Gay Harry Potter-04-2-Danny Jorrocks and the Week of Sex

by jerome1980

Repost. Gay Danny Jorrocks and Gay Piers Polkiss have a week left before Danny goes to Hogwarts for his third year. They try to cram in as much gay sex, with as many variations as possible, in the time; and they won't let Voldemort and his scheming stop them.

GAY HARRY POTTER-04-2DANNY JORROCKS AND THE WEEK OF SEX

Contents

1. The Dorchester Hotel 1

2. The Two Alleys 6

3. Darren's Story 15

4. Weasleys and Creeveys 22

5. Steve's Story 28

6. Five Stressed Boys 34

7. Danny and Piers and . . . 41

8. . . . Dot and Alice 48

9. Bums 58

10. Bolters 62

11. Brains and Bodies 71

12. The Enemy in Sight 76

13. Jake, Grant and Adrian 85

14. Boys Will Be Boys 99

15. Scumbag Hall 118

16. London University 125

17. Mr Rowle Neutralised 133

18. Dumbledore Discourses and Pembroke Promises 146

19. Back to Stroud 154

20. Destruction 165

21. Piccadilly Pandemonium 171

22. Bijou Residence 180

23. We'll Meet Again 186

— CHAPTER ONE —The Dorchester Hotel

Danny Jorrocks woke up with the horn—not an ordinary horn, but a red-hot, steel-hard special which was his willy's way of reminding him that it had got used to a four-a-day habit and was currently nine wanks short of par.

Danny's hand automatically moved to release the tension and it took all his willpower to resist. Today was the start of a seven-day festival. In a week's time Danny would be off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and his Muggle friend Piers Polkiss would be staying in London to start his apprenticeship with Jorrocks and Company. Danny and Piers had decided to spend the week having as much gay sex, with as many people, in as many ways as possible.

Piers would return from Torremolinos in five hours. In the meantime, Danny intended to limber up with a good bumming from Joe the waiter—a happy experience that he had enjoyed a week earlier. Joe would soon turn up with Danny's morning cuppa and, hopefully, two balls bursting with juice.

Danny diverted himself with Magical Plants from the Tundra, a book that he had bought during his Black Sea holiday. Who would have expected such a magodiversity among the saxifrages, or their multiple possibilities in combination with lichens? He wondered if Professor Snape, his Potions master, would be interested.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and a call: "Room Service!" It was not Joe; it was a woman.

He bade the waitress to enter, exchanged polite greetings and, when she had put the tray on a table, asked: "Where's Joe?"

"Joe 'E go back to Portugal, Sir. Will there be anything else, Sir?"

She was looking at him.

He thought Piss Off! but said: "No, thank you."

As he sipped his tea, Danny thought: What a start to a Sexfest! And how spineless of Joe to run away when he knew that Danny would protect him from arrest for his part in the kidnap plot!

He had a five-star horn and wondered where, at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning, he was going to find some male flesh to sort it out. Then he had a brain wave: Ollie! he thought. Oliver Wood worked in Quality Quidditch Supplies and would surely agree to a sesh in the back room. They had had one there before—the sequel to many happy frolics in the Hogwarts lavvy cubicles—but this one would be more adventurous and Danny looked forward to getting his bumhole stretched more than ever before.

While he was in Diagon Alley he could have a look round the bookshops.

Cheerfully he finished his tea and abluted. Against his natural inclinations, he ran a comb through his hair. The first thing his mother had made him do when they had returned from their holiday the day before was to have an expensive haircut from the poshest barber in London. But Danny knew from experience that nothing could govern his shock of dark hair.

As he opened the door to the sitting room, he was still smiling at the universal tendency of mothers to home in on unimportant points. Then he saw his other parent.

"Dad!" he shouted as father and son rushed to embrace each other, "You said you were going back to Russia for a fortnight!"

"I had one little task to do first in Portugal. It involves you, but you'll have to wait until your mother's here—and a distinguished visitor. Then I'm afraid I really must get back to Russia."

"I'm agog, Dad! What's it all about?"

"Wait and see! In the meantime, tell me what you've got planned for the week—apart from study and practice."

"I'll see the Creeveys, of course, and Piers and I'll drop in on Oliver Wood this morning. Then there's a couple of friends from Fulham who I met during the kidnapping adventure. But most of all I'll be looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts. I'm hoping to interest Professor Snape in our tundra plants."

Mr Jorrocks laughed: "If you do, he won't give you or Gryffindor any credit!"

"He may be nasty, but he's a fantastic potioneer. I suppose it's like you and the Ministry: you can't always choose who you deal with."

"Too true!"

"Anyway, Professor Dumbledore thinks the world of him. If the Ministry manage to push Dumbledore out, I bet he sets up Snape as a puppet headmaster. Snape might even lure Scumbag out so he can be trapped."

"Who knows what will happen? You will remember your promise won't you?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'll keep my head down."

At this point Mrs Jorrocks entered from her bedroom and the topic of conversation switched to hair and the combing thereof.

On the stroke of nine o'clock there was a knock on the door and Mr Jorrocks let in a distinguished-looking man of early middle age. He was bearded and bespectacled. He looked very learned and Danny's heart went out to him at once.

Mr Jorrocks introduced them: "Daniel, this is Doctor David de Castro; Dr de Castro, my son Daniel."

They shook hands, Dr de Castro saying: "Pleased to meet you, Daniel," and Daniel saying "Wow! The David de Castro?"

"You've heard of me, Daniel?" smiled Dr de Castro.

"The most distinguished wizard in Israel? I'll say! And your articles that I've read are brilliant!"

"You flatter me, boy; and from Israel no more: I am now Portuguese."

"What took you to Portugal, Sir?" Joe's in Portugal, he thought.

"Israel is no place to be a wizard among Muggles or a Sephardi among Ashkenazi so I have returned to the land of my more immediate ancestors."

"I don't know whether . . ."

". . . to commiserate or congratulate," completed his mother.

"You can do both!" laughed Dr de Castro.

There was a knock on the door and two waitresses (Yuch! thought Daniel, Oh for Joe's brisk little bottom!) set up a table with a huge amount of food.

They all sat down round the table and waded in. Danny had his usual: slices of melon; sausage, bacon and egg; toast. He was surprised to see Dr de Castro tucking in to several rashers of bacon.

"Dad," he said, "I hope the bacon's Kosher!"

Dr de Castro laughed: "Daniel, I am now in your power. If you threaten to tell my wife, I can refuse you nothing!"

"He's in your debt already, David!" said Mr Jorrocks.

"Oh Dad! Stop teasing!"

"OK, son, if you don't mind the odd spraying with bits of Kosher bacon! Well, your mother and I decided after that kidnapping nonsense that you should be allowed to do under-age magic anywhere at any time—"

"If only!" said Danny.

"Don't interrupt you father!" said Mrs Jorrocks.

"—not just to guard you against attacks, when you're allowed to do magic anyway," continued Mr Jorrocks, "but because the Trace is restricting the development of a young wizard who's more skilled than most adults. So when I met with Fudge last week I put it to him—emphasising the danger you were in rather than your competence, as Fudge is small-minded and competence in others makes him insecure and envious. I said we knew magic was allowed in special circumstances but wanted you to be able to do just-in-case magic without triggering Ministry activity. I didn't have much trouble in persuading him—saying Yes and making a problem go away probably made him feel decisive.

"So, having cleared it, I put it to the world expert on magic fields and when we got back yesterday there was a message from David saying we were ready to go."

"Is it an amulet?" asked Danny.

Dr de Castro reached for his case and took out a green stone fastened to a metal chain. "Yes, Green Tourmaline—an extremely complex and powerful mineral," he said. We will tune it to your brain and voice and then, when you tell it OK!, any spells you do in the next twenty seconds or so will not trigger the Trace. You can use OK in the course of normal conversation—the stone will know when you are talking to it.

"At your parents' request, you can tell the stone Alarm!, when it will signal your location to your parents and the Ministry. Also Safe! will activate all known varieties of Protego."

"What range?" asked Danny.

"Twenty yards," said his father.

"Twenty metres," said Dr de Castro.

"Twenty-two yards," said his father.

"There is one more function," said Dr de Castro," Can you guess?"

Danny thought, then shook his head.

"Don't let us down, Danny," said Mrs Jorrocks.

"Combing my hair?" said Danny to general laughter.

"Think about it, son . . . an amulet . . ." said Mr Jorrocks.

"Tickles!" said Danny.

"Is that your owl's name?" asked Dr de Castro, "Yes, it's silly making you wear two amulets."

They spent ten minutes conditioning the tourmaline to Danny and transferring his owl-charm; then they were ready for a test.

Danny was baffled about one thing: "Dad, if the Amulet hides my spells from the Trace, why did you have to see Fudge?"

"Firstly as a matter of general technique: always keep to the rules if there's nothing to gain by breaking them. Secondly, you might sometimes do spells with consequences such that the Ministry would need to know who cast them. Thirdly, you might forget the OK! —specially with non-verbal spells."

"If only!" said Danny, "I've been trying for months. No luck."

Mr Jorrocks rang the Ministry with the Muggle phone: "Good morning, Bittles. We're ready to test. Is Mafalda ready?"

After a few seconds, Mr Jorrocks said: "Go for it, Danny. Try and blot the Trace out."

Danny said OK! to his Amulet, then pointed his wand at the last rasher of bacon which became a slice of chicken with Kosher burned on it. They all laughed.

"Anything?" said Mr Jorrocks, then, obviously receiving the right reply, "Right Danny! Set off the Trace!"

Danny transformed the chicken-slice into a Portuguese flag with a Star of David superimposed. "Nice one!" said Dr de Castro.

Mr Jorrocks was listening, then said: "Great! Wait there, please." Turning to the other three, he said: "Illegal transformation charm, Room 705, Dorchester Hotel, nine fifty A.M. We're cooking on gas!" then to Mrs Jorrocks: "got your charm on dear?" She nodded and he said to the phone: "Alarm test coming; ready? . . . Go, Danny!"

Danny said Alarm! to his Amulet and both his parents jumped a little.

"Goodness!" said his father, "Clear as a bell. Right person and right place." His wife nodded.

"What did you get, Bittles? . . . good . . . good! All done then. Thank Mafalda please, and tell her if the Ministry won't pay her Overtime, we will! Goodbye, Bittles!"

"Now the protection!" said Dr de Castro, "Allow me!" He pointed his wand at Danny, whose reactions were good, as half way through the good doctor's Rictumsempra! Danny called Safe! and Dr de Castro's spell bounced back past him and off the walls, ceiling and floor with three of the people in the room ducking and swaying as they tried to avoid it.

"For goodness' sake," gasped Mrs Jorrocks, "Finite!"

But the Rictumsempra! might just as well have hit them as all four were laughing their heads off.

Danny spoke Tickles! and scrawled a note to Oliver Wood: You at QQS? Danny xx. A minute later his Little Owl flew through the window and Danny sent him off with the note. He was back scarcely two minutes later with Ollie's scrawled Yeah! Danny gave him a tickle and an owl-treat before preparing for his adventures.

People tended to like Danny, principally because he was less self-centred than the typical teenager, was kind (if cheeky) to everyone and was grateful for kindness to himself. So he warmly thanked his parents and Doctor de Castro and put the Amulet on.

"Gosh! It's so light."

"Not light at all, Daniel," said his father proudly, "That chain's solid Platinum, but it's been charmed to limit the pressure on its owner's skin—an invention of Andrey Abramovich who, like you David, returned to the land of his more immediate ancestors and, like you again David, is a treasured asset to the Company."

"A nice spin-off that I'll bet Andrey never thought of is that you can't be strangled with it, Daniel," said Mrs Jorrocks.

"If he lets any an enemy near enough to try, he deserves to be strangled!" laughed Mr Jorrocks. "Anyway, I'm going to have to break up the party. David and I have a meeting at the Office, then I'm off to Russia and he's off to Portugal."

"Before you go, Dad, a couple of points: first is it OK with you and Mum for me to be here—or at the Creeveys—by myself while Mum's on the Isle of Wight?"

His mother answered: "Of course Daniel, just keep me informed—Muggle phone, owl, but I hope not the Amulet! Though your Aunt Rose will miss you."

"She could have seen me at the Black Sea."

"It's harvest time, Daniel and George just won't delegate."

"Give 'em my love anyway."

"And your second point, Son?" said his father.

"Just another test. I'm going to Apparate to the Park. Will you watch me?"

"Of course!"

Danny went to his bedroom and packed his rucksack. He returned to the living room, kissed his parents and shook hands with Dr de Castro. He donned the Invisibility Cloak, murmured OK!, thought of the Park and turned. After the usual whirling he found himself standing on green grass. Spot on! He checked no-one was around then took off the cloak. There were three figures high up in an open window. He waved and they waved back. He checked again, raised the cloak, said OK! and turned. Spot on again! He was in an alley near the Leaky Cauldron. He had come here rather than directly to the Leaky Cauldron or Diagon Alley because he didn't want people to know he had an Invisibility Cloak and he didn't want people to know that he was allowed to do magic—let alone Apparate. With Scumbag around, a low profile was desirable!

— CHAPTER TWO —The Two Alleys

Danny was visible by the time he entered the Leaky Cauldron. Once safely inside, he put on his wizard robe and slipped off his Muggle trousers. It was a beautiful summer's morning, though once inside the pub, you wouldn't have known it.

He exchanged greetings with Tom, morose as ever, and nodded to a couple of familiar faces. Then he went quickly into the yard, through the wall and into a brilliantly sunlit, bustling Saturday-morning Diagon Alley.

It was not the last Saturday before Hogwarts Day, but there was a good scattering of youngsters with fretting parents. He would look out for probable first-year boys and enjoy their fresh innocence; but first Oliver Woods!

It took him twenty minutes to negotiate the forty yards to Quality Quidditch Supplies. The boys and men he knew were no problem: they were satisfied with a smile and a wave; but the mothers were always, well, motherly—Ooh Danny, haven't you grown! I remember . . . how's your mother . . . you'll be getting a girlfriend next!

The girls were the worst time-consumers. They had to stop for a chat and a gossip; but Danny loved girls and loved chatting and gossiping too. As he talked and laughed animatedly, he just thought of them as girls, not girls who wanted him to kiss them and cuddle them and feel them and . . .

When he eventually got to QQS, he saw that there was a mob inside—customers, Quidditch fans and females staring adoringly at Oliver Wood. He gave up for the moment and set off for Gringotts Wizarding Bank. His money-bag needed refilling. Mr Jorrocks would have done it for him, but Danny enjoyed the ride on the underground train.

Fifty yards down the Alley he saw a friend standing outside Madame Malkin's Robe-shop.

"Hi Ray! Waiting for Trinity?"

Ray Kelly was a Gryffindor Fourth-year whose bland, bespectacled face failed to hint at his aggression when duelling or playing Quidditch.

Wizarding tradition holds that, for every man, there is a woman who is meant for him and vice versa. This is baloney, but sometimes the paradigm holds: at 10:50 A.M. on the first of September, 1992 two shy first-years said Hello on the Hogwarts Express. Since then Ray Kelly and Trinity Freeman had been together. Danny had heard Harry Potter surmising that the Sorting Hat had put them in separate houses to give them a break from each other—certainly Trinity was brave enough to be in Gryffindor and Ray was clever enough to be in Ravenclaw.

"Hi Danny!" said Ray now, "Yeah, Trinity's inside and before you ask: NO!"

"You're right; I was going to ask! You know Ray: Even when you're apart from Trinity, you're the most heterosexual boy I know!"

"But not anti-gay, though Colin's incessant lectures on Harry Potter and Sea Jay and Jonny creeping about and whispering to each other would drive me bonkers if it weren't for Stew!"

Stewart Appiah was a member of Colin Creevey's dorm. He was a quiet, studious boy who hung about with the rest of the Gryffindors except when he was with Ray and Trinity—sometimes with a girlfriend of his own.

"I like Stew as well," said Danny, even though he's the second most heterosexual boy I know."

"Yeah, friendship's great, isn't it? More important than sex."

"Friendship's part of sex and sex is part of friendship."

"There we must amicably disagree, Dan.

Trinity came out of the shop.

"Hi Danny!" They kissed fleetingly.

The three friends gossiped for a bit and then split up.

Inside Gringotts, Danny saw Dean Thomas standing in the queue for service and went up to join him.

"Deano-o!"

"Danny! What yer bin doin'?"

"Talking about you with the Creeveys for one thing!"

"Me? Why me?"

"Well," the conversation became whispered, "about all five of you in that dorm. You all get me hot and you all refuse to cool me down."

"Apart from our sexual tastes, you're too young."

"Dean, you know I've been playing with the big boys for nearly two years."

"They're perverts, then."

"Crap! It was me that led them on!"

"Then you're a reverse pervert, a . . . a trevrep!"

At this point a goblin became free.

"Shall we share the trip?" said Dean, and the two lads went down to the vaults deep under London town.

As they travelled, they talked about their friends.

"Anyone seen Harry?" asked Dean.

"I saw Dumbledore and he said Harry was safe and bearing up."

"Good! It's all a bloody shambles isn't it! At least Seamus' mum is letting him go back to Hogwarts."

"Also Good!" Danny kept quiet about the fact that he had recently met Seamus' mum and that he had received extensive snogging lessons from Seamus himself."

"Do you think Cho'll be coming back?"

"I expect so, Deano. He'll get lots of love and support from everyone. You're right, it is a shambles. Let's all keep sane at Hogwarts, though!" Danny gave Dean's hand a little squeeze which, sweetly, Dean briefly reciprocated.

As they did their business, Danny discreetly didn't notice Dean's small locker and Dean discreetly didn't notice Danny's giant vault. Danny knew that Dean was on some sort of scholarship, but wouldn't have dreamt of offering to help out as that would breach wizarding etiquette.

They stood at the door of the bank.

"You wanna hang out with me today, Dean?"

"Sorry, Danny, the Hammers have got Leeds and I'm off for a pre-match social."

"Oh, football! We must start playing at Hogwarts! Now listen, Deano, before you go, let me put what one of my tutors called a thought-experiment onto you: imagine it is the middle of the night and you are lying in your bed in Gryffindor tower. A little figure creeps into your bed. It's Danny Jorrocks. What would you do?"

"In the first place, you'd never get in. There's always an alarm spell at night—ever since that Sirius Black visited."

"This is a thought-experiment what would you do?"

"I don't know—depends on my mood, I suppose."

"Well, you could throw me out quietly; or throw me out noisily; or let me stay. And if you let me stay, you should be aware that I am now a fully-developed man."

"Really, Dan? You surprise me! You're so young!"

"If I told you that in the last few days I'd lost four virginities, would that mean anything to you?"

"That's an easy thought-experiment! Mouth, bottom, give and take."

"Correct! There is a fifth one: I can squirt now, so squirting into someone's bottom is the next big step."

Let me guess you're saving that for Harry, like Colin Creevey!"

"Correct again, except that Col's saving his sweet backside and I'm saving my injection of boy juices for Harry's even sweeter backside. So anything but that—and even that if Harry says no—will be on the menu for you!"

"Why me?"

"Dean, I don't suppose there's ever been so delectable a set of five boys in one room. Harry is number one target, because he's—well, Harry. Ron is number two because, he's Harry's mate and you are number three. Perhaps you're too proud to accept the bronze?"

"Not too proud; just not that way—no what I mean is—oh some other time. I gotta go."

"I'll walk with you as far as QQS. And you've got a week for the thought-experiment!"

As they set off, Danny was amused to note that at least a dozen girls were hanging round casually pretending not to be ogling the pair of boys.

"Like cats round a bowl of cream!" he said.

"Or flies round a hot shite!" said Dean.

They parted at QQS.

"I suppose a kiss is out of the question?" asked Danny.

"A quick manly hug and peck," said Dean and acted accordingly.

"See yer next week, Deano!"

"See yer next week, Dan!"

He turned to go into the shop and paused when he heard Dean call "Danny!"

He turned and the lads walked to each other. Then Dean bent and hugged Danny, snogging him hard and sticking his long tongue down his throat.

When they broke off, Danny said "Dean! Lost for words!"

Dean whispered "I've heard girls really go for gay men!"

Danny laughed and said "trevrep squared!"

They parted, this time for ten days.

Quality Quidditch Supplies was still busy, but Danny managed a quick word with Oliver Woods.

"Do you get a lunch break, Ollie?"

"Not today. It's madness—anyway there's two fitters working in the back."

"What about Tuesday night then, and doing that fantasy for my Muggle friend Piers?"

"Sure!"

"My mum's going away so I'll be on my own at the Dorchester hotel."

"I've never been in a Muggle hotel. How do I find you?"

"Just ask inside or take the lift and follow the signs. Room 706. Come at six-thirty and we can have a run-through before Piers arrives."

"See yer, then"

"See yer, Ollie"

Danny left QQS disappointed but not dejected: he would just have to wait until he could see Piers. He wondered if Piers' parents would let him out that evening. He would see Piers before Tuesday anyway and get a good . . . Then he saw the pictures of Quidditch players in the QQS window. He should have got to know that Viktor Krum while he had the chance! A rush of sex-urge overwhelmed him. He must have a wank now!

His hand reached inside his robe and, with his eyes on the dark, scowling, sexy face of Krum, he grabbed a willy that was very hard indeed. Before he could begin the few seconds of discreet stroking that would bring him off, though, he saw something else in the window: the reflection of a boy he had always fancied.

He turned and walked smartly up to the boy, who was browsing a tobacco-stall.

"Hi, Sea Jay! Thinking of taking it up?'

Sea Jay was a tall, muscular Gryffindor Fourth-year with dark, slightly windswept-looking hair under which a handsome face was always ready to break into a smile. At Hogwarts he and his friend Jonathan Neil were inseparable. Danny would be their classmate again in Fourth-year and he was looking forward to getting to know the two boys better—previous dealings being along the lines of Danny's enquiring as to whether they were rogering each other and whether he could participate; both enquiries being answered only by enigmatic smiles.

This time Sea Jay answered him properly: "Hi, Danny! Yeah; Dad lets me smoke a clay-pipe now and then, so I thought I might take one to Hogwarts."

Sea Jay's real name was Chris Harris. His nickname arose, in typical schoolboy fashion, from a physical peculiarity: in Second-year, like some of his contemporaries, his pubic bush appeared; but unlike his contemporaries, it was accompanied by a phenomenon at the rear: Chris's bumcheeks became covered by a thick more-than-fuzz of dark hair.

Very soon Chris Harris became Chris Hairy-arse, or H.A.

H.A, for ease of pronunciation, became A.J.

In Third-year, further bum-growth saw him become B.J. and then C.J., or Sea Jay. And there it stopped: there was something of the mariner in his windblown appearance and something of the soaring bird in his smooth gait and Sea Jay was utterly fitting—even some of the Hogwarts staff now preferred it to Christopher.

"And where are you going to smoke in Hogwarts? It's against the rules." said Danny.

"Oh, Danny!" Smiled Sea Jay, (How I'd like to slip my tongue between those teeth! thought Danny) "You know so much about book-magic, but didn't you know that there are dozens of secret, unwriteable spells passed down from mouth to mouth by Gryffindor pupils and wiped from their memories when they come of age? There are all sorts of tricks for smokers—and other rule-breakers!'

"Interesting! I suppose the Weasley twins are the experts?"

"Of course!"

"I must consult them!"

They walked past Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlour and found a quiet spot. They stood chatting for a bit about the coming school year, then Danny said: "You know, this is the first time I've seen you without Jonny."

"I know! I've hardly seen him. Our families went on hols at separate times and he's off again visiting relatives this week."

"So I suppose you're sex-starved and randy?"

"Danny, you know comments to third parties are out of order!"

"OK, so let's you and me have our own party: I was hoping for a good bumming off a friend this morning, but he let me down."

"Bumming? Bumming? Danny, you're only a little boy. I know you're always doing things with some of the big boys, but I never imagined—"

Danny laughed. "No, no! I've given them a hand or a willy; never a mouth or a bumhole. I'm regretting it a bit now because in the last couple of weeks I've discovered the joys of being bummed. It's wonderful!"

"You've enjoyed it? You're too young!"

"I'm thirteen; I've got hair; I can come."

"I suppose your height fooled me. But Danny! I thought you were saving yourself for Harry Potter like Col and half the other boys in the school."

"I was, but the temptation was too great. Anyway, I believe that Sex is an important part of Love and Friendship; and you can't have too much Love and Friendship—specially with Scumbag loose!"

"You've got a point, Danny, but what about when two people . . ."

"I know, I know! If you've got a special friend people expect you to stick to him—or her if you're a pervert—but there's more than sex between special friends. I hope one day to meet my soul-mate. We'll have red-hot sex together; but I'm sure we'll have sex with other people too."

Sea Jay smiled. "You're persuasive, Danny, but the argument falls down because of jealousy and possessiveness."

"Up to a point. But things work backwards too: Love and Friendship involve Sex; but Sex can lead to Love and Friendship; and lots of Sex between lots of people should lead to lots of Love and Friendship! At any rate, Sea Jay, this year I'm gonna try and organise lots of Sex at Hogwarts—sex between boys—someone else can deal with the rest!"

"It's going to be an interesting year, Danny!"

"Very interesting. Especially since the school will be split down the middle on the question of Scumbag's return."

"Why? Surely there can't be any question? Cedric died, for God's sake!"

"The Ministry refuses to believe it and they're using the Prophet and organised rumour-mongering to persuade people to go along with them."

"Yes, it will be interesting!"

"It'll be a challenge. My lots of Sex will be linked with lots of Love and lots of Friendship. And I'm including Slytherin."

Sea Jay laughed. "That's the biggest challenge!"

"Anyway, Christopher Paul Harris, how about this bumming?"

"Let's do it—but only if it's part of our Friendship and Love."

"Walk this way, then!"

Danny led Sea Jay further along Diagon Alley and stopped at the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

"We could do it on that waste ground under my Invisibility Cloak—which please keep secret— or we could go back to my hotel."

"There's a place down Knockturn that lets you have a room for an hour," said Sea Jay.

"How do you know about it?"

"I heard Malfoy talking about it and then, one day during the Easter hols, me and . . . a friend were desperate . . ."

"Sounds good!" Danny didn't need the Holmesian skills he had acquired over recent weeks to deduce who Sea Jay's friend had been.

They set off down Knockturn Alley, but Danny stopped outside a pub called the Junior Ganymede Club.

"Ganymede. The God's serving-boy," said Danny, "Is this where we're going?"

"Goodness, no!" said Sea Jay, "That's a really posh place." Then, lowering his voice to a whisper: "Much-frequented by people from the Dark Side."

"Who can afford rent boys. Is that where they hang out?"

"Yeah, they cluster outside; but how do you know about rent boys?"

"Me and . . . a friend met one here last week; and another friend told me something that made me think there was a big rent boy scene in Knockturn. There's none here now, though."

"They're lazy buggers; they don't get up until one o'clock if you're lucky!"

The boys walked further down the alley turning a corner to be faced with a dead-end bordered with seedy-looking terraces of three or four-storeyed houses. A downstairs window displayed a piece of cardboard roughly lettered with Rooms to Let. Sea Jay led the way, opening the door and walking in to a dark, dingy hall. From a side-room, drawn by a bell attached to the front door, emerged a Dickensian looking gentleman. He was big and jolly-looking. His bald head was ringed with short, untidy curls of red hair leading down to a pair of mutton-chop whiskers. He was the epitome of bluff, normal, English masculinity, so it came as some surprise to Danny when his Can I help you, gentlemen? emerged in a tone of the most extreme campness.

"Room for an hour, please," said Sea Jay.

"Room Seven," said the custodian, handing over a key, "That'll be one Galleon, please."

Sea Jay led the way upstairs and unlocked the door of Room Seven. This turned out to be a surprisingly clean-looking room, if sparsely furnished. There was a double bed with a padded mattress-cover but no bedding; a wash-basin with a sliver of soap and a small, rough towel; a scruffy notice reading PLEASE SCOURGIFY BEFORE YOU LEAVE; and that was it. As Sea Jay locked the door, Danny looked out of the grimy window at the rears of several tall Muggle buildings, mostly Victorian but a few fairly modern inserts owing their existence, no doubt, to the Town Planning efforts of the Luftwaffe.

"First things first!" said Danny turning towards Sea Jay. He wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled his head down for a kiss. Sea Jay had to stoop as he was nearly a foot taller than Danny. When their lips met, Sea Jay pressed hard, bracing Danny's head with one hand while stroking his back and buttocks with the other. His tongue found Danny's tongue and flickered across it giving Danny an instant erection. Sea Jay was clearly an experienced snogger!

As Danny mirrored Sea Jays hands, stroking the floppy hair and the bent back, his lust made him press his body forward, taking the S-shape that architects call an ogee. He squeezed his tongue into Sea Jays mouth, and licked the teeth which gave such character to the boy's pleasant smile. They continued the kiss, sucking hard at each other's mouths for a long time—a time that seemed to Danny like a visit to Heaven. He felt transported to a realm of pure essence of the male. It was hard to believe that Sea Jay was not yet fifteen.

Eventually Danny broke away. "Time to get rid of the clothes," he said.

The boys stripped and Danny's eyes took in the sexy, well-proportioned body—a smooth chest, furry arms and legs, and there, in the middle, a great mass of hair framing a long, limp, tapered penis.

Danny guided Sea Jay so that he was seated on the bed. Danny crouched and took Sea Jay's willy in his hand. He peeled back the foreskin and smelt the glans. Heaven! The willy smelt sweet—an almost unbearable sweetness—the nasal equivalent of the word and concept: Love!

He reached out his tongue and licked the tip of the purple head; then the glans all over; then the shaft. A delightful smell—a different sort of sweetness—wafted from the pubic hair. Was there no end to Nature's generosity to gay boys? He enveloped the glans with his mouth and sucked hard, wiggling his tongue over the surface. He took the entire willy in his mouth, then just the glans, then the entirety, alternating his focus and all the time sucking and tonguing vigorously.

Sea Jay had got a semi on, but no more. Danny raised his head: "Come on, mate! I'm gagging for it! Me arse thinks it's been superglued shut!" It was unthinkable that a teenage boy couldn't get a stiffie. A horrid thought came into Danny's mind: was Sea Jay straight?

"Sorry, Danny. I s'pose it's because I haven't yet got my head round to thinking of you as a sex-object. You're still little-boy Danny, bright and loveable but not yet ready for sex. Let me have a go."

The two boys rose and Danny sat on the edge of the bed, his little stiffie, with a bead of pre-cum, pointing at the ceiling. But Sea Jay turned him round so that he was bent face-down with his tiny bottom exposed to Sea Jay's eyes.

The boy placed one hand on each of Danny's cheeks and started kneading them with a rotating motion that periodically exposed his little pink bumhole. After a while he bent down and pressed his lips to Danny's left cheek, then, taking his time, started kissing Danny's bum all over, at first gently and then more forcefully, taking little pinches of flesh in his mouth and gently nibbling them.

This was very sexy and Danny had just decided that he was going to come soon when Sea Jay changed his approach and, spreading Danny's cheeks licked the top of Danny's crack; then the middle; then the bottom. Suddenly, he was licking Danny's bumhole!

Danny couldn't believe it. What a sexy thing to do! Why hadn't he ever thought of this? Then worry took over: he'd had a shit that morning. Was it after his shower? Had he wiped properly? Had it had time to lose its offensiveness? Then he thought: would Sea Jay care? Perhaps he even liked licking a shitty bum! He remembered that Colin had once had to press his lips against his bumhole during a game of Twister and, although insertion was mentioned in the rules, it would never have occurred to either of them that a tongue might be inserted for mutual pleasure in a bumhole!

By this time, he was conscious that Sea Jay's tongue was pressing hard against his hole and, before he knew it, he could feel that the tip was definitely inside him! His first instinct was to constrict the hole, but he forced himself to relax and let the tongue have its way. He hoped he didn't fart! But then he thought: perhaps Sea Jay wouldn't mind that; again, he might even like it. Whatever, his friend felt, Danny was now really enjoying the situation. He had lost his erection due to the surprise and subsequent qualms. Otherwise, he would have come by now. Kissing, sucking and bumming had their own beauty, but this was surely the most intimate thing that two boys could do with each other!

Sea Jay continued stimulating Danny's hole for some time and then drew back. Danny turned and saw that Sea Jay had indeed been stimulated and was displaying a stiffie. And what a stiffie! Like many of the willies that Danny had known, Sea Jay's was tapered—an arrangement with obvious advantages for bumming. But this taper was not uniform: had Danny known the word he would have recognised another ogee. The willy was very thick indeed at its base, increased its thickness for a bit, then inflected to form a narrower stalk leading to the fat bell-end.

Danny thought he could just about take the end. After that the thin stalk would be easy, but the thick bit was a worry. Then another worry struck him: "I forgot to bring lubricant," he wailed, vowing never to go out without his tube of antiseptic cream.

"Don't worry, Danny, here's a new spell for you." Sea Jay reached for his wand, pointed it as Danny's midriff and called out: Lubricio! Danny felt nothing but was somehow aware that his pleasure-passage was as slippery as an eel swimming in olive oil.

He turned back to his face-down posture and cried out: "Go for it!"

But Sea Jay turned him so that he was lying face-up, feet on the floor and body on the bed. Then Sea Jay grasped Danny's ankles and lifted them so that his legs were vertical, then more than vertical . He pulled Danny towards him so that the exposed bumhole was right at the edge of the bed.

Danny grasped the implication at once: Face-to-face bumming! This brought a new dimension to love-making: to look at each other while jiggling; to watch the beloved's face while he was enjoying the pleasure-pain of his orgasm; To kiss!

Danny was mentally and physically excited and couldn't wait for Sea Jay to enter him, but Sea Jay was very gentle, working first one finger, then two into Danny, occasionally leaning over to give him a kiss. The combination of lust and tenderness in his face remained one of Danny's happiest memories.

Then came the big moment: Sea Jay pressed his bell-end against Danny's hole and pushed in very slowly. "Stop me if it hurts" he said, but he was so slow and careful that the bell-end was wholly in and Sea Jay quivering back and forth with Danny having felt nothing more than a delightful feeling of fullness.

Things continued like this for half a minute, but Sea Jay was clearly feeling a heightened lust and started pushing harder and thrusting deeper inside his friend. Danny felt his bumhole getting stretched; and he liked it! Removing his hands from Sea Jay's nipples, he placed them on his bumcheeks and immediately marvelled at their soft silkiness. He pulled the bum towards him. He wanted all of Sea Jay inside him. A finger found Sea Jay's hole which yielded a little. Danny thought about licking the hole and pushing his tongue into it. The thought gave him an additional wave of pleasure.

Meanwhile, Sea Jay was growing more frantic. He gave a groan and started slamming hard into Danny with long thrusts that pushed the whole length of his willy inside the boy's hole. He was holding Danny's legs and now he started biting Danny's toes—to stop himself yelling, if his noisy, but muffled, grunts were anything to go by.

Danny's bumhole was being stretched more than ever before; then unstretched and stretched over and over again. It was hurting seriously now, but the pain was simply another part of the pleasure that was overwhelming him. He was coming! He screamed. He couldn't stop himself. He screamed again as he felt himself spurting and spurting. Then the orgasm died away, but a sort of emotional orgasm continued as he took pleasure in Sea Jay's pleasure. He looked up and saw that Sea Jay sounded and looked as though he were being tortured. Sea Jay caught the look and arched his back to kiss Danny on the lips.

Sea Jay rogered Danny hard for another minute. There was no mistaking his orgasm when it came: biting hard into Danny's hand, he had one last burst of frenetic thrusting followed by half a dozen slow-paced, mighty heaves as though he were trying to push Danny through the mattress—each heave, no doubt, resulting in a joyful splat of boy-juice into Danny's backside; the whole accompanied by muffled, falsetto squeaks.

The boys had enjoyed themselves! Danny couldn't believe how lucky he was; as Sea Jay collapsed breathlessly on top of him, in the process slipping his penis out of Danny's hole, he thought how meaningless a quick poke from Joe the waiter was compared to this!

Sea Jay echoed his thought, gasping out: "Danny that was the most wonderful experience of my life! I wouldn't have believed anything could be that good! You are simply the best!"

"It takes two!" panted Danny.

"No, it takes you! You are the top of the Premier League. Thirteen years old and Champion of the World!"

"No! This is non-competitive. There are a hundred and forty boys at Hogwarts and there must be fifty at least who are up for it. Let's make them all Champions!"

"Yes! Screw Scumbag, as you call him! Oh Danny, I've always been keen to get back to Hogwarts, but this year . . ."

"Yes this year! I mean to start the year in style by shagging Harry Potter, if he'll let me—which reminds me; get up: I want to see how much cum I made."

Sea Jay got up and Danny looked down at his chest. "Disappointing. Just that little smudge. It felt like gallons and gallons when I was coming."

Sea Jay peered closely. "But Danny you still are a little boy. You've got hardly any hair. You've only just begun puberty. How long have you been able to come?"

"I started coming clear fluid six weeks ago and did my first proper come nine days ago."

"I feel like a cradle-snatcher."

"Don't fall for that crap! I enjoyed it as much as you. Children have a right to a sex-life, you know, and I'll be telling the first-years that! Now would you pass me the towel. I don't suppose I've got much control of my bumhole!"

Danny was right: with gravity pulling the wrong way, Sea Jay's cum gushed out onto the towel. Danny had expected some brown pollution, but there were only a couple of red streaks.

"You came gallons and gallons," he said, "and you've drawn blood."

"Danny, you should have stopped me!"

"Stopped you? I'd willingly shed a lot more blood to have real red-hot sex like that! Now let's lie down on the bed. We haven't had a proper cuddle yet."

They lay down and hugged each other closely.

"Tell me about this place," said Danny, "And the rent boys. It must all be totally illegal, so how come the Ministry let it go on?"

"Self-interest." said Sea Jay. "They make a lot from taxes and lots of men in the Ministry and lots of influential wizards around the country take the odd break from their marriages here."

"What about all the risks?"

"Risks?"

"Well, this place could be verminous; there are sexual diseases going round the Muggles; places like this could be blackmailers' paradises."

"As for vermin, these places are like straight hotels: they must be fumigated regularly. A single flea could lead to confiscation of the whole building. Then, as for diseases, Wizards are immune from Muggle diseases passed by sex. They're not sure about this new AIDS one, though. They're checking it out at St Mungo's now. "Don't you read the Prophet?"

"No, it's a total rag!"

"Not total: there's some good stuff buried there if you throw away the bits about Harry Potter and all the gossip columns. Now, what was your third point?"

"Blackmail."

"Nobody would risk it. Remember the Law of Gravity from History of Magic?"

"Sixteen-seventy: successful solution of a crime stops all actions related to crimes of lesser gravity. Brought in after a baker who caused a great fire was sued for not delivering bread."

"Precisely; and Blackmail is deemed the worst crime of all by wizardkind. You can get away with murder if someone tries to blackmail you about it. And the Ministry obliviators will make sure that no-one remembers your own crime."

"So even though witches and wizards are more prudish than Muggles, they actually manage irregular sex much better."

"Yeah, it's like the Prophet: there's a lot of good stuff when you blow away the chaff—"

"—the worst of which is Fudge who must be the biggest prick in the universe!"

"Seconded! But Danny! We'd better get going; the hour must be nearly up."

With a last squeeze the boys rose and started dressing. Sea Jay had just donned his robe when Danny shouted: "Stop! I never inspected your bum!"

