him that Benjie's fans revered someone who did every day, mutatis mutandis, what they longed to do. Had he been a woman, they would have been spitting and trying to tear him to bits. Humans had improved in one respect, he thought, recollecting the Bassarid women who tore Orpheus to bits because of his partiality for young boys in their brief springtime, and early flowering, this side of manhood.
Grise was there, and told Rocky what had happened: Benjie had been found half-asleep in one of his cars, as it sat parked on a pavement.
At the cop-shop, he had given every sign of being stuffed to the dorsal fin at least with that white powder.
A doctor had examined him and given him the all-clear.
There was paperwork, a reunion with brief hug, and more paperwork, before Rocky and Benjie, protected by the happy coppers, entered the blacked-out rear of Grise's car.
"I'm so sorry, Darling," said a tearful Benjie.
"As long as you're okay, Benjie," said Rocky, "That's the only thing that matters."
"I'm starving."
"Stop off at that chinky in Shadwell," said Grise.
"Sir!" said the chauffeur, black as Rocky's Crow, but not caring a jot for the political incorrectitude.
They took the lift by themselves, and tucked into the food and beer.
Hunger partly assuaged, Benjie's apologetic manner changed to aggression.
"It's your bloody fault!" he snapped.
"Sorry," said Rocky, mildly.
"I was lonely."
"We're together now; it's all over."
"I wouldn't have minded if it was, like, something important."
"It was important, Benjie; more important than I realised."
"Bullshit! You promised me you'd have nothing more to do with that magic stuff."
"Once in ten years."
"That I know of. I bet you shagged Potter and all the others, and I bet you've been doing it all the time."
"Darling boy, you know we've always been honest about that."
"Oh yeah? I had to learn from a bloody Mr Mopp, if you please, that you shagged Stephen Fry in the toilets at the BBC."
"That was curiosity after you'd had him the week before. Anyway, he was too charming to resist."
"You told me I was charming."
"You are when you're not being like this."
"Like what?"
"Biting the carpet."
"I'm NOT! It's just that you don't love me."
"Now you're getting really silly."
"I'm NOT! Oh, forget it!"
"You know you're my only real love; you and my brother."
"Shut up! Just shag me! Shag me hard!"
Rocky shagged Benjie hard; and then shagged him slowly and gently.
"I do love you Rocky," said Benjie, as they gasped in each other's arms, "You're my reason for living."
"And I adore my sweet Benjie more than all the universes," said Rocky, giving Benjie's shoulder a little extra squeeze."
"I know; but you're such a lovie," said Benjie.
"Me?"
"You should be on the stage."
"Oh, don't talk wet."
"I only took a little sniff because I missed you so much, and you gave me all that grief."
"I didn't say a word."
"But you looked so dramatic, Rocky. God, it's difficult being married to a celebrity."