Sea Jay smiled and took down his underpants. He hoisted up his robe and turned round, exposing an extraordinarily hairy bum. The thick black covering made it hard to identify the colour of Sea Jay's skin.

Danny bent down and stroked the cheeks. "Bloody hell! It's unbelievable! And yet you're so smooth. It's like stroking silk." He parted the cheeks, exposing the pinky-brown hole. He put his nose to the hole and sniffed tentatively. Well, it didn't smell of shit! Instead there was a dark, musky odour. It was quite strong and Danny wasn't sure that he liked it. He rose and went for a hole that he did like: he locked Sea Jay in another snog.

The lads sucked away for a few seconds and then broke away to finish dressing and to tidy up the room, giving the towel a double dose of Scourgify!

They locked the room behind them and handed in the key to the jolly attendant. "Thank you, gentleman," he squeaked, "Do come again!"

— CHAPTER THREE —Darren's Story

Emerging into the bright sunlight of a beautiful Saturday morning, Danny said: "What yer fancy doing, Sea Jay?"

"I feel so relaxed! How about sitting at Florean's watching the world go by?"

"Good idea!" and they walked up Knockturn Alley.

"Danny, you're limping quite badly!" Sea Jay looked concerned.

"Just easing the strain on my jacksie. If anyone asks why I'm walking like this, I'll tell them that I've just had a five-star banging from a beautiful boy and I'm actually walking on air!"

"And I'll tell them that I'm walking beside the best shag in Hogwarts!"

"You've got to try out another forty-eight before you can say that!"

"Forty-seven, actually!"

"Oh yeah! What'll Jonny think about today's doings?"

"I didn't mention Jonny—oh, look! There's an early-bird rent boy!"

There was indeed a young man standing outside the Junior Ganymede Club. He was about nineteen, fair-haired and of medium height, but the thing that stood out most was his general scruffiness. His hair was long through neglect rather than design; he had probably never shaved as a ragged, wispy moustache marred his cutish face. What struck the onlookers most, though, was the state of his robe: it was stained, pock-marked with tobacco-burns, raggedy-hemmed and looked as though it had not been cleaned for decades.

The boy clocked them and wandered over. Danny recognised him as a boy he had met—and Confunded—a couple of weeks earlier.

Before the boy could speak, Danny got in: "We're not on the game; we don't want a manager; we're just passing through. But—" he glanced at Sea Jay and jerked his head towards the top of the street. Sea Jay nodded. "—we would like you to join us for an ice cream."

" 'Ow much?"

"Eh?"

" 'Ow much! Time's money, yer know, and you don't get me for nothing."

"We're offering you some company and free food!" said Sea Jay, "If you don't want it, fair enough." And the lads walked away smartly.

The young man darted after them. " 'Ere don't be like that! I'm a pro and you've got to try it on, 'aven't yer!"

"Come on then! I'm Danny and this is Sea Jay."

"I'm Darren."

Danny was surprised: "Not Big Darren?" This boy didn't look like the possessor of a legendary organ.

"Nah, I'm Bent Darren. Do you know Big Darren, then!"

"No, but I've heard about him." He turned to Sea Jay: "Big Darren is well known for being big where it counts—which reminds me: I've just got to pop into the Apothecary's. Would you order me a peanut butter sundae with crushed almonds and raspberry sauce, please; and a cherry juice."

"He saw the other two to a table outside Florean's and walked stiffly down to the Apothecary's. Snape had been present on his last visit, but this time all the customers were strangers except for a couple of Hogwarts girls to whom he nodded and cheekily whispered: "Friction burns, I suppose?", which, coming from Danny, in his current state, was a case of pot-and-kettle.

The girls giggled and blushed. Danny intuited that they would have been more than glad to get friction burns from him. Brushing aside this loathsome thought, he collected his purchase and walked back to Florean's.

"Well, what's the story?" he asked.

"We've only talked about the menu," said Sea Jay, "there's no point in having to repeat everything."

"Good!" said Danny, then, turning to Darren, "Sea Jay and me are both interested in your life as a rent boy. And while you're telling us, I hope you'll excuse me as I fumble under my robe: I've got some Dittany ointment which I want to apply to my bum."

"Gave you a seeing-to did 'e? Let me put it on for yer—only a Galleon—go on I got a lovely touch!"

"No thanks, Darren. But if it's a Galleon just for that, how much for the full works?"

"Ten Galleons for—" began Darren.

"Don't give us the bullshit!" said Sea Jay, who was more aware of the value of money than the fabulously-rich Danny, "We're not punters; we're just interested friends,"

"Aw right, Aw right. Force of 'abit. It's two Galleons f'ra hand job and four Galleons f'ra blow; eight Galleons ter shag me."

"Good value!" said Sea Jay, "What about the other way?"

"They can suck me fer four Galleons, or I'll shag them fer six. But I don't do kissin' "

"And do they pay extra for the amount you come?" asked Danny.

"Well, I tries not ter come. I likes ter save that fer me special friend."

"Does your special friend know you're on the rent?"

"Blimey, yes! She's on the game herself. She got a pitch in Muggle land—Muggles is more gen'rous than wizards but they're real down on the gays which is why us lads stays 'ere."

"I know why they call you Bent Darren now!" laughed Danny.

"Give us a break, Danny! I likes shagging the girls but I likes goin' with the punters too—and they get their money's worth. And a lot of 'em prefers goin' with straight boys."

Sea Jay intervened: "Darren, please don't take offence, but you're not exactly well turned-out; wouldn't the punters prefer—"

"Don' yer believe it! The punters think—Are y'alright there, Danny?"

Danny had risen slightly and his body was bent into the well-known ogee as he stretched an arm under his robe.

"Yeah, if I can just push it up a little further . . ."

With immaculate timing Mr Fortescue himself appeared with a huge tray bearing their food. His eyebrows raised a little as he saw Danny's contortions.

Sea Jay was beside himself with laughter, and even the rather dour Darren started giggling.

Danny could feel some residuum of Sea Jay's juices trickling onto his hand. "It's no good. I've got to do it properly," he said and went off inside to the loo. He did a pukka job, smothering the Dittany over his hole and inside it as far as three inches up. The wiggling of his fingers gave him a stiffie and, surprisingly, he found himself thinking of sniffing a bumhole, and, even more surprisingly, it was Darren's bumhole. Then he remembered that Darren had a girlfriend and his stiffie vanished.

Joining the others, he found them tucking in to their enormous ice creams. He hastened to catch up and for a few minutes there was no talking, only slurping.

Then Sea Jay said: "Darren you were telling us why the punters like—"

"—a bit of rough." picked up Darren, "Well first of all there's the danger: they like to feel there's a chance they may be beaten up and robbed, though really that's only likely in Muggle land. But, even so, they like being bullied and bossed by boys who are free ter do what they want—most of the punters 'ave wives they're bored with and kids they can't touch, so it aint just pumpin' out a bit o' cum; it's entering a worl' where yer can do anythin' yer want. It's all fant'sy of course, but they're ready to pay for it.

"Then there's loneliness: lots of 'em are lonely—phsic'ly or ment'ly—and they feel the scruffier the boy, the more grateful 'e'll be. Then they might get a bit o' love an' that's what ev'ryone wants innit?"

Darren turned his attention back to his ice cream. Danny said: "Darren, you've forgotten the most important reason for looking scruffy."

"Wass 'at?"

"Laziness!"

"Too bloody true!" said Darren and the three boys roared with laughter. "You're bright, you are Danny. I don't want to ruin me trade, but you'd go down a bomb if yer ever went on the Scene. An you too, Sea Jay, but not as much as Danny. In fac' Danny, you can 'ave me fer 'arf price if yer want."

"No thanks Darren."

"Tell yer wot: I'll do it fer nuffin' 'an you'll never get a better offer!"

Before Danny could reply, there was a flutter of wings and a small owl landed on the table and held up a message for Danny. It was from the Creeveys!

Danny took the message and read:

Dear Dannikins, We need to see you—not just for the pleasure of your—but because something odd has happened. Where are you? Shall we Floo to the Leaky Cauldron? Hope you had a good holiday. E4PH!

Love Colin XX

Love Dennis XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Show-off Love Colin XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

BLOT

Danny smiled. He could visualise the scene as each brother strove to send more kisses than the other. E4PH was an easy one: he read this backwards as Harry Potter Forever! He showed the letter to Sea Jay who said: "I understand about the pleasure but I wonder what the something odd is."

"Do you want to stay and see the Creeveys?"

"Can't, I'm afraid. I told Mum I'd be back for lunch and I've still got a few things to buy."

Darren was fretting a bit and came out with: "Danny, I know yer busy an' that. An' I know your arse aint fit fer action, but anytime yer wants, come down Knockturn 'an I'll slip you four Galleons if yer'll let me shag yer."

"Wait a mo Darren! We'll talk in a minute, but first . . ."

He drew a quill from his bag and wrote a reply to the Creeveys:

Dear Bros,

I'll be at the Leaky Cauldron at two o'clock. E4PH!

Love Danny XX

"Any message?" He gave the letter to Sea Jay, who added:

Sorry I'll miss you, but see you next week! E4PH!

Love Sea Jay XX

Danny folded the message and sent the owl on its way.

The he reached in his bag again, withdrew his wand and pointed it at Darren saying Libero Confusionis!

Darren looked slightly dazed then stared wide-eyed at Danny saying: " 'Ere! We met before. You must've 'funded me! That's not very friendly!"

Danny turned to Sea Jay, saying: "Interesting! A confundo holds for eleven days and can still be released."

He turned back to Darren: "Sorry mate, but you were being a pain and I had urgent business. How much do you remember?"

"You was down Knockturn. I offered to look arter yer for thirty percent. You was with that Irish boy."

"Seamus!" said Sea Jay.

"Comments to third parties are out of order!" said Danny.

"Touché!"

Danny turned back to Darren: "One thing before we part. You mentioned that the Ministry make a lot from taxes and you wanted yourself to tax me when you thought I was renting, so how does it all work?"

"Did you go to one of them hotels today?"

"Yeah."

"And 'ow much did you pay?"

"A Galleon."

"That's right. A Galleon an hour; four Galleons all night. When we goes there wiv a punter the rates double—no arguin'; the innkeepers know us all—and the extra goes to the Ministry. The innkeepers can't cheat: there's a magic accountin' system."

"You could still do it outside. At night there's plenty of dark corners," said Danny.

"You're joking! You've no idea 'ow much nastiness there is at night. None of us rent boys'd go in any dark corners—even if there were ten of us!"

"Can't the Ministry—" began Sea Jay.

"Cleanin' up Knockturn's too big a job even for the Ministry. As long as the vampires an' killers an' cursers stay clear of the hotels and the Ministry gets its money, they don't give a—"

"And yet you tax each other!" interrupted Danny.

"That's just a laugh! The young'uns turn up and they're prettier and fresher—the punters calls 'em chickens—you two'd both be chickens—so they get more punters and more tips. So for a few months they get taxed an' later, wen they're not earnin' so much they carries on wiv the big spendin' an' we 'as to 'elp 'em out. Fair's fair 'an we looks arter each other really."

"It all sounds rather a nice life!" said Sea Jay.

"It would be if it wasn't fer them."

Danny's ears pricked up. As casually as he could he asked: "Who are them?"

Darren glanced round to make sure no-one was listening, then whispered: "you ever 'eard o' Mr Rowle?" The boys shook their heads. "It was the middle of July; this big blond bloke turned up and told us 'e was our boss. We all laughed at 'im 'an he put the Cruciatus on two of the boys. Only for a coupla seconds but did they scream! 'I don't piss about!' 'e said. Since then we just do wot 'is men sez."

"What sort of things?" asked Danny, "Sex?"

"There is that, but it's mainly delivering messages or parcels or spyin' on people an' reportin' back. An' we don' get a Knut—not even tube fares—'an me an' Paul—that's me best mate—'ad to spend all night at the Sunny View wiv two of 'is pals—that's one o' the 'otels down there—an' we got nuffing—Twenty golden Galleons we should've 'ad—an' we got nuffing! I reckon they've taken over them hotels!"

"How often does Mr Rowle come?" asked Danny.

" Nobody sin 'im since, but every coupla days someone turns up and sez 'I'm from Mr Rowle' an' we 'as ter jump!"

"What's he look like?"

"Big. Fair hair cut in a number three. 'E's got a tiny cock if you ever gets that close to 'im —so my mate Len sez. Talks like that Muggle on the films—James Bond, you know 'im?" A Yes from Danny; a No from Sea Jay.

Then: "Danny, I'm gonna have to run," from Sea Jay.

"OK lover boy! I'll just give Darren a thank you for offering to buy my bum and I'll maybe catch up with you in the shops."

Danny settled the bill—he always settled bills as he had more pocket money than the rest of Gryffindor put together—and walked with Darren back to Knockturn Alley. They stopped at the corner and Danny said: "Darren, I'm really flattered that you want to rent me. I'm sorry my bumhole's out of order, but what I'd like to do is: I'll pay you the standard four Galleons to suck you off—but only if you come in my mouth."

"Would you really?"

"Watch me!" He reached in his bag and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. He led Darren down to the patch of waste ground where he and Seamus had had that memorable snogging session and threw the cloak over both of them.

"Wow! Is this an Invisibility Cloak?"

"Certainly is! Keep it secret, please. Now! Get 'em down!"

Danny crouched down as Darren took off his underpants which were as filthy as expected. His willy was limp and showed up dark against Darren's pale thighs and wispy blond triangle of hair. Danny reached out and stroked it. Then he cradled Darren's ballsack, triggering a slight stiffening in the willy.

He turned Darren round and viewed a pear-shaped bottom. He parted the cheeks and revealed an unusually large hole. I bet that's seen some action! he thought. There were small bits of poo—not fresh poo, but the sort that crumbles to dust. He moved his nose towards it but was still a long way away when he was hit by a wall of stale, sour odour. He didn't find it attractive, but it wasn't too offensive. He guessed that this was the smell of a boy who hadn't washed or bathed for weeks.

He moved his nose close to the hole and sniffed, first tentatively and then deeply. Through the generalised dirty-boy smell he recognised an earthy smell that was first-cousin to the iffy smell he had got from Sea Jay's bum. He still wasn't sure if he liked it, but something in his body did and his willy pulsed up quickly.

Turning Darren back round, he approached the willy for a sniff, slightly worried at what he was going to find. He had undertaken to take it in his mouth. What if it was revolting? He need not have worried: there was no smell at all. He knew that it would have been cleaned regularly by the punters who sucked it but he had feared rancid pee or, worst thing in the world, girl—not that Danny would have recognised the smell of girl.

Gratefully, he licked the tip. Darren was very stiff now—as Danny backed away preparing for a second lick, a tiny globule of pre-cum materialised at the willy-hole. He bent again and licked the globule. It just registered on his tongue. Darren was really turned on and gave a thrust which slid his willy against Danny's teeth. Danny opened his mouth and enclosed the whole of the bell-end in his mouth. He sucked slightly and Darren immediately started moaning and making shagging motions.

Danny sucked harder now, taking care that his teeth kept clear of the jiggling willy. He let Darren do the work and grasped Darren's bum cheeks. Darren was thin, but had a flabby bum. At Hogwarts, flabby bums always belonged to tubby boys; skinny ones like Darren had firmer bums. Perhaps it was a diet of junk food that had done for Darren.

These reflections ceased when he become aware that he was engulfed in a symphony of smells: there was the generalised unclean odour; there was an armpit rankness; there was the scent of stale pee; and there was something else, something magical buried within the other smells. He wondered whether it was a smell from Darren's ballsack. Again he cursed his two wasted years at Hogwarts. Danny must have wanked off a dozen big boys and never once had he bent down to have a sniff. He had recently sucked off a policeman twice, but DS Haldenby had stuck his willy through his flies so all Danny had smelt was the pee on his trousers.

If this smell was from Darren's balls, was it just him; or did all boys have their own ballsacky smell? Whatever it was, he liked it and it was really exciting him. Like Seamus after their snogging sesh, he had to have a wank!

While his nose was enjoying the various treats, his hands, clutching Darren's wobbly buttocks, seemed to have their own ideas. Inexorably, without him thinking about it, the middle finger of his right hand found its way to Darren's dirty bumhole and started gently massaging it. Darren yelped and his hands, which were clutching Danny's shoulders, tightened their grip.

Then Darren's hole opened like a flower! Danny had sometimes wanked with a finger up himself. The act of getting and servicing a stiffie had always tightened his hole. Being a frequent bummee must change jacksie behaviour. Seemingly of its own accord, Danny's finger slipped in up to the second joint.

Darren yelped and thrust harder. Danny started wiggling his finger and immediately felt a spurt of cum hit the back of his throat; then a second spurt on the roof of his mouth; then presumably more because, suddenly, his mouth was very full. As Darren stopped moving, Danny swallowed and got rid of the cum in three gulps.

He broke off quickly, stood up, reached inside his robes and pulled out his willy. He started wanking, but Darren said No! and crouched down, wrapping his mouth around Danny. He started sucking and Danny felt an exquisite tickling sensation as Darren moved his head in three dimensions and did all sorts of fancy work with his tongue. Danny exploded immediately. He felt the height of rapture as his willy spurted and spurted, was it six or seven or eight times? Yet he knew that he was too young for real spurts. What would the pleasure be when he could do big comes?

He'd certainly produced something: Darren said: "Your cum tastes really nice!"

"Not much of it yet, though."

"I'm a bit surprised you can come at all!"

"You didn't do badly for a straight boy!"

"It's you, Danny. Yer really attractive. I'm not saying yer girly at all, but it's not like goin' wiv a man."

The boys were adjusting their dress. Glancing round, Danny whizzed off the Invisibility Cloak and stowed it. He reached for his money-bag.

"No!" said Darren, "Put it away; I won't take a single Knut!"

"Shut up! I'll pay you four Galleons to suck you and another four because you sucked me—even if I didn't ask you to—and I'll give you a tip to make it up to ten Galleons."

"You couldn't make it eleven could you, Danny? I owe money out."

Danny burst out laughing: "Bloody hell, Darren! You were just saying you wouldn't take a single Knut!"

"Shit! I'm sorry, Danny. It's force of habit. It's the first thing a rent boy learns. There's even a rhyme about it:

When you're going to be dismissed

Get the punter all of a twist.

Say before you reach the door

"Please Sir, I want some more".

"I shouldn't've arst yer. You're not like the rest. You treated me to'n ice cream 'n ' 'all. Just give us a coupla Galls to see me through the day."

"Again, shut up!"

Danny counted out ten Galleons and gave them to Darren. Without waiting for thanks he dropped his voice to a whisper and said: "Listen Darren! There's something going on with Mr Rowle's gang. There might be money in it—he meant, of course, There might be the hand of Scumbag in it. Keep your eyes and ears open, but for God's sake don't let anyone suspect—Cruciatus would be the least of your worries. Buying people a drink is a good way of loosening mouths and pretending to be drunk when you're not is a good way of stopping people worrying about what they've said. I'll give you another ten for expenses."

"Trus' me, Danny!" Darren looked delighted: he had loads of money and something definite to do.

The boys parted, Danny towards the right and Darren towards the left. As Danny reached Diagon Alley, Darren called out: "Danny!"

Danny turned and Darren continued: "I wish I'd known you when you were younger!"

They parted with a wave and Danny was too busy looking for Sea Jay to think about the meaning of this baffling statement.

— CHAPTER FOUR —Weasleys and Creeveys

He found Sea Jay where he had found him before: he was closely examining the wares of the tobacconist's stall. "Merlin's Beard, Sea Jay! Have you been here all this time?"

"No, yer clown! I've bought lotsa stuff!" He indicated a carrier bag filled with interesting-looking parcels. "What yer get up to with Darren?"

"A suck each way."

"Did he pay you?—Only joking!—I bet you gave him ten!"

"You win! Fancy a look round Flourish and Blotts?"

"No, I must go! I only hung around to say goodbye to you."

"See yer in ten days, then!"

"Can't wait, Danny! And thanks for everything. Sorry about . . ."

"Stop saying sorry! No gain without pain! And it's a gain I want again and again!"

"See yer, Angel!"

"See yer, Devil!"

The boys parted—Sea Jay to the Leakey Cauldron and Danny to the bookshop.

It was half past one. He had half an hour to spare.

Inside Flourish and Blotts, he saw quite a few of the more bookish Hogwarts students browsing, and waved to those who noticed him—including Ray and Trinity.

He browsed the standard books of spells, but found that he already owned them all. Stumped, he walked over to the manager and said: "Excuse me, please, have you got anything including advanced Disillusionment Charms?"

"It's nice to see you here again, Master Jorrocks. I presume you mean something more advanced than Miranda Goshawk?"

"Yes, please. Any thoughts?"

"There is a book Master Jorrocks, but it is very advanced . . ."

"May I see it, even so?"

The manager showed him From Ocular to Corporeal by Esmeralda Thorpe. After five minutes of reading, he decided that it was very advanced and that he must have it.

"How much?" he asked the manager.

"It is a rare old book—so difficult that hardly any copies were sold, so it is priced at Forty Galleons, Master Jorrocks."

Stephen Jorrocks' blood ran in Danny's veins. He gave the book back to the manager and said: "Exactly double the price I've seen it advertised in Paris."

The manager was flustered and offered to split the difference, so Danny bought it for thirty Galleons.

"You are the most accomplished liar, Danny," murmured Ray as Danny turned to go.

"I've never lied to you, though, have I, Ray?"

Seated on a sofa by the fireplace of the leaky Cauldron, Danny lost himself in From Ocular to Corporeal. He could see that even the simplest spells would require a lot of mental conditioning. He turned to the Disillusionment Charms and found himself making a little progress. He felt very acute mentally today.

He didn't notice the flashes and whoomphs as people came and went by Floo powder; nor the glances of the passing girls who longed to cuddle him; nor the thump of the front door as two boisterous, chunky boys in Muggle clothes barged through.

He noticed, however, when a pair of hands covered his eyes and a voice called out: "Constant Vigilance, Jorrocks!"

It was the twins.

"What are you doing here, Danny, you should be in Azkaban!" said one of them.

"Wha' for?"

"For winding up little Ronny!" said the other.

"I got lessons from you two," laughed Danny, "Anyway, how is little Ronny, and the rest of the family? All well at the Burrows?"

"We're not at the Burrows."

"We're staying with relatives."

There was a slight pause, then Danny asked: "Everyone OK?"

"Yeah, all fine, Danny."

"Let me guess. You're on you're way to Gambol and Japes."

"You know us, Danny!"

Then the twins told Danny about the Skiving Snackboxes and one of them whispered: "We've got some Doxy venom!"

"Where in Camelot did you get that?" asked Danny in amazement.

"Ah-ha we wouldn't tell that even to our favourite little pervert!" said Fred or George, tapping the side of his nose.

"You don't need to, you pair of buffoons!" whispered Danny, "Come closer."

A twin pulled up a chair and the three young wizards put their heads close together.

"I asked how the family was and how things were at the Burrows and you picked up on the last part of the question, so I guessed that being away from the Burrows had some significance to you."

"So we'd like to be back home; that's not significant!"

"But when I connect that with the fact that a certain headmaster told me that someone is safe and being looked after, I can draw conclusions. And then you say you've got Doxy venom. Doxys are only encouraged by the Dark Side and I know that, even for your Skiving Snackboxes, you wouldn't have dealings with them.

"So I look for a place and a person that moved from the Dark side to our side and there's only one place and one person I can think of; and that person is connected closely with someone."

The twins were staring at Danny open-mouthed.

"If I were the Ministry or Scumbag, I would know who and where. Constant Vigilance, my arse!—No, Don't say a word! Just ask the Management to check the protection on the where and watch your mouths all the time. And don't look so serious. Fred and George are never serious! Let me cheer you up:

"A wizard came in here the other day with Snape. But Snape had been shrunk to a foot high. 'What happened to him?' Tom the barman asked the wizard. 'I found an old spellbook and used one of the spells to give me a twelve-inch prick.' "

The twins laughed and relaxed. "A man fell into a sewer," said one, "and crawled out covered in poo. He set of for home and everyone he passed spat at him and complained that such filth shouldn't be allowed on the streets. In the end he took to shouting to approaching people: 'I'm not Snape!' and they all bade him a polite 'Good evening!' as they passed by."

The three of them continued their Snape-related humour until one of the incomers from the Floo network slid out of the fireplace, dusted himself off and called out: "Danny!"

Dennis Creevey ran over to Danny and jumped to sit on his lap. His legs lay across the twin who was sharing the sofa with Danny.

"It's ever so exciting!" said Dennis, "But it's secret! Hello Fred! Hello George!"

There was no time for conversation as a green flash revealed the figure of Colin Creevey who, with the usual Creevey cry of Danny! ran over, sat on Dennis's lap and hugged Dennis and Danny.

"Yaroo! Geroff!" yelled Danny, and the three boys tumbled onto the floor, squeaking with laughter.

A third flash announced the arrival of Mrs Creevey.

"Oh, you boys!" she laughed, seeing the writhing confusion on the floor, "Hello twins! You must be part of Mrs Weasley's brood. She's one up on me. I've only got six."

The twins rose and gave her "Hello Mrs Creevey." They motioned her towards the vacant chair.

"No thanks, my dears! I'm not staying. I just popped down to tell Danny what I told my boys to make sure they don't garble the message—Quiet Colin! Quiet Dennis!

"Danny, I talked to your mum on the Muggle phone and I'm happy for Colin and Dennis to go wandering, provided they're always with you and provided they're back at six. I don't want them out after dark with all the stuff that's going on. They've promised me. Will you promise me too?"

Danny, still panting, nodded: "Of course, Mrs Creevey! Won't you stay and have a cuppa with us?"

"Best not, my dear, Mr Creevey's still half asleep and goodness knows what the kids'll get up to."

She kissed her sons and Danny, waved goodbye to the twins and was soon gone with the usual flash of green smoke.

"Fred 'n' George!" whispered Colin, "Have a drink with us and tell us about him."

"Who?"

"Don't be silly! You know who! And I don't mean Scumbag! Professor Dumbledore told us he's being kept safe, and that means with his real family, which means the Weasleys—though I wish it were the Creeveys."

"We aint seen him." said a twin.

"Dumbledore's got him really safe." said the other.

"Do you believe that, Dan?"

"Of course! But let's have a drink together anyway and the twins can tell us about the Skiving Snackboxes."

The Weasleys agreed and sat down on the sofa with Danny between them while the Creeveys, proud of their maturity, went round the corner to the bar for five Butterbeers.

"You lads done well!" said Danny.

"And you! You were smooth as anything."

"I hate lying to friends, but it's part of living in a world containing Scumbag on the loose."

"Danny, if it's not need-to-know, what have you been seeing Dumbledore about?"

"No secret! A gang of Muggle criminals planned to kidnap me. That wouldn't have mattered except they got a Muggle friend of mine by mistake. The Ministry did their best to foul things up but Dumbledore stepped in and sorted everything."

"Fudge'll love him even more for that!"

"Mr Incompetence!" said Danny, "Makes you ashamed to be a wizard, doesn't it?"

The twins snorted their agreement.

Colin and Dennis came back with the drinks and settled into two comfy chairs while the twins explained the workings of Puking Pastilles, Fainting Fancies and Nosebleed Nougat.

As expected, the Creeveys were delighted and they wriggled in their chairs with amusement, though they agreed with Danny that Diarrhoea Delights were unlikely to be best-sellers.

When things had quietened, Danny asked: "Which is Fred and which is George?"

"I'm Fred" came from his left and "I'm George" from his right.

Danny looked from side to side. "How can you tell?" he asked, "even your freckles change from week to week."

"You can't," said Fred.

"Even Mum's only got a seventy-five percent success rate," said Fred.

"I can tell the difference!" giggled Dennis.

"How?" asked both the twins.

"George is the one with the horn!"

The twins' Muggle tracksuit bottoms were quite revealing.

Danny reached out his hand and felt a chunky, stiff penis.

"Geroff!" said George.

Danny reached out his other hand and felt that Fred was limp.

"Danny! People might be Flooing!" muttered Fred, removing Danny's hand.

"But it's interesting!" said Danny, "Den was joking but at that moment there was a difference so you're not completely identical."

"Danny, you must have played with half the willies in the school, so you should know, stiffies come and go all the time when you're a teenager. George and I used to be more like each other than we are now. But these days we get colds at different times, we pee and poo at different times and we go stiff at different times."

"We all hoped that George fancied one of us!" said Colin.

"You flatter yourself, little boy!" said George.

"Yeah, your dorm's really boring!" said Danny, "None of you've ever been up for anything—I've asked them all."

"You're too young and we're just not that way." said Fred.

"It's not a question of one way or the other: liking girls doesn't mean you won't enjoy fun with boys . . ."

Danny repeated the arguments he had used with Dean and Sea Jay, but to no avail: the twins said they weren't repulsed by the idea, but were simply not interested.

"What about Ron's dorm, then?" asked Danny, "They've all said no to me but I've still wondered."

"I shouldn't think our Ron'd get up to anything; he's girl-mad; and, as for the others, I don't know," said George.

"We're really interested in Ron's friend," said Danny.

"Wouldn't know, Danny," said Fred.

"Hasn't Ron said anything?"

"No."

"Seen nothing yourself?"

"No."

"One thing I've seen suggests that he likes your smell."

The twins sat up.

"So that's it!" said Fred, then turned to Danny: "We forgot to mention that he's the only person who can always tell us apart. He must do it by smell!"

"Wait a minute, Fred, he can tell us apart a hundred yards across the Quidditch field," said George.

"Oh yeah, it's a mystery; unless he picks up our smell in the changing-room and clocks us physically through the game—"

"—and keeps the sharpest eye out for the snitch there's ever been."

"Yeah, it's unlikely."

There was a moment's silence, then Danny said: "So you've seen nothing to suggest even a hint of gayness in him?"

The twins thought, then George said: "No, we didn't even suspect it when he asked Cho to the ball; we just assumed—"

"WHAT!" It was the other three lads' turn to sit upright.

"He asked Cho to the Yule Ball?" gasped Danny.

"Didn't you know?" said Fred.

"We thought it was Cedric who asked Cho—they ended up as partners, after all."

"Well, it was H who set it all off. He demanded of McGonagall that boys should be allowed to take boys to the ball. McGonagall had to say yes and the other three houses and the other two schools had to be given permission too."

George continued: "By the time he asked Cho, Cedric had bagged him, but we thought that he'd delayed asking till it was safe to do so. We thought that he'd set it all up as a protest against having to lead the dancing at the ball."

From Fred: "Then we thought that he'd done it to support gay boys—he always loves the underdog and it was earth-shattering: boys dancing together was unheard-of, but there were seven or eight boy-couples dancing that night."

"Wow!" said Danny, "Even if he's not gay, it shows he cares about gay people, doesn't it Colin?"

"It's in line with the rest of him!" said Colin, still mulling over the pleasant idea of his beloved Harry inviting a boy to a ball.

"Anyway, we live in hope. Thanks for giving us hope, twins!" said Danny.

"You're welcome. Thank you, Danny, for your help earlier. Now we'd better be mosying along to Gambol and Japes," said George.

"Before you go, twins, we'd like some information from you."

"Fire away, Danny."

"We've spent a lot of time looking at Lee Jordan's bump—"

"Kind of draws itself to your attention, doesn't it?" laughed Fred.

"—and we'd like to know what it's really like."

"Can't really help you," laughed George.

"But you must have seen him in the showers!" burst out Colin.

"Yeah," said Fred, "but we've never examined it closely. It's just a willy. It's like the famous bump, I suppose, but it's nothing special—it's not bright blue; it doesn't glow in the dark; it hasn't got a Flutterby growing out of it."

"Yeah," chipped in George, "a willy is a willy!"

"Clabbert-crap!" said Danny, "Willies are unique. The study of willies should be on the curriculum."

"They're on naughty Danny's curriculum!" said Fred.

"With inadequate practicals!" laughed Danny, "Now, if you must go, I reckon you owe me a favour and I reckon you need a pee after all that Butterbeer."

"Sure thing, Danny. See yer Creeveys!" said Fred.

"See yer Creeveys!" from George.

"See yer Fred! See yer George!" from the Creeveys.

Danny tapped one of his pockets with his wand and followed the Weasleys into the bogs. The twins turned towards the urinals, but Danny steered them into a cubicle and locked the three of them in. Danny stood with a twin on each side. Soon, three streams of gold were tinkling into the bowl—two were thick and profuse and the other one definitely a little boy's pee-pee. Danny had plenty of maturing left in him.

He looked at the twins' willies. They were identical: short and stubby—rather like Lee Jordan's bump, in fact. The flesh was as white as the Weasley's bodies and the foreskins covered the bulbs with plenty of spare footage.

Danny dried up first and had just finished his shaking when George started his own. Danny reached out his hand and, with thumb and two fingers, took over, wiggling George's willy gently and whispering "Let me help you, George!"

"I'm Fred!" said George from force of habit, but it was clear that his mind was not really on joking as there was an immediate twitching and solidifying under Danny's fingers.

"Bollocks!" said Danny.

To his left, Fred had started to wiggle his own willy which was already looking slightly stiff. "Nice one Fred!" said Danny, grabbing the other Weasley willy. Fred was definitely interested and his whole body twitched. A blob of purple appeared amidst his unfolding foreskin, rapidly revealing more of itself as a rounded bell-end.

Danny's wigglings had changed to wankings and after a few seconds, he disengaged, pulled down the seat and sat on the lav.

He would have liked to indulge in his by-now-customary probings, sniffings and lickings but didn't want the boys to have time for second thoughts.

He leant forward and took Fred's willy into his mouth, unconcerned by the dewdrop of pee and the little rolls of knob-cheese.

He sucked hard and moved his head backwards and forwards, combining it with the rotatory, up-and-down and side-to-side movements that he had learned earlier from Darren.

Fred was loving it, giving little gasps of pleasure and finding it impossible to keep his pelvis still so that it didn't interfere with Danny's stimulations.

Danny brought his tongue into play, tickling Fred's acorn all over, and it was during a particularly brisk flutter against the underside that Fred shot his load, gripping Danny's shoulders tightly and with stifled croaks coming from his throat.

Danny sucked Fred until he was as empty as possible, taking care not to swallow. He drew a hankie from his pocket and gingerly moved his head back and disgorged his mouthful onto the hankie, which he returned to his pocket.

As he looked to the left, George whispered "Come on, Danny!" and thrust his willy forwards. It was much cheesier than Fred's, but Danny had no qualms about taking it in his mouth and sucking hard. He was only just in time: as he reached forward to feel George's stalk, a spatter of cum hit the roof of his mouth. George's hands were gripping Fred's, which were still on Danny's shoulders.

Danny sucked hard for a bit. George had produced slightly less juice than Fred, but enough to seriously dampen a second hankie.

"Not interested eh?" smiled Danny.

"You're a bit special mate!" said Fred.

"And it's nice to do you a favour—" said George.

"—Not that you weren't doing us a favour!"

They tidied themselves up. Danny saw the twins to the back yard and said: "See yer next week, then; give my love to anyone you can think of and tell him I've got something special for him!"

"Will do! See yer, Danny. Thanks."

"Thanks, Danny!"

— CHAPTER FIVE —Steve's Story

On the way back inside, Danny reached into his pockets, took out the hankies and examined them both closely. Then he smelt them alternately several times. He could not detect any difference except that George's had slightly less coverage.

Back at the fireplace, he found Colin and Dennis arguing (if such an unpleasant-sounding word can be applied to two such loving brothers) about the relative merits of Muggle and wizarding photography.

"Never mind that!" said Danny, "What about these?)

He passed the hankies over to Colin, telling him: Fred . . . George.

Colin duplicated Danny's inspecting and sniffing.

"Can't tell the difference!"

He passed the hankies to Dennis who did the same as the other two boys but added a couple of licks.

"You've come a long way in two weeks, Den!" laughed Danny.

"I think the cloth takes away the flavour," said Dennis.

"Well, it was all in my mouth to begin with. That might have affected it."

"Oh Danny!" said Colin, "Did they like it?"

"They loved it, Col!"

"Did you do it in the loo?" asked Dennis, and Danny had to give them a blow-by-blow account of the proceedings.

"Shall we go in there now?

"What about this something odd?"

The brothers looked blank: "Eh?"

"Bloody hell, lads! You wanted to talk to me about something odd."

"Oh yeah!" said Colin, "Let's go to the loo and then we'll tell you all about it."

"Why don't we go back to my hotel? You can tell me all about it on the way and then we can have a nice sesh."

"Get your hat, coat and umbrella, Den!" said Colin.

The three friends hopped the Muggle Tube from Totty Court Road to Lancaster Gate. They bought ice creams and wandered into the park.

"Right, Colin! Fire away!"

"It's those two lads we met on the canal, remember?"

"Steve and Tom. Yeah."

"We went out next day to see them. We took them some food and got chatting. It's like you said, Dan, they're on drugs. You know Smack?"

Danny nodded.

"At least it's smoking, not injecting," continued Colin, "and Danny, they're rent boys! Do you know what that is?"

"Yes; I was with one today."

"You weren't!" said Colin.

"What was he like?" asked Dennis.

"Later, Den. Carry on with the story, please, Col."

"OK, Dan; but they never told me why they were rent boys."

"It's the only way they can earn a living," said Danny, "That or stealing. But go on."

"Well, they're on the run."

"Who from?" asked Danny.

"Tom's straightforward: a year ago he stole a car in Brizzle where he lived and they were riding around and he crashed it and his pal was thrown out and died, and the Muggle police charged him with Death by Driving."

"And that's four years in prison," put in Dennis.

"Yeah: Four-do-Two it's called. So when they gave him bail, he ran away to Brum and that's why he became a rent boy, though why he didn't do something else I don't know."

"You can't just do something when you're a Muggle," explained Danny, "They have a sort of Ministry called the Soash and, even if there's jobs, they won't let you work unless you can prove your entire life history, which is the very thing Tom couldn't do."

"So he met Steve and they went renting and thieving like you said."

"What about Steve?"

"He ran away from home when he was a boy. His father hated him and turned his mum against him. They lived in Harborne, which is part of Brum. He just went and lived with friends and found his way onto the Gay Scene and, apart from the Smack, he got along OK—specially when he met Tom—they sort of help each other to live.

"Then, early in July, he heard from another rent boy that a new punter had turned up and was asking about Steve. The rent boy said sorry he'd let Steve's real name slip out somehow, and the punter was pleased and gave him double whack.

"Steve was worried and he and Tom came down here. He hasn't been back to the Gay Scene but he's heard the punter's still been looking for him.

"And Danny, he had reason to be worried! Look at these. Two days after he went to ground, Steve's parents were killed."

Colin handed over two clippings from the Birmingham newspaper.

The first clipping, dated early July, read:

Harborne Couple Found Dead at Home

Police broke into a flat in Harborne yesterday afternoon following reports of a disturbance and found the bodies of two people, believed to be the occupants, Peter Webb, 54 and his wife Sandrea, 53.

Post mortems will be carried out. The deaths are currently being treated as unexplained, but West Midland Police would like to trace a man who was heard arguing with the couple.

The second clipping, dated a month later, read:

Harborne Deaths-Police Seek Three People

West Midlands Police appealed for help in tracing the visitor heard haranguing Peter and Sandrea Webb shortly before their unexplained deaths in July.

Neighbour Jean Andrews was one of several residents who are all agreed that the man kept shouting 'What did Sybil Trelawney tell you?' and 'Where is your son, Robert?' She told our reporter 'It was a hot day and everybody had their windows wide open so we could hear him clearly.'

Police have not found anyone named Sybil Trelawney in Britain. Nor have they been able to trace Robert Webb who has been missing since leaving home five years ago at the age of 15.

Chief Inspector Mick Wells told us 'This is a mystery from start to finish. The post mortems could find no cause of death but we would still like to trace these three people—especially the visitor. There has been mention of a fleeting appearance by a tall man with close-cropped hair who may have been seen in the area previously. This man may not have been the Webb's visitor but we would like to eliminate him so we ask him to make himself known to us. It was broad daylight and it's a big block of flats. Someone must have seen the visitor arrive or depart. I urge everyone to ransack their memories and I also urge Sybil Trelawney and Robert Webb to make themselves known to us.'

Danny was stunned. It was all to do with Voldemort's return. It must be. And why should Voldemort be interested in a Muggle rent boy? And why should his agent (surely the Harborne man must be Mr Rowle) start using wizard rent boys?

And how in the name of Merlin's left ball did Professor Trelawney—the hopelessly befuddled, mumbo-jumbo-spouting Professor Trelawney, get involved?

He handed the clippings back to Colin.

"So Steve's real name is Robert Webb?"

"Yeah."

"And has he ever met Professor Trelawney?"

"Yeah, she was the Webbs' next-door neighbour when he was little. Danny, do you think it was a Killing Curse?"

"Yeah, done by an unpleasant but stupid and only moderately-gifted wizard called Rowle."

"Danny! I mean Merlin! How do you know."

Danny told them how Mr Rowle's gang were forcing the Diagon Alley rent boys to run errands. "It must be the same wizard: the descriptions are the same."

"So Mr Rowle wants Steve to run errands too?"

"I don't think so. Look at the timing. Scumbag comes back in June, then a week or so later this Rowle, who must be one of his Death Eaters, appears in Birmingham looking either for our Steve or what Professor Trelawney said to his mum and dad; and why should Scumbag be after a Muggle boy who was only about five when Scumbag vanished?"

"So he's after something Professor Trelawney said," said Colin, "That's mad!"

Dennis chipped in: "Perhaps she's not as fake as you said, Col."

"You'll get her this year, Den; then you'll see!"

"Perhaps Scumbag doesn't know she's a spoofer," said Danny, "we know he's not a deep thinker."

"So how did he know about the link to Steve?" asked Colin.

"And if he knew about it, why didn't he go after the his parents first?" said Danny, "Could Steve shed any light?"

"We didn't give him the third degree," said Dennis.

"We told them you knew more about the world than we do," said Colin.

"So we said you'd come and talk to them on Monday," said Dennis.

"We thought you might want a day with Piers to rediscover your inner man."

The brothers giggled.

"Sea Jay discovered it this morning."

"Sea Jay!"

The brothers were amazed.

"And a rent boy! Do tell, Dan!" yelled Colin.

Danny told them about Sea Jay giving him a thorough seeing-to in a naughty hotel and about Darren swapping sucks after telling him about Mr Rowle. Danny's discourse was meshed with a running commentary/interrogation from the excited brothers.

By the time they had reached the Dorchester, they had decided that the London and Birmingham rent boy affairs were not connected except in so far as Mr Rowle's dealings with Birmingham rent boys had probably given him the idea of making use of the Diagon Alley boys.

Danny summed up: "Scumbag's probably got plenty of supporters, but how can he organise them? The Ministry will no doubt be monitoring spells, Owls and the Floo Network. Suspects can be watched for Apparitions.

"So what better way could there be of passing messages and Dark Artefacts than by wizard rent boys? They've got time—no school or work. They're used to the Muggle world. They wander about aimlessly anyway. They're not allowed magic—most of them probably haven't even got wands. They're only kids. They're invisible! It's a brilliant idea. I wonder whether it was Rowle or Scumbag who thought of it."

"You said Rowle was stupid," said Dennis."

"Well a wizard who can't get the truth out of Muggles without alerting a whole block of Muggle flats and needlessly using a Killing Curse is pretty stupid."

"You said he was only moderately-gifted," said Colin, "but he can do some mean torturing and killing."

"Anyone can do that if they've got enough hate in their heart," said Danny, "but he can't hold a Disillusionment through Apparition and he can't Confund Muggles very well."

"So what are we going to do?" asked Colin.

"Let's talk to Steve first and hope that Darren comes up with something."

They entered the hotel. Danny picked up his key and learned that his mother was in. They got to the lifts and Dennis said: "Stairs are quicker."

"Nonsense!" said Danny, "These are fast lifts."

"I'll race you"

"Right!" said Danny, "As soon as we set foot in the lift, off you go."

Colin counted down: "Three, Two, One, Go!"

Danny and Colin jumped into the lift and Colin pressed the button. The doors closed slowly then, with a powerful jerk, the lift raced towards the seventh floor . . . but slowed down at the first floor where the doors opened slowly, closed slowly and jerked up to the second floor where . . .

Danny and Colin emerged on the seventh floor to be greeted by a laughing Dennis who was not even out of breath.

"I told you! I told you!"

"Brilliant Den!" said Colin.

"Clever!" said Danny.

"As long as I beat you to the first floor!" said Dennis.

"The lads were still laughing and play-scragging Dennis when Danny knocked on the door of Room 705, calling out "It's Daniel!"

The door clicked and opened by itself. The three friends went in to find Mrs Jorrocks catching up with a week's worth of paperwork.

She smiled: "Hello, Daniel! And you've brought your friends! Nice to see you, Colin! Nice to see you Dennis!"

"Nice to see you, Mrs Jorrocks!"

"What have you been doing today?"

"I bought a brilliant book," said Danny and saw loads of people from Hogwarts in Diagon Alley and then Colin and Dennis met me in the Cauldron.

"We met the Weasley twins," said Colin, but they don't know where Harry is."

"Don't you worry about Harry!" said Mrs Jorrocks with assurance, "The Headmaster's got him well-protected. Now let's see your book, Daniel."

Danny handed over From Ocular to Corporeal.

"Good Heavens, this is advanced stuff! Don't you go straining your mind, Daniel."

"You worry too much, Mum! I promise I'll take a breather as soon as I start thinking I'm a unicorn!"

"Or a Crumple-Horned Snorkack!" said Colin.

"Alright! Alright! It's all part of being a mother. Now boys, have you eaten?"

"We had an ice cream in the park, Mum."

"Well, if you can fit a little bit more in, I'm starving. I worked through lunch. Let's go for a high tea. You can peck a bit and I'll tuck in properly!"

Three smiling mouths pronounced Yes Pleases.

Loyal boys! Kind boys! They'd been thinking of their three little naked bodies kissing and cuddling and rolling around on the bed in Room 706, but they took nearly as much pleasure at the prospect of keeping Mrs Jorrocks company.

"I know just the place!" said Mrs Jorrocks, "A continental restaurant that does platters for sharing. Not too far from the Cauldron, so we can get you two flooed back to Mrs Creevey as per spec.

They took the Muggle tube to Covent Garden and settled themselves in a bustling bistro-style restaurant. They ordered a platter of Chicken Fajitas and a platter of Quesadillas—the Creeveys were familiar with Mexican food as it was a staple of English cuisine—even in Birmingham.

It was not a question of the boys fitting a little in: two more platters were needed and the supposedly starving Mrs Jorrocks had long finished eating by the time the other three had mopped up the last of the sauce with the last of the pancakes.

"Protein in instead of protein out!" laughed Colin, when Mrs Jorrocks went to powder her nose.

"I'm sorry, lads," said Danny, "Monday we'll do a bit."

"Don't be sorry, Dan" said Colin, "I didn't mean it that way! This is really good, it's just a different sort of pleasure."

"It's you that suffers, anyway, Dan," said Dennis, "Colin 'n' me'll have double doings tonight but you'll have to wait till tomorrow for Piers."

"Unless you spend the night at ours." said Colin.

"Back to your pit Asmodeus!" laughed Danny, "I know this is my Week of Sex, but I must practise and progress my magic—specially with all the Scumbag kerfuffle—Heaven knows what we can expect at Hogwarts this year. No, I'll come to yours at ten o'clock on Monday, which should give us time for a little fun before we go and see Steve."

Mrs Jorrocks returned and the four of them spent another ten minutes talking about the Jorrocks' Black Sea holiday. The lads went for their pees separately out of respect for Mrs Jorrocks, though the odd wistful glance was bestowed as a bottom disappeared into the gents.

Mrs Jorrocks settled the bill and the four of them walked through the balmy Autumn evening to the Leaky Cauldron. At ten to six Danny hugged them both goodbye and they flooed back to Birmingham.

"Right, Mum," said Danny, "I'm for a couple of hours at Tussaud's and I'll be back at eight to not strain my mind with that book!"

"You can practise in your room now, Daniel."

"I know, but I need more space and it's a pain having to call out OK! every time."

They kissed goodbye and Danny took the short Floo hop to Madame Tussaud's.

— CHAPTER SIX —Five Stressed Boys

Danny entered the door marked Madman Two-Swords Centre for Wizarding Perfection and went up to the desk, pleased that his favourite witch was on duty.

"Busy, Germanica?"

The heavily made-up witch looked up from her magazine, wafting an overpowering but cheap-smelling scent. She smiled at Danny.

"Hello, Master Jorrocks. Would you like a cucumber stuffed up your rectum?"

"Two hours large spellspace, please."

"That'll be nineteen Sickles, please. Would you like to push them one-by-one into my fanny? Room 29."

Danny paid up in a conventional manner.

On the way to Room 29 he listened for activity in the other rooms. It was indeed quiet. He supposed spell-practice was not most young wizards' idea of a swinging Saturday night.

Room 7 was the only room with audible activity. He would have passed it by had he not picked up a word. A young man's voice had called Abscondo! The Disillusionment Charm! The very charm that Danny wanted to master.

Out of curiosity, he stopped to listen.

The young man was being taught. After another Abscondo! an angry voice shouted: "No! Get the wand movement right! It's quite simple. Do it slowly while I read it out. Tip to the forehead; straight down to short of the navel by the breadth of your first two right fingers; complete loop, clockwise as you look at it, diameter the length of your right thumb; left ninety degrees and finish with a slow deceleration and flourish."

There was silence until the teacher's voice burst out with another No!

Again and again the young man tried until his teacher shouted: "Right! That's it! Now do it for real!"

"Abscondo!"

"Again!"

"Abscondo!"

"Again!"

This went on for some time until:

"Abscondo!"

"The wand was right but you're not concentrating! You're a lazy little sod!"

"Dad, you can't do it yourself! It's not fair!"

"I'm not Gifted! You are! Now, Again."

"Abscondo!"

"You're not thinking properly! I'll make you think! Vulnero!"

The young man screamed.

"Stop that at once, Sir!" This must be the Minder.

"What do you mean, stop that at once? Since when has Vulnero! been an Unforgivable?"

"Anti-personnel curses are totally banned from Tussaud's—"

"He's my ruddy son!"

"—and it's only because of delays in the Ministry that the bad ones haven't been made Notifiable."

"Delays, my arse! They know it's just a loada nonsense from the bleeding-hearts."

"Nevertheless, Sir, re-occurrence will result in immediate, forceful expulsion."

"Right! You! Start again!"

Danny was worried. A very nasty man was forcing his own son to learn a potentially dangerous spell—presumably to achieve a very nasty end. He was prepared to use Vulneratus which was only one step down from Cruciatus The scenario reeked of Scumbag.

Danny decided that he needed to know who this father and son were. He took out his wand and placed a gentle, low-key undetectable alarm to trigger ten feet in front of Danny when the door opened.

He walked up a half-flight of stairs and entered his practice area through a door marked Large Spellspace 29. He greeted the Minder and loosened up with some simple transfigurations.

Then he gave some thought to the Disillusionment Charm: Danny already knew what the unfortunate youth in Room 7 was discovering: this spell was incredibly sensitive to wand movement. Even such concepts as breadth of first two fingers and length of thumb were only starting points as each wizard had to tune the shape of his wand trajectory, as well as its speed at each point, to his own personal character.

Also there was the incredible mental effort that had to be put into the spell, an effort that could only be achieved by a lot of practice.

Worst of all was the fact that this spell was one of the self-referent spells: its purpose was concealment, but as soon as its invocation achieved a degree of success it started concealing its own operations.

This meant that most competent wizards—Danny included—could achieve enough Disillusionment to pass on a dark night but from then on it was all or nothing: any failure resulted in no further visible change so you never knew if you were making any progress; you might be way out or just a smidgeon away from success but you simply couldn't tell.

Professor Flitwick had once let slip that Dark Magic could help, but for both Danny and the Professor, of course, Dark Magic was out.

He hoped that his new book might provide a way forward but, in the meantime, he tried valiantly for a good quarter of an hour, gave himself a break by exercising his Patronus then tried again.

He was interrupted by a pretty blue star that appeared halfway down the room and emitted the sound: Alright, Danny; Anything! The voice was Harry Potter's: he had thought when casting his Alarm that it should have a happy sound.

He picked up his rucksack, saying to the Minder: "Back in a mo. That's an alarm to remind me to empty my bladder."

In the corridor he whipped out the Invisibility Cloak and crept down the stairs and along the next corridor catching sight of the father and son as they marched smartly past Germanica, ignoring her Goodnight gentlemen! Would you like a family blow-job?

He mentally cursed Germanica for not giving the pair a name. The father was tall and active-looking the son was . . . the son was . . . Despite the rear view, Danny knew that he had seen him before. Then he got it: a Slytherin student at Hogwarts, what's more a particularly attractive student to whom Danny had occasionally given the glad-eye without response.

The youth had been in the sixth-form last year and, given his father's obvious ambitions, would surely be returning to Hogwarts a week from now as a N.E.W.T.-bound seventh-year.

Danny pulled out his memories of the unnamed youth. He was tall, muscley and had dark eyes that stared out of deep sockets—go-to-bed eyes! He was quiet and seemed just to hang around with his housemates. But he was popular. Danny had a feeling that he might be a star Quidditch player.

Top priority when he got back to Hogwarts would be to find out this youth's surname and feed it back to Dumbledore as indicating a likely Death Eater family. Or perhaps he should avoid direct contact with Dumbledore: he had to stay ostensibly neutral.

His wasn't in the mood for any more practice and collected his remaining bits and pieces before marching as quickly as Mr and Master X to the fireplace.

He got his bawdy suggestion in first: "Gonna wank me off tonight, Germanica?"

He was surprised when she coloured and said: "That's a disgraceful suggestion, Master Jorrocks! I should tell your father! If you can't come yet, you can always piss up my snatch!"

That was some curse she had to live with!

Danny had intended to take the Muggle tube back to the hotel, but it was only seven o'clock and he thought it would be worthwhile—and enjoyable—doing a little more detective work.

The Dark side appeared to have an involvement with Muggle rent boys in Birmingham and wizard rent boys in London. What about the Muggle boys down the road at Piccadilly Circus? It was definitely worth checking.

He turned away from the door and took the Floo to the Cauldron. He saw his associate from the week before last with an equally disreputable-looking, equally boozed-up-looking collection of witches and wizards and waved as he passed on the way to the door.

But Mundungus shouted over: " 'Ere Master Daniel! You tell yer frien's to git dahn 'ere brighten early tumorrer! I gotta stall with all the gear for 'Ogwarts."

"Will do, Mr Fletcher! And thanks for . . ."

I am a good liar! he thought. If he saw any friends, he would really tell them Don't touch Mundungus Fletcher's stuff with a broomstick!

For a moment he treated himself to a daydream and created a scenario in which he spent the night boozing with Mundungus and going for a pee every ten minutes and getting an eyeful of the Whopper, and touching it, and . . .

Danny laughed out loud. What a betrayal that would be: to turn the Creeveys down for Mundungus Fletcher! He might as well apply for immediate membership of the death eaters and have done with it!

He was still laughing as he strolled down the busy Shaftesbury Avenue formulating his cover stories.

From his previous visit with Piers, he remembered that rent boys kept on the move. This was presumably because the Muggle police quizzed boys who were hanging round and looking suspicious. But a walking boy could always be innocently going from somewhere to somewhere.

The need to move was increased whenever a punter was negotiating with a boy. If they stood still, there was a clear link between the two. If they were moving, it was just two strangers who happened to be going in the same direction.

The first stage was to establish the identity and movement-patterns of the boys. He went first of all to the central island which, with its raised steps, provided a good monitoring point.

This central bit was full of foreign tourists and appeared to be free of commercial sex. With his rucksack, he could easily pass for a tourist and he bolstered security by trying to stand close to any handy middle-aged couples who might be his parents. It would take an extremely observant copper to take any particular notice of Danny.

It took a few minutes before Danny had sorted out the pattern of the rent boys. There were five boys who moved about, mostly independently, but sometimes partially coalescing as they stopped for a chat or to offer each other lights.

Danny was concentrating deeply, predicting a point in time and space where several boys would be together and he might make a joint approach, when a voice by his side said: "Wotcher mate! You alright?"

The voice was confidence-inspiring. Danny turned and say a pleasant-enough man in his mid-thirties. He wore a fawn windcheater, jeans and a pair of reasonably-fashionable plimsolls.

"Yeah, I'm alright, thanks."

"You need anything?"

Aha! A punter! Perhaps he might be able to advise on anything relevant that had changed in the last two months.

He paused to frame his interrogation plan, opened his mouth, then paused.

Something was wrong.

On his previous visit he had seen a number of punters—sufficient to note that they didn't seem to be the most attractive of men—typically Moors and Levantines giving off an air of unpleasant self-centredness.

The man in front of him, though, was slightly untidy but looked wholesome. He reminded Danny of Muggle film actors emerging from car crashes, battles or bombed buildings with their elegantly-coiffed hair artistically ruffled, clothes and face dabbed with discrete blobs of dirt, wounds depicted with thimblefuls of fake blood.

Yes, an actor or, to be precise, an extremely observant copper!

For a moment he thought how funny it would be get the man arrested for making sexual advances, but then he felt more sympathetic: the man was doing the right thing: he was protecting what appeared to him as a boy of about eleven from drugs, rape or worse.

Nevertheless, he would have to be got rid of before Danny approached the rent boys.

"Er . . . I don't need anything, thanks; but you need to watch that suspicious couple," he said indicating a couple mid-way on a pedestrian crossing. They were probably bound for Leicester Square.

He had unshouldered his rucksack and under its cover pointed his wand and murmured OK! Confundo!

The policeman wandered vaguely off in the direction of the couple and Danny picked up on his analysis of the rent boys' movements.

He timed it just right and approached a group of four boys who had converged under a colonnade.

They looked about seventeen to nineteen. Probably the Muggle police cleared away the chickens as soon as they appeared—they had certainly got on to Danny quickly.

He walked up to the lads and said: "Hi!"

In any group of rent boys there is always one who, though not necessarily the leader or dominant character, is first, with smiles and matiness, to deal with outsiders. This sort of boy is often the most brazen thief—he might steal a punter's watch one week and innocently solicit him the next, having sold the watch for a quarter of its value.

Just such a boy responded to Danny:

"Alright, mate?"

He had quite a pretty face but his brow was already creased with frown-lines and he would probably lose his remaining looks within a few years.

"Yer wanna watch out," he continued, "the Five Oh are shit-'ot on the littl'uns."

"Don't I know it!" said Danny, "That's why I work outa King's Cross."

"Yer get more business 'ere," said a second boy.

All four boys—two white and two mixed-race—had dirty-grey complexions. Not enough sunlight; not enough vitamins; too much drugging thought Danny.

"Got 'ny fags, mate?" continued the second boy.

"Sorry, no," said Danny, "I just come down 'ere 'cos I lost a punter."

" 'Ave yer tried the Lost Property?" said his first interlocutor.

Danny and Number Three laughed, But Number Two and Number Four didn't react at all. They seemed to be cut off from the real world and unable to relate to people in the normal, human way.

Danny gave thanks internally for the happy lives of his friends and himself. Lads such as these Piccadilly regulars had probably never known a mother's love, or at best been given love's shadow diffused through a fog of drink, drugs, violence, sex and sheer, mind-numbing stupidity.

Danny went for his real agenda: "I 'ad a really good punter at King's cross—Mr Rowle 'e called 'imself. Used ter see me once a week. Took me for a Maccy D 'n' gave me a suck while he wanked on the ground. Thirty quid I got. Aint seen him for three weeks now. I come down 'ere to look for 'im.

"What's he like?" asked Number One.

"White man. Tall, thinish, hair goin' grey cut in a number two. Small dick."

"Aint sin 'im," said Number One.

"Any of you lads?"

The three shook their heads dully.

"Got 'ny baccy, mate?" asked Number Two.

"Sorry, no," said Danny, "If 'e turns up can you tell 'im Danny from King's cross is missin' 'im. I'll give a tenner a go to any of you that puts 'im back onter me."

"We don't get many that look like you said down 'ere," said Number One, "most of 'em are fat greasy Ayrabs or Wops or God knows wot!"

"Did you get that shake-up a coupla weeks ago?" asked Danny.

"What you didn't get shook up by King's Cross coppers didja?" laughed Number One, "They're muppets; they couldn't shake up a bag of pork scratchin's!"

"No, not the coppers; this was some guys tryin' ter get us ter run messages for 'em."

"What, dealers?"

"Could be. Deliverin' letters 'n' small packets. I never arsked"

"Pay good?"

"Pay's not getting' beat up."

"We aint seen 'em round here. We do any runnin' an' we get a tenner an' a five pound wrap. Anyone comes the heavy an' they get sorted!"

"Blade!" said Number Four, making a meaningful hand-reaching-for-sock gesture.

Danny smiled at the four lads.

"Tell yer what, mates: keep yer eyes open an I'll do a whip-round from the King's Cross lads. I'll come 'ere Friday at seven and pay yer. Info's gotta be true, though! An' keep an eye out for my punter too."

"OK Danny!" said Number One, "What's 'e called again?"

"Mr Rowle. White, tall, thinish, grey hair, number two, small dick. I didn't mention it but you might find him a bit weird and a bit frightening."

"We're on the case, Danny!" said Number One.

"Ask around. Now I gotta run. See yer boys!"

Danny turned towards Piccadilly.

"Danny, mate, could you spare us a fag?" called Number Two.

Danny called back: "Sorry, aint got'ny."

He was a bit sad as he walked back to the Dorchester. These boys should be living happy, rich lives; lives full of fun, education, exercise and sex. Instead they were trapped in a sort of Hell.

Never mind, he couldn't save everyone but tomorrow he would renew contacts with rescuee number one!

After greeting his mother, Danny's first task was to go to his bedroom and ring said rescuee: his friend Piers. Having spoken to Mrs Polkiss and politely enquired about the family holiday, Danny was allowed to speak to Piers.

"Hi, Danny!"

Piers was slightly guarded. He was not alone.

"I suppose it wouldn't be any use asking if you could sleep here tonight?"

"You suppose correctly."

"Probably just as well. Mum's off for the week, so we'll have a farewell dinner and I've got some schoolwork I should catch up on. But can I see you tomorrow?"

"OK."

"With a sleepover?"

"Negative."

"Hours of daylight, I suppose?"

"Affirmative."

"Ready for our week of sex?"

"Affirmative plus."

"I'm a day ahead of you."

"Creeveys, was it?"

"I saw them but, it was with some other boys from school."

The boys were cracking up.

"I'll get my own back!" giggled Piers.

"What d'yer fancy starting with?"

"The two leads; then how about the number fourteen crew?"

"Sounds good to me! Have you got that beer mat I gave you?"

"Yeah, I'll use it tonight, or tomorrow morning if there's no answer."

"Are you stiff now?"

"Affirmative plus plus plus."

"Ditto. Try and save it till tomorrow morning."

"The things I do for England!"

"And when did you last shower or bath?"

"Thursday."

"Can you please leave the next one till after tomorrow?"

"OK, but Why?"

"I've got a feeling that smell is important to sex."

"Is it to do with what happened in the . . . place?"

"Negative plus!"

"Just wondering."

"Talking about the place: shall we meet there—I mean in the park?"

"If that's OK with you."

"Yeah, how about I'll meet you there ten o'clock?"

"OK!"

"But I'll have to get back to the hotel about four."

"OK."

"And I've got some good news: my mate Oliver Woods is willing to be the toughie in your fantasy."

"Is it nice?"

"I think you'll find him OK. You'll have to work on your parents to let you stay at the Dorchester all Tuesday night."

"I'll do my best. See yer Danny!"

"See yer, Piers!"

In the living room, with his mother muttering away over the Jorrocks and Company papers, Danny settled into a comfy chair with From Ocular to Corporeal.

The flyleaf bore the inscription:

James Potter

Gryffindor

Danny was thrilled: this book had belonged to Harry's father!

He looked at the Contents Page:

PART 1: ILLUSION—Now You See It . . .

PART 2: CONCEALMENT—. . .Now You Don't

PART 3: VISUAL IMPERSONATION—Including Doppelgangsters

PART 4: CORPOREAL IMPERSONATION—Say Goodbye to Polyjuice

PART 5: STEPS TO METAMORPHAGY AND ANIMAGY—A New You

PART 6: ADDING SOUND EFFECTS *

* This topic is more fully covered in the Authoress's Aural Magic

There was a handwritten note—probably by James Potter:

Original Pt 6 – Steps to Immortality – incomplete – suppressed by Ministry after Thorpe convicted of murder & sent to Tussaud's 1907. d. just before Ask. move

? was murder connected with Immortality quest

He continued the perusal that he had begun in Flourish and Blotts. Madame Thorpe had laid out her book well in that each section required knowledge of previous sections. Right! he thought, Come on Danny! Come on Hogwarts!

Page One!

For over two hours he concentrated hard, resisting the temptation to try out some simple spells. He would master the theory before moving on to the practice.

At eleven o'clock a wave of sleepiness passed over him. He kissed his mother goodnight and retired.

He jumped into bed and settled comfortably. It had been a long day. He was tired. His bumhole still throbbed, but in a pleasant, reminiscent way. His last conscious thought was: Shit! I forgot to use my tongue when I was sucking Darren and I should have taken a niff of the twin's bums!

— CHAPTER SEVEN —Danny and Piers and . . .

Sunday morning promised another glorious, sunny, autumn day. For sheer joy, Danny put on the Invisibility Cloak and Apparated into Hyde Park and back. Then all the way to Little Whinging Park—three hours early—and back.

His body was not used to long-distance Apparating and he felt a little seedy. He was glad that he had done it before breakfast.

Talking of breakfast . . . he checked to see if his mother had surfaced and, finding that she was still in bed, made his way down the stairs.

In the café he ordered sausage, bacon and egg with orange juice and tea.

He settled his mind to study-mode and opened From Ocular to Corporeal.

Toast came and five minutes later, his hot meal.

With immense politeness, he asked the waiter for some hot toast. "Please leave the crusts on and leave it square, not triangular."

You'd think they'd know by now he thought.

Five minutes later, the toast came and he made himself a proper breakfast with the hot food stuffed between two slices of toast.

He turned a page and left a greasy thumbprint. Like Stalin, he thought.

He cleaned the mark absent-mindedly and carried on reading and munching.

He was so lost in the book that he must have read continuously for half an hour, being interrupted only by waiters who twice asked him if there would be anything else, Sir—without the subtext that would have been present had it been Joe doing the asking.

A passage about disguising the source of illusions by the use of non-verbal spells to create forms behind the wizard pulled him up short.

He was missing something.

Then he flipped a few pages further back. There was certainly no greasy mark. He had cleaned it with a Scourgify! and, what's more, he had done it non-verbally!

A ripple of euphoria touched him. Every day, something else. Life was wonderful.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his mother.

"Morning dear!"

"Morning Mum! you'll never guess what I've just done!"

Mrs Jorrocks laughed.

"I expect it was harmless and I expect it was illegal!"

"I done a non-verbal, innit!"

"Brilliant! Do another and let me see!"

Danny smeared some marmelade on his napkin. He visualised the effect of the spell and thought Scourgify! The stain vanished.

"Oh, well done!" smiled his mother, "Stephen and I couldn't begin to imagine that we'd ever be able to do that!"

"The Ministry will have picked up the spell so I'm going to try to hide it from them."

He stained the napkin again and thought OK! Scourgify! without result.

He tried a few more times, then he felt something relax within himself and the charm worked.

"Seventh time, Mum!"

"Excellent! Do it a few more times."

Danny dirtied and cleaned the napkin several times and then used Wingardium Leviosa! to lift the salt cellar half an inch.

Non-verbal spells! He would soon be a Master!

"I suppose I can do it now because I'm more relaxed, knowing that it's legal."

"Probably, dear. It's another reason for me to be proud of you."

"Not half as much as I'm proud of you and Dad."

On this tender note they rose and left the café.

At five to ten Danny, rucksack shouldered and willy twitching threateningly, kissed his mother, donned the Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to Little Whinging Park.

He kept the cloak on while he had a look round. There were men, with and without dogs, cutting through the park to pick up their Sunday paper at the Indian shop (known inaccurately to the locals as the Paki shop). There was an early sprinkling of prams in the play area where toddlers and bigger kids were shrieking their way through the rides under the watchful eyes of their mothers who were busily chatting to each other.

Danny sat on a bench—perhaps the very bench used by Piers to monitor the toilets on the day he and Danny had met. Danny looked at the toilets for a bit. There was no business—conventional or naughty—going on.

He had to move smartly when an old boy decided to sit down for a breather and spend a few minutes reading his newspaper. Danny walked away from the toilets and towards the play area. Another old boy, considerably less respectable-looking than the first, was also reading a newspaper, but expanding his perception by drinking from a can marked White St*r.

Danny laughed to himself. This person would certainly not be appreciated by such Little Whinging residents as the Dursleys or Polkisses.

Piers was late. Danny was missing his book but kept himself amused by doing little Locomotion and Levitation non-verbals on the early autumn leaves.

At ten past ten some little psychic twitch made him look up. Two hundred yards away, Piers had entered the park and was walking urgently towards the open area, occasionally breaking into a little trot.

Danny looked all round, checking it was clear to take off the Invisibility Cloak, but froze. Two more figures had entered the park and were on routes convergent to Piers'.

One of them was Dudley Dursley! The other was a fat girl who looked like a chav but was wearing quite a smart dress. Dudley was in the standard rich chav designer gear.

This was a complication. Dudley knew Danny under the ambitious false ID of Lord Findor so he had to keep himself hidden. However, there was no reason not to enjoy the situation. He approached the convergence point.

"Oi! Piers!" grunted the pig-like Dudley.

"Hi Dudley!"

"Where have you been? We thought you'd been kidnapped again."

"Torremolinos for a week."

"Tell us about the kidnapping."

"I've been told not to talk about it till it's all cleared up. But, to be honest, there's not much to say. I was bundled into a van and held in extreme comfort for a day until the police rescued me."

"Russian gang wasn't it?" He produced a packet of Bensons. "Light up three would you?"—this last to the fat girl.

"Only two: I've given up. Yeah Russians." said Piers.

"Bloody funny way of earning a living!" said Dudley, "And the newspapers aren't telling nearly the whole story, my father says".

Dudley received his cigarette and took a drag.

Piers took the opportunity: "Have you seen your Cousin Harry?"

"No we think he's caddying on golf courses all over the country. Lord Findor—his father, the Earl of Gryffin's an old family friend, you know—told us."

Danny nearly choked with laughter.

"I wish the old man had sent me to Eton. Sounds a good place from what Tom—that's Lord Findor—says. Still, I've been made a prefect at Smeltings and let me tell you: I'll be down on bullying like a ton of bricks so don't let me catch you or Gordon or Malcolm at it . . . I suppose they haven't made you a prefect?"

"I've left school."

Dudley looked disappointed. He had probably planned a rôle for Piers as some sort of sub-prefect answerable only to Dudley.

"Why?"

"I've taken an apprenticeship in the City."

"Good luck, then. By the way, I'm sorry I was a bit tough on you the other day. It took a bit of a shock to make me realise how trivial we'd all been. It was all just a phase, you know."

"Like always, I've followed your lead, Big D. I'm a reformed character."

"Good!" said Dudley "Now we must be off. I have to buy some wine for Sunday Dinner. Want to get back early as I've got to change into jacket and tie. Teresa's joining us today—calls herself Tracy, but I soon put that right. See you, Piers."

"See you, Big D."

They wandered off and Piers chuckled quietly to himself—as did Danny.

Danny retreated to a thick clump of laurels, took off the cloak and called: "Eek . . . eek . . . eek!"

Piers smiled and trotted over. He found a path through the bushes and, before either lad could speak, They were locked in a clinch with their tongues lashing each other's mouths.

Piers broke off.

"Danny! I've really, really, really missed you!"

"Oh Piers!"

They were still pressing tightly against each other and Danny could feel a hard lump pressing against his tummy. He'd nominated the park as a meeting-place on sentimental grounds, but he wished now they were in his bedroom at the Dorchester where they could be starkers and do the job properly.

Piers didn't seem to be bothered. His hands were clutching Danny's bottom and massaging it with some passion.

Danny was wearing trackie bottoms and one of Piers' hands found its way under the elastic waistbands and started rubbing and pressing Danny's cheeks.

They started snogging again and Piers' index finger found its way to Danny's bumhole and stroked it slowly. Then he homed in and pressed a little harder. He whispered in Danny's ear: "Did you bring any Savlon?"

"I already used it," lied Danny.

He pointed his backside in the general direction of his rucksack, which lay at his feet, and thought: OK! Lubricio!

It worked first time: by some unknown sense, Danny could tell that his botty was ready for Piers.

He looked around. There was no need for an invisibility cloak. Then he found what he did need: a low, horizontal, reasonably strong branch. He lowered his trousers and undies, gripped the branch and bent over with legs as asplay as possible.

The sight galvanised Piers. Danny heard him scrunching through the leaves, taking down his bottoms and then: Ouch!

Piers had rammed into him so hard that Danny's first sensation came as the thick base of Piers' shaft was already distending his ringpiece.

The pain was agonising. It would have been bad enough any other day, but Sea Jay's recent attentions had left Danny's rear somewhat wrecked. Brave Danny didn't even squeak, though a Muggle phrase, pillow-biting, came into his mind.

Piers immediately started a strong thumping, clutching Danny's torso with one arm and using the other to give Danny that component of Gay mechanics called the Queer's Reach-around—a technique which had been in use for at least forty-thousand years.

Pain had not dulled Daniel's lust or the sensitivity of his willy. He felt the delicious intimations of orgasm. Then it was on him and each bang and stroke from Piers seemed to tickle his soul.

It was over too quickly. Glancing down, he saw a nice little gobbet of cum on Piers' forefinger. Then the bush rustled as Piers himself came in a series of especially strong thrusts accompanied by many subdued whimperings.

Piers stopped moving and they held their awkward position.

"Danny, darling, it's so good!" whispered Piers.

Danny raised himself, pushing Piers upward. He enfolded Piers in his arms looking at the sharp-featured face under the trendily-cut mass of thick, yellow-white hair.

"Spain's done your tackle a bit of good, mate!" he said, "And it's improved your complexion. Your skin's a beautiful gold and slightly flushed from shagging me. And it's done your spots good too."

"That was you, Danny. Remember you kissed my spots better? Well it's worked. And your face hasn't changed. It's still perfect. Oh, I nearly forgot—"

Piers licked the stickiness from his finger. "My Danny's honey!" he said.

Danny hugged Piers, then released him.

"Go like I did please," he said, guiding Piers towards his branch.

"Blimey, Danny! Are you ready for seconds?" said Piers, as he bent over and gripped the branch.

Danny didn't answer but stooped and advanced his nose towards Piers' bumhole.

He sniffed delicately. An earthy scent, not as strong as Sea Jay's or Darren's, but still a bit problematic. Danny felt that had he not just come, he might have enjoyed Piers' bum-odour a bit more.

He pressed his nose hard against the hole and inhaled deeply.

Piers giggled as Danny took a second breath. There was something nasty and something nice about the smell. And something else that was wholly nice: it came from Piers!

Time for the whole show!

Danny stuck out his tongue and gave the hole an up-and-down lick.

Piers twitched and squeaked: "Ooh, Danny! Danny!"

Danny pressed harder and managed to get the tip of his tongue inside. There was only a hint of a taste but the feeling of the slippery skin, given strength by its crinkling and supported by firm muscles, was captivating.

He sucked and slobbered for a few moments, then moved down to lick the moist, secret place between ballsack and anus.

"What's it like, Danny?"

"Stupendous!"

"Can I try it on you?"

"Leave it a bit. If you do it now, you'll only get your own cum."

They got to their feet and embraced again.

"Where did you get that from Danny?"

"A friend from school. Yesterday."

"Lucky friend! I suppose bumming does restrict things a bit: I've got your poo on my knob and you've got my cum in your arse."

"And dribbling out!"

"I'm all wet underneath too!"

"Isn't it great!"

"It's the best thing in the world!"

"Are we seeing Dot and Alice today?"

"Yeah. Twelve o'clock and they're giving us Sunday dinner."

"But without Dudley or Tracy, I mean Teresa!"

"How did you find that out?"

"I was listening."

"You couldn't have been; we were in the middle of the field."

"You forget my CIA cloak."

"Oh, yeah . . . Danny?"

"Yes, sweet boy."

"I remember my Physics master said you can hide things from Radar by deflecting the waves, but you can't do the same for light."

"But you can deflect light; ever hear of fibre optics?"

"Oh, yeah. Is that how it works?"

"Yeah, billions and billions of tiny lengths of carefully aligned fibre optic. Remember: It's secret. Shall we get a drink?"

"Yeah."

They walked and chatted to the Indian shop.

"What did you think of Dudley?" asked Piers.

"What a clown. He may have given up bullying but he's still trying to dominate everyone; and he treats his girlfriend as though she weren't there, except when he's treating her as a servant."

"She's repulsive, isn't she? If I were straight, one look at her would change me."

"More tolerance and understanding please. A lot of straights like fat girls. And you should know that good looks mean nothing when it comes to Love and Sex: you're not the prettiest boy in the world, but after one look at you I thought you were the sexiest boy in the world."

This was a bit of a lie: Danny's first reaction on first seeing Piers was one of pity.

Piers blushed.

"Yeah, sorry. I find Dudley repulsive too, but if he had a nicer character I could enjoy getting a shag from him."

"Ditto!"

They reached the Indians and bought two cans of pop ("There's a Scotch boy at school who calls it Ginger." said Piers.)

They wandered back to the park and sat on a bench.

"I forgot with all the excitement to say sorry for being late."

"Nothing to be sorry for. I know you were doing your best because you looked all worried and flustered when you came in the park, as though you thought I couldn't be bothered waiting ten minutes for you."

"I knew you'd wait, but there was something inside myself telling me that you wouldn't."

"That's just low self-confidence and keeping things suppressed! You'll be OK when you move out and get a new job and new friends."

"I'm gonna miss you, Danny."

"I'll miss you too, but I've got lots of other friends to stop me brooding and, believe me, you'll have lots as well. Anyway, we'll see each other at Christmas, or before if I have a flying visit. How powerful do they make binoculars these days."

"I don't know. Why?"

"I was wondering if we could hold hands for a bit."

"Let's chance it!"

They sat for a time, sometimes in silence, sometimes chatting and all the time in an idyll of Love and Friendship.

Then Piers tensed.

"Hell! It's Darren Joyce!"

Danny saw a chavy-looking youth a hundred yards away. An extendable lead connected him to a fawn-coloured Staffordshire Bull Terrier.

"Looks harmless."

"He is harmless, but he's a bore. You can't get away from him. Can we use your CIA cloak?"

Danny checked carefully and whisked the Invisibility Cloak over them.

The youth came within fifty yards of them and Danny saw that he was more a young man than a youth—a scraggy figure of about twenty-five. Danny recognized him: he had seen him on his last visit to Little Whinging Park.

"If he's a bore, why can't you just say bye-bye and go?"

"He's ever so simple and ever so nice so you don't like to."

"Did the old-style Dudley and his gang pick on him?"

"No fear! He used to be the local tearaway. Street robbery, burglary, needless violence, the lot. Then about four years ago he suddenly went weird—wrapped up in himself but friendly at the same time. He's quite well-off—he gets the dole and does little-boy jobs like car-cleaning and gardening. I think people are still afraid to say no. He looks after his nan really well and he always cleans up after his dog, which, by the way, is as daft and placid as him."

Sure enough, Darren had steered his dog into the rough area between some huge pine trees and used a plastic bag to clear up. He deposited the bag in a specialised bin and let the dog lead him where it wanted.

The dog seemed to have a purpose. It lead the man up to and into a shrubbery by the playground.

"The dog's already done its biz," said Danny, "What are they going in there for? Let's go and have a look."

They wandered to the left of the shrubbery and crept along the back until they could see Darren Joyce.

They stayed about thirty yards from him. His dog occasionally looked in their direction, but apparently without seeing them. "Probably picked up our scent," whispered Piers.

The man was staring at the playground. He appeared to be focusing on two little girls of about seven or eight.

Suddenly he unzipped himself and pulled out six inches of erect penis.

He started wanking slowly, still staring at the little girls.

"Dirty bugger!" whispered Piers.

"He's not harming them or anyone else."

They stood watching the fascinating sight.

Danny felt Piers. He was stiff.

"You dirty bugger!" he whispered.

Piers confirm that Danny was also stiff.

"You dirty bugger!" he whispered.

They suppressed their laughter and continued monitoring Darren who was still beating away obliviously.

The dog had definitely got wind of it knew not what, but continued to sit placidly. This was clearly a regular proceeding.

Darren remained on station for a long time, occasionally changing hands. The dog's lead was clipped to his belt.

"He's well organised, isn't he?" whispered Piers, "I bet he comes here every day."

Still Darren wanked on and on until his back arched and he came with a few slow strokes. He casually shook his willy, stowed it away and retraced his steps, the dog glancing back in the boys' direction.

"Let's go and see what he's done!" said Danny, guiding the two of them towards Darren's pleasuring area.

They found a good-sized blob of cum on the ground which Danny scooped onto a fingertip and smelt.

"Everyone's cum smells different," he said, "and this one's thicker than usual."

Piers had a sniff and said: "My nose isn't as sharp as yours. It just smells of cum, but it is thick and creamy, isn't it?"

Then, changing the subject, he asked: "Is it possible to shag under a CIA cloak?"

"It's never been done under this one, so let's try. How about this?"

He lowered his bottoms and crouched on all fours.

"Doggy position!" said Piers as he crouched and pressed his pointy willy into Danny's crack.

Piers entered Danny much more gently this time and his motions were also gentle. His long arms allowed him to take most of his weight, so avoiding the doggy position becoming the squashed-hedgehog position.

It was a gentle, loving coupling and Piers whispered as he came: " O Danny, it just gets better!"

Danny had not come himself so Piers leaned him against a tree and sucked him off, which did not take long.

As Danny squirted he looked down at the bobbing almost-white hair and thought what a beautiful sight it was.

They cuddled again and took off the cloak.

"Thank you for fabulous sex from a fabulous boy!" said Danny.

"I don't think we should thank each other," said Piers, "It's sharing everything, so we both know that we are both equally thankful."

"Thank you for that fabulous thought, then!" said Danny and the two boys laughed happily.

They left the thicket and Danny said: "I bet bits of us were visible during that!"

"Yeah, I don't suppose the CIA ever thought of two sharing, let alone fornicating!"

They relived their experience as they went to catch a train and, with the help of a bus journey found themselves in Fulham ten minutes before time.

— CHAPTER EIGHT —. . . Dot and Alice

The street where Dot and Alice lived was entirely composed of terraced houses. These had clearly been built for upwardly-mobile Victorian artisans. There were touches of decorative gothic, stained glass transoms above the doors and beautifully-finished brickwork. The front gardens were just too small to be used as standings for motor cars and many were ablaze with flowers and shrubs. Even the gardens that had been paved over were usually embellished with vegetation—often in expensive-looking pots.

Dot and Alice had adopted a middle course: most of the garden was covered with neatly-layed slabs, but there were three small fussily-trimmed shrubs.

Danny pushed the tit and they heard a descending minor third.

"Not very imaginative!" said Danny.

"Er . . ." was the only response. Piers was nervous.

After a few seconds, a door opened and an eye peeped out. Danny could see that it was slightly bruised.

The door opened further and a rather dishevelled Alice appeared. She was wearing a satiny dressing-gown and pixy slippers. Her face was made up, but a night's sleep and, presumably, other activities had impaired the effect.

"Hello, boys!" he said brightly.

"Hello, Alice! Did you enjoy the morning?"

"Is it twelve already? Come in"

They went in to a sparsely-furnished bedroom. There was a wardrobe to the left, a dressing table to the right, a single chair and a four-foot-wide bed containing a man in his early twenties.

"Bloody hell!" said the man, "I knew Dot liked 'em young, but this is a record!"

"Shut up, you dirty-minded sod!" said Alice, "They're her nephews."

"Watch it, boys, or he'll have your arse'ole before you blink!"

"No he won't," said Danny, "He aint gonna fall out with the family is he?"

"Never mind him," said Alice, "come on through."

He tapped on the inner door.

"Make us a cuppa, gal!" said the man as he sat up in bed and reached for the cigarettes that lay on the bedside table—on which there was what Danny thought might be a used rubber johnny.

He had a broad hairy chest and Danny wondered whether he might be more suitable than Ollie for Tuesday's frolics. He caught Piers' eye and smiled encouragingly.

Piers was blushing.

There was a sound of a bolt being withdrawn and the door opened.

Dot was dressed in smart casuals. Very smart casuals. Danny could recognize designer clothes that tripled in price because of the label. Dot must be well-off.

Then Danny remembered a phrase that had recently come up: The Pink Pound. Gay men didn't have wives and kids to look after, nor did their friends and partners. Disposable Income was another phrase.

"Hello, boys!" said Dot cheerfully, "Come in!"

He waved them through and poked his head round the door.

"Morning Mike! If you've been too rough with her, I'll come after you with a frying-pan."

"She's OK. Ask 'er."

"Sounds like your fantasy is Alice's reality," whispered Danny.

"Er . . ." said Piers.

Dot bolted the door behind him and ushered the lads into a room whose layout was a somewhat larger version of Mundungus Fletcher's living room: two chairs and a sofa focused on the fireplace; a dining table against the left wall and a sideboard in front of the window in the back wall.

"Sit down, girls—you don't mind a bit of Polari, do you? How's about a drink?"

"Cuppa tea, please, while Alice is making one." said Danny.

"Yeah." said Piers.

"Coming right up!" said Dot, going through the rear door.

Danny got up. "Come on Piers!" he said and led the way into the kitchen.

"If we're girls, we'd better do girlie things like nosing around other girls' houses!"

"It's a nice little place," said Dot.

"Home Sweet Home," said Alice.

"It certainly is," said Danny.

The kitchen was doubtless an extension to the original two-up, two-down house. It was long and thin and spotlessly clean.

Danny nosed further and found that the kitchen's rear door opened to a small hall with storage to the left and a back door to the right. Further in was a bathroom fitted out expensively and, again, immaculately clean.

Danny turned the back door key. Some of the neighbours had garages at the back but this one was all garden—a surprising amount of garden too. There was a long plot beside the extension and a square plot at the back. It was all laid out for minimum maintenance with maximum effect—well-kept lawn with a varied collection of shrubs.

The lads went back into the kitchen and Danny said: "I really like it!"

Piers said: "So do I . . . it's . . . it's . . ." He was blushing again.

"It's time for a cuppa!" said Alice, as she filled five designer mugs from a designer teapot.

The four of them settled down in the living room, Alice having taken Mike his cuppa—or to be pedantic his mugga—and bolted him in.

"What a lovely house!" said Danny, "Can we have a quick look upstairs?"

"Go on up!" said Dot, "I'm sure that there are at least two of our guests who won't steal anything!"

Danny led the way, racing up the stairs which led through a door from the living room.

At the top of the stairs was a closed door which concealed a large wardrobe-cum-airing cupboard.

To the left was a bright, sunny room with a five-foot bed configured for two occupants and a dressing-table and stool. Wallpaper, carpet and bedspread harmonised and the whole set-up looked to Danny tasteful and expensive.

To the right was an even more expensive-looking room. There was a four-foot bed, a table and chair, and a lot of shelving for books. Danny felt that a long browse would be discourteous to their hosts but could not resist a quick scan. There were classic and modern novels, art and photography books, which Danny suspected had homophile content, and some history and biography.

"It's a fabulous room, isn't it?" he said.

"Really classy," said Piers, "Without being flash. I love it."

They cluttered downstairs.

"We both love it!" said Danny, "It's a gem of a house; and it's big for what they probably called a workman's cottage when they built it."

"There'd have been typically five or six children," said Alice, "The family would be at the top end of the Working Class."

The two boys sat down on the sofa.

"Let me guess," said Danny, "you two share the back bedroom, keep the front room for ordinary guests and use the street room to entertain . . . er . . . special guests."

The two men laughed.

"We call them Rough Trade, dear," said Alice.

"And do you both like Rough Trade?"

"She doesn't," said Alice, "She's much fussier than me."

"Discriminating is the word," said Dot.

"Repressed hetero, more like!" said Alice.

Dot turned to the boys. "She can be cruel, girls!"

"Not as cruel as Mike, I'll bet!" said Danny.

"Don't be too hard on Mike," said Alice, "He's a product of his background. He was brought up to be a working-class tough and to follow established codes of conduct."

"I bet he's good company, so to speak!" laughed Danny.

Alice laughed too: "I've got no complaints, so to speak!"

There was a bang on the door and the subject of their discussion called out: "Escort Duty!"

Alice let Mike in.

As they walked through the living room, Mike told Alice: "I'll just 'ave a piss an' git on me way."

Danny got a strong waft of stale beer and masculine sweat as Alice and Mike entered the kitchen.

"We have to watch her all the time," said Dot when the couple had passed, "She cleared out the bathroom once and she's had no end of cutlery out the kitchen. The hi-fi's been too cumbersome so far!"

There was the sound a long, unsubtle pee; then a silence punctuated by a few giggles from Alice; then the two of them returned.

"Cheero Dot! Cheero boys! Don' let yer uncle git yer in a fiddle-me-diddle!"

"Don't embarrass them!" said Alice, guiding Mike firmly towards the door.

The three in the living room could hear: "Couldn't spare a fiver, could yer, so I can 'ave a game of pool?"

The front door slammed and Alice came to join the others.

"Let me guess," said Danny, "He's gonna take his girlfriend to the boozer."

"How can someone as young as you guess that?" asked Alice, sitting down and picking up her tea.

"I read an article. Lots of gay men like Mike-types best—real or fantasy."

Piers was trying to look uninterested.

"And lots of gay men don't." said Dot.

"Precisely. It takes all sorts." said Alice.

"It certainly does!" said Danny, "We were in the park today and we hid and watched a man wanking while he was spying on two tiny little girls in the playground."

"That's just plain nasty," said Dot.

"Piers thought so, but if he's not hurting anyone, why shouldn't he be allowed a fantasy-life?"

"Because he may get caught and that wouldn't just hurt him, but the girls would feel dirty—if people made enough fuss, it might even ruin their lives."

Alice spoke: "And how do you know it'll stop at looking? Suppose he gets to be alone with a kid. Will he do anything? And if he does something—even if it's only touching—what's he going to do? If she tells, it's prison, so will he stop her telling?"

"Chilling picture," said Danny, "So should he locked away just in case? And for how long?"

"No sensible person would say that," said Dot, "It's just that you can't write it off as harmless. It's potentially dangerous."

"Is there a solution?" asked Danny, knowing that wizardkind managed such situations well.

"No," said Dot and Alice simultaneously, which lightened the tone.

Alice went upstairs to get dressed and Dot said: "Dinner's made. Just wants heating up. Are you boys OK with shellfish?"

The boys nodded and Dot said: "Then I'll just put it in the oven. Can you amuse yourselves?"

"No," said Danny, "we'll come in for a chat."

While Dot busied himself with the meal, Danny asked: "How long have you and Alice been together?"

"We've been friends for seven years and living together for four."

"I can see you're very close, but Alice also needs someone like Mike. Do you need anyone else."

"I'm a romantic, dear. Just waiting for Miss Right."

"And when he, sorry she, comes along, what about you and Alice?"

"We're sisters; and within the Family three is not a crowd!"

"Nor is four, is it Piers?"

"Er . . ." said Piers, staring at Dot.

"Is Family what the gay sisterhood calls itself?" asked Danny.

"Yes, nice isn't it."

"I think it's a beautiful word: warm and supportive. I suppose Mike's a sort of in-law."

"That's a nice way of putting it."

"I can see his attraction: you're getting a sort of two in one; a loveable rogue; a straight man who's willing to go with gays; a weak character in a strong body."

"That's another nice way of putting it. But I'd never go with her myself."

"Yeah, but don't you get a bit of a kick from picking up her scent second-hand from Alice?"

"Sort of, little Miss Sharp!"

Alice returned at this point. He had cleaned his face and dressed in cool t-shirt and chinos.

"I see you've taken the slap off, Alice!" said Danny.

The two men laughed.

"Ooh, isn't he bold?" said Dot.

"Got all the Polari!" said Alice, "Anyway I don't do slap—just a touch of liner and shadow and mascara and a judicious lippie on a Saturday night."

"You've never gone in for the full works?"

"No, too much trouble."

"I think he'd look fabulous if he did, don't you girls?" said Dot.

"Yes!" said Danny enthusiastically. "I wonder if any of the boys at school might want to try it."

"Don't you go getting yourself into trouble, dear," said Alice, "or anyone else."

"My school's pretty liberal," said Danny, "I was too young to go myself but there were eight gay couples at the Christmas ball—male couples I mean."

By the time that Danny had recounted a sterile Muggle-version of Hogwarts to the two men—sometimes raising his voice to carry through an open kitchen door—lunch was ready.

The table was pulled back, four chairs set round and proper napery and cutlery laid.

The starter was melons wrapped with Parma Ham—timeless perfection.

Then came tagliatelle with butter and Parmesan Cheese and a separate bowl of chicken in spicy clam sauce.

The boys tucked in eagerly. They were allowed a glass of Italian red wine.

"This is beautiful! Isn't it Piers?" said Danny.

"Yeah, fabulous!"

"But you know, I think Dot and Alice are trying to turn us straight!"

"How so, Danny?" asked Alice.

"Well, punters call young rent boys chickens; and clams with their shape and gamey marine flavour are associated with female thingies—not that anyone round this table is likely to know that directly. So you two girls have presented us with the suggestion of boys in a flood of females!"

The two men laughed uproariously.

"Danny!" said Dot, "What sort of a life have you led?"

"Well-read," said Danny, "but getting more experienced by the day, aren't we Piers?"

"Don't spoil things by talking about females!" said Piers, coming out of his shell.

"Well-said, girl!" said Alice "I mean—"

They all laughed and a cheerful general conversation followed.

"How do you earn your living?" asked Danny.

Dot laughed.

"I hardly dare tell you, it's so stereotyped. I'm a freelance window-dresser and Alice is a freelance hairdresser. And we both do a lot of modelling."

"What sort of modelling?"

"Not newsagents' windows, if that's what you're thinking. Fashion mags, women's mags, gay mags, catalogues, adverts. She's been on the catwalk and I've been on TV.

"Good living?"

Alice laughed.

"Could be. We could be pulling in a grand a week, but we're too lazy—"

"—and we like the good life too much!" completed Dot.

"Is dinner over? What shall we do now?" asked Danny, with a glint in his eye.

"Let's have some coffee and then go for a walk by the River," said Alice, "Sound like a good idea?"

"It's an excellent idea," said Danny, "or we could stay here and have a game of strip poker, or pin the tail on the donkey, or compare-the-penis; or—"

Dot interrupted: "Definitely not! You're only young boys!"

"We were girls a moment ago."

"That's just fun," said Alice, "But it's just not on."

"Why?"

"Apart from the legal angle, you're not just too young physically, you're not able to give informed consent. This time next year you may be straight!

"Never, never, never!"

"Don't say that. You wouldn't believe the number of Family we've seen go straight in their teens and twenties. Isn't that so, Dot?"

"Yes. If there's one thing worse than fancying a straight guy, it's fancying a straight guy who was gay to the point of being in your bed a few years ago."

"I guess you've had a broken heart in your time, Dot," said Danny.

Dot nodded.

"What about you?" Danny said, turning to Alice.

"A hundred times, but that was in the past; I'm more realistic now."

"Well, girls! Whatever you may think, Piers and I are two post-puberty, active, gay males. We may be only fifteen and thirteen but we're mature and realistic too, aren't we Piers."

Piers was at his peak of pinkness, but found a sufficiently firm voice to say: "We can be friends, though, can't we."

"Hope so!" said Danny.

"Off course!" said Dot.

After some debate they all agreed to forego the coffee and go for a riverside walk where Danny and Piers were delighted to find an up-market Mr Whippy wagon to supply a suitably Italian dessert.

As they walked, it was established that the men's true names were Donald and Alistair.

"Never mind drag; you'd both look nice in kilts!" said Danny.

"And it would make peeing and poo-poo much easier!" said Piers, who was beginning to blossom.

"And handy for grabbing a handful!" said Danny, "talking of which: Alice: Piers and I are interested in willies. You're the expert; how big do they get?"

"Tell 'em, Size Queen!" said Dot.

Alice expounded: "Well, the standard is six inches, but you've got to define it carefully: from the base of the top surface without pressing down—you can gain an inch by pushing and an inch more by measuring it along the side."

"But surely you can tell an exaggeration just by looking at it," said Danny.

"Wishful thinking comes in there, but, believe me, if you see an advert for an escort and he says eight or nine inches, it's likely to be six or seven, and some people shave themselves which makes it look bigger."

"You could've given us a practical!"

"Don't nag! Theory first and practical in a few years!"

"And what's the longest you've met?"

"About ten inches and some of the girls say they've seen more, but don't get yourself excited: the longer they are the less stiff they're likely to get—there are limits to how much and how far your heart can pump blood."

"It must depend on how thick it is."

"Yes, but make it thicker and you need more blood—squared—and that brings us to how well it stands up. I've known pricks that are well-suffused—quite capable of—you know—but which can't bear their own weight; and you lose a lot of the attraction if it doesn't want to say hello."

"What's Mike's like?"

"I shouldn't tell you, but I'm such a bitch that I will: he's average length but extra fat—enough for any girl."

"Isn't it all to do with fantasy—I mean if it was just physical you could simply buy a big rubber truncheon, couldn't you?"

"Of course, but half the pleasure in sex is in the mind. Most of us girls fantasise about a long one but, as the old rhyme has it:

Long and thin

Goes right in

But short and thick

Does the trick.

"It's meant to be about pregnancy, but it applies to us as well."

They were walking along while they were talking and had come quite near to Fulham Football Club.

"Do Fulham fans call themselves the Cottagers?" asked Danny.

"Believe it or not, they used to!" said Alice, "But now even the Others know what it means, so it's lapsed."

"Just think; on match days there's twenty thousand willies in there, all of them different."

Alice laughed: "There's a rhyme about that too:

The penis comes in many hues

And many shapes and sizes,

From bitter disappointments

To jubilant surprises."

Piers and Dot had been listening to this conversation in silence, but now Piers volunteered: "It's only a bitter disappointment if size is everything, but if you like each other, it's at worst a minor disappointment."

Dot agreed: "Well said, Piers!"

Danny and Alice concurred.

They had finished their ice creams and had wandered near to the public toilets.

Danny baited his hook and cast the line: "Anyone need a pee?"

Dot and Alice laughed.

"You don't catch us that way, Danny!"

"Just me and you, then, Danny," said Piers.

They went in the loos and stood next too each other, laughing their heads off. Both lads were trying to lose enough stiffness to be able to pump ship.

"They're not just a laugh, they're nice people too, aren't they?" said Danny.

"I really like them," said Piers, "It's a bit of a shame about not doing it, isn't it?"

"It'll come, I suppose—like my pee!"

They had already finished their pee when a newcomer entered so, regretfully, had to forego peeping.

Danny followed Piers out and was bowled over anew by the sight of his bottom.

"Hey girls!" he said to Dot and Alice, "We've talked about willies, now what about the reverse? In all this park, tell me true: who's got the most beautiful bottom?"

"Piers, of course!" said Dot.

"Yours would be as good, Danny, but you will deform it by talking out of it all the time!" said Alice.

"Ooh, get her!" said Danny, "If you don't like it, you can bung it up whenever you want."

"I faithfully promise to take you up on that in three years or so!"

"Yeah, she can go deponent, too!" said Dot.

"Forget about exercising your cute little tooky, clever Danny, solve this one: you can varda the eek from here," said Alice.

"Well eek is obviously rhyming slang for bumcheek."

Dot and Alice roared with laughter.

"You've got the most one-track mind there's ever been!" said Dot, "though varda is rhyming slang in Italian."

"It's bastarda bumcheek!"

"Keep trying!"

"Lombarda, testarda—stubborn bumcheek—sbombarda—cannon bumcheek—you can fart here—No, you can batter my bum here—No, Guarda—look at that bumcheek."

"Got it!" said Alice, "Now we ought to have told you that eek is short for eecaff—spelt E.C.A.F."

"Look at the face!"

"Not there yet, Danny, face is reverse rhyming slang for . . ."

"Boat-race!" shouted Piers.

"Yeah! You can see the boat-race."

"Is that two Polaris and a reverse rhymer? Shit hot!" said Danny.

"Please can you teach us some more Polari?" asked Piers, and the experts complied.

By the time they were back at the house, Danny and Piers were fluent.

"You must introduce us to some old boys from when Polari was a secret code!" said Danny.

"London's full of them!" laughed Dot.

They were at a slight loose end: Danny and Piers had to leave in an hour; sex was out; TV was a waste of brain cells.

Then Danny had a brainwave: "When you two go clubbing up West, I bet you spend the night dancing."

"When we're unlucky," said Alice.

"Well you're both graceful movers anyway, so I also bet you're brilliant dancers."

"She is," said Dot, "I'm more of a bluffer."

"Don't do yourself down, girl! You're poetry in motion!" said Alice.

"I'm sure you both are," said Danny, "so how about giving us a demo and teaching us how to do it?"

So CDs were played and Danny and Piers learned the moves to be executed to a pounding pulse of one hundred and twenty beats per minute.

Of course, this required the two gyrating bodies to be closely monitored by the two elder men; and occasional innocent touches used to correct the angles.

At four o'clock the boys had to go and goodbyes were said.

"If a good shafting is out of the question, you can't deny us a quick peck!" said Danny, grabbing Alice and craning his neck.

So four pecks were exchanged and fond farewells were spoken.

The boys caught a train on the green line and Danny said his goodbye as they approached Earl's Court where he would change to the blue line.

"Whatyer doing tomorrow, Danny?"

"School stuff, I'm afraid. The Creeveys will be there. Shall I give them your love?"

"Yes, of course! And give them something else from me!"

"Will do! See yer Tuesday at seven. Ring me to let me know if you can make it. They've got voicemail and Reception."

"OK Danny, and see yer!"

"See yer Piers!"

Half an hour later, Danny was with his mother at the Dorchester.

They had a modest meal and Danny studied until ten o'clock and then prepared to Apparate to Diagon Alley—he didn't want anybody at the Leaky Cauldron to know that he was abroad at such a late hour.

"Be careful, dear." said his mother.

"I will. And remember I've got an alarm function on my Amulet, if something bad happens."

With a murmur and a turn, Danny, concealed by the Invisibility Cloak, was in Diagon Alley.

Most of the shops were closed, but a number of flare-lit stalls had attracted quite a few browsers. There was a sound of singing from the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

Danny walked carefully down Knockturn Alley. It was dark, but not so dark as to conceal a number of wizards and witches—hanging about on their own or talking conspiratorially in pairs.

There were three young men—presumably mature rent boys—outside the Junior Ganymede, which was lit by two ornate lanterns mounted on each side of the door. Bent Darren was not there, but Danny scanned the boys closely, hoping, despite Alice's analysis, that one of them might be Big Darren. They looked unlikely candidates, but you never know what anyone's got till you've seen it for yourself.

Danny loitered for some time. There was a lot of activity—most of it shady, no doubt. He listened to as many conversations as he could but they were mostly concerned with traffic in stolen goods or banned substances, plants and animals.

The rent boys said nothing about Mr Rowle. Their conversation was typical of young wizards: Quidditch, broomsticks, clothes, hairstyles, charms to make women your slaves. They were all quite fanciable, but Danny preferred people with a bit more grey matter, so was not very tempted. Nor was anyone else: the boys did no business at all.

After q quarter of an hour had passed, he was on the point of giving up when the door of the Junior Ganymede opened and a pair of middle-aged wizards emerged and walked up the alley. They stopped in the middle and looked around to be sure they were not overheard.

Not expecting much, Danny was riveted by the opening sentence:

"Jugson says he's getting impatient."

There was something about the emphasis on the he that suggested that he was very important—and there was surely only one person who was very important to dark wizards.

"It takes time. There are no shortcuts and we can't start parallel batches until the American almonds come in—and, even then, God knows who's going to work on it."

"He's splitting our efforts, I know, but the Ministry and the Muggle boy are important, too; and, of course, You-know-where."

"As long as we don't go off half-cock on this one. Strength is everything."

"And the separate feed. It's got to be right. Imagine if . . ."

"No, don't imagine! Salazar gave us a head start and our friend in the village is competent enough."

"Yes, but I'll be glad when it's done."

"Won't we all!"

"Well, I'll be off. Shall we meet on Wednesday about those artefacts?"

"OK. Come and have dinner with us."

"That would be nice. I haven't seen my cousin since July."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

One of the wizards Disapparated and the other walked slowly towards the Cauldron.

Danny was annoyed that they hadn't used each other's names. He Apparated to the Dorchester where he sat with his mother and wrote in his little notebook:

"He" probably V.

Dividing his efforts. 4 plans:

1. Use of almonds; strength & quantity of product (potion?)

American almonds

Separate feed—Salazar started (if Salazar Slytherin, plot against Hogwarts?)

Friend in village (Hogsmeade?)

2. The Muggle boy—Steve?

3. The Ministry

4. You-know-where

One married to other's cousin?

He said goodnight to his mother and went to bed.

What an eventful day!

— CHAPTER NINE —Bums

Danny was dreaming. He was in a palatial public lavatory which he did not recognize. A huge number of males were standing at urinals with their willies out. He tried to appraise each willy, but could not focus properly.

Then the voice of Patrick Gillies, the first boy he had ever had sex with, sounded out in authoritative tones:

"Ten seconds to twelve . . . Are you ready? . . .Three . . . Two . . . One . . . Go!"

Copious streams of pee gushed from the willies and a tinkly, musical chord sounded. The pee was splashing into the air and a rainbow became visible. The willies all started to stiffen and, just as his curiosity was becoming unbearably intense, he awoke.

His first reaction was one of annoyance: he had entered a fascinating new world only to have it vanish.

His second reaction was to laugh: what would Professor Trelawney make of it? The prediction of his death in a washing-up bowl accident, perhaps.

He got out of bed. As expected he was iron-hard. Just for a moment his hand started moving across. No! Today was for the Creevey brothers!

He pulled off his pyjamas and dashed to the bathroom. He turned the shower on and stayed for a couple of minutes, shivering in the cold water and trying to think of something other than dozens and dozens of willies peeing and stiffening. The image came into his mind of his own willy sliding into Harry Potter's bumhole. No! Think of a fat girl . . . a fat girl with that Slytherin boy bouncing up and down on top . . . No! Professor Trelawney . . . Ah, that did it!

He finished his ablutions, dressed and had a quick dip into From Ocular to Corporeal before breakfasting with his mother.

After breakfast, they went to their sitting room and Danny phoned the Ministry.

"Smith's Cassette Recorder Repairs," said a voice.

Well, at least it was better than St. Tiggywinkle's.

"Hello, may I speak to Mafalda Hopkirk, please?"

"Thank you Miss. Please hold."

"OK."

"Mum, I've just been addressed as Miss. Do you think I've got a girl's voice?"

"No, dear! Remember that the Muggle phone operators at the Ministry are Educationally Sub-Normal and hardly likely to be able to identify gender from voice."

He waited for a few moments before there was a crackle and another voice came on the line.

"Improper Use of Magic Office. Mafalda Hopkirk speaking."

"Good morning, Miss Hopkirk, it's Daniel Jorrocks."

"Good morning, Master Jorrocks."

"I ran a test yesterday just to be safe and I'm ringing to check what you got."

"We had eight quasi-illegal cleansing charms at around eight-thirty. Apart from that it was a very quiet day—just a six-year-old trying to create some sweeties."

"Good. Thank you Miss Hopkirk. I'll try to keep it to a minimum from now on."

"It's no trouble to us, Master Jorrocks, the system just records your spells, it doesn't raise an alarm. Can I help you with anything else?"

"No thanks, Miss Hopkirk."

"Well, respects to your parents and thank you for calling the Ministry."

"Goodbye Miss Hopkirk."

He put the phone down and turned to his mother.

"Perfect! The Amulet worked like a charm, so to speak!"

Mrs Jorrocks was going to her sister's later that day and it was only after a series of maternal do's and don'ts that he was able to Apparate to the Creeveys.

Danny landed in a small park in the middle of a busy Birmingham roundabout. The Creeveys' tower and its twin loomed over him. The park was deserted except for two rats who were civic-mindedly finishing off someone's discarded take-away.

"Eek . . . eek . . . eek!" he said to them.

They looked up for a moment, then resumed their meal.

Danny stored away the fact that rats can't see through invisibility cloaks and walked towards the steps.

He passed through the tunnel and saw a young couple sunning themselves on the grass bank. They looked out of it and Danny guessed that they had spent the full eleven hours of the night dancing and drug-taking at the nearby Tin Tins club. The Creevey boys knew about the club scene, but only indirectly: a number of their neighbours, with an age range of fourteen to seventy-something, were regular clients.

When the boys had told Danny about all this, he had commented: "Sounds great; like a witch's sabbath."

But Colin had told him about the risk of collapse or death through the strong Muggle drugs that were used.

As he looked down the bank, Danny thought to himself: Worth the risk! Sounds a brilliant place. One day . . .

He sent a wave of psychic love towards the couple.

The Statute of Secrecy was important but a little fun wouldn't hurt.

He crept down the bank to about four yards from the couple.

"Baby-Jesus here! Love one another!"

The man scarcely reacted but the woman looked mildly startled. She turned and looked through Danny, then, not surprisingly, her eyes turned to the sky.

"Hello?" she said, tentatively.

Danny quietly retreated. He liked to liven things up but, like all good cooks, he had an instinct for the right amount of salt to be added.

He walked around the back of the tower to remove and stow his cloak. Then he walked to the front and pressed the button for 190.

"He heard Mr Creevey's voice: Hello?, then an official Ministry-type voice: If you can hear this say chair.

Danny said: "Chair. It's Danny." The codeword was changed periodically for fear that a Muggle might pick it up and fool the Creeveys into thinking that he was a wizard, though why he should want to do this, Danny couldn't think. Anyway, it was a neat way for the Creeveys to know whether their flat needed to be sanitised for a Muggle visit.

The buzzer sounded and Danny pushed the door and entered. As he waited for the lift he smiled and wondered if Dennis had honed his lift-racing skills with friends in the block.

At the seventeenth floor, the Creevey's door was already open and Dennis and Geoffrey burst out vying for the honour of escorting their loved and admired guest.

Inside the flat it was Bedlam. All eight Creeveys were home, as were a number of little cousins and friends. They were making the most of a brief opportunity: when Mr Jorrocks went to bed, the house would become a Quiet Zone.

The milkman had just returned and was sitting in the kitchen finishing his breakfast.

"Morning Danny," he said, "And the horse is fine!"

"Hello, Danny, dear!"

Mrs Creevey had bustled in from the living room where, judging by the tickle-your-arse in her hand, she had been dusting her ornaments.

"Hello, Mrs Creevey. All quiet in Birmingham, I'm glad to say!"

"Don't make me wish my two boys away! I'll miss them when they go back to Hogwarts, but it will be a bit quieter!" she laughed.

All this time, little Creeveys were at the periphery assuring each other that There's Danny!, medium-sized Creeveys, including Geoff, were begging Danny to come and see their dolls' house and the big Creeveys were making as much noise as the rest put together.

"Danny, did you come on the train?" asked Colin.

"Did you see the football crowds?" asked Dennis.

"There won't be football on a Monday, they're all going to work. Danny may have seen Bowler Hats? Did you see any Bowler Hats, Dan?"

"Why don't Muggles wear robes?" asked Dennis.

"Everyone looks better in robes, don't they?" said Colin.

"Not the shapely ones."

"But you get more fun imagining the shape."

Mr Creevey yawned and got to his feet. "Right, you lot! Nothing above a whisper."

He got as far as the door but was waylaid by the little ones who demanded a kiss, then the medium ones, then Colin and Dennis.

With a Night All! he was gone and Danny was touched when all the kids restarted their yatterings, but always at a whisper.

Colin and Dennis drew Danny away down the corridor on the plea of Hogwarts Business, but Danny was too kind-hearted not to spend a quarter of an hour reviewing the dolls' house.

Eventually, the two eldest boys dragged Danny to their bedroom and the three of them were soon behind a locked door.

Colin invoked SICK (Security, Inspection, Cuddle, Kiss) and then Danny called: "Clothes off!"

It was as if the morning sun, streaming through the window, had melted the clothes away. In a trice the young wizards were locked in a naked, three-way cuddle.

Danny broke it off with the command: "Right you two! Bend over the bed."

"Is it smacked botties, Dan? That's more in Piers' line from what you said!"

"Shut up, Col you twat! You know I could never, ever smack you two!"

This was the moment Danny had been looking forward to since Sea Jay had so astonished him down Knockturn Alley. He had smelled the bums of Sea Jay, Bent Darren and Piers, but somehow he knew that the Creeveys would be special.

He stared lovingly at Colin's bottom—already quite beefy and well on the way to being really manly.

He knelt and parted Colin's winsome cheeks and goggled at the tantalizing bumhole.

He advanced his nose to a point two inches from the hole and breathed in.

There was just a hint of something wonderful.

He touched Colin's bumhole with his nose and breathed in again.

Yes! His instincts had been correct: this was something special.

There was a coarse, underlying tang which he recognized as the true masculine essence, but there were also constituents which could only be Colin's—which in fact seemed to define Colin: scents which were as sweet as Colin's nature; as pure as Colin's soul; as wholesome as Colin's world-view; scents which seemed to confirm Danny's own heartfelt belief that Love and Friendship counted for everything.

He inhaled again and again, saying nothing except an occasional Yes!

The brothers held their silence, sensing that this was a very special time for Danny.

Then lust kicked in. He wanted to bugger that hole so that he and Colin became one. He opened his mouth and poised his tongue as a step on the way. But, thinking to himself No! Not even that! Let Harry's tongue be first! he shifted over to Dennis.

He turned the boy face-up and raised him further across the bed so that his bottom was just protruding. He lifted the boy's knees so that he could see the tiny hole and bent to smell it.

There was a hint of pooiness, but nothing else. Dennis was still a little boy.

He moved up and took Dennis's willy in his mouth. He sucked gently and licked the underside. Dennis moaned and stroked Danny's head.

Then he moved down to lick and suck the taut little ballsack for a bit before moving lower still until his lips were pressing against the glorious love-hole.

He gently licked the hole and Dennis whispered in wonderment: "Danny, what are you doing?"

He carried on licking and felt Colin sitting on the bed. Then Colin was gently stroking the back of Danny's head, and perhaps squeezing his brother's hand.

Danny pushed with his tongue and Dennis, loosened perhaps by his many loving encounters with his brother and suffused with his love for Danny, received his friend easily.

He pushed further and was able to vibrate his tongue a little.

"Lovely Danny! That's so nice!" whispered Dennis.

As Danny pushed harder and wiggled his tongue further inside, he sensed Colin sliding off the bed and immediately Danny's own bum was being felt. He removed his right hand, which was supporting Dennis's knee and took hold of Dennis's willy with thumb and two fingers. Just as he was gently sliding Dennis's foreskin over the bell-end, he felt Colin's tongue against his bumhole.

Before he knew it, Colin was licking Danny's hole and pressing his tongue hard trying to force an entry!

He couldn't believe it! Colin had just this minute been introduced to the concept and had gone for it immediately; and liked it too, judging by his appreciative mumbles.

Danny's erection had made his hole very tight so, unlike Dennis or Bent Darren, he had a real struggle to loosen up.

But loosen up he did and soon Colin's tongue was wiggling as busily as Danny's and Colin's hands were devotedly squeezing his buttocks while Danny delicately stimulated Dennis's willy.

For a few historic seconds—seconds that would remain dear to the three boys forever—they continued so.

Then a fierce lust grabbed Danny—even fiercer than his earlier lust for Colin's bum.

He rose from his knees, leaving Colin behind, and took Dennis by the ankles. He pushed backwards and Dennis's knees bent further and his bottom became more accessible.

Danny positioned his dripping willy against Dennis and pushed ever so gently; but gentleness was not needed and he slipped in easily and started a slow in-and-out.

Danny's undulating bum had lustified Colin too, and Danny could feel Colin's stiffie being positioned against the moving target. Then Colin was in—not gently like Danny, but suddenly and forcefully and followed through by a fierce oscillation.

The pain was not too bad: Danny's hole must have been getting used to it.

At first the two shaggers were at cross-purposes, then Danny stopped his own efforts and let Colin's humping movements dictate the pace and depth of Danny's penetrations inside Dennis.

Danny had found a size-match and leant forward to kiss Dennis.

He would not have believed that his pleasure could be increased at all—let alone by such a trivial act as kissing, but things just seemed to get better and better.

He was shagging Danny! What's more, Colin was shagging him!

With all this frenzied activity, three explosions were to be expected. Surprisingly, it was the little boy who came first. Dennis had been wanking himself strongly while gasping such occasional comments as: Danny! or Colin! Danny's shagging me!

When Dennis came it was with little falsetto whimpers.

Colin leant forward, by-passed Danny's head and kissed his brother tenderly, slowing his rate and coming with the sweetest of moans.

It was up to Danny and he slowed his rate too, And wondered if even shagging Harry Potter could be better than this.

Harry Potter!

He jerked himself upwards and reached down to his willy. A few strokes were enough to send the best blob he'd yet produced onto Dennis's midriff.

Dennis scooped it up and sucked it off his finger.

"I really wanted that up the other end!" he said, "Harry wouldn't have minded."

"No," said Colin, "but it's like giving up something for Lent: God wouldn't mind if you failed but if you succeeded, he'd be pleased with you."

"That's just it!" said Danny, "But the important thing is that me and my two brothers are happy."

"Brothers!" said Colin.

"Brothers!" said Dennis.

The three boys lay on the bed and cuddled each other.

If all the psychic Love that was generated in that embrace had been concentrated into a Spell, it could have knocked Voldemort and all his death eaters out of the Solar System.

— CHAPTER TEN —Bolters

As soon as they were clear of the building and walking towards the canal, the boys began a review and deconstruction of the morning's session.

"Danny, where did you—" began Colin.

"Danny, isn't it—" said Dennis simultaneously.

"Bloody hell, lads! Why not get out the thumbscrews and do a proper job?"

"Sorry Dan!" shouted Colin, over a babble from Dennis, "You're our guest so you kick off."

"Well, the first thing I want to know is what did my bum smelt like."

"It was You, Danny. So of course it was nice, though if you hadn't sniffed my bum first, I'd've just thought it sort of regrettable—a dirty part of you I had to put up with so I could enjoy the rest."

"That was what I felt until Sea Jay did it on Saturday."

"Did Sea Jay put his tongue inside like you did, Danny?" asked Dennis.

"Yeah, it felt wonderful."

"Would you do it if there was poo about?"

"Only if you wanted it, Den."

"I'd only want it if you did. But when you tickled me with your tongue, it did feel nice!"

"I could see. That's why I went straight for Danny, but Danny, brother, why didn't you tickle me?" asked Colin.

"I thought I'd leave it for Harry."

"I wouldn't have minded—it's not a willy."

"Anyway, I hope Harry does everything with you this year. And I hope he finds the smell of your bumhole as beautiful as I do, Col. When I get to Paradise I expect your smell will be there twenty-four seven."

"Yours smelt nice, too," said Colin gallantly, "Do you think Harry's does?"

"Nobody's could smell as nice as yours, not even Harry's. Anyway, his armpits smell pretty rank when he comes in from Quidditch practice so probably the rest of him does."

"I could put up with that," said Colin.

"What did Fred and George smell like?" asked Dennis.

"I didn't do it, Dammit. I was so atingle with my two mouthfuls that I forgot. Piers was OK, though. I didn't get very close to Bent Darren 'cos he reeked all over."

I bet Sea Jay and Jonny have been doing it for years," said Colin, "They're secretive; sneaking off together all the time and creeping into each other's beds when they think everyone's asleep."

"Well, it's good that we've learned about it before we're all grown up."

"Yes and it's good we can shag and kiss at the same time!" said Dennis.

"Did Sea Jay teach you that too?" asked Colin.

"Yeah!"

"I bet he and Jonny do that all the time too," said Colin, "It's not fair! There'll be people all over the world not knowing how to do it."

"Not at Hogwarts from now on!" said Danny, "I'm gonna organise gay education from first-year up!"

"We'll help!" said Dennis.

"Yeah! Under your leadership, Dan!" said Colin.

They walked along the canal in the bright sunshine and reached the concealed tent of Steve and Tom.

"Shall I go in and get them and we can talk in the pub they showed us?" asked Colin.

"Let's all go and have a look at them at home." said Danny.

Colin removed the fresh branch covering the entrance and the three of them crawled down a tunnel through the shrubs and opened the tent flap.

They pushed their heads in and saw Steve and Tom looking at them bleary-eyed.

They still looked fairly rough but somewhat better than when Danny had last seen them.

The two elder boys were nearly good-looking and, to Danny's taste, definitely pokeable. There was a strong, male scent, but it was not overpowering and not offensive.

The highlight of the tent, though, was Steve's body. It was a warm autumn and the boys had spent the night with their sleeping-bags only half-zipped, exposing their skinny torsos.

Steve's body was as hairless as any five-year-old's and, judging from the textural appearance, equally smooth. It was a pallid, slightly yellowy, unhealthy-looking colour, though.

Tom was two years younger, but he was much more manly and his pale chest had a fair covering of reddy-brown hair.

Greetings were said and the three wizards withdrew to allow Steve and Tom to get up.

"They don't look so bad," said Danny.

"Dad got them a doctor's appointment last Monday," said Colin, "and they're on some sort of substitute drug which is better for them."

"Excellent!" said Danny,

"Colin doesn't think they're boyfriends. What do you think, Danny?" asked Dennis.

"Don't know, but while they're on drugs they're not fit to be anybody's boyfriends except each other's!"

The druggies were out quickly and, having carefully concealed their doorway, set off along the towpath with the three brothers.

Danny thought they were dressed smartly for boys sleeping rough, but then the word Shoplifting came into his mind.

They stopped almost immediately as Steve and Tom needed a pee. They had hardly restarted when Tom ran back down the path, murmured "I'll catch you up," and disappeared into a thicket.

Steve explained: "Smack bungs you up, so when you come off it, you get the shits and your stomach cramps. Tom got it worse than me. We've both had to miss out on regular punters this week."

"You haven't been going down the Scene, have you?" asked Danny in some alarm.

"No, we got a mobile. I'm staying well clear of the Scene. So's Tom cos everyone knows we're mates."

"Does any one else know where you live?"

"No, whenever we meets any of the lads in Town, we tells em we're staying with Tom's aunt in Newtown." Steve had picked up a touch of his friend's West Country accent.

"Keep it that way. I'm sure you're still in danger."

"You reckon that bloke killed Mum and Dad? The police couldn't find anything."

"Probably some sort of stun gun. There's all sorts of weapons we never get to hear of."

They had been hanging around quite a time before Tom reappeared.

"Took your time," said Steve.

"Couldn't find any leaves," said Tom.

"Going for the Triple Crown, more like!" said Steve.

"What's the Triple Crown?" asked Colin.

"Well, there's three ways of having fun in a toilet: a hard-earned shit, a good, splashy wank and a nourishing dose of Class A drugs. A Triple Crown's when you do all three in one visit."

Dennis giggled: "If two of you go in, there's at least another six!"

"Just think of Twister!" said Colin.

"Are you gay too, Danny?" asked Tom.

"Yes."

"And do you go to the same school as Colin and Dennis?"

"Yes."

"Is there lots of gays."

"Yes, but some of them will go straight when they're older."

"So how come they're gay when half the school is girls?"

"Don't know. Perhaps it's just what Nature planned. Are you two gay?"

"I'm not,"—Tom assumed an honest look—"I just do it for the money. I don't do sixty-nine. I don't even suck at all and I don't take it up the arse."

"You must get some pleasure."

"No, it's just business."

"What about you, Steve?"

"Don't know. I've got a girlfriend. But I aint sin 'er since I went into hiding," said Steve.

"You does anything the punters want," said Tom.

"Maybe I'm bi," said Steve.

"What's bi?" asked Dennis.

Tom answered: "Bisexual—you know—someone who likes the girls and the boys."

Tom made the word sound as boysexual.

That's me! thought Danny, I'm boysexual!

"I reckon Steve's mainly gay, though," Tom continued.

"I get more money than you, anyway," said Steve with a smile.

"That's because you're prettier and younger-looking. And what about Stewart? You used to shag the arse off him."

"That's because he wanted it. It was just one renter doing a favour for another."

"And you were crying for days when the filth took him away."

"That doesn't mean I'm gay. I'd cry if they took you too."

Tom turned to Danny: "Me'n Muggle are always arguing about this."

Colin and Danny jerked and exclaimed, but Danny, whose self-control was better, quietly asked: "What did you call him?"

"Muggle. What's funny about that?"

"It's the name of a boy at school," lied Danny smoothly, "Probably spelt different. Is that your nickname, Steve?"

"Yeah—Sybil gave it to me. She used to call me her little muggle. Everyone's always called me Muggle—did you read them papers? That's the Sybil Trelawny that man was after."

They had moved away from the canal and were approaching a pub.

"We'll sort ourselves out at the Bull," said Danny, "and then you can tell me the full story. We'll do our best to help you.

At the bar, Tom did the drinks ordering as he looked the oldest and was drinking lager. The others drank, at Colin's suggestion, a mixture of fruit juice and piped lemonade. They ordered five pub meals.

They went into the garden, where to Danny's surprise, Tom returned the six pound odd change from the thirty pounds that Danny had slipped him.

"Keep it, Tom; but remember: everything we give you is fifty-fifty," said Danny.

"They know that, don't you lads?" said Colin, "And they go fifty-fifty on the booze too."

Steve was twenty but looked younger and had no ID.

"Right, Steve!" began Danny, "Let's have it; starting with when you were born!"

Steve began:

"Mum and Dad had this flat in Harborne. Sybil lived next door. She used to tell fortunes—loads of people used to pay her. She was probably a total blagger, but Mum believed in her and they were best friends. Sybil used to baby-sit me when Mum and Dad went to the club or the bingo."

"What can you remember of her?" asked Danny.

"She musta bin in her thirties. Quite nice-looking. She was likeable, but a bit weird. I suppose they have to be weird to help their biz. She must have looked after me from when I was a bab, but my first memory is of my fourth birthday party. Not like kids' parties now—it was just some of the neighbours and their kids.

"She was the life and soul—free palm-reads for the grown-ups and she organised the kids' games. And that's my first memory of anything: jealousy. I thought she was mine and didn't want to share her with the other kids.

"Then she became part of my life—like Mum and Dad. She was round every day or I was in hers and she started teaching me reading and writing. And she had the most wonderful stories and nursery rhymes. She'd say 'Would my little muggle like to here the story of the silly witch of Soham?'

"I sort of loved her and was frightened of her. Every time I saw her, at some point, she'd suddenly go weird and recite in a really deep voice; and it was always the same little rhyme."

"What was it about?" asked Danny.

"I haven't a clue! But I can still remember every word:

Think over, think over the fifth of October,

Piggy-wig, soldiers and booze.

The Dark Lord should hasten to harry and chasten

And finish the boy who he rues.

Danny and the Creeveys were visibly startled at the mention of harry and The Dark Lord.

"Did she tell that rhyme to anyone else—other children—your parents?"

"No, definitely not. I remember when I said it to Mum she corrected me and said it was the fifth of November, not the fifth of October."

"Say it again, Steve, please." said Danny and the boy complied.

Danny memorised it and could see the Creeveys doing the same.

"Let me say it to you, Steve and see if I've got it." said Danny, and did so.

"Yeah, you got it. Do you know what it means?"

"No, but think about it: someone wanted to hear it badly enough to kill your parents!"

"Not for that! Not for a silly little rhyme!"

"Remember the newspaper story: that man wanted something Sybil Trelawney said or somebody who was the only person to whom she said that rhyme."

"So do you think the rhyme is a real prophecy?"

"I think there are some stupid people who believe it could be—there's millions of lunie cults around."

"But how could they have known about it?"

"Perhaps Sybil came out with it to others when she was in her cups. Was she a boozer?" Danny knew that in the intervening ten years Professor Trelawney had become a boozer, even if she had not been before.

"Oh yes! She never seemed drunk but she always reeked of it and when the bin-men came, her bin always had dozens of bottles."

Their meals came and Steve's narrative was suspended while the five boys filled themselves.

"You're doing well today!" said Colin "You hardly ate a thing last Monday and Tuesday."

"And you're drinking well!" said Dennis.

Tom got up, looked at Danny, thought better of it and went to buy another pint out of his own money.

When he came back, Steve took an immediate swig at the lager and said: "I'd forgot how good a cold lager on a hot day is."

"Go on with the tale, please" asked Danny.

"Well, I've told yer all I know about Sybil. She vanished when I was five and a half—well, not vanished. She often went away for a few weeks. I don't know if Mum knew where she went. It's too late to ask her now. Anyway, she went away and never came back. The first we knew was when we got new neighbours."

"Did you miss her?"

"Not really, you don't when you're little do you? Things just happen. But I remembered her because of the piggy-wig rhyme."

"Anything else weird in your childhood?"

"Nothing. It was as normal a childhood as could be. I was an only child. My dad brought in good money. I was always near the top of the class—in fact in my last-but-one year at primary I actually came top.

"Then, when I was twelve, it all went wrong. I started skipping school, doing weed, robbing. I got cautions and fines and probation but it didn't do no good. My dad came to hate me. He'd always been a bit dodgy about me being good at lessons and useless at sport. Now he did what he'd always wanted to do: got at me for not being like him."

"Verbal bullying," said Danny, "Any physical?"

"He hit me hard a couple of times, but Mum stepped in. She really stood up for me. for three years, then she snapped. I guess three years of nagging off Dad finally got through.

"On my fifteenth birthday I got nothing—not even a card. Dad was at work but Mum told me that my birthday present was all the fines they'd paid for me. She was hard as nails.

"Then, a couple of weeks later they got two letters: one from the naughty-boys unit I'd been skipping and one from the railway demanding a tenner for fare-dodging.

"They told me that was it: one more muck-up and they'd throw me out. I thought I'd try and make an effort, but the next day they were discussing how much stuff I'd be allowed in Care.

"I went out and stayed out. I wasn't actually running away, but I got into a new life and the longer I stayed away, the less I could face Mum and Dad—or wanted to. It was summer—not that it mattered 'cos people were queueing up to give me a bed for a few nights.

"I'd got into the Gay Scene when I was twelve, when this geezer gave me a tenner just for wanking him off. So now I knew just where to hang out. I went on the rent and got loads of punters. I was rolling in money and I should've got a flat and enjoyed myself.

"But the trouble was, I was bored and there's nothing like the Smack to deal with that. Once I'd tried it with mates a few times, I just went downhill. I was only smoking, but I was too doped-up to work, so I had to go thieving and I wasn't eating or washing and my so-called mates didn't want nothing to do with me. I'd probably be dead now but I met Tom.

"He was a smackhead too and between us we managed to get some sort of life together. That was until a coupla months ago."

"Yeah," Tom picked up the story, "We met a renter called Camp Stephen in town and he said there was a new punter looking for Muggle—called him by his tag so we thought it must be someone Muggle had done before, but this was a big, tall short-haired man. Camp Stephen gave him a blow and he told us he had small balls and only came enough to fill half a teaspoon. Well we thought, that bit at least sounds like someone we know."

"Yeah!" laughed Steve, "Camp Stephen's not the biggest banana in the bunch, and he's served with grapes, not plums!"

The two boys laughed and the others had a glimpse of how happy they could have been had their birth-star not been evil.

"Anyway," continued Steve, "It was definitely no-one I knew, but Camp Stephen said the guy had said he was raptured by me. He give him thirty quid for the biz and said another thirty if Camp Stephen could tell him where to find me.

"Then the little twat gives him my real name and tells him Harborne and which block and my mum's name is Sandrea.

"He always was a little grass—I was at school with him—but he said it just slipped out, which was bollocks. He's a cunning little shit. He got his extra thirty sheets but he hadn't betrayed me as he knew I never went to Harborne and knew that Mum and Dad didn't know where I was.

"And if the geezer came back, Camp Stephen could always say he told him nothing but the truth. Talk about having your cake and eating it!

"Anyway no-one on the Scene but Camp Stephen knew I was a Robert; I was always called Muggle. An' this punter found the boy to tell him. I was worried. And then, this punter might really be a punter who fancied me, but he might be a private eye sent by my parents or he might be a copper. I didn't have much outstanding from five years ago but they fit you up for one crime and then get you to do a lot of taken into accounts. That's why the unsolved figures are so low."

Tom took over: "And I'm worse off because they really do have something on me and they've got my prints and DNA so any arrest and it's goodbye world for two years.

"So we went into hiding. We nicked this tent—that's a good story for another day—and Muggle had the brilliant idea of staying here—within touch of the Scene—within spying distance, even. Nobody's gonna guess—"

Steve interrupted: "—And Tom had the brilliant idea of using pepper dust so the dogs don't come barking and Mr Dog-Walker don't come looking for a dead body so he can get on telly."

"And it could really be our dead bodies," said Tom, "this bloke sounds like the bloke that may have killed Steve's folks."

"Have you been spying on the Scene? Have you seen him?" asked Danny.

"No bloody fear!" said Steve, "From what we hear, he's still about—and he sometimes brings friends."

"From what you hear?"

"We sometimes run into some of the lads in town and they tell us what's going on."

Tom interrupted, getting up with a quiet: "Need a pee."

The three wizards were immediately on their feet to accompany him; and immediately recognized the bad manners of leaving Steve on his own.

"Odds 'n' Evens!" said Colin, "One of us stays . . . on three . . . one . . . two . . . three."

Danny held out one finger, Dennis three and Colin four.

"That was just practice!" wailed Colin as the other two moved to bracket Tom.

Their hard work was in vain as Tom made straight for a cubicle and locked the door noisily.

"Tough one to crack!" said Dennis, "We've been trying all week!"

"Knows you too well," said Danny, giving a thumbs-down to Colin as they emerged into the garden.

They had to delay further exposition from Steve while they waited for Tom. Then Danny slipped Tom a tenner for another round of drinks and Steve went to lend him a hand and, to Colin's chagrin, sneaked in an unobserved pee.

Finally, they were all settled and Danny asked: "Does this chap have a name, by the way, Steve?"

"No, nor do any of his mates."

"We'll call him Mr X So what's happening down there."

"Well, Mr X turns up at eight and walks up and down for a bit. If he sees a new face he takes him to a place we use behind a pile of pallets and gives him a blow—sometimes he gets blown himself—either way he only pays a tenner. He tells them that there's fifty quid if they can help him find me.

"If there aint anyone new, he'll walk about for half an hour then leave, or sometimes takes one of 'em off for sex."

"What about his mates?"

"There's at least two. One of 'em's a little runt that turns up every other day and likes shagging, but most lads won't do it without a nodder and some—like Tom—won't do it at all, there's only a dirty little sod called Conrad—he'll do anything the punters want, and you wouldn't believe the stuff some of 'em wants. There's been at least one more, but none of the lads we've met have actually seen him."

"And do Mr X and Mr Y always stick together?"

"Yeah, even when Mr X is getting a sucking. Mr Y doesn't seem to be interested in sucking—only bumming. If Conrad aint about, he wanks himself off watching Mr X and his boy."

"And is Mr Y interested in your whereabouts?"

"Don't seem to be; just up for a jolly and a bit of bum."

"The police are looking for Mr X. Why don't you tip them off?" asked Dennis?

"We thoughta that, but they aint got no evidence to hold 'im and even it they did, someone else who nobody knows might turn up looking for me."

"Is that all you can tell us?" asked Danny.

"Can't think of anything, else. Can you Tom."

"No, Muggle, you told 'em everything."

"What do you think, Danny?" asked Steve.

"Let me have a few minutes. Tom, get another lager. We're all OK."

He handed Tom another tenner and they remained quiet until Tom returned, and then Danny gave his verdict.

"I think you lads have done very well. The most your friends can tell Mr X is that you're living in Newtown and that they sometimes bump into you in the city centre. Having said that, DO NOT TRUST YOUR FRIENDS! There'll be some—specially the smackheads—who'd take the fifty pounds and there's always spiteful people who'd turn you in just out of nastiness.

"If I were Mr X, I'd pay some lads to follow you. Do you think you've been followed at all."

"No," said Steve, "we've always been careful that way because of the plain clothes, and we'd have noticed."

"Or have any of the lads tried to fix a next time and place to meet?"

"No."

"This Mr X seems quite stupid," said Colin, "Those are the first two things Danny thought of, and I think most people would've been the same."

"He might hang around the city centre all day," said Dennis.

"Good point, Den. You've got his description. Have—

"—We've always bin watching out—specially for him!" interrupted Steve.

"No-one's seen a car, have they?" asked Danny.

Steve and Tom shook their heads.

"So he just turns up on foot and leaves the same way. Probably to the train station."

Colin and Dennis knew that it was probably Apparition.

"Listen, then, lads:" said Danny, "We'll go off now and do a bit of research. In the meantime, carry on as you are, but Tom: stop calling him Muggle. It's a dead giveaway if anyone hears."

"OK, Danny."

"And please tell me how you spend your day."

Tom began: "Well it's changed since we seen the doctor. We used to get up about two but now our mobile gets us up at nine and we walk along the canal to the town centre. There's not much doing in the morning, so we can be sure nobody sees us leaving the camp. We have to go near the Rent Scene but there's definitely nobody about there."

Steve giggled agreement and picked up the story: "We go to the chemist and get our medicine; then we have something to eat—we didn't today because we had to rush back to meet you.

"Twice a week we go to the Drop-in Centre for a shower and laundry. Then we get out of town and spend some time in Aston Park, or we catch a bus and footle around Sutton. The girls there are always after us but we can't get to know any of 'em, obviously."

"If we haven't got a punter, we phone around for a bit. We always ask for all-nighters 'cos it's better than staying here. And we only do doubles 'cos we don't want one of us to be alone here. At first it was hard 'cos the punters are scared when it's two to one, but we got some good ones now."

"Isn't there a risk—" began Danny.

"I know what you're thinking: punter to punter, punter to renter, renter to Mr X and we could be set up by Mr X doing a deal with a punter." said Steve.

"Or the renters who've been to a punter's home could give the address to Mr X."

"He couldn't watch all the punters' places."

"And we tell the punters we're wanted by the police." said Tom.

"Which keeps them quiet and makes them feel safer as they gotta hold over us." said Steve.

"It seems pretty safe," said Danny, "but you will ask them to call you Steve, not Muggle, won't you?" said Danny.

"Yeah."

"And are you OK inside. Not getting depressed? Not getting on each other's nerves?"

"No, it's not a bad lifestyle, really!" said Steve.

"The only tiff we had," said Tom "was when we started doing doubles and I saw Muggle—I mean Steve—sucking someone for the first time. I thought it was a different Steve from the one I knew."

"We soon sorted that out." said Steve.

"Yeah. I realised it was me who was the weirdo —a renter who doesn't suck dick!" laughed Tom.

"Right boys! Keep taking the tablets and we'll stay in touch," said Danny, "As you're off the Smack, here's twenty to keep you going—no don't say thank you: we're as interested in what Mr X is doing as you. Now off you go to Aston Park or wherever."

"Before you go," said Dennis, "what's sixty-nine?"

Tom explained and the three young wizards glanced at each other in anticipation before saying goodbye.

Colin lead them to the Muggle library (known as The Ugliest Building in Britain). They spent half an hour there looking through dictionaries and encyclopaedias and were soon afterwards sitting in the roof-garden of The Creeveys' block.

— CHAPTER ELEVEN —Brains and Bodies

When the Ministry learnt that a Muggle family in Birmingham was producing witches and wizards at a great rate, their proposal was to move the family to a more suitable location.

The Creeveys would have none of it. They wanted to remain because of their friends and families; and because of Mr Creevey's job; and because they were Brummies who wanted to stay in Brum.

In the immediate aftermath of Voldemort's defeat, reflecting an unspoken pro-Muggle reaction in the wizarding world, the Ministry fitted up the Creevey's home in style: a doubled-sized flat; connection to the Floo Network; creation of a self-maintaining roof-garden from which even the most boisterous child could not fall.

It was in the quietest corner of this garden, invisible of course to Muggles, that Danny, Colin and Dennis mulled over the day's contributions.

"Shall we start with the prophecy?" asked Danny.

The Creeveys agreed and they went to work on:

Think over, think over the fifth of October,

"I think we must work on the basis that it's the fifth of October five weeks from now." said Danny.

"Yeah," said Colin, "if it's a past one, the thing's irrelevant; if it's a later one it's not urgent. And since Scumbag thinks it's urgent, it probably is this one."

"But the fifth of October is the letter B," said Dennis.

"Bloody hell!" said Danny, "I never thought of that. Prophecies are enigmatic but this one seems to have a lot of riddles."

"Maybe it's because it's not a prophecy: it doesn't actually say anything will happen, but gives advice to Scumbag," said Colin.

"Or, we hope, advice to people fighting Scumbag," said Danny, "which means that, even if we can't solve the prophecy, we must try and prevent Scumbag from learning the words."

"So what begins with a B?"

"A bee!" said Dennis.

They thought a little more, gave up and moved on to:

Piggy-wig, soldiers and beer.

Piggy-wig in the Lear poem The Owl and the Pussy-cat: a pig who sells his ring to be used for the wedding

The Piggy-wig bit was easy: Steve sold his ring for a living. Soldiers stumped them and their only thought about booze was that Butterbeer was popular on the thirty-first of October and sherry was popular with Professor Trelawney all the time.

Next:

The Dark Lord should hasten to harry and chasten

The library had told them:

Harry: persistently attack

Chasten: punish

"It could be hasten to Harry Potter and punish him or hasten to persistently attack and punish," said Colin.

"Or both," said Danny, "Remember Professor Binns said that prophecies often contain word-play."

"And the last line can only be Harry," said Colin:

And finish the boy who he rues.

"It's always said that Professor Dumbledore's the only wizard that Scumbag fears—and therefore rues," said Danny.

"But he's not a boy," said Colin.

"He was once," said Dennis, "Scumbag could use a time-charm."

Danny was dubious: "Even if he could go back in time and kill Dumbledore as a boy, I doubt if he'd be so stupid. Events would restore themselves to be as similar as possible to what they were before and Professor McGonagall told us that the restoration would probably involve eliminating the person who invoked the charm. No, I think we must accept that Harry is the second one he fears and the prophecy advises Scumbag to kill Harry and gives him clues as to how to go about it."

Colin said: "And it advises us to protect Harry from something that might happen on the fifth of October and the best way of doing that is by stopping Voldemort from learning about the date, if it is a date, and all the clues."

"Which brings us to the question," said Danny "of how Scumbag learnt about the prophecy in the first place.

"Professor Trelawney probably only got taken by the speaking-trance when she was alone with Steve, and his parents don't seem to have overheard; but someone else might have—she might have come out with it in a park, for example. We forgot to ask Steve about that."

"We'll ask him tomorrow," said Colin.

"Then there is the fact that Steve has remembered the lines all his life," continued Danny, "and he may have been overheard reciting them to his friends and telling them about his Aunt Sybil."

"But Steve would have been living at home then, so Mr X could have gone straight to the Webbs and wouldn't have needed a tip-off from Camp Stephen," said Colin.

"Only if the witch or wizard who did the overhearing followed Steve home. And maybe they didn't hear it from Steve direct: maybe one of his little friends recited it. Either way, the listener would have picked up The Dark Lord but might have been slow to realise that the rest of the gibberish was important. So in June, when Scumbag came back, they might have reported that Sybil Trelawny had given an unknown Muggle boy a prophecy about Scumbag."

"But he couldn't have been unknown," said Colin, "Mr X went straight to the Rent Scene."

"No," said Danny, "he could only have got onto the Rent Boy aspect if he'd already tracked Steve; and he could only have done that through his parents. My guess is that when Scumbag regenerated and learnt the bare-bones facts about a Muggle boy and a Trelawney prophecy, he sent Mr X up here.

"And I guess that it was a pretty forlorn mission and Mr X spent days wandering aimlessly round Brum. Then, perhaps, he sought some compensation from the Rent Scene—there's probably a Mrs X in the background, which is why he'd never risked using the Diagon Alley boys—and heard about a renter called Muggle. Maybe he knew that Trelawney had called Steve her Little Muggle, but, even if he didn't, he'd reckon that this was his target.

"We know what happened next: through Camp Stephen he found the Webbs and fouled things up good and proper!

"It gave him one good idea, though: to use the Diagon Alley rent boys for communications. It's the one bit of cleverness he's shown.

"Since then he's come up to Brum part-time looking for Steve. Perhaps his main purpose is sex, which is bad news for us."

"Why?" asked Colin.

"Because, even if we Confunded him into believing Steve was dead, or in Aberdeen, or the wrong boy, he'd continue visiting Brum which means Steve would still be at risk."

"Perhaps, Steve should move away."

"Then he'd spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. And the stress would probably send him deeper into the Smack. No, we gotta remove all death eater interest in Brum."

"How are we going to do that?"

"You two are going to be Steve and Tom's minders and I'm gonna go spying at eight o'clock tonight."

"We'll come too," said Dennis.

"Sorry no, Den. Three in an Invisibility Cloak is too hampering and I want to be free to use some powerful spells without worrying about my comrades. Anyway, I'm just going on spec, but your job is definitely important."

The lads accepted this resignedly and they spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the little Creeveys.

After a noisy but filling supper, Dennis suggested a final briefing session in the brothers' bedroom.

"Debriefing more like!" laughed Danny.

It was Dennis who took charge of the SICK and strip.

"I know what you're up to, Den," laughed Colin, "You can't wait to try a sixty-nine!"

"That's just where you're wrong, big bro!" said Dennis, "I can't wait for you to try a sixty-nine! Now, on the bed, head at the bottom, face up!"

Colin obeyed and lay with his willie pointing at eleven o'clock.

"A foot further back, Col! Now Danny, engage!"

Dennis guided Danny so that he was kneeling at the bottom of the bed with his willy sliding into Colin's mouth and his head stretched towards Colin's willy.

Colin arched his back so that Danny could reach and the two of them were soon going full ahead on route sixty-nine.

Dennis pushed three pillows under Colin's back so that he didn't have to strain himself and Danny and Colin were able to concentrate on pleasuring each other.

And pleasure it was! Danny sucked and tongued and bobbed, which was wonderful—a real expression of his love for Colin.

But at the same time, Colin was working his own lips, tongue and head with equal diligence and Danny had the now familiar I'm shagging feeling.

He was receiving a delightful fruity odour from Colin's ballsack. He was not yet very experienced in this area, but he was pretty sure that this was a unique Colinism. How could this little angel substitute so many beautiful smells for what in other people would be at least partially offensive?

Perhaps it was a chemical thing. Perhaps it was a psychic thing. He wondered if the link went two ways; but Colin seemed less enthusiastic about the joys of the nose than Danny.

Both boys had their hands on each other's bumcheeks. Then Colin stretched one finger to the top of Danny's crack and ran it down, pausing at the hole, then continuing to the ballsack.

Then the finger moved back up to Danny's bumhole and sniffed Danny's balls.

It wasn't a finger; it was Dennis's nose.

The focus of Dennis's enthusiasm was now revealed: arse-sniffing rather than sixty-nining and he continued sniffing for a long time, pushing his nose hard into the hole and taking deep breaths.

The room sounded like a farmyard with two of the animals slobbering and one panting, with a background of mooings, bleatings and gruntings.

Dennis eventually withdrew his nose and substituted a tongue, licking Danny up-and-down and round-and-round. The tongue pressed hard against Danny's hole and forced its way in at the same time as Colin, gripping Danny's bum tightly jerked a tiny, sweet-tasting, blob into his mouth.

Danny was permeated with a wonderful joy. He savoured the little pool of Colin's cum that had gathered on his tongue; he shivered with the thrill of Dennis's fluttering stimulation, feeling some humility that an innocent, pre-pubertal boy should take such obvious delight in performing, with Danny, this most intimate action between friends; and, of course, he was becoming familiar with the rapture of being sucked, but he would never tire of being sucked by Colin. He stretched and opened his mouth so as to enclose Colin's entire kit—cock and balls—and sucked gently.

As he was revelling in this new delight, he felt Dennis withdraw his tongue and felt his upper cheeks leaving Danny's lower cheeks. Dennis climbed on the bed and, before Danny knew what was going on, had inserted his penis where his tongue had just been and was rogering him with the usual Creevey vigour.

Colin, meanwhile, was sucking away dauntlessly and Danny felt the dizzy gladness of approaching orgasm.

When he came it was as though a charge of high explosive had been set off in his soul. Was it the best ever? Yes, but then every come with loving friends was the best ever. As the last cum-stroke finished, Danny had a part of his mind free enough to feel compassion for all the teenaged boys who had to make do with wanking. How he would have liked to befriend and couple with every boy in the world!

As Danny's willy subsided, Colin mirrored Danny's action by taking Danny's entire genitalia into his mouth.

Dennis was thrusting for some time before, with his usual excited squeals, he came. Instead of lying flat to regain his breath and savour the moment, he disengaged from Danny, pushed him gently aside, and locked his brother into a long, upside-down snog.

There was a great deal of slurping before their heads parted.

"Sorry, I swallowed it, Dennikins" said Colin, "Did you get a tang?"

"No, but it wasn't wasted. What about you: did you get a tang of Danny-bottom?"

"No such luck."

Danny butted in: "Den, have a sniff of Colin's bottom and see what you think."

Dennis manoeuvred into position and spent twenty seconds with his nose pressed against Colin."

When Dennis surfaced, Danny asked: "Well? Isn't it the most wonderful smell in the world?"

"Yeah, but it's just Colin. We've spent twelve years knowing and loving each other, so we automatically know and love each other's smells."

"To be honest, Den, I didn't love your smell when you were soiling nappies all day," said Colin.

"So we just get closer and closer!" said Dennis, "And it's the same with our new brother!"

"I've got twelve years of catching up to do," said Danny.

"Just treat it as a bad dream," said Colin, "and now you've woken up to real-life happiness."

"Oh, I meant to tell you about my dream last night."

Danny recounted his wondrous vision of peeing and stiffening willies under the command of Patrick Gillies.

"It might be another prophecy!" said Dennis.

"If only!" said Danny.

Colin looked thoughtful: "It might be about Piers—you know, because you saw a lot of pee-ers."

"That Muggle would-be wizard Doctor Fraud would love you Col! So would Prof—"

Danny broke off. A sudden cognizance had slammed into him.

"Good Lord! All the pee'ers started peeing at a precise time: on the dot!"

"So what?" said Colin.

"I think it means Piers and Dot have fallen in love!"

"They can't have! You said he was about thirty. That's fifteen years older than Piers."

"Oh Col! Dot's not yet ready for his Knight Bus pass and, even if he were, Love is the most extraordinary thing in the world as well as the most wonderful."

"It just seems strange. I'd have thought Piers would have fallen for you Dan."

"Or you Col!" said Dennis, loyally.

"Or you, you darling little Creevey!" said Danny, ruffling Dennis's hair.

Colin suddenly jumped up and shouted: "Danny! You never told us anything about yesterday!"

"We've had a lot on our minds today!" said Danny and started to recount the enthralling events of Sunday.

This took quite a long time, and Danny had to rush to finish his tale and get dressed by half past seven.

He hurriedly bade goodbye to the Creeveys, resisting their pleas for him to return later and spend the night with them. He put on his Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to a spot half a mile along the canal.

He would reconnoitre on foot.

Then it would be time to go Rowle-stalking!

— CHAPTER TWELVE —The Enemy in Sight

The canal was an eerie place at night. Though protected by his invisibility, Danny was glad to climb the steps to street level, where there was still plenty of motorised and pedestrian traffic.

The Rent Scene was based on a block of run-to-seed buildings. They were not seriously decayed but half of them were empty, the others being used as offices and warehouses. There was no sign of any licit night-time commercial activity.

Danny guessed that the location had initially become popular for renting because of its proximity to a pioneering gay nightclub but, in fact it was supremely fit for purpose: cars and boys could cruise around the block and a pick-up made anywhere.

The focus for the rent boys was a set of steps leading to an empty office suite at one of the four corners of the Scene. There were two boys sitting on the steps and, as Danny watched, two more boys joined them.

Danny padded towards the four boys. They were nowhere near as sexy as the boys from Nocturne Alley; in fact, Danny couldn't imagine himself lusting after any of them.

Also in contrast to Nocturne Alley, was the boys' conversation, which was entirely unwholesome: drugs, street-thefts, punters, shopliftings, arrests, knifings.

When one of the boys started describing his discovery of a new vein to inject into, Danny moved away and made a circuit of the four roads that surrounded the block. He then crossed the road to the area where he thought Mr Rowle's Apparition was likeliest to occur. This was a large, steeply banking stretch of wasteland laid out as a car park, but currently only containing half a dozen cars.

The car park stretched along the entire length of one of the four boundary roads. From halfway up the slope, there was a grandstand view of the road from the rent boys' steps on the right to the busiest for cars of the four corners on the left.

There were a few trees, and Danny took station right at the back of the car park about thirty yards from the largest.

At eight o'clock precisely, a dull phut away to his left indicated an Apparition. He looked quickly and caught a glimpse of a tall figure before a Disillusionment Charm kicked in.

He'd picked the right place but the wrong tree. He tiptoed towards the Apparition site, approaching as near as he dared and doing his best not to disturb the loose gravel.

He stopped to listen; nothing for a long time. Mr Rowle was unusually silent for a big man.

Then he heard a scrunch of gravel; and another.

Mr Rowle was pacing.

A sudden CRACK echoed back and forth and a small clerkish-looking man appeared and fell to the ground. He was not the best of Apparators.

Nor was he the best Disillusioner: his charm worked quite well but, if you looked carefully, you could see a sort of shimmer when he moved.

Mr Rowle's voice greeted the newcomer. It was gravelly and slightly Scottish—like James Bond as Bent Darren had said:

"How did you leave him Jugson?"

"Impatient."

"With me?"

"Don't worry: he's impatient about everything and everybody."

"How's the missus coping?"

"She's proud, of course, but it's a small house and the sooner Malfoy Manor is safe, the better! We've had two house-elves die on us. How's things at home for you?"

"Fine. She's in ecstasy that I'm of use to him."

"Great days, Rowle, great days!"

"And extras!"

The two men laughed.

Danny shuddered. Laughter was a manifestation of Joy and Love and to hear laughter from these two murderers was a challenge to everything that was decent in the world.

"Talking of extras, I'm gagging for it," said Jugson, "I can't see Conrad from here, but if he's about, I'll ream out his moronic little Muggle arse good 'n' proper."

"He was here on Friday, but I didn't see him over the weekend. Come on and we'll find out."

There was a crunching of gravel and Danny was able to follow Jugson's faint outline as it moved to the road bordering the car park to the left. Once on the road, they removed their Disillusionment Charms and walked towards the Rent Scene block.

There was one feature of Jugson that Steve had not mentioned—probably because the other lads had not told him about it: he was dressed in old-fashioned clothes. The cut of his jacket and trousers matched the look of photos of men in the 1950s that Danny had seen in history books, and he looked, somehow, as if he was uncomfortable in them.

Jugson was clearly unused to Muggle clothes.

Danny crept on the diagonal to converge with the two death eaters as they crossed the road to walk towards the steps.

Half way there, they met one of the boys walking towards them, a nasty-looking twenty-year-old.

"Have you found Muggle for me yet?" demanded Rowle.

"He aint been 'ere, guv."

"I want him badly. I'm doubling the price. There's a hundred pounds to the boy that brings him to me and if you see him, tell him there's a hundred pounds for him if he lets me have a suck."

"How come he gets a hundred pounds and the rest of us gets a tenner?"

"I'm a connoisseur who knows a top-class boy when he sees him. Tell everyone. Now go and wait for me at the woodyard."

The two wizards moved one way and the boy the other.

Danny followed Rowle and Jugson towards the steps. A car had pulled up and two boys were bending to chat to the driver. There were another four boys standing on the steps, but two of these melted away on seeing Rowle. He was clearly not a popular punter.

The car also moved away, the driver carefully looking away from Rowle and Jugson.

"Where's Muggle?" asked Rowle.

There were mumbles of ignorance and Rowle repeated his offer: "I want him badly. I'm doubling the price. There's a hundred pounds to the boy that brings him to me and if you see him, tell him there's a hundred pounds for him if he lets me have a suck."

He paused as though expecting an immediate, favourable response.

Then he noticed a tall, fat, blond boy of about twenty-five.

"You! I haven't seen you before. Do you know Muggle?"

"Yeah. I aint seen 'im for weeks, though."

"Well, remember: a hundred pounds for you and a hundred pounds for Muggle."

An especially run-down youth called out: "You want business?"

Rowle ignored him and continued speaking to the blond: "What's your name."

"Darren."

Merlin! How many boys are called Darren? thought Danny.

Rowle glanced at Jugson who nodded.

"Come with us," Rowle ordered and Darren followed the two men around the corner.

Danny had to skirt the remaining three boys and brushed one of them with his cloak. This had happened a few months before and Danny had had to scuttle quietly away while the brushee shouted: What was that?

This time the youth didn't even look round. Danny cursed, not for the first time, the evil drug that so desensitised body and mind.

He caught up with his three targets as Jugson was asking Darren: "Do you take it up the arse?"

"Cost you fifty pound."

"Of course. We'll go to the woodyard."

Danny followed as the three men led him to a large building on the least lit of the Rent Scene's streets.

Locked gates and a plastic-coated wire fence protected a large front yard with stacks of pallets at its rear.

There was a substantial gap in the fence through which Darren, Rowle and Jugson passed.

Danny hesitated. The loose bit of fence had to be pushed back before anyone could pass through and it made a loud scraping noise.

He decided that Apparition was a better bet and, murmuring OK!, turned and landed safely and quietly at the front right corner of the yard.

Setting each foot down with extreme delicacy, he crept towards the rear of the pallet area.

Here, the nasty-looking youth was greeting Rowle.

"Alright?"

Rowle remained silent, unzipped his trousers and pulled out a willy—undersized, certainly, but not the tiny cock alluded to be Darren.

The youth crouched down and started an emotionless, professional-looking fellation.

Jugson watched this with some fascination, then undid his belt and dropped his trousers and underpants.

Danny was surprised. The weakly-looking clerk-like Jugson had an above-average willy. It was probably only seven inches based on Alice's definition, but it was the biggest stiffie that Danny had seen as yet.

Jugson was mildly stimulating himself as he ordered: "You! Bend over there!", indicating a suspiciously convenient two-foot-six stack of pallets.

Danny wondered if the day-shift at the depot ever wondered at the nocturnal rearrangements of the pallets to suit the night-shift.

Darren dithered for a bit until his brain decided that adjustment of his lower garments was implied. He pulled down his track-suit bottoms and bent over. His buttocks were large and pressed tightly against each other. Bottom-wiping must be quite difficult, thought Danny, and Jugson would need a lot of his seven inches to negotiate the twin peaks guarding Darren's treasure.

Jugson used his fingers to locate that treasure and to guide the tip of his willy against it. Then he thrust hard.

"Aaargh!" yelled Darren and Jugson punched him on the side of his head, muttering: "Shut up!"

After three or four further thrusts, Darren yelled again and received the same response.

Now it was Danny's turn to dither. He wanted to intervene but knew it would be disastrous to let Rowle know that a wizard was on to him. As Darren remained silent, Danny decided to let matters take their course.

Out of casual interest, he let his eyes drift down for a view of Jugson's bum. He was surprised to find it concealed by Jugson's shirt. Old-fashioned shirts must have had long tails, he thought, or rather, old-fashioned shirts must have been long with short fronts to allow convenient peeing. He smiled to himself: now he knew what the expression shirt-lifter meant.

He glanced over at the other pair and was pleased to note a small victory for the goodies: the youth was clutching the back of Rowle's thighs, so denying him the pleasure of a bum-fondle.

As he watched, Rowle must have come, for he stepped back, tucked in his willy and turned to watch Jugson subjecting Darren to the discomfort of a dry shag. There was no other indication of orgasm.

Jugson continued for a long time and Darren started whimpering, getting louder in volume and higher in pitch until, suddenly, Jugson stopped. His orgasm had been as emotionless as Rowle's.

Danny was utterly repelled: he had himself performed the same acts as Rowle and Jugson, performed them for his own physical pleasure and for the equal pleasure of giving others pleasure. This pair appeared to take no pleasure at all except for the presumed invisible pleasure of causing suffering and humiliation in others.

Angry and disgusted as he was, he still had enough interest to peer at Jugson's willy to see whether it was dripping in blood and poo as Danny expected. It was too dark to see, but not too dark for Darren's manhood to be perceptible as a genuine tiny cock.

The two death eaters were fumbling in their pockets.

"There's ten for you," said Rowle, passing a note to the unnamed youth.

"And ten for you," said Jugson, doing likewise for Darren.

"You said fifty!" cried Darren, his voice breaking up.

"You'll take ten and be grateful!" snapped Jugson, and slapped Darren's face.

Darren took the ten and ran.

"Anyone else not satisfied with ten?" said Rowle, sneering at the youth.

Their was a brief pause.

Then, suddenly, the youth jerked and an evil ten-inch knife blade was pressed against Rowle's throat.

Don't kill him or Scumbag'll send someone else! thought Danny.

He saw Rowle's wand-arm move and thought: Don't do a Violence spell against a Muggle! That would bring Ministry investigators and would end Rowle's Birmingham activities in another, equally disastrous way.

The same thought must have occurred to Rowle for he stood frozen and said: "What do you want?"

"Slowly; don't move; empty your pockets," said the youth.

"I'm doing it," said Rowle, "Take everything."

He kneed the youth hard in the genitals, which action caused Rowle's head and torso to sway backwards, away from the knife.

The youth collapsed with a wheeze and lay foetally on the ground, clutching his middle.

As Rowle aimed a kick, Danny knew that he had to intervene.

Then he had one of his lightning-fast brain-waves.

He could divert Rowle and put an end to Jugson's annoying visits at a stroke. It would be a gamble. He would try a non-verbal stinging hex. This was risky enough in itself, but it would need precise strength—strong enough to incapacitate Jugson but not so strong that it would be obviously magical in origin.

He pointed his wand precisely at Jugson, who was standing gaping at the other two. He concentrated hard and thought: OK! Urticae Ad Verpam!

Having inflicted the Nettle Charm on Jugson's penis, Danny was ready to Disapparate, but did not need to.

Jugson clutched his privates and yelled: "My dick!"

Rowle turned: "What's up?"

"My dick! Oh shit!"

He was rubbing and squeezing his privates.

"What do you mean your dick? It was doing OK just now!"

The youth had seized the moment and scrabbled through the wire fence to safety.

"My dick!" yelled Jugson again.

"For God's sake cut the noise. Does your dick hurt?"

"Oh shit! I can't think to Apparate. You'll have to take me home and I'll get some ointment on it."

"Wait! Let me check if it's clear!"

Rowle looked down, expecting to see the youth; then he ran round the pallet stacks; and finally to the fence where he looked up and down the road.

"All clear!" he said and ran back to grab Rowle.

The two of them vanished with a loud CRACK!

Danny was convulsed.

He had reduced evil in the world and had a good laugh!

With a bit of luck, Jugson would put his misfortune down to an allergy—perhaps an allergy to Muggles. That would earn him plenty of Scumbag Points, thought Danny, laughing even more.

The knife was still lying where the youth had dropped it. It was a vision of ugliness. He supposed the youth had rationalised its purchase on grounds of self-defence but, under the influence of drugs and mental illness, protection could easily be replaced by aggression.

He Vanished the knife and wandered through the fence and round the corner to the steps.

As might be expected, none of the boys were there.

He looked up and down the road and could see nothing except a Muggle police car crawling towards him.

He Apparated back to his room at the Dorchester to take stock.

He looked at his watch. It was barely eight-thirty.

He was initially satisfied with his night's work. Jugson would surely have been put off the Birmingham Rent Scene for ever.

But then he thought that might be a bad thing. He had achieved something wonderful: he had found out that Voldemort was hiding at the Jugsons'! But then he had fouled up: he might have approached Voldemort through Jugson, but had blown the opportunity.

He considered letting Professor Dumbledore know of his discovery, but there was no hurry: if Voldemort did move it would be to the Malfoys'; and he hoped to be able to present Professor Dumbledore with more pieces of the jigsaw later in the week.

First things first!

He phoned his mother and told her that after a long day at the Creeveys, he was tired and was going to bed. What she doesn't know won't hurt her! he thought.

Then he phoned Dot and Alice.

"Dot," he said, "first of all a big thank you for yesterday. It was kind of you both and it was a lovely afternoon."

"We should be thanking you two! It was much better than sitting in the pub gossiping."

"Did you notice anything about Piers?"

"Only that, like you, she's a charming and attractive girl."

"What else did you notice?"

"Er . . . I can't think of anything significant."

"Come on, Dot! You've spent enough time with gays!"

"Er . . . still lost."

"Well I reckon he's mind-blowingly, arse-over-tit in love with you."

There were a few seconds of silence, then:

"Danny! He's only a boy!"

"Dot! He's old enough to shoot respectable amounts of semen into my mouth and up my bum!"

"It's not that; it's his emotional age. He might feel something for me now and as like as not fall for someone else next week."

"So he might hurt you. Why not go for it? I know that you would never hurt him."

"Go for it! Can you think of the complications? His parents, the gossip, his schoolmates. It doesn't bear thinking about! Anyway what makes you so sure?"

"He's always blushed when we've talked about the two of you. Then, yesterday, he was really subdued for such an assertive boy. I thought about it today and I realised that when you talked, he hung on your every word and at all the other times he was trying not to look at you and failing: he kept glancing at you and hoping not to be noticed. And the blushes were there and they never happened when Alice was being forthright."

"You may be right, but nothing can come of it."

"Well I've thought of a solution. Piers has left school and is finishing his education privately as an apprentice to my dad's company."

"Your dad's not Stephen Jorrocks, is he?"

"Yes."

"Good lord!"

"Anyway, the company have got him lodgings in a boarding house. Why shouldn't they change it to your house? You've got a nice spare room."

"Er . . ."

"Don't say a word. Talk it over with Alice and ring me at the Dorchester. If I'm not in, there's voicemail or the concierge'll take a message. Just say yes or no."

"Danny . . ."

"Not a word—or just one word: goodnight."

"Goodnight, Danny!"

"Goodnight, Dot!"

He decided to revisit Diagon Alley and try for some more Intelligence.

He was about to Apparate, but paused.

Another bright idea!

He spoke Tickles to his Amulet and took parchment and quill to write:

Dear Colin and Dennis,

Please can you hunt through the archives of the Birmingham newspaper and find any articles about an unknown man—preferably about twenty—found dead—murder, overdose, accident—anything in the last four weeks or so.

Please try and get a copy of the complete paper, but if you can't, please Muggle-photocopy the whole page including date.

Please let me know how you get on with a message to the Dorchester as you did before.

From your loving brother Danny. E4PH E4CC E4CD

Tickles flew in through the open window and Danny tickled him, treated him, talked to him and finally gave him the letter, saying: "A nice long night-time flight for you, Tickles"

The owl looked as stern and miserable as ever, but gave Danny's ear a joyful nip before whizzing through the window.

He decided that it wasn't too late for an approach through the Leaky Cauldron and Apparated to the alley near to it.

The Cauldron was less raucous than it had been at the weekend.

Danny waved and smiled at a few familiar faces.

"Bit late for you Daniel!" called one of them.

It was Mr Goldstein, a Hogwarts parent and a business associate of Mr Jorrocks.

"Come for a dragonburger, Mr Goldstein," said Danny, "I can't stand the Muggle burgers."

Mr Goldstein laughed: "Don't expect to find much dragon meat in it!"

There was an amused chorus of agreement.

Danny was quite pleased to have been able to announce in public his innocent reason for visiting Diagon Alley—Knockturn Alley, even, as the burger bar was quite near its entrance.

He was a bit peckish, actually.

He went out through the back and wandered down the alley. There were plenty of people about, but no Mundungus. He hoped that he hadn't got into trouble again—at least, not before he'd cashed in on the Sunday bonanza.

Danny strolled down to the entrance of Knockturn and looked towards the Junior Ganymede. It had been his intention to go invisible and hang about within earshot as he had on the previous night, but Bent Darren was standing chatting to four more rent boys. They were all in wizards' robes.

He waited in the brightly-lit area where the two alleys met, hoping to catch Bent Darren's eye.

It was a long wait. Rent boys can usually immediately spot a punter or a mark at a distance of a quarter of a mile, but Bent Darren was currently wrapped up in the conversation and laughter of the five boys.

At last he spotted Danny and, with a word to his colleagues, ambled up the alley.

"Awright, Danny!"

"Awright, Darren! Fancy a burger?"

"Not arf! Get that purse out, Sugar Danny!"

They went to the stall and Danny ordered.

"Two dragonburgers with oyster and parsnip sauce, please, Mr Johnson; and two pumpkin juices."

The burger bar was run by the Johnson brothers who were quite the most stupid businessmen that Danny had ever met. They made barely enough to be able to afford periodic renewal of the cardboard boxes in which they lived. But they understood how to treat animal flesh!

Danny and Bent Darren retreated to the side of Diagon Alley and contentedly munched on their burgers outside a junk shop facing Gringotts. Darren looked quite well turned-out, and almost clean.

"Got anything for me, Darren?" asked Danny.

"Not a lot. There was one letter went out earlier. It was to a company called Jake's Jolly Juices at Slough. The lads said a lot of letters've gone to them and the replies go to a Mr Pucey in Shoreditch—but Luke says that's just a newsagents what holds letters for people."

"And no-one suspects that you've got any special interest?"

"No. We've all got a little bitta curiosity an' it's easy to steer the gossip."

"These people that come from Mr Rowle. What do they look like?"

"There's one who's tall, dark an' handsome—in 'is forties—probably straight as he never looks at the boys; There's a little meek-lookin' squirt—'bout the same age—that likes to bum a rent boy when he can afford it—an' when he can't, he brings along number three who makes us do it for free."

"What's number three like?"

"Fifty or so. Big 'n' fat but mousey wiv it—a born nonsencie—is that the word?"

"Nonentity," said Danny, "And do any of them use the Junior Ganymede?"

"No. And what's more: none of them that use the Gan are punters."

Danny thought for a bit. It looked as though Voldemort was keeping his new communications group separate—and staffing it with his less useful supporters.

"Anything else, Darren?"

"No, except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"It's your arse, Danny. I really want to shag you up the arse. I did my missus last night and all I could think of was doing you. The missus said I was really hot, but I couldn't tell 'er, of course."

After a day with the Creeveys, Danny could not face the thought of any physical contact with Bent Darren.

He smiled.

"You know I'm sometimes up for that sort of thing, but not tonight, mate. Here's a few Galleons for your work, though."

He handed over ten Galleons and, as Bent Darren opened his mouth, said: "And all I want to hear is:

Please Sir, I don't want more."

Darren laughed.

"Awright, Awright! Fair play to yer!"

"Before I go, Darren, could you point out Big Darren, if he's here."

"Yeah, he's 'ere."

They walked to the top of Knockturn Alley.

"That's 'im. The tallest one; just."

Danny looked at a six-footer of about twenty-two who had untidy dark hair over a pale, puffy face. His body was puffy too and he looked to be carrying a fair amount of spare flesh—as well as the monster between his legs which, for all Alice might advise, Danny was determined to have a look at one day.

"Thanks, Darren. Keep at it. I'll say goodnight."

"Goodnight, Danny."

Danny decided to Apparate straight to his hotel room.

As he brushed his teeth, he thought: Jake's Jolly Juices! What the hell has that got to do with anything?

He was too tired to think.

He went to bed and read for a bit.

Then sleep approached and he switched off the light.

I've done my first non-verbal in anger he thought.

In anger, indeed; but Danny's sleep was peaceful and his dreams were mainly about games of Twister with Piers and the Creeveys.

— CHAPTER THIRTEEN —Jake, Grant and Adrian

But Danny woke up thinking of Harry Potter.

As he lay in a half-doze, his thoughts started ordering themselves until he could speak them aloud as a sort of advance pæan:

A week from today, if all goes to plan

And fortune smiles kindly, I'll make him a man.

A week from today he'll be more than a chum

And I'll show him my love with a shot in the bum.

His willy was, of course, aroused and, as he speculated on the possible degrees of hairiness of Harry's buttocks, he realised that he was on the point of a hands-free come.

"No!" he said aloud and, wide awake now, he rolled out of bed and trotted to the bathroom.

Today was Piers' day and Danny wanted to save himself for the evening. He turned on the shower and, before stepping in, had time to notice the sticky pre-cum oozing out of him. The shock of the cold water had its planned effect and his willy soon crinkled up into a safe state.

Shivering, but inwardly warmed by his lustful thoughts, he mentally reviewed his prospects with Harry. Was Harry gay? Was he a virgin? How far would Harry let him go? If Harry let him do anything, Danny knew that his first act afterwards would be to try and persuade Harry to take Colin's sweet virginity. Apart from giving Colin an overdue reward for his years of Harry-worship, this would open up Colin's bum for Danny and Dennis and maybe a few other boys.

Despite the chilly water, the thought of Harry's bum quivering and jerking while rogering Colin threatened a revival of Danny's stiffie. With some difficulty he switched his thoughts to the less threatening, but still sexy, images of the evening to come. He wondered what Oliver Wood looked like naked. He had seen Ollie topless once—manly and endearing with his hairy chest and rippling muscles. The contrast with the scrawny Piers gave the approaching conjunction a delightful piquancy.

This would not do at all! As well as re-stiffening, Danny was getting a twitching in his bumhole. To avoid a wasted orgasm he thought about the main agenda of the day: the investigation of Jake's Jolly Juices of Slough. As he planned his movements, thoughts of sexy boys receded and Danny was able to turn the knob and enjoy a nice hot shower.

He dressed and phoned his mother. Then he phoned Directory Enquiries and took down the address and telephone number of Jake's Jolly Juices. He had not ordered a morning tea and decided to skip the Dorchester breakfast as well and waste no time in setting off for Slough.

He set off across the park to walk the mile or so to Paddington Station. It was eight fifteen so there was not much activity—a few joggers and dog-walkers and a few people looking as though they might be going to work.

As he walked, he thought of the coming bachanal. He hoped and expected that he would be allowed to participate, but the evening was focused on Piers and Ollie so he was prepared to stand aside as a mere observer during the hotter passages.

Paddington was heaving—mainly with people coming into London. Danny bought his ticket from a machine and waited to let a couple of hundred arrivals pass. He scanned the passing faces. Most looked a bit preoccupied, or even miserable. One exception was a cheery middle-aged man who, catching Danny's eye, winked. Danny winked back with some amusement—the act of winking had caused the man's hearing-aid to twitch. Had Danny been at a loose end, he might have tried for a grope—at least—with the man.

Another surprise was the appearance of a boy who looked barely fifteen, though he must have been older. He was wearing a three-piece pinstripe suit over a brilliant white shirt and a discreet tie. His shoes were gleaming. Mr Jorrocks had told Danny that after the relaxation of trading rules in something the Muggles called The Big Bang, there had been a corresponding relaxation in dress code and Smart Casual, as the Muggles called it, was now popular. This boy appeared something of a throwback—especially with his old-fashioned spectacles. His appearance was so out of tune with the times that Danny wondered if he was, in fact, a wizard: many wizards had a similarly skew-whiff approach to Muggle dress. Wizard or not, Danny would have enjoyed a Big Bang with him and giggled as he thought of the disrobing stage with each item of clothing slowly folded and stored.

The half-hour journey to Slough was uneventful and Slough itself uninspiring. He bought a street plan at the station bookstall and walked to the pedestrian precinct where, as expected, he was able to buy a breakfast roll and a so-called coffee. He set off, munching and sipping, to walk the couple of miles to the industrial estate where Jake's Jolly Juices did their stuff.

It was another beautiful autumn morning, but there was nothing beautiful about the scenery. He comforted himself with the thought that in a week's time he would be at Hogwarts surrounded by Nature.

The industrial estate was huge and it took him some time to locate Jake's Jolly Juices, despite it having the brightest and jolliest signage on the site. It comprised a single, huge building accessible by foot on all sides, but with vehicle access only to the front where there was an area large enough to hold several lorries.

Danny found a space between two buildings and put on his Invisibility Cloak. He then walked round Jake's several times. It was a warm, windless day and every available door was open so that Danny was able to form an idea of factory operations.

Fruit, concentrated juice and packaging were delivered to the front left bay and processing took place along one of several circular routes ending with delivery of juice on polythene-covered pallets to the front right. Fresh juice was kept refrigerated and held in polythene bottles; processed juice was kept at ambient temperature and packed in cardboard cartons. Danny noticed that some of the cartons were branded for British supermarkets and some had Polish script. Waste material was kept in big, green plastic drums.

Movement within the factory was achieved by means of conveyor belts and fork-lift trucks.

Danny went round to the back so as to avoid the lorries and carefully plotted paths on the inside where he was safe from the fork-lifts and had an escape route if pedestrians—of which there were very few—looked likely to bump into him.

There were two machines rehydrating concentrate into vats, three machines for squeezing the juice into more vats and two lines turning out the finished product. Oranges were being pressed in one machine and peaches in the other two. Danny was slightly surprised at the predominance of peaches. From his observations, peach juice formed a miniscule part of Muggle and wizard diets. He supposed that Jake's was making use of a seasonal glut or a Polish taste.

The business seemed bona fide, yet Voldemort's creatures had dealings with it.

He decided that the answer was likeliest to come from an examination of the paperwork and decided to return during the night and investigate the administrative area. If that failed, he would just have to Confund the Managing Director.

He left by a side door and walked round to the front for one last look before Apparating back to London. A lorry was backed up; fork-lifts were lifting pallets loaded with boxes marked Californian Peaches. As he stood staring, a sort of litany started in his head: Orange . . . Grapefruit . . . Pineapple . . . Blackcurrant . . . Apple . . . Tomato . . . Cranberry . . . Mango . . . Cherry . . . Grape . . .

What the hell was Scumbag up to? Peach juice, discounting the Polish connection, featured in a few rare Muggle liqueurs; peach juice featured in no known magical potions. And surely Scumbag had no known presence in Poland.

Then his eye fell on a stack of green waste barrels standing in the exit bay. His heart gave a little leap and he thought: Perhaps Scumbag wants the peach stones!

Then his heart dropped. What was Scumbag going to do? Plant an orchard? Create pleasant-smelling household fuel? How about incense? That had some magical uses.

He wondered whether Scumbag would separate out the woody outside from the almond-like seed.

Almond-like!

Here was the link. The wizards outside the Junior Ganymede had talked about using American almonds.

He must find out where the peach stones were being shipped.

Choosing his moment carefully, he ran over to the green barrels. They each had a polythene-enclosed shipping note attached. He read one. It was headed:

Orange Residues Item 9 of 40

No go. He would have to find a barrel marked Peach Residues!

He ran round to the side door and made his way to a stack of barrels on a stationary conveyor belt.

Eureka! The nearest shipping note read:

Peach Residues Item 14 of 40

Hillside Farm

Slad Road

Cross Stead

Nr. Stroud

Gloucestershire

No name, but you couldn't have everything.

He had to jump back as the conveyor started and half a dozen more barrels appeared. A rather dishy man emerged from a gantry where the offices were situated and galumphed down the steel stairs. He attached shipping notes to the new barrels with a glue gun and rushed back up the stairs as if going for the hundred metre tape.

Danny got the horn. He looked at his watch: not bad! He hadn't thought about sex for an hour and a half!

Now for Hillside Farm!

He reversed his outward journey and, fully visible, booked a ticket to Stroud.

He had to change at Reading. After a few minutes the train came. As luck would have it, it was a stopping train and, while it was sitting a Maidenhead, he thought of his last visit when he had started the great Piers clean-up.

Thinking of Piers gave him the horn again and he reviewed prospects for the evening. He wondered if Piers' humiliation would involve he-man Ollie shitting on him. If it did, Danny vowed to keep well out of the way and to use magic in the cleansing process.

At Reading he had twenty minutes to wait. He needed a pee and saved it until he could follow an attractive brown Asian into the Gents. One glance told him that the man was circumcised. Urgh! He sidestepped into a cubicle and had a leisurely private pee.

He emerged and took a position right at the end of the platform. When the train arrived, he boarded and walked down the aisle hoping to find someone pleasing to the eye. This was quite hard. The train was two-thirds empty and the passengers were mainly pensioners and business people.

He was in luck, though. There was a happy-looking family, returning from a holiday in the sun to judge by their complexions. Father, mother and a little girl were seated in one block of four seats and their two other children in the next block down—a slightly older girl and the focus of Danny's attention, a boy of about sixteen.

Danny took a seat directly opposite the parents in a position from which he could view the boy on the diagonal. Like his sister, the boy was reading—a modern thriller by the look of it. He had glanced up when Danny had sat down and then gave the immediate second glance that shows interest—not necessarily sexual or territorial or aesthetic, but maybe simply one boy assessing another.

Danny pulled out his own reading matter: a magazine called Private Eye which used humour, satire and investigation to document human folly and human crookedness. He was aware that the boy was glancing at him periodically. He was a typical English schoolboy: not particularly handsome, stolid-looking to the point of bovineness, but ready to join in a game or rag; to Danny the epitome of sexiness.

Danny had been reading for a few minutes and had just exploded with his first big laugh when the ticket inspector arrived.

"This is a first-class ticket," he said.

"Mummy bought it for me," replied Danny, "Do I have to pay extra?"

"No, you can go and sit in the first-class section along there."

"I'm OK here, thanks."

Danny was aware that everyone was looking at him, but simply returned to his magazine for a few seconds then glanced up and met the boy's eye. Danny smiled and the boy goggled for a second then looked away. He was blushing, which meant that he was thinking thoughts that he didn't want others to know about.

A timely announcement that the buffet was open for refreshments sent Danny wandering. He bought a bag of crisps and a cold drink and, sure enough, the boy had also felt the need. However he made his purchase and made no eye-contact with Danny.

Danny could never get over the reticence of English boys. Having followed Danny, he was going to do nothing about it! Only in England . . .

Danny decided to give the lad a last test. He walked away in the direction of his seat.

Silence.

Danny turned and walked back.

"Come and sit in the corner; no-one can hear us."

The boy complied and responded to Danny's gesture by sitting next to him.

Danny smiled.

Knowing that it might be disastrous if Voldemort learned that a Hogwarts student was sniffing around Stroud, Danny said: "I'm Darren."

"I'm Grant."

They shook hands and Danny smiled again. This time Grant smiled back.

"As I see it, Grant, you rather liked the look of me—you actually blushed when I smiled at you. I'd guess that you blushed at the thought that people might see how much you liked me and decide you were gay. And, of course, you were thinking I was too young and perhaps you were thinking you weren't good-looking enough and I'd think you were pathetic. Well, I went through all that crap too—I'm older than I look, by the way—so I'll try and put you straight. Where are you getting off?"

"Stroud."

"So'm I. We've got forty minutes or so. First off: why do you think I sat where I did?"

"You wouldn't've asked me if it wasn't because of . . ."

"Exactly! You were the most attractive person on the train so I sat where I could see you—not to get off with you but simply so I could refresh myself with your beauty every so often."

"Beauty!"

"Don't do yourself down. Hollywood good looks don't mean a thing. Real beauty's less obvious and believe me, you are a gorgeous sexpot!"

Grant blushed again.

"Are you totally gay?" asked Danny.

"I don't know."

"It might be a phase, but either way don't worry about it. Just enjoy it for now and, if it turns out to be permanent, remind yourself that being gay is being different but not being second best! That's rather good I must remember that for school."

"They know you're gay at school?"

"Yeah, but it took time for it to be OK."

"Where do you live?"

"London. I'm visiting relatives. What about you?"

"We live in Stroud. We've just been on holiday in Cyprus."

"Meet any of these olive-skinned Greek youths with their lovely dark, curly hair?"

"A few Turkish boys. Not to meet; just to look at. It was mainly Brits."

"Any sex?"

"You're joking!"

"I bet you were propositioned no end of times and didn't know it!"

"How do you know when you're being propositioned?"

"The best thing to do is be really friendly to everyone. Then you'll soon pick it up; and if they really fancy you, they'll make things clearer. Remember: really friendly. When you meet the next pretty boy, don't be embarrassed: think of it just as meeting another human being, which you do all the time."

"Sounds good advice, Darren."

"It'll cut down your blushing too! A last bit of advice: be careful about meeting people in a public bog. One of my friends got arrested the other week. If someone gives you the glad-eye, finish your pee and walk out slowly. Carry on walking very slowly and, if he's really interested, he'll follow. If he says hello, be polite but distant. If he talks about sex, walk away quickly—he may be a plain-clothes policeman. But if it's just friendly chit-chat, go on being polite and maybe agree to go to a caff. You can chat over a drink and get to know each other—and decide if you'd like to see more of each other. Then you're on your own—every pairing is different!"

"I don't really like the idea of meeting people in a public bog," said Grant.

"Then don't do it! My friend was driven by desperation and if he'd known what I've just told you he wouldn't have got into trouble. I told you just in case.

"Now I suggest we go back and you introduce me to your family. No embarrassment. Just two boys who got chatting in the buffet.

"But first let's have a little read of Private Eye."

"Private Eye?" Grant was surprised.

Danny opened the magazine and laid it with one end resting on the table and the other on the two boys' laps.

He lay his right hand on the mag and moved his left hand to find the opening in Grant's bottoms.

"How deep are your pockets?" he asked.

Grant looked bemused. "Pockets?" he echoed vacantly.

Danny found the pocket and wiggled his hand inside. The pocket was deep, thank goodness. He pushed his hand further in and found that he had plenty of room to move it onto Grant's tackle.

He had expected to find Grant a bit nervous but the willy under his hand was stiff and pointing at twelve o'clock. It was of a respectable length and when Danny grasped the base between thumb and two fingers he found plenty of thickness.

He started wanking Grant using his wrist as far as possible and minimising elbow, shoulder and body movements which might have given him away. Grant leant forward, resting his left elbow on the table and, though people were passing, all they could see was two lads innocently giggling over a magazine.

And giggle they did. They were both sexually excited but aware of the comic aspects.

Even through two layers of cloth, Danny was able to keep a firm grip on Grant's willy a little way above its base. He stroked Grant slowly an inch one way and an inch the other. Grant's quiet giggles were now overlaying appreciative grunts and, not surprisingly for a sex-starved boy, he came very soon.

After Grant's loins had stopped twitching, Danny withdrew his hand from Grant's pocket, placed it on Grant's right hand and guided Grant to Danny's crotch.

"Just rub gently, please," he said.

Grant rubbed Danny's stiff willy using wrist action only. He was quick to learn!

Danny was already some way through a slow orgasm when Grant started his ministrations and he quickly completed a come that was a bit half-cock—but that in itself was gratifying as it was because of his sacrifice in giving Grant what might be his first sexual encounter ever.

Sorry Piers! Sorry Ollie! he thought.

"Thanks, Grant. That was brilliant!" he said.

"Wow!" said Grant, "I knew it would be good, but . . ."

"I know! It's always good! And you've got a good, healthy glow on your face—not from blushing but because that's what happens when two happy boys have fun together."

"Are you staying long in Stroud? Can I see you about, Darren?"

" 'Fraid not, Grant. I'm only staying a couple of days and I'm really tied up with the family. I'll ring you, though, if you give me your number. I go away to boarding school in a week but if I get the chance, I'll try and spend some time with you in Stroud."

Grant took out a pen and wrote on the magazine. Danny read:

Grant Woodward

01452-306-800

He ripped off the corner of the page and tucked it in a pocket.

"That's right; keep it safe!" said Grant.

"I will!" said Danny, then giggled. "I bet your underpants are in a hell of a state!"

"Yeah,!"

"I wish it were my cum, but it wasn't the place or the time for that!"

"Can you come, then, Darren?"

"Yeah; not a big come yet, but enough to make sex fabulous!"

"I wish it were your cum in my pants too."

"One day, I promise. Meanwhile, lets go and meet your family."

They rose and made their way down the train. It was running at high speed and one of the jolts occurred while they were in the gap between carriages. Danny "had" to steady himself with a hand placed firmly on Grant's bum. It was compact and muscley.

"Nice, Grant," he said, "I bet you do a lot of sport!"

"Yeah, I love all sports. Oh, Darren, what's your surname?"

"Smith."

They reached the rest of the Woodwards who all viewed Danny with curiosity.

"This is Darren Smith," said Grant, "He's visiting relatives in Stroud."

"Pleased to meet you, Darren," said Mrs Woodward, "Where do your relatives live?"

Danny kept his eyes averted—the very picture of a shy, tongue-tied schoolboy.

"Don't really know," he mumbled, "They're meeting me later."

Grant rescued him: "Darren, this is Mum and Dad and my little sister Lizzie and my less little sister Laura."

"Pleased to meet you." mumbled Danny and, with obvious relief, sat down next to Grant and opposite Laura.

The boys read Private Eye until the train slowed for the approach to Stroud. Their knees were pressed together and Danny was stiff as a wand. He could see that Grant was in the same state but they managed to force themselves into presentability before they had to get up.

The Woodwards had a lot of luggage, which as just as well as they were unable to offer Danny a lift in their packed taxi.

Danny waved goodbye to a slightly sad-looking Grant and asked his way to the library where he found a couple of local maps. He found Cross Stead and saw that Slad Road was its only named road.

He bought a sandwich and drink from a supermarket and set off out of town eating cheerfully.

Once he had finished his lunch, he found a suitable clump of greenery and put on the Invisibility Cloak. He then proceeded by Apparating a hundred yards at a time, taking care not to tangle with passing traffic.

After a couple of minutes he saw a farm ahead which was easy to recognize as Hillside Farm. Danny detected a low level of background Confundus charms—presumably designed to prevent Muggles noticing such things as the absence of tractors and the presence of house-elves.

The farm lay half way up the valley with orchards below it and sheep on the steep grassy slopes above it.

The farm's identity was confirmed by a sign at the entrance to the drive which read:

HILLSIDE FARM

PUCEY'S APPLE'S & PEAR'S

Danny's heart sank. Was it possible that all that peach residue was genuinely intended as a new flavouring to extend Pucey's range? The name Pucey seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't link it with fruit juice.

He Apparated two-hundred yards to the far end of one of the orchards. He had a good view of the farm.

There was a good-sized farmhouse surrounded by barns, sheds, a poultry run and a duck-pond.

There was a big building into which a couple of men were unloading apples from a horse-drawn wagon. They looked like Muggles.

Danny heart rose a little. The building was so large that they must at least be pressing juice and, if so, why get their peach juice pressed somewhere else? It was odd.

Then he saw something else that was odd: at the back of the building was a huge chimney which was releasing steam. Whatever Pucey's were doing, it wasn't fermenting—the sign advertised apples and pears, not ciders and perries—and Danny guessed that this rear part of the building was processing the peach stones. It seemed a big effort—too big to be concerned merely with flavouring fruit juice.

At that point he remembered about Pucey: Bent Darren had told him that Mr Pucey of Shoreditch was the addressee of return letters from Jake's.

The operation was now clear: through letters hand-delivered to and from a mythical firm—Pucey's of Shoreditch—peaches were imported and converted at Jake's to unwanted juice, which was dumped in Poland, and valuable stones which were sent to Gloucestershire.

The laughably easy link that Muggle police could have made between Pucey's of Shoreditch and Mr Pucey of Hillside farm was typical of wizarding commercial practices. Mr Jorrocks had told Danny that, when dealing with Muggles, wizards tended to ignore factors such as company registration and vehicle taxes and to rely on Confunding as a quick fix if problems arose. Muggle companies would not be too inquisitive anyway: they were up to their own sharp practices—Danny had noticed that at Jake's, as well as a justifiable feed from the fresh vats to the concentrate vats, there was an illicit, and potentially profitable, feed the other way.

He settled down to monitor activities. As soon as the two orchard workers had driven their wagon down one of the paths towards the orchards he crept to the open door of the big building.

Inside was a simple operation run by two people—a Muggle man and woman, he guessed. Apples were being sorted for size by a simple machine, passed along a mini-conveyor for the duds to be removed by eye and hand and packed in cheap boxes. Danny guessed that they would go to local cideries.

The space used was only about a quarter of the total area of the building and there were no doors with access to the rest.

He crept round the building and found that entry to the mysterious rear was via two large double doors. These were closed so he found a spot to lurk where he was safe and from which he would have a view of the interior if the doors were opened.

There he waited patiently, mentally reviewing Grant and his dealings with him. Here was a typical boy—neither ugly or pretty, thick or clever, rich or poor, happy or sad. But he was burdened with a worry that made him think he was atypical. Why couldn't Muggles accept that gay meant normal; that, even if most men were straight and gays were a minority, their lives and loves had equal validity? Wizardkind was a lot more enlightened, but still . . . he thought of Seamus' repeated protestations I aint gay!

He mentally promised every gay in the world that he would do his best to improve matters, starting with the Hogwarts first-years.

He would also—and this was more difficult—try and help Grant. Stroud was four hundred miles from Hogwarts, but only one hundred from London. Perhaps Piers and Grant would like to meet each other. They could provide mutual telephonic support and, if they fancied each other, occasionally meet up for a bit of physical.

The thought of Grant and Piers going hammer and tongs at each other sent his willy—or the part of his brain that dealt with his willy—into a spin. Call that an orgasm? he imagined it saying. I haven't had a proper squirt for sixteen hours!

Danny giggled, then held his breath and looked round, fearful that someone might have heard.

He was safe, though, and diverted his thoughts to the puzzle of what Voldemort wanted with peach stones and almonds. He got nowhere. He just kept going round in circles until he was interrupted by a phut and a man Apparated in front of the doors—and not just any man! Although he had only seen his profile and rear view, Danny had no difficulty in recognizing the father who had so cruelly tried to force his son to learn the Disillusionment Charm at Tussaud's.

So this was Mr Pucey, supposedly of Shoreditch; and, what's more, Danny thought of Bent Darren's description of the most prominent of the Knockturn Alley visitors: tall, dark an' handsome—in 'is forties—probably straight.

This was surely the same man.

The two posh wizards exiting from the Junior Ganymede had mentioned that Voldemort had had to split his efforts.

Danny was sure that Mr Pucey was in charge of the almond/peach project, just as Rowle was in charge of the Muggle boy project. But Danny knew nothing about the Ministry and You-know-where projects.

"Adrian!" called Mr Pucey and a few moments later, as Danny had hoped, the dark boy with the go-to-bed eyes emerged from the direction of the farmhouse along the side of the mystery building.

Adrian Pucey, eh? thought Danny, My first Hogwarts priority was to find out his name so I'm one jump ahead!

"Hiya, Dad."

"All OK?"

"Yeah we loaded up the batch and Tunky's got it going."

"Good show!"

Mr Pucey was clearly not always as objectionable to his son as he had been on the last occasion that Danny had encountered them. At Madame Tussaud's Mr Pucey had zapped Adrian with a Wounding Charm.

Mr Pucey banged on the doors and both Puceys stepped back—dangerously close to Danny's position; he had his wand held ready to Disapparate.

One of the doors opened and a house-elf came out. In a gas-mask!

Danny suppressed his excitement at this sight in favour of his eagerness to see inside the building.

There appeared to be an interior glass chamber—presumably hermetic—containing a tangle of glass tubing. The chamber was reached by an inner door which, judging by its solid metal frame, huge rubber seals, and outside wheel-type handle was definitely hermetic.

They must be producing poison gas!

The house-elf removed his mask and Mr Pucey asked him: "How's it going, Tunky?"

"All in order, Master," said the elf.

"Carry on, then," ordered Mr Pucey.

They waited for some time after the elf had returned inside. This was probably to allow time for the gas-chamber to be resealed.

"Mum says dinner's ready," said Adrian and the two walked back towards the farmhouse.

Danny took stock. He couldn't think why Voldemort should be producing poison gas. It was the most unreliable weapon imaginable—inconvenient to administer, dependent on ventilation and wind and difficult to apply to individuals or groups.

He had wondered if Hogwarts School was the target, but even if Voldemort found a way of quickly releasing a high volume of gas into the Great Hall, many, if not most, would be able to escape.

But anyway, surely Voldemort wouldn't target Slytherins—many of his supporters had children there.

Then Danny remembered the comment about a separate feed. Could that refer to Slytherin house? Could Voldemort really be planning to murder all the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws?

His preoccupation with these deathly matters was not total. Adrian Pucey was dressed in T-shirt and jeans and, although jeans don't bring out the best in male bottoms, Danny could see that Adrian's was a real peach. Ha-ha! It was a real man's bottom and Adrian looked a real man.

Danny mentally crossed his fingers and was rewarded: the Puceys were dining at a table close to a sash window which, on such a lovely day was open top and bottom. Moreover, there was no wind so Danny could hear most of the conversation.

He picked it up with an unknown, imperious female voice proclaiming: ". . . He says it's due to general contact with Muggles, but she says why should it strike him there? She thinks, not to euphemise, that he's been poking Muggle women."

"That's the last thing she wants at this time. What did you say?" came from Mr Pucey's voice.

"I sent her owl away without an answer. Then I waited an hour and sent Hard luck, but you know what's important now. by our slowest owl. I don't want her crying on my shoulder about every little thing. She can't run Hildenborough Hall at the best of times—not that these aren't the best of times, but you know what I mean. Bibby! You're spilling that salad dressing!"

The last was said snappily. No wonder that house-elves' loyalty to their masters and mistresses was rarely reinforced with love.

"I'm sure that he would have stayed here if it wasn't that he wanted to be near London while communications are still risky," said Mr Pucey.

"Nonsense! They say he's going to Malfoy Manor as soon as he can."

"We've had all this out before. Lucius Malfoy has upset him and, again avoiding euphemism, everyone thinks that the Dark Lord will give him a shit-or-bust mission."

"Serve him right! And Her! They act as though they're wizarding royalty. Anyway, within months we should be the favoured couple."

"We've had this one out before too, dear. The Dark Lord isn't putting all his eggs in one basket and if our bit succeeds it'll do us good for a little while, but if fails, he's always got the other scheme so it's not a total disaster for us. As long as we're clearly seen to be doing everything we can."

Mrs Pucey, despite a full mouth, snorted: "No-one can say we're not. You're away during the picking season and Ady's too soft-hearted. I had to sack one of these idling girls myself this morning."

It was Mr Pucey's turn to snort: "Soft-hearted! Soft-headed more like. He could make us the number one family if only he'd try—"

"What do you think he's been doing? Anyway, I stick by what I told you on Sunday. That's the end. We've got one son and I'm not letting you drive him into brain fever. The ban continues. We'll leave it to Snape to help him. He's used to getting the best out of Slytherins. And if you really want to improve our standing, you can put it about that it was your idea to use these Knockturn catamites."

"I don't think so. I reckon the whole thing's going to backfire on Rowle (I'll say it is! thought Danny.). There've been two defections—to Muggle land they think—and I'd blame Rowle—too much stick and not enough carrot."

"You might have remembered that when you were trying to ruin our son. I never want to go through another night like Saturday. Nightmares all night. Did you take your potion this morning, Ady?"

"Yes Mum."

His voice was manly with an underlying silkiness. Danny got the horn.

"Well try and stay mentally relaxed this afternoon, but don't let these idle pickers relax. Show 'em by example. You've been missing out on exercise this summer."

"There'll be Quidditch training twice a week from next week."

"Go for it son! Take that cup from The Gryffindor rabble," said Mr Pucey.

"And don't you start pressurising Ady over the Quidditch too!" snapped Mrs Pucey.

"Alright, alright! I'll go and report to the Dark Lord. Why don't you come with me and then you'll learn what real pressurising's like!"

"Go on, then."

"I might be back for tea,"

There was the sound of a kiss and then a sort of vacuum aura and Danny knew that Mr Pucey had Disapparated.

"I'll be off to the Long Field, then, Mum."

"Alright, Son. Just remember to look after yourself. If it gets too much come back and have a lie-down."

"Alright Mum."

Danny withdrew and prepared to follow Adrian.

He was cock-a-hoop. He had located Voldemort! He was with the Jugsons at Hildenborough Hall near London.

He knew that he should be thinking about the next step, but decided that he would give himself the little treat of watching Adrian Pucey for a while. In any case, he rationalised, Adrian might turn out to be a useful entrée into Slytherin house during the coming school year, so the more he knew about him the better.

Adrian emerged from the back door of the farmhouse, crossed the yard and set off down one of the paths to the orchards, but he surprised Danny by turning off to the left and heading for a substantial clump of trees which was situated on a rocky stretch of land too steep for easy cultivation.

Danny hoped that the attraction was not a buxom Polish girl—perhaps the one he had been too soft-hearted to sack—though Danny could have stomached a randy Polish boy.

Adrian wandered up and down the wood, but not as if he were looking for anyone; instead he seemed to be checking that he was alone. When he felt himself safe he settled down in a little hollow and sat with his back to a tree. It was clearly an accustomed resort.

He pulled something out of his pocket and Danny saw, to his surprise, that he was rolling a cigarette. Danny wondered if this skill had come from a buxom Polish girl or a randy Polish boy. If so, the lesson had not been well-learnt: Adrian made a couple of pig's ears before producing something smokeable.

He lit up and relaxed against the tree, his eyes unfocused, his mind in daydream mode. Twice he had to relight the cigarette. The watching Danny had difficulty in refraining from making himself known. Adrian looked so lonely that Danny's heart went out to him.

When his cigarette was finished, Adrian, like a true countryman, nibbed it with moistened finger and thumb and buried it in the earth.

He rose to his feet with an effortless grace and Danny thought That's three athletes I've seen today!

He decided that he would follow Adrian to Long Field and monitor his interactions with the pickers. He could also check for the hypothetical buxom Polish girl or randy Polish boy. Then he would Apparate back to London and review developments. Perhaps Adrian would need a Pee. That would be a pleasant bonus!

As if responding to Danny's wish, Adrian looked all round again and undid the button on his jeans. He then pulled down jeans and pants exposing a big, stiff willy and started a quick-rate masturbation!

Danny was overwhelmed. This wasn't a bonus, it was an excursion to Heaven! He gasped so loudly that Adrian might have heard him had he not been whispering, with tightly-closed eyes, Oh! Oh! Oh!

Adrian's willy was long and endowed with plenty of foreskin to judge by the length of his wanking-strokes. Danny's gaze flickered between the high-class genitalia and the screwed-up face. He wanted so much to join in!

However, it was over too soon: Danny had barely time to take in the glorious sight of the dark-skinned penis wobbling under the shimmering hand when Adrian came out with Oh! Oh! Oh! Danny! and a four-inch string of cum shot out at high speed to land eight feet away on the leafy ground.

Danny! Danny! gasped Adrian as three more glorious spurts followed the first. Adrian stood stroking out a few more dribbles, then opened his eyes, abruptly pulled up his pants and tucked his willy in. He then sorted out his jeans and walked smartly off in the direction of the orchards.

Danny stood open-mouthed.

His first reaction was that he had been visible to Adrian, but he immediately dismissed that idea as preposterous. Dumbledore had told him that his Invisibility Cloak was one of the best and there were not more than half a dozen wizards in the world who would be capable of discerning a faint shadow underneath. This cloak, Dumbledore said, had been used by its previous owner to elude Voldemort.

As his mind churned, Danny decided to postpone further cogitation while he attended to a pressing task.

It was not difficult to find Adrian's spoor. It had been the biggest come Danny had ever seen—even bigger than DS Haldenby's comes, though, admittedly, Danny had not actually seen those.

He homed in on a particularly well-defined blob which was nestled in a beech leaf. It was a lot more fluid than Darren Joyce's cum which he had seen in Whinging Park; but that was to be expected given the explosive nature of Adrian's orgasm.

He scooped a bit up with his finger and smelt it: it was the real thing, but corrupted by a tinge of leaf mould; the same for the taste.

He noticed that his willy was going into auto-pilot for the second time that day and, also for the second time, murmured Sorry Piers! Sorry Ollie!

He dropped his trousers and pants and smeared the pre-cum over the tip of his willy. He started rubbing and immediately felt his orgasm upon him. He thought about Adrian's wobbling penis and his body squirmed with pleasure. A few more strokes and Danny's blob flicked to the ground where it joined Adrian's creation. Oh! Oh! Oh! Adrian! whispered Danny, with a smile on his face.

He abandoned the idea of checking for a Polish connection and, murmuring See Yer, Adrian! he Apparated to the main road and thence to a public footpath that he had noticed on the way from Stroud.

He removed the Invisibility Cloak and set off for a slow walk while he analysed what had happened.

Adrian was an attractive boy and thoroughly masculine in appearance and sexual performance; and he had fantasised about Danny. Moreover, since this was probably his first wank for some time, it was reasonable to suppose that Danny was his number one fantasee.

Danny checked his logic and, while pondering, drew his wand to plug away at the Disillusionment Charm.

It was just possible that the thought of Danny had come into Adrian's mind via psychic linkage; and also just possible that chance had picked Danny from a bumper list of candidates.

Danny thought not: he believed that Adrian had left the farmhouse fully intending to have a wank while thinking about Danny.

He paused his thoughts.

Something had happened.

He looked around for danger before realising that he had just felt the little frisson that sometimes happened when a body-changing spell came into effect.

Had the Disillusionment Charm worked?

He looked around and sighted a small flock of lapwing foraging in a nearby field. He walked towards them . . . then among them.

Success!

He twitched his wand and spoke: OK! Me Revelio!

The birds rose clumsily making alarm noises but it was Danny who was most alarmed when a previously unseen flock of tiny quail exploded into the air at a shallow angle.

Gasping with shock and exhilaration, he went to the side of the field to sit down.

To help him relax before trying the Disillusionment Charm again, he reverted to consideration of Adrian.

He could have had a wank any time that he wanted in the privacy of his bedroom or bathroom. Instead he had come away from the house. Danny guessed that this was because wanking was a pleasure and Adrian's home life had nothing to do with pleasure.

Adrian did not seem the death eater type, and not only were his parents death eaters, but they were currently extremely stressed death eaters. Voldemort's return had put them in a schizophrenic state of fear and ambition. Danny thought of the underlying irony of Mr and Mrs Pucey throwing the term stick and carrot at each other.

It was time to try out the Disillusionment Charm again. Hardly daring to hope, he waved his wand and muttered: OK! Abscondo!

He knew it had worked.

Elated, he tried it again and again. Then he tried it non-verbally. Again success! If anyone had told him on Saturday that within three days he would be doing non-verbal Disillusionment Charms, he would have advised them to get sanity lessons from Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle.

He got up and set off along the footpath.

The most baffling thing about the Adrian situation was that, at any time over the past two years, Adrian could have enjoyed Danny's friendship and services; and he must have known it—the whole school knew about Danny.

Danny wondered whether there was a formal or informal ban on gay sex within Slytherin. Certainly the only approach Danny had ever had from a Slytherin Senior had involved a request to bum Danny—nothing less would do. The Senior had been sent away with a two-word phrase.

Yes, Danny thought, poor old Adrian had probably endured six celibate years at Hogwarts because of Slytherin anti-gay prejudice. It was ironic that the only Muggle-hating house should also be the only house to share this vile Muggle trait.

Then Danny deflated a little. He had put down Adrian's attraction to him as being due to his looks, charm, wit and intelligence. But, of course, it was Danny's availability that made him attractive. Bugger!

He waked on for a while until he saw two farmhands conversing. One of them was mending a fence and the other was taking a break from doing something to a field with a tractor

He Disillusioned and approached the men.

They were extolling a Muggle potion called Double You Dee Forry.

"Zo us gets 'un wi' gurt wold spanner an' us turns 'un summat turble 'un wold screw gives up loike l'il girl's leggsies!" one of them was saying.

Danny stood close to them and shouted: "Never mind little girls! My leggsies give up easily too!"

Not a twitch! Danny was a competent Disillusioner—for Muggles, anyway.

He walked on for a bit, then took off the Disillusion Charm and donned the Invisibility Cloak.

He Disapparated to Room 706 in the Dorchester Hotel.

— CHAPTER FOURTEEN —Boys Will Be Boys

It was not yet three o'clock! Danny felt as though his Slough and Stroud adventures had taken days.

He dumped his stuff and went down to Reception to pick up his key. The receptionist also gave him two message forms.

The first one read:

ROGER THE LODGER WELCOME SIGNED BOTH

The second one read:

GOT CHOICE OF TWO.

ITULL COST YOU

COLLIN AND DENNISS

E4PH

E4JD

He smiled, knowing that the cost would be a delight to pay, and marvelled, not for the first time, at the Creevey brothers' competence. He ordered a cheeseburger from Room Service and wandered back to the Jorrocks suite. There was a bright flashing red light by the phone. He read the voicemail instructions and pressed a few buttons.

Piers had rung at ten o'clock and his sexy voice said;

Hiya, Danny. It's all OK for tonight. See you at seven

At twelve o'clock, Alice had rung and told him, in a surprisingly straight and manly voice:

Hello, this is a message for Mr Daniel Jorrocks. I can confirm that we are looking for a lodger and Piers would be quite acceptable. Thank you.

He rang the Polkiss number and, after side-stepping an inquisition from Mrs Polkiss, heard Piers.

"Danny, it's still on, is it?"

"Yeah-yeah, but I wanted to talk to you about something else. You know my dad's company is arranging lodgings for you?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, how would it be if those lodgings were Dot and Alice's spare room?"

There was a slight pause, then Piers said: "That would be fairly wonderful! Do you think they'd have me?"

"I expect so. I'll get in touch. See yer tonight!"

"I can't wait! I've been saving it up! See yer, Danny!"

A waitress had brought in his burger and, as he wolfed it down, he made his next call—to Miss Charlotte Horne, the Welfare Officer at Jorrocks and Company. He explained the proposal and gave her Dot and Alice's telephone number.

He finished his burger and strolled downstairs and out of the hotel.

He made his way to the nearest public library, which was in South Audley Street, less than a quarter of a mile away.

He found an encyclopaedia in the Reference section and settled down to read about PEACHES.

He learned that peach stones contained cyanogenic glycosides which were broken down by the human body into hydrogen cyanide. Danny knew about cyanide: it was a mainstay of Muggle thrillers, where it was one of the most frequently-featured poisons.

So Voldemort intended to use a solid or liquid poison and the gas within the Hillside farm laboratory was merely an unwanted by-product.

Liquid! Of course! The target was the Hogwarts water supply which, no doubt, involved a separate feed to Slytherin.

He read on and decided after some mental arithmetic that it would require nearly a hundred peach seeds to yield enough cyanide to kill a Hogwarts student—more because the fume chamber and gas-mask signalled the process as obviously inefficient.

Allowing also for the dilution within the Hogwarts water supply, Mr Pucey would need to process some hundreds of thousands of peaches to make a proper job of Hogwarts—unless . . .

Danny looked within another volume of the encyclopaedia and confirmed that, under ALMONDS, the word cyanide was prominent. However the cyanide content of almonds was a lot less than that of peaches. No wonder Mr Pucey was so stressed!

As he walked back to the hotel, Danny considered his next moves. The point was approaching when the whole matter should be put in Dumbledore's hands. Danny decided, though, that there were a couple of loose ends to tie up and, out of curiosity, he would like to visit Hildenborough Hall and see Voldemort at home.

He about-turned and re-entered the library.

He located a large-scale map of the district. Disappointingly, it showed no sign of Hildenborough Hall.

All he could do was commit the map to memory.

He was shortly afterwards back at the hotel. He settled down on the sofa in the living room and devoted some more time to studying From Ocular to Corporeal.

At some point, he fell asleep.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. Ollie! He ran to open it and there was . . . a . . . woman!

Not a common-or-garden woman but a chic, stylish, beautiful woman—even Danny, the least susceptible of anyone to feminine glamour, could see she was beautiful.

She was wearing an elegant dress in midnight blue which nearly disguised the fact that she was a bit broader than was preferred by the current fashion; but her size seemed to make her more real and her solidity was utterly feminine.

The face was symmetrical and set off by just the right amount of make-up to highlight its best features. Her expression inspired trust, and would no doubt, have inspired most men to want to be friends and more.

She was like a goddess, and yet approachable because her expression was friendly and welcoming. Above her aquiline nose, her eyes seemed to be bathing Danny in an ocean of comfort.

Oh God, let me not be turning straight? he thought.

Then this Goddess murmured in a husky voice: "Can I come in?"

It was the voice of the eternal sultry temptress, a voice, no doubt, as old as the human race.

Danny found his own voice: "Er . . ." he said.

There was a pause.

"That's not a very welcoming thing to say to a lady!" she said and smiled—and what a smile! Danny found her face enchanting: the full, carmined lips; the long lashes fluttering to reveal a touch of cosmetic blue that matched her dress; the warm crinkles at the corner of her eyes . . . but something was wrong . . . something . . .

Then it was as though every member of wizardkind had lined up, pointed their wands at him and shouted Stupefy! a million times. His eyes gaped, his bottom jaw sagged and he felt a weakness at the knees to the extent that he had to back up and sit down.

"I'll come in, then!" said the glamour-puss and entered the room. She closed the door and walked over putting down a small suitcase and taking the chair next to Danny. Her walk was perfectly feminine too.

"Er . . ." said Danny.

"Well, are you pleased to see me?" she said and leant over to feel Danny's willy.

"Er . . ." said Danny.

"I'm so glad the art of genteel conversation is thriving within the younger generation! You've obviously frequented the very best salons."

"Ah . . . ah . . . O . . . O . . . Ollie!"

"Short for Olivia tonight."

"I . . . I . . . I never knew . . ."

"Well, you know now!"

"B-but you're getting married!"

"That's why I've got to try this out before I settle down to conventionality."

"But if you want to be a woman, you can't want to get married—not to a normal woman, anyway!"

"Daniel Jorrocks! That's a shameful thing to say: you wouldn't describe straight men as normal, would you?"

"No. Sorry, that's the same nasty prejudice that we gay men suffer from—it's just that I never think of women so they're all a uniform blur to me."

"They're still humans!"

"Yeah, yeah. But the real point is what are you? What do you want to be? A woman? An effeminate man? A gay man?"

"None of these. I'm a very straight man—I know I used to like getting wanked off by little boys—I still do, but it's only like scratching an itch. My real sex-urge is towards women."

"This just gets weirder!"

"Not at all! Understand: I love women so much that I sometimes want to be one. I've been practising in my bedroom for three years now. I never thought I'd really do it in the outside world, but when you roped me in to fulfil your Piers' fantasy, I thought I'd live my own fantasy as well."

"Piers! What the hell is he going to think?"

" I hope he'll be utterly charmed."

"Charmed! He doesn't want to be charmed; he wants to be roughed up by a tough man."

"I'll be rough enough. Then he'll be turned on."

"Not if he's like me. You've been playing with my willy for ages and I'm not even beginning to get stiff."

"I'm stiff, Danny."

"I don't want to think about it. Besides you haven't dealt with the real point."

"What's the real point."

"This is very, very funny."

"Of course it is! That's part of the package."

"Oh? Then why didn't you break up when you saw my face? It must've been a picture."

"Part of my training: I want to be a lady, not just a woman; and a lady practises self-control."

"Oh, I'm confused. I'm gonna go for a good Muggle remedy. Come next door and I'll mix you a Martini."

"What's that?"

"I'll show you."

"They went next door. Danny took a bottle of gin and a bottle of white vermouth out of the fridge and poured unequal slurps of each into a silver cocktail shaker. He shook some ice cubes out of the freezer, drew his wand and muttered: OK! Frango! Ad Amphorem! The ice shattered and a glistening stream flew into the shaker.

"Danny, you're using magic!"

"Yeah, I'm allowed it a bit, but don't mention it to anyone. And don't forget: Statute of Secrecy tonight!"

"Sure. I know he's a Muggle, but tonight's not about Muggles and Witches, it's about Males and Females."

"Merlin knows what it's about! I was fantasising the other day about some of the boys at school dressing up as girls, but I never thought . . . still, a Martini will clarify things!"

Danny shook the mixture for a bit and then poured it into two glasses through a silver strainer. Then he took a bottle of olives out of the fridge.

"Ooh, olives! Are they stuffed?" asked Olivia.

"That's more like it! No, you eat them!" and the ensuing conversation was punctuated with giggles.

As they sat together on one of the sofas, Danny ran his finger's through Oliver's hair. "Ollie, can you tell me about the mechanics: this is a brilliant wig; it's like the real thing. But what about your face? It's unbelievably smooth considering you're so stubbly by lunchtime."

"Well, obviously I had a late shave, then a cream to soften the skin, then a layer of thin paste which is just thick enough to cover the stubble and just opaque enough to hide it, then various shades of powder to stop it looking too uniform."

"Clever! Now you've got a fairly high neckline. Did you shave there and make-up after?"

"No, depilated with wax strips. Same for the arms and legs. Painful!"

"What do your team-mates think?"

"I told them my fiancée didn't like me too hairy."

"And what does your fiancée think?"

"I told her it was for Quidditch."

"Devious! What about these? Two balloons?"

"You've forgotten I was always well-endowed with boy-tits. It just took a padded bra."

"I only ever saw naked from the waist up once and I was so hoping you'd drop your pants that I didn't look at your tits. Talking of dropping pants, a jockstrap for down below?"

"Ordinary underpants with frilly knickers on top."

"And . . . Ha-ha-ha . . . I can't believe it. Those shoes must be at least size ten!"

"Yeah . . . the weakest link."

"Never mind, you know what they say: big feet, big . . . Does that apply to women too?"

By this time the lads were paralysed with laughter but the knock on Danny's door straightened Danny's face.

"Oh Merlin and Morgan, what a mess!"

"Roll him in, Danny. Anything can happen tonight!"

He went to his bedroom and opened the door to an incredibly nervous-looking Piers. Danny's natural empathy put him inside Piers' mind. Here was a boy, lacking in self-assurance, who had turned up to meet a stranger; and not just any stranger: one who was going to inflict rough sex on him. Piers was realising the gulf between fantasy and reality—and he had a bit of extra realising to do.

"Hi Danny," he said limply, glancing into Danny's bedroom.

"Hi Piers!" He pulled the boy into a hug and kiss, "There's been a complication."

"It's not important, Danny, we can just have a bit of fun together."

"Come next door and see what you think."

They entered the sitting room and Piers stopped, dumbstruck.

"Piers, I'd like you to meet Olivia."

"Er . . . pleased to meet you." Nobody could have looked less pleased about anything than Piers.

"Pleased to meet you!" purred the sexy lady, "Danny, why don't we all have one of these Martinis? Piers, please sit down, by me. You're tall for a fifteen-year-old, aren't you?"

"Er . . ." said Piers as he sat down.

"I bet you've got lead in your pencil, haven't you? Know what I mean? I bet you're a stallion full of oats!"

Piers was petrified.

"Olivia! Stop winding him up!" shouted Danny from the fridge.

"More sophistication and less suggestion, you think? I'm pushing it a bit because of the particular circumstances,"

"Drivel, drivel, drivel!," said Danny as he brought the drinks over, "Have a sip, Piers, and see what you think and then I'll explain, but I'll explain in the right context, which is this—"

He gently sat down on Piers' knee, draped one arm around Piers' neck and clinked glasses. They took a sip and Piers said: "Strong!"

They put their glasses down and Danny pressed his lips against Piers', squeezed him tightly and started a deep snog using some of Seamus' repertoire.

When they broke off Danny said: "Piers, my sweet, the situation is quite straightforward: Oliver kindly accepted you, my friend, as his friend unseen and agreed to satisfy your fantasy. He decided at the same time to stage his own very secret fantasy which, with hindsight, I'm sure he wishes he had had the courage to fulfil when he was at school. There would have been a lot of—I won't say sympathy—but empathy, understanding and encouragement."

"I can see that now, dammit!" muttered Ollie.

"You're Oliver?" gasped Piers.

"Yes he is. And Oliver, would you please explain your motivation to Piers."

Ollie repeated his explanations causing Piers to look even more baffled.

Danny stuck his tongue into Piers' ear and whispered: "Well, whatyer think of it so far?"

Piers picked up his glass, drained it and found his voice: "It's all very well when it's just social, but what about the sex? When you're with a load of women, you're all just good friends but really you want to shag them; and when you're with a load of men, they all want to shag you but really you're all just good friends; and when you're with a load of gay men, God knows how it works out—and that's tonight!"

"Splendidly summarised, Piers!" said Danny, "Ollie, you must have thought of this."

Ollie looked a little dubious: "Well, I thought that . . . if . . . if we just went to bed together with the lights out, everything would . . . sort of happen."

Danny giggled; then Piers joined in.

"Take me with you on your next big night out!" said Danny, "I want to be there when this big, butch, macho man puts hand down expecting to find a rubber bowl full of warm custard and there's this big—"

"—stiff, throbbing—" said Piers.

"—veiny, knobbly—"

"—hairy, trickling rod. I want to be there with Danny!"

"Alright, smartarses," laughed Ollie, "Suppose this big, butch, macho man is actually a woman?"

"Then you've got a mouth and a bumhole free for two spare willies!" said Piers.

"Maybe that wouldn't be a disaster!" said Ollie.

"It would for me!" said Danny.

"And for me!" said Piers, "Let me just count: One . . . er . . . there seems to be one woman too many in the scenario,"

"Come on lads! Think versatile! Danny, you're always saying there can't be too much Love in the world!"

"True enough, and I'm quite happy to love any woman who keeps her clothes on and stays two yards away from me! For the immediate future let's go out for a meal. You're too old to be our mother, Ollie, so you can be Big Sis taking her two little brothers out before they go back to school."

"We'd never pass for brothers, Danny!" said Piers.

"Well, you're my cousin, then."

"And we've been having hot steamy sex all summer and now it's got to stop because we go to different schools."

"Not much acting required, I would say!" laughed Ollie.

"Can't say the same for you, Big Girl!" said Danny, slipping his hand up Ollie's dress and tweaking his penis.

The humour relaxed them and it was in a jolly mood that the lads went out for a meal. Ollie's heels were fairly high so they took a taxi. By mutual agreement they made for a steakhouse, the driver suggesting one in Coventry Street.

As they drove round Piccadilly Circus, Danny looked under the colonnade for rent boys but could not see any.

They entered the restaurant, which was large and three-quarters full. The diners were an international-looking set and Danny guessed that most of them were tourists, though there were a few couples and families who looked as though they were rounding off a day in the Smoke.

One thing that all the diners had in common was that any who noticed Olivia stared openly or discreetly, obviously wondering who this striking-looking woman was. Danny could see numerous mouths enumerating the possibilities—Film Star? TV Hostess? Diva? Royalty?

As they were led to a table, Danny evaluated Ollie's carriage and the way she held her head. Lesser wizards making their début en travestie would have had doubts as to how convincing they were. Discovery by one might lead to discovery by three-score, with a lot of embarrassment.

Olivia, however, was beyond such worries. As she followed the head-waiter, her demeanour was regal; as she seated herself and smiled her thanks, her glamorous condescension was utterly self-assured.

"I think you're a hit!" said Danny, as they scanned the menu.

Ollie deliberately misunderstood him: "Yeah, well I'm still only in the reserves," he grinned.

"Statute!" warned Danny.

"That's twice you've said that," said Piers, "What does it mean?"

"It's what we say at school if someone mouths off too much. The first statute in the school charter warns against Pride."

They scanned the menu and all three settled for top-of-the-range steaks. Olivia ordered expensive bottles of white and red wines and the other two said that they would drink water—there was an element of nudge-nudge here as the lads intended that the wine would be dealt with as Danny had seen the lager in the Bull at Birmingham: the under-age drinkers would have discreet sips from the adult's glass.

As they waited for their starters, Piers asked Ollie: "Have you left school, Olivia?"

"Yeah, I work in a sports shop a mile away from here."

"Do you play any sports? You look pretty sporty."

"Pretty and sporty!" chuckled Danny.

"Yeah, I play a bit of, er, football," said Ollie.

"Do you get a discount from your shop?"

"Yeah, twenty percent." This, at least, was true.

"Including trainers?"

"Yeah. Trainers is actually short for training shoes because real running shoes have spikes and if athletes wore them during training, they couldn't run off-track and they'd wear the track out. Less than one percent of track time is devoted to actual competition."

Oliver had taken Muggle Studies to N.E.W.T. level.

"And track-suits?" asked Piers.

"Yeah, though we don't deal in real track-suits which have ankle-zips to allow running shoes to pass through. Less than nought point one percent of so-called track-suits—or trainers, come to that—are sold to genuine athletes.

"I'm one of the ninety-nine point nine percent!" said Piers, "though since I met Danny, the labels seem less important and since I met Mr Fletcher, I know a lot of them are faked anyway."

"Mundungus Fletcher?" asked Ollie.

Yeah," said Danny, "he helped us out the other week."

Their starters arrived and conversation was suspended as they tucked into prawn cocktails and melon cuboids. Ollie guzzled the white wine keenly.

"You're presumably still at school?" he said to Piers.

"I've just left and next week I'm apprenticed to Jorrocks and Company—That reminds me, Danny. You and the girls and Jorrocks and Company don't hang about! I got a phone call at tea-time. They're sending a car to pick me up tomorrow at ten o'clock. They're going to agree terms with Dot and Alice. Mum was buzzing. She didn't want me to come tonight. I persuaded her, but I must must must leave the hotel at eight."

"OK, Piers!" laughed Danny, "We should be able to manage that."

Piers spoke to Ollie: "I'm hoping to lodge with two friends of me and Danny in London."

"Where are you from?" said Ollie.

"A place called Little Whinging."

"Isn't that where Harry lives?" asked Ollie of Danny.

"Of course. You must have gone to St Brutus too." said Piers.

Danny butted in: "Yes, me, Ollie and the Creeveys are all St Brutus boys."

Ollie looked a bit puzzled, but said only: "Have you seen Harry? How is he?"

"With some other schoolfriends, Mundungus Fletcher says," said Piers.

Danny was glad to be able to change the subject: "Talking of whom, he was hoping to do big business at his stall on Sunday, but I heard he wasn't there yesterday. Any news?"

Ollie laughed.

"Sold out by four and thrown out by five! That's about par for Mundungus" he said.

Danny just had time to be glad that Mundungus was OK before the arrival of their steaks took up his attention.

By the time that they were coming to the end of the steaks, Ollie had made the bottle of red look as silly as the white. He was a bit tiddly. Piers was flushed and slightly excitable. Danny was unaffected—he hadn't liked either of the wines.

"Ollie," he said, "would you mind if Piers and I talked Gay for a bit?"

"Of course not!" laughed Ollie loudly, "I'm a country member myself—oh I see you do remember!"

When the titters had died down, Danny said: "Piers, I had to pop down to the West Country for my dad today and I met an interesting boy on the train. I wondered if you might like to meet him too."

"What's he like?" asked Piers.

"He's called Grant Woodward. About your age or a year older. Same height as you. Sporty type like Ollie. The thing is, he's living totally repressed like you were until that day we met. He's had no experience—or he'd had none till we had a little go on the train."

"In the loos?" asked Piers.

"No," said Danny and described the crude, but gratifying, fumbles that he and Grant had shared.

"Go for it, Piers!" said Ollie, "And I'm going for it too!"

He went off towards the steakhouse loos.

Piers pressed his knee against Danny's.

"I will go for it, Danny," he said, "I trust your judgement. And that was a brilliant idea about my lodgings, by the way. I hope Miss Horne approves."

"I'm sure she will, Piers, and living with Dot and Alice will give you time to get to know each other."

"When shall we see Grant?"

"I suggest that you move in with the girls tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow!"

"Why not?"

"Well, Mum'll be all of a flap over clothes and haircuts and things."

"Then she'll be spared all that! Jorrocks and Company don't stint the pounds when it comes to looking after the young men who are their future."

Danny did not mention that Stephen Jorrocks, being a self-made magnate, did, in fact, stint a lot of pounds. It was Piers' friendship with Danny that was getting him the luxury treatment.

Danny was being sincere, though, in describing Piers as part of Jorrocks and Company's future. He had no doubt that Piers' nous and competence, which were considerable at present, would flourish under Jorrocksian nurture.

"Anyway," Danny continued, "have a couple of days to settle yourself in and we'll go and see Grant. I think the Creeveys would like to see you before school starts, too."

"Mutual!" said Piers.

At this point a disturbance broke out.

A big man came out of the passage leading to the loos.

His face was covered in blood and he was covering an eye with one hand.

"She hit me!" he shouted.

His concerned wife gave a shriek of horror and jumped to her feet. Catching her knees on the table, she gave another shriek, this time of pain.

Staggering towards her husband, she screamed: "Gerald! What's happened?"

"She hit me!" shouted Gerald again.

Everyone in the restaurant was agape, drawn, not only by the noise and the spectacle of the bloodied man, but also by the intriguing idea of this big man being battered by a woman.

The head waiter was threading his way through the tables by the time that Gerald's wife had pulled Gerald's hand away and was inspecting the damage.

The blood was gushing from a cut on the eyebrow. There was also a bruise high on the cheek which could be expected to turn into a first-class black eye.

Gerald and his wife were half a foursome and the other couple, feeling they couldn't just continue to sit at their table, had got up and were standing just behind Mrs Gerald, clearly not knowing what to do.

"What happened, Sir?" asked the head waiter.

"She hit me!" shouted Gerald, so clarifying matters.

A waitress with a cooler head than everybody else had brought a first-aid tin from the kitchen and was rummaging through it when Olivia appeared.

She appeared from the direction of the loos, walking slowly towards Gerald. Her gait was swaggering, angry and not at all feminine.

With her head a foot away from Gerald's she shouted: "RAPIST!"

Gerald turned to his wife and shouted: "How could I rape her? She's built like a brick shit-house!"

Olivia shouted "RAPIST!" again and Gerald took a backwards step in alarm.

"Sir, Please!" squeaked the head waiter and Olivia turned to him.

"THIS MAN TRIED TO RAPE ME!" she yelled at the functionary, then "RAPIST!" at Gerald.

Some memory of a favourite Muggle picture-book came to him and he shouted: "Tramp! Zapotec! Pockmark! Pithecanthropus! Bashi-bazouk! Savage! Sea-gherkin! Ectoplasm! Poltroon! Politician! Doryphore! Terrorist!"

The tones were emphatically masculine and Danny could see a woman gasp and open her mouth. Danny would have to do something or Olivia would be unmasked as Oliver.

He had his wand out under the table and, in a flash of inspiration, he Confunded one of the fire detectors.

At once a deafening electric bell started clanging.

This had solved the immediate problem, but how were they going to get away? He would have to create a diversion.

The idea came into his head of Confunding everyone in the restaurant to take their clothes off, but this was no time for fun and, in any case, it might be construed as a Crime of Violence against Muggles which would bring the Ministry in force.

Instead, he Confunded a nearby woman into seeing flames.

The effect was spectacular. She screamed "FIRE!", got up and moved quickly towards the door.

Danny confunded two more people and a mass panic set in with everyone making for the exit.

Danny and Piers moved against the flow and collected Ollie who was probably making a further mental selection from Captain Haddock's repertoire.

They frog-marched Ollie out the door and down the steps into the underground.

They took the first train going anywhere, but soon got off and approached Euston Station by a circuitous route.

They queued for a taxi and arrived at the Dorchester at ten o'clock.

All this had been done in silence except for the odd giggle when their eyes met.

In the sitting room, though, Danny and Piers demanded the full story from Ollie.

"I know I'd been drinking, but I wasn't drunk and it was a mistake anyone might have made, even if they were total abstainers," he began.

"What mistake?" the lads shouted.

"Well . . . basically . . . I forgot I was a lady."

"You went in the Gents!"

Laughter broke out.

"Yeah, and even when I saw this bloke having a pee, I didn't think anything of it. He saw me out the corner of his eyed and gave me a big grin, so of course I grinned back. Then he finished shaking and turned towards me with his tool still in his hand.

"It was then that I realised that I couldn't really have a pee in the normal way, so I just stood there dithering.

"The bloke said: 'Can't resist the old charm, eh?' and I didn't know what he meant—I thought it was . . . er . . . other sorts of charms so I just said 'No,' and carried on dithering.

"Then he walked over and put his hand on my arse and, I know it's silly, even when he said 'That's a helluva bum!' I still thought he was just being friendly while passing by on his way to the exit.

Laughter became painful.

"And he still had his tool out, so I thought of warning him and telling him the old joke: Your tool's sticking out. . . . Madam, you flatter yourself; it's hanging out

"But then I saw that his tool was sticking out, so I retired to go into a cubicle.

"Before I knew it he was pressing me against him. His hands were on my boobs and I could feel his tool pushing against my arse.

"So I turned and pushed him away gently, but he just came back again, put both hands on my arse and tried to kiss me.

"I'm afraid I lost it and gave him a bop. I had a pee in the cubicle and came out. The rest is history!"

The lads were in hysterics by this time.

While still engulfed with laughter, Danny called his mother to report that he was OK and that Piers and Ollie would be staying the night.

"Yeah that Ollie," he told her before receiving news of Aunt Rose and Uncle George, sending love to all and hanging up.

"Lads," he said "I've just got to make a few private phone calls for Dad. I won't be long. Broach the drinks-cabinet if you want."

He went into his bedroom and locked the door behind him. Donning the Invisibility Cloak, he Apparated to Knockturn Alley.

Excellent! There were six of the sort referred to by Mrs Pucey as catamites.

He walked up to them and laid a Confundus on all six.

Speaking in seven simultaneous streams—once aloud and once psychically to each of the boys—Danny slowly told them:

I am Mr Rowle.

I have new instructions for you.

From now on, whenever one of my men brings you something to deliver, you will set off in the approximate direction given by the address.

You will stop at the first Muggle public toilet you can find and, in secret, using a Muggle pen, you will cross out the name and address and write "Ministry of Magic".

You will then deliver the item to the Ministry, telling the receptionist that no reply is necessary.

Those who fail will suffer unimaginable pain.

Those who succeed will be rewarded with two hundred Galleons one week from today.

This is all very secret except that you will pass these instructions to your colleagues who are not here today.

Danny released the boys and they immediately started discussing Mr Rowle's new instructions until one of them yelled: "Shut-up! He said it was secret. You lot don't know what a Cruciatus is like!"

The lads immediately fell silent. Then they started gossiping on neutral topics: the dearth of punters; girls; the whereabouts of the two defectors, Quidditch.

Big and Bent Darrens were there and Danny got a serious horn, but had no time to act on it. He was in luck with another boy, though: there was one called Luke.

Pointing his wand, he Confunded Luke to Be here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.

As he turned to apparate to the Dorchester, he smiled, thinking that Luke had probably not been up that early for years.

He stowed his cloak and wand, unlocked the door and walked into the sitting room saying: "Right boys! Time for some action!"

"That was quick!" said Piers. He was holding a glass of clear bubbly liquid.

"Yeah, everything's fine!"

"I was just introducing Olivia to the mysteries of the Gin and Tonic and we were discussing how to proceed. Any ideas Danny?" asked Piers.

"Not really—but it seems a shame not to make use of your womanly presence, Olivia. What do you think, Piers?"

"Yeah. Olivia you've just experienced something which is probably typical for women: unwanted attentions. Now how about wanted attentions?"

"Go ahead, Piers!" said Olivia.

Piers got up, circled the room, then sat down on the sofa next to Olivia. He took her hand in both of his and addressed her in a deep voice.

"O Olivia, my dearest girl, you mean so much to me. Tell me that my love is not in vain."

"O Piers, hold me tightly!"

Piers obeyed and engaged Olivia in a slurpy kiss. Then his right hand moved from Olivia' back, crept round her waist and, in a move tried on by half a million British teenagers every year, slunk up to cup Olivia's left breast.

Olivia was probably trying to behave as Oliver's fiancée behaved in similar circumstances: he was pulling Piers' head towards him and stroking Piers' back in a lady-like way.

Danny would have been slightly put off but for the fact that his imagination was dwelling on Ollie's squat, fat willy which he had masturbated so often.

Now Piers was trying to slip his hand inside Olivia's clothes. He was wrenching at the dress when Olivia broke of the snog to purr: "Undo the zipper, you exigent man."

Piers reached round the back and, with some difficulty, located the zip and clumsily pulled it down. Olivia slipped his arms out gracefully revealing the next poser: the bra.

Piers wrestled with this for some time before asking: "Give us a hand, Danny!"

Danny went over and tried to undo the fiddly catch. Why on earth, didn't they fit bras with emergency release buttons?

Eventually the thing came off and the full glory of Ollie's boy-tits was revealed.

The sexiness of boy-nipples had always been a wonder to Danny. They had no perceptible function except to be sexy. In his pre-pubertal days, he had sometimes tweaked his nipples and got a nice feeling as they gently hardened. Since the arrival of his manhood, nipple-play was a delectable colour in his sexual palette.

Piers clearly felt the same because he was stimulating one of Ollie's nipples with his mouth and the other with thumb and forefinger.

Danny sat down and hi-jacked a nipple for himself. He twanged it with a finger, pinched it and then opened his hand to squeeze the full tit, which he massaged for a while.

He bent and tested the central boss of the nipple with his tongue, then sucked the whole nipple, savouring the lesser lumps and continuing his massaging of the rest of the tit.

Ollie's tit felt, he supposed, similar to female tits. His nipple, although hair-strewn, was also constituted like a woman's.

Why, then, was a boy's nipple so attractive and a girl's nipple so repulsive. When boys such as Ollie were blessed with substantial tits, why was it a marvellous individual touch to their sex-appeal, whereas tits on girls were a complete waste of time as far as Danny was concerned?

Danny was vaguely pondering on this topic, which surely dealt with the essence of Gayness, when his spare hand automatically found its way to Olivia's leg.

It was horrible: Olivia had covered her legs with tights, or stockings, or some other womanly nonsense. His hand brushed another hand: Piers was doing his own caressing down there. The two hands clasped each other and Danny opened his eyes to look into Piers' eyes which were three inches from his own.

Both pairs of eyes crinkled in a smile.

Piers raised his head.

"Olivia, I want bare flesh!" he said, slapping Olivia's calf sharply.

Danny laughed and said: "That's another feminine rôle for you Olivia: the abused woman!"

Piers picked up on the idea immediately and slapped Olivia even more sharply, shouting: "Yeah, slut! Get those passion-killers off NOW!"

Olivia giggled and rose to her feet. Her dress flopped down and she kicked off the laughable size ten shoes and stepped out of it. To remove her tights, or whatever they were, she also had to ditch the frilly knickers.

Despite the facial make-up, Danny found it impossible to see anything in the least feminine about the figure standing in front of him dressed in nothing but Y-fronts. Brick shit-house was a fair description and he assumed that the female part of the evening had ended.

Piers, on the other hand, was well into things.

He admonished Olivia again: "You slut! Your knickers are filthy! Take them off at once!"

When Olivia hesitated, Piers slapped him on the face.

That's a make or break thing to do! thought Danny, but Ollie was enjoying himself too and pulled his pants down with an abashed "Sorry, Sir."

Piers picked up the pants and examined them, then turned to Danny and asked him: "These are a disgrace! What do you think, Cousin Daniel?"

They were newly-on and spotless, apart from a touch of pee, but Danny gave his verdict: "Boy-milk at the front and skid-marks at the back, Cousin Piers. This woman has been unfaithful to us." He spoke in a comically low voice.

"You know what this means, don't you?" said Piers sternly.

"A smack bottom, Sir?"

"A smack bottom! Bend over there."

Piers indicated the arm of a sofa. He seemed genuinely delighted.

Olivia bent over as ordered—Ollie really, thought Danny as he gazed at the large, hairy bum—and Piers, not wasting a moment, gave Ollie a resounding slap and then repeated the action on the other cheek.

After another two slaps, Piers stepped back.

"Hot work!" he said, and started to undress.

Danny followed suit, so to speak, and soon the two youngsters were staring at each other's naked bodies. Piers was very excited and his willy was quivering at an angle of forty-five degrees. Danny had a semi on. Perhaps his interest was less sexual than sociological as he was enjoying the interplay between Piers and Ollie, who were both evidently enjoying themselves.

Then Danny looked at Ollie's bum. He got into the swing of things by slapping it a couple of times and then bent to smell Ollie's bumhole. It was sweaty, but, to Danny's mild disappointment, odourless.

Danny's protruding bottom must have inspired Piers in a different way from Ollie's, for Danny felts hands parting his bumcheeks and a nose pressing against his Bumhole.

This'll test Piers' perviness he thought. Danny had been through a lot since his morning shower—a lot of sweaty train-travelling, some energetic Apparitions and a sticky poo at tea-time.

Piers passed the pervert-test and his tongue replaced his nose. Then his lips took over as his tongue pushed its way inside Danny.

This is so good! thought Danny, and he shifted slightly to push his tongue into Ollie.

Ollie's bumhole was, no doubt, still virgin, but the healthy appetite due to his big frame must have given it a lot of stretching. The hole yielded at once and, as Danny wiggled his tongue, Ollie groaned and muttered "Yeah!"

They went at it like this for a couple of minutes before Piers disengaged.

Danny knew what was coming—he hoped it was, anyway, but to be sure, he mumbled: "Piers, shag me please!"

He felt his hole stretch as Piers inserted one finger, then probably two, and fiddled about inside Danny who wanted to be bummed so much that he could probably have taken Big Darren.

When Piers' willy eventually entered him, it was another of those Heaven-on-Earth moments.

Unfortunately, moment, was the true description, for Piers, celibate since Sunday, came very soon. There was a merit too: Piers' orgasm lasted a long, long time. He must have pumped into Danny a dozen times, grunting and squeaking with delight.

He lay still for a time then slipped out of Danny and walked somewhere. There was the clink of bottles and ice and Danny looked up to see that Piers had made a huge Gin and Tonic.

"Spank him, hard Cousin Daniel!" he shouted, and, as Danny obeyed—rather gently, it must be said—knelt on the sofa with his still-dripping willy in Ollie's face.

"Clean that, you cow-faced bitch!" he shouted.

Ollie passed this test too and took Piers' detumescing willy into his mouth.

Piers took a draught and offered the glass to Danny, who drained it, remembering the times past when he had sneaked a sip when his dad was entertaining Muggles. He went over to the drinks cupboard and mixed another Gin and Tonic—bigger even than the first and offered it to Piers.

Piers swigged and got up.

"You!" he said, "Harlot! Lie on the sofa! Cousin Daniel, squat on his face."

The lads obeyed and Danny felt Ollie's nose parting his bumcheeks.

"Clean that too, strumpet!"

Ollie's tongue got to work on Danny's hole and the surrounding area. It was bigger and rougher than Piers' and Danny felt another pleasant sensation.

After a while, Piers ordered: "Cousin Daniel! Fart!"

Danny hesitated.

"YAROO!" he yelled.

Piers had tweaked one of his nipples very hard indeed.

"Do you want the full treatment too, cousin or not?"

Danny relaxed his sphincter and a gush of Piers-juice, and God knows what else, was released onto Ollie's face.

"Get up, Cousin Daniel, and move aside!"

No sooner had Daniel got out the way when Piers jumped on the sofa and pissed over Ollie's head, chest and genitals.

Danny laughed his head off. It certainly was a rare sight: the fragile-looking boy defiling the butch near-man with impunity.

The defilement was minor as Piers' piss was little-boy piss: inoffensive and not very much of it.

"I think it's time for the next phase, Cousin Piers. You remember? The little-pet phase," he said.

"Of course," said Piers and he sat down and slipped his left arm under Ollie's head and round his shoulders.

"You are my little pet, aren't you, Oliver? And you will be good won't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And whenever your little pet, Piers, is naughty, you will punish him too, won't you."

"Yes, Sir."

Piers started snogging with Ollie, and Danny went to the bathroom for a towel.

When he came back, Piers turned to him and said: "Never mind the towel! More drink!"

Danny remembered that Piers, although reformed, had a good (or bad) track record in bullying.

He mixed three drinks and handed two of them out. Then he lifted Ollie's legs, sat down and straightened the legs so that they were resting on his lap.

He raised one leg again and held it while he sucked Ollie's big toe. This seemed a pleasant way to pass the time.

The three lads stayed in this position, saying nothing, just sipping their drinks occasionally, stroking each other soothingly and, in Danny's case, sucking gently.

Piers just had time to put his drink on the table before he fell asleep, his head on Ollie's breast.

Danny turned to look at Ollie.

"We'd better get him to bed!"

"Yeah!" said Ollie, slowly closing his eyes.

Danny jumped up and gave Ollie a shake.

With difficulty he got Ollie up and with difficulty they got Piers into the bedroom and tucked him in bed.

Ollie followed immediately and, by the time Danny had joined the other two, he was starting a gentle snore.

Danny suddenly realised that neither he or Ollie had enjoyed a come and decided to fix that.

Then it struck him that Ollie had a big toe that might be feeling neglected. He would give it a short suck and then collude with Ollie in emptying four balls!

It was top-and-tailed to the other two that Danny fell asleep.

Danny was awoken next morning by a violent earthquake shaking the bed.

Ollie had reverted to manliness and was, perhaps, belatedly fulfilling his original brief. He had Piers pinned face down and in receipt of a ferocious bumming.

Danny looked at Ollie's powerful buttocks as they pumelled away at Piers and jumped on top. He guided his willy into Ollie's bumhole and immediately enjoyed a deluxe shag as Ollie's commanding thrusts bounced Danny up and down.

Piers was whimpering and Ollie was grunting.

It was all so exciting that Danny was soon adding his own orgasmic squeaks to the mix.

Piers was right! There was something to be said for rough sex between friends!

Danny bit hard into Ollie's shoulder as he came. Maybe this little bit of extra stimulation triggered Ollie because he came too, with a series of unbelievable thrusts accompanied by mighty roars.

Finally all was still and quiet except for occasional moans from Piers.

Then Ollie jumped up, effortlessly rolling Danny off his back, and causing Piers to give another shriek.

"That's more like it!" he said, "I'm going to do that to the missus every day when I'm married!"

"Except for a few days every month which you'll save for us!" said Danny.

Ollie reached over for his frilly knickers and pressed them between Piers' bumcheeks.

"Squirt it out." he said.

Piers tensed and there was a bubbly fart-noise.

"And again."

Piers tensed again.

"Any more?"

"No, that's it."

Ollie wiped the hole thoroughly, then withdrew the knickers and opened them up. They were heavily stained with a brown-coloured stickiness.

"I'm going to frame these," said Ollie. "Now, Danny, you little floozy . . ."

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled Danny to him and bent him over his knee.

"I'll save you a few days each month Only . . ." he said, giving Danny a terrific slap on his bottom, " . . . If . . . You're . . . Very . . . Very . . . Good!"

He punctuated each word with further slaps then let Danny wriggle away, his bottom stinging and his eyes watering.

"And as for you . . ."

He turned to Piers and, picking him up effortlessly, carried him to the bathroom and dumped him in the bath—the very bath that Piers had occupied during that memorable poo-removal session two weeks previously.

"Piss on me would you?" said Ollie and he started his own pee—a cataract of vinous-smelling liquid which he sprayed all over Piers, concentrating on what he could see of the face which Piers was shielding with his hands.

Danny was standing in the doorway and made the mistake of tittering.

Instantly, Ollie cut off the flow and darted over to Danny. He picked him up, dumped him on top of Piers and restarted the waterworks. Danny turned away but Ollie raised him by the ears so that he was helpless to prevent the flood splashing over his face, working its way into his nose and ears.

Then Ollie did a trick worthy of Voldemort: he pinched Danny's nose!

Of course Danny had to open his mouth, and of course Ollie directed his great gush so that Danny's mouth was flooded and, gasping for breath, he had to swallow loads and loads. He was also giggling, which didn't help his breathing.

At last Ollie dried up.

He then sat down on the loo and commenced a noisy, voluminous, smelly poo.

When the last fart had trumpeted out, he ordered: "You two get the shower on and I want it pleasantly lukewarm."

The lads got out the bath and hastened to obey.

"Now get in," ordered Ollie, "Face-to-face. Piers hold Danny very tight—no, on the back, not the bum. I can't have you little perverts getting pleasure.

"Now! Danny hold Piers very tight . . . tighter, that's right."

Danny wondered what was coming next. Ollie in he-man vein was quite scary—and also exciting: Danny and Piers were both very hard.

Ollie got in the shower and, pressing against Danny, enfolded both boys in his arms.

Danny thought Ollie might be going in for a bit of lovie-dovie, but he was soon disillusioned.

Ollie slapped Piers on the left buttock; then a bit harder on the right buttock; then an almighty spank on the left and another on the right.

"Who's your master, Piers?" asked Ollie.

"You are, sir."

"Who has the power to do what he likes with you?"

"You do, sir."

"And you like being spanked, don't you?"

"Yes sir."

Ollie let fly with a barrage of spanking, in the course of which, Danny was fairly sure that Piers reached an orgasm. Certainly, his squeals and wriggles might be indicating pain or pleasure.

Danny was excited and, as soon as Ollie stopped, he unclasped his arms and pushed Piers' shoulders downwards until Piers mouth was by Danny's willy, which Piers obligingly started sucking.

"Please, sir," said Danny, "I'm getting my penis sucked and I'm enjoying it. I think I deserve a few more spanks."

Ollie moved sideways to give himself room for a backswing and slapped Danny's bum. Then he gave Danny a good spanking in which the strokes were hard but the rate was gentle. The first few strokes stung almost unbearably, coming as they did on a bum already reddened by Ollie's previous labours. After a while, though, each stroke stung for a few seconds, but then left a warm afterglow that seemed to stretch up his bumhole and into his willy.

Danny had another glorious come and had barely finished gasping when he felt Ollie shift. Next thing he knew his bumhole was on fire as Ollie raped his way in.

Bravely Danny gritted his teeth and thought how lucky the future Mrs Ollie was.

"Got any piss, Danny?" mumbled Piers, and Danny realised that he did have some piss—a lot of piss, in fact, which he let rip into Piers' mouth. Much of it washed straight back out, but much of it Piers swallowed with a willingness, or even eagerness.

All good things come to an end. Danny ran out of piss; Ollie orgasmed with his now-familiar barbarity; Piers relinquished Danny's willy and, picking up the soap, moved round to clean Ollie's bumhole.

It seemed that the rough phase was over as Ollie picked up a second piece of soap and gently washed Danny all over and then Piers.

The next few minutes were devoted to cleaning, with Ollie concluding his own efforts by using special wipes to remove the last of his make-up.

With impeccable timing, the wake-up call came at that moment. Danny silenced the phone and rejoined the other two.

"How come you're so perky this morning, Ollie?" he asked, "You deserve to be hung over."

"All of us, er, football players can put it away, Danny."

"How about you Piers?" asked Danny.

"I'm fine—really fine."

"And did you enjoy your treat?"

"Yeah. Last night and this morning. They were both something special. I don't think I could take it too often, though."

"Nor me. My bum's smarting and my hole feels as though a London bus had driven through it, even though Oliver didn't stretch me as much as my schoolmate did on Saturday."

"Who was that, Danny?" asked Ollie.

"Chris Harris. I don't know if you remember him."

"Sure. Dark. Not very tall."

"Well, he's a lot taller now."

"It makes me feel old knowing that that insignificant little first-year has a bigger todger than me."

"It's not just having it, it's using it. His generation are more adventurous than yours, Ollie"

"I bet he's never roughed up a beautiful woman or been beaten and raped by a rough man!"

"No, but my guess is that both experiences are a minority taste."

"The other side of the coin is certainly to my taste!" laughed Ollie.

"The whole coin's to my taste!" said Piers.

"Let's have a look at your bum, Piers." said Danny and Piers turned his back.

It was a bright, angry red, but still as beautiful a bum as Danny had ever seen.

"Bloody hell! Is my bum that red?"

He turned and looked in the mirror. Before he noticed the redness, he was surprised at how beautiful a bum he had. Lucky Danny! he thought, That'll never go short of dicks!

"I've got just the thing!" he said, and fetched his jar of Dittany.

"This will take the sting off."

"Let me do it," said Ollie, taking the jar.

"For external and internal application. Use your finger," said Danny.

Ollie took the jar and bent Danny over a chair-arm. Danny felt a finger gently pushing its way into his rectum. It was slightly painful and very sexy.

Ollie wiggled his finger for a few moments.

"Two years wasted," said Danny, "I could have been enjoying this from the day I met you, Ollie."

"I'm not so sure about that!", said Ollie, "We're not all as sexually liberated as you."

After a last few wiggles, Ollie withdrew his finger and Danny felt him spreading the balm over the bumcheeks. It was a wonderful feeling—the tenderness of the big toughie's strokes; the intimacy of secret areas being touched; the sexiness of an invasion into the forbidden; and the physical relief as the pain softened.

Ollie gave Danny a peck on the lips and moved to treat Piers, who enjoyed it as much as Danny.

Ollie finished doing Piers and handed the Dittany back to Danny.

He gave Piers a parting peck too, but Piers converted this into a snog.

"A last glimpse of Olivia," he laughed, "Even though she's quite stubbly this morning!"

Ollie went to shave and Piers said: "Thanks ever so much for fixing this up Danny."

"It was good for me. I never dreamt I could enjoy being spanked. But in a limited way: I could have sex with any stranger I fancied, but I could only do this sort of things with real friends."

"Same here."

"Anyway it's back to reality, which means . . ."

Danny engaged Piers in a snog and it was in this position that Ollie found them when he returned from the bathroom.

"Bloody hell, lads! Are you two inexhaustible?"

The lads broke off and Danny said: "As inexhaustible as your bum is red! You'd better have some ointment."

"I'll do it," said Piers, "My hand's a bit sore."

"Now you know why I was so keen to do you!" laughed Ollie.

"Enlightened self-interest!" said Danny, as Piers gently spread Dittany over Ollie's cheeks.

"Are you really going to frame these knickers, Ollie?" asked Danny.

"No, I wouldn't like to explain them to the missus. I'll keep them in my trophy-box."

Danny refrained from asking for details: Ollie's trophy-box was likely to have a lot to do with girls.

The lads were all dressed in plenty of time to see Piers out the door at eight o'clock.

Danny gave Piers a kiss-and-cuddle and wished him luck for the morning.

"Not that you'll need it," he said, "Charlotte Horne is a sensible woman."

He was pleased that Ollie also gave Piers a kiss-and-cuddle.

"Lots of hard feelings!" said Ollie, "If you can take your mind off Danny, think of me when you're having a wank!"

"Will do!" said Piers and they watched him waddling down the corridor and waved goodbye to him as he entered the lift.

"He's a good lad for a Muggle!" said Ollie, "a good friend for you and I hope for me."

"You did brilliantly on the Statute, even when you were pissed up."

"We were all pissed up—pissed over as well. God, it was fun! Thank you for thinking about me, Dan, I might have gone my whole life without appreciating just what was possible."

"Here's to the next time!"

"Absolutely!"

Danny was going over the two rooms, tidying here, Scourgifying there and spraying Muggle air-freshener everywhere. Ollie helped a bit, but kept getting in the way. Just like a man! thought Danny.

They sat down and had an orange juice from the much-depleted fridge before Ollie left for QQS.

Before he left he treated Danny to a bear-hug, a deep snog and a buttock-fondle.

"See yer, Danny!"

"See yer, Ollie!"

As he had access to a Muggle phone, he called the Creeveys.

Mrs Creevey told him that the boys were not yet awake.

Sex all night! he thought.

He left a message to expect him that evening and to ask Steve and Tom to be at home and then packed his rucksack.

— CHAPTER FIFTEEN —Scumbag Hall

At nine o'clock precisely Danny Apparated at Knockturn Alley. Luke was there—a wispy boy of about twenty with a clever-looking face and mousey hair showing under a preposterous cloth cap, He was of medium height and was dressed in a black shell-suit which showed his bump prominently.

"Looking for business?" asked Danny.

"Er . . ." said Luke, plainly bemused as he didn't know what he was looking for at such an unwonted hour.

"That's right," explained Danny. "Mr Rowle must have told you to take me to the shop at Shoreditch."

"Yeah, he did. Come on."

Luke led Danny out of Diagon Alley into Muggle London.

"Mr Rowle's picking 'em young, aint he?" said Luke.

"Anything for a Galleon!" said Danny.

"I haven't seen you before. Where's your beat?"

"Out of town. In Muggle land."

"Any trouble with the Muggle police?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I bet you coin it in!"

"I do OK."

"I never asked your name."

"Darren Smith."

"Luke McCormac. Pleased to meet you."

They shook hands.

They reached Tottenham Court Road underground station and boarded an eastbound train.

Luke took a seat but Danny, for posterior reasons, preferred to stand which meant that his small, but visible, bump was situated three feet from Luke's eyes.

Luke had noticed his bump and, when Danny saw this, he started to stiffen."

"You got a stalker. Can you do the full monty yet?" asked Luke.

"Yeah, just about."

Luke said no more but continued staring at Danny. His hand twitched once or twice and Danny knew that Luke badly wanted to caress him.

They alit at Liverpool Street and walked half a mile.

The newsagents was an old-fashioned shop in an area of old buildings. The street was very multicultural, but the shop bore the traditional English name: J. Fuller.

They stood on the opposite side of the road until the shop and adjacent pavements were clear.

"Wait here." said Danny and crossed the road.

Mr J. Fuller was, predictably enough, a dodgy-looking individual. As bent as a banana thought Danny—meaning criminal rather than heterosexual.

He didn't hang about but laid the full force of a Confundus on J. Fuller:

I am Mr Pucey.

I am shortly going to Brazil and I want you to forward all my mail to this address.

Danny gave the man a sheet of paper on which he had written:

Mr Pucey

Hotel Astoria Palace

Av. Atlantica, 1866

Rio de Janeiro

Estado de Rio de Janeiro 2202100

Brazil

PARA AGUADAR CHEGADA

Danny handed over some Muggle banknotes.

Here is fifty pounds to cover the costs.

If I or anyone else comes to collect letters or packets, you will tell me or them that you have not received any.

Danny left with a cheery "Goodbye, Mr Fuller."

"Goodbye, Mr Pucey."

He crossed the road.

"Now, Luke, let's get back to the underground. You'll be taking the red and I'll be on the yellow."

"Can we call in somewhere on the way?"

"I should think so. Where?"

"There's quite a good cottage down there. I thought we might have a bit of fun—you know renter-to-renter."

"Suits me, but my arse is totally off-limits. It's just had a terrible shagging. And my balls must be empty the number of times I came. But I'll give you a suck if you want."

"Alright, Darren."

Luke led the way to a public lavatory.

"Do you want me to wash it?" asked Luke.

"Not unless it's been poking women!"

"No, I haven't been with my girl for . . ."

Why do they feel they have to pretend? thought Danny.

They went down the steps and into a cubicle, unobserved.

Danny lowered the seat and sat down in the posture that so many Seniors had taken when they had wished to suck Danny.

He immediately sprang up. Goodness, his bum was sore!

He guided Luke to stand on the pedestal and pulled down the boy's shell-suit bottoms. They had integral underpants and Luke's stiffie flopped out. It had a huge tip but a narrow stalk—the wrong way round for bumming. Still, it was a respectable five-and-a-half inches and it's character was imprinted on Danny, like Luke's face, as a unique constituent of Luke-McCormacness.

He ignored the willy, though, and turned Luke round to deal with his bum first. This had the flabbiness that Danny was beginning to associate with rent boys, but it definitely had an invitational look to it.

He reached forward, delighting in the feel of the bum, flabby or not, and exposed a dark brown hole with a tan surround. There was a sparse cover of mousey hair but no signs of poo.

He sniffed the hole, first tentatively and then deeply. Luke might be a good wiper but he was not a good washer. Danny recognised the authentic, earthy smell of boy-bottom. It must have taken days, or even weeks, for Luke to build up his unique residue of sweat and poo.

Regretfully, Danny turned Luke round, but he lost his regrets as soon as he received the whiff of Luke's willy. It was an odour that was also the real thing: the authentic signature of a sexy boy's active penis.

There was a fishy component, a urine component and a sort of soapy component, though Danny was sure that this willy hadn't see any soap for days.

He moved his nose lower down and smelled the mysterious, elusive scent of Luke's ball-bag. It was sweaty—the morning was hot—but the fresh sweat was not copious enough to wash away the smell of what was presumably old sweat.

The scrotum was practically hairless. He licked it and savoured a salty, musky tang. The crinkly surface felt pleasant on his tongue. The big balls seemed to have a life of their own as they shifted under the pressure, rolling around in their sack.

Luke was twitching with pleasure, and his twitches became more excited as Danny raised his head and slowly licked Luke's glans.

Danny's nose was filled with the oily scent of Luke's willy and this scent was translating into a gamey flavour on his tongue.

When he flicked the underside of the big acorn with his tongue, Luke thrust and Danny opened his mouth wide to let him in.

To start with he simply carried on licking. It was a good mouthful and Danny had to stretch his tongue to get everywhere.

Then he closed his lips and started sucking and nodding, both hands pressing Luke's bum towards him.

Luke's willy was receiving a top-quality service. The top of the glans was pressed hard against the roof of Danny's mouth and the bottom against his tongue. As Danny rocked back and forth, the stimulation must have been as good as a wank so it was no surprise that Luke came quite soon.

A couple of spurts hit the back of Danny's throat and then no more. It was a bit disappointing, but Danny was not so naïf as to expect a rent boy's bollocks to be anything other than near-empty, still . . . Luke had big balls so it had been reasonable to hope for a bit more.

The good thing was that, as Luke's juice trickled down his throat, Danny picked up a touch of grapefruit flavour.

Danny thought about the Muggle experts who wrote volumes and spouted endlessly about the attributes of wines. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to read about and discuss the equivalent for boy-juices.

Danny smiled to himself at a mental picture:

Encyclopaedia of Semen

Fifth Edition

Ed. Daniel T. Jorrocks

Or:

Semen Monthly Magazine

True Story: Cambodian Cum in an Eskimo's Bum

Research: Semen for a Healthy Heart

Flavour of the month:

Crisp and Complex with Subtle Fruity Overtones,

Excellent Balance and a Smooth Finish

Humour: Your Top 100 Jokes About Seamen!

Still smiling, Danny led Luke out of the cubicle, up the stairs and into the street. Danny noticed that he had had an erection for ages but it seemed a sort of pro forma one, unaccompanied by the usual fierce desire. His own bollocks must be empty!

They stopped to let Luke light up.

Danny sniffed his fingertips. At one time or another during the proceedings, all his fingertips had pressed against (but not into) Luke's hole. Now he was reaping the benefit, though he wished there was a way to preserve the smell for ever.

"You give a good blow-job!" said Luke, "An' I liked it when you smiled at the end."

"I'm sorry it was rushed, mate. I even forgot to give you an opening snog."

"I don't kiss!" said Luke quickly, "though if you ever really want me to, I will."

Why do they feel they have to pretend? thought Danny again.

They set off for Liverpool Street and parted to go their separate ways.

"See yer, Darren!"

"See yer, Luke! OK! Confundo!"

He told Luke;

I'm a twenty-year-old six-foot-tall blond.

He nudged Luke gently towards the red underground and set off for the yellow one.

Trains from Victoria to Hildenborough ran hourly and, while Danny was waiting, he thought about his tinge of disappointment at Luke's low volume of cum.

Any cum, he thought, was something special: it was visible, tangible proof that your partner had been attracted to you. He thought of Bent Darren's a bit o' love an' that's what ev'ryone wants innit?

So, if cum proved Love, it was natural to feel that big cums meant more Love—especially as big cums meant a longer orgasm. There was also the practical point that big cums implied a long time since the last cum and that provided some indication of reliance on the current partner of the cummer.

There was another practical point: big cums gave you extra pleasure afterwards: they stained your clothes more; they tingled at the back of your nose for longer; they dribbled out your jacksie for longer; they left a crisp coating on your body.

But there was a counter-example: Danny found Colin Creevey's little blobs as exciting as anything. True, he loved Colin, but this was still minimum cum-size giving maximum enjoyment.

On the train, he considered what he should do at Hildenborough. He had already decided that his rôle should be purely observational. This was because he expected all sorts of Dark Magic that he'd never come across to be arrayed in protection of the Hall. Danny was brave, clever and skilled, but he knew that a good look was the first step.

He did not know many of the spells and techniques available to the dark wizards, but he tried to think about what he would do if he were Voldemort.

His thoughts drifted to his last train journey and the intoxicating feel of Grant's manhood as Danny groped about in his pocket. Danny had the horn and this time it was a businesslike sort of horn—definitely not pro forma. He must get in touch with Grant soon.

The train came in to Hildenborough and Danny went into the Gents and put on the Invisibility Cloak. He made his way down the platform and slipped out of the station exit.

He suspected that none of the locals would have been able to direct him to Hildenborough Hall and he thought it quite possible that asking for directions would trigger an Alarm Spell.

He was fairly certain that Apparition was undetectable but, of course, he might Apparate into trouble so he determined to Apparate only over short distances.

He also determined to be very quiet. Voldemort might have all sorts of invisible sentinels surrounding his current residence.

The first task, though, was to locate the Hall. Voldemort could, off course, have made it invisible, unfindable, unplottable; but communications had been proven to be complicated and people would probably be frequently coming and going in person, so Danny was fairly sure that, once he found the location, he would be able to see it.

He divided his mental map of the village into squares and Apparated along gridlines in forty-yard stages, stopping at each stage to listen very carefully.

He was unlucky in that he proceeded to almost every location except the right one until, after half an hour, he touched down in a field of cows and sensed that he was in the presence of Dark Magic.

He carefully walked a few yards along a thicket at the edge of the field and saw a house that he knew was the one he had been seeking.

Jugson had described his home as small. Indeed, this house was smaller than the Pucey's farmhouse, but it was still quite substantial.

Danny reinforced the Invisibility Cloak with a Disillusionment Charm and slowly walked on tiptoe around the house, taking care not to cross into its grounds.

There was a slight blurriness about the house's appearance and Danny was sure that it would be totally invisible to Muggles, even if they evaded the Repelling Charm.

The only approach to the house appeared to be a footpath that led through a dense wood towards the village.

He found a spot where he had a clear view of the front door. The footpath was to his right and the field of cows to the left. He settled down to wait.

There were no windows open—in fact they might be shuttered or boarded up on the inside, where there was neither sight or sound of activity.

It was late in the year and the birds were not singing, apart from the occasional sounding of the robin's melancholy autumn song. It was a windless day so there was little movement of the leaves on the trees. What he could hear was a rustling on the ground as mice and shrews scurried about and birds turned over fallen leaves or pecked in the mould.

He focused inwardly and was assured as he felt the strength of his Disillusionment Charm.

He waited for twenty minutes until something happened.

There was a CRACK! as a man Apparated into the unkept area by the front door.

Danny had not seen him before but he thought of Bent Darren's description: Fifty or so. Big 'n' fat but mousey wiv it—a born nonentity.

This was surely the same man.

The new arrival had stumbled and had hardly arisen from his seated posture before the door was opened and a small, scraggy, middle-aged man stood looking at him.

Danny thought he had never seen anyone so off-putting as the man standing in the doorway. It wasn't just the dirty robe and lack of haircut or shave, or the pinched rat-like face (How different from Piers' rattiness! thought Danny), but a sort of seediness of the soul. Danny knew, somehow, that this man was devoid of any moral principle except Fear—an ideal servant for Voldemort, thought Danny.

The seedy man said nothing but turned and re-entered the house, leaving the door open. Mr Nonentity followed him and closed the door behind him.

The rapidity with which Mr Seedy had appeared confirmed that there was at least one Alarm Charm on Hildenborough Hall. There would probably be many other defences, so Danny decided that, whatever happened, he would not set foot across the boundary.

He waited for another ten minutes and decided that there was nothing more to see.

Then he had another of his brainwaves and looked over at the cows. Their field was enclosed by a quickset hedge. On the side nearest to the Hall, a post-and-wire section had been inserted to cover a gap in the hawthorns.

He pointed his wand and neatly pushed a post down; then he envisaged the area surrounding the front door with long grass that was greener, moister and sweeter than any grass that was on Earth. He Confunded this image to the cows.

With a mooing and a snorting, the cows—about thirty in number—trotted through the gap in the hedge and milled about the front door as they sought the promised grass.

Danny murmured SAFE! to his Amulet.

Mr Seedy appeared at the door and gaped. Danny confunded terror of the cows into him and he screamed and ran back inside, leaving the door open in his panic.

Danny was ready to Disapparate, fearing that his spell projected into Voldemort's space would result in a counter-attack from the defence systems but all seemed safe.

A voice from inside the house called out: "Wormtail, what has frightened you so?"

It was a cold voice, an inhuman voice and it sent shivers through Danny's spine.

"Monsters, Lord! Monsters!"

"Perhaps Nagini can deal with these monsters."

The cold voice broke into a strange sibilance that reminded Danny of something that he couldn't quite remember.

Then, out of a window, through a gap that Danny hadn't noticed before, something moved.

It was the head of a snake swiftly followed by its thick, sinuous body.

Danny thought: Of course! Parseltongue!

He had read about this language previously. It was desribed as being a serpent-like hissing.

But he didn't have time to congratulate himself on another first. The huge snake—Nagini was its name, he supposed—had looked all round and then pointed its head at Danny with its tongue flickering in and out.

Danny knew that snakes detected things by vibration and he realised that, although his Disillusionment Charm protected him by sight and sound, it clearly had let him down in this respect.

The snake had drawn its body into a coil and was clearly preparing to fling itself at Danny.

He raised his wand and pointed it at the snake's head.

He had to make a lightning decision: either Disapparate or Confund.

There was nothing in the literature on the Confunding of Serpents and it was this that decided him.

In the interests of extending the knowledge-base of the Good side, he let fly with a Confundus accompanied by the image:

Those monsters are going to attack your Master!

Nagini immediately set off to position himself between the front door and the cows who were stampeding away in terror.

There was more hissing inside the house and then Voldemort himself appeared.

Danny knew it was Voldemort because of an aura of extreme evil—something he had never experienced before.

The man—if you could call it a man—was revolting in appearance—a skull clothed in a minimal amount of flesh. There was no hair. The nose, eyebrows and eyelids were completely absent. The unblinking eyes were red and there were two slits where the nose should have been. A pair of deformed-looking vestigial ears had the appearance of worm-casts.

He—no it—pointed its wand in the direction of Nagini and then towards the cows.

At this point Mr Nonentity came out of the door and asked: "What is happening, my Lord?"

Then! Then! Danny had his chance!

Voldemort was facing him frontally his wand stretched to the left and his head looking over his right shoulder.

Danny pointed his wand at the heart.

He couldn't do it!

The moment had passed and the foul figure swirled his wand through a semicircle.

Danny felt a reluctance to move and sensed the impossibility of moving should he try.

Voldemort had cast a powerful Immobilising Spell—immensely stronger than any Freezing Charm that Danny knew.

For a moment Danny thought that he was doomed and wondered if there was any pain when you were hit by a Killing Curse, but the Amulet must have weakened the Immobilising Spell so that, by concentrating hard, he found that he could neutralise it totally.

He decided to leave, but not before testing his Disillusionment Charm to the limit.

"DARK LORD,MY ARSE!" he shouted.

"DARK AS IN DENSE AND LORD AS IN A BIG TURD PLOPPED ON TOP OF LITTLE TURDS."

There was no reaction from Voldemort and Danny Apparated to the Dorchester.

— CHAPTER SIXTEEN —London University

He was disgusted with the whole situation. He had witnessed real evil for the first time and had vacillated when he had had the chance to fight it decisively.

He felt defiled. Oliver Wood could piss and shit on him for a hundred years and he would never feel so defiled.

Scumbag was the ultimate understatement.

Thank goodness he would be seeing Colin and Dennis that evening. He would not be able to tell them about Scumbag, but he would allow their clean, decent purity to cleanse his soul

And later, he would strike at least a small blow against Evil—no, not a small blow: a gigantic blow. He was going to save a human life.

In the meantime, there was lunch!

He could not phone Piers because he would have had to endure a motherly inquisition which would have revealed Piers' undoubted earlier lies to her.

He tried Dot and Alice but there was no answer. Perhaps they were celebrating—perhaps with Piers, even—at their local, but he wasn't going to go there on the off-chance.

His bum was stinging and his hole was throbbing so he Dittanised himself again before setting out to walk to Diagon Alley.

Quite near to the Leaky Cauldron he saw an Italian trattoria and realised that he was hungry. As he entered the Cauldron, he debated whether to lunch at Frangipani's in the Alley or in Muggle land. His mouth watered at the prospect of a doughy, meat-laden pizza.

He decided to invite Oliver Wood out to broaden his Muggle restaurant experience, but Quality Quidditch Supplies was, as it always seemed to be these days, packed and he could only have the briefest of chats.

"Hi, Ollie! Any chance you can come out to lunch?"

"Was that what you wanted? I thought maybe you were up for more friskiness!"

"Well, lunch was the main mission . . . ."

"Forget it, Danny. It's sandwiches for me."

"It's all gone mad!"

"It's the World Cup. Never mind the Dark Mark; the game's never been so popular. Now I'd better get back on the Job!"

"Any time, Big Boy!" and Danny smiled his way out of the shop.

Danny made slow progress down the Alley as he stopped to have a chat with a few Hogwarts or ex-Hogwarts colleagues—the younger ones with their mothers; the older ones in twos and threes.

The gossip would have been mainly about Harry, but Danny staunchly manifested a lack of interest and changed the subject—would Snape be the new Professor of DADA was a popular alternative.

One group of friends had other things on their minds: Mandy Brocklehurst and the Patil twins gave Danny a grilling.

"Is it true Danny?" asked Mandy, "Were you and Dean Thomas snogging outside Gringotts on Saturday?"

"Might have been."

"And did he whisper in your ear that he loved you?"

Danny laughed. Girls had such brilliant powers of extrapolation!

"If he whispered, then it must have been a secret so I'm not going to tell you, am I?"

"And did he really feel your thing?"

Danny laughed more loudly.

"He was hugging me! How many arms do you think he has?"

Mandy looked disappointed, but then brightened up.

"Is he your boyfriend, Danny? We never thought Dean was gay! He's such a man!" she said.

The Patils giggled.

"Perhaps he's just waiting for the right girl." said Danny.

"Tell him from me that he'll find the right girl in Ravenclaw!"

"Isn't he a bit old for you, Mandy?"

Mandy Brocklehurst had once famously seduced Dennis Creevey who was three years her junior.

She now moved closer to Danny and asked him: "Are you suggesting someone younger, you little sex-machine?"

Danny laughed even more uproariously.

"You're nearly right. I am a little sex-machine, but I only go round one way!"

"Backwards!" giggled Parvati and her sister joined in the laughter.

"Anyway," said Danny, "what are you three doing in Diagon Alley when you could be relaxing in the beautiful countryside?"

"Buying stuff for the new school year," said Parvati, "Some people leave it all till the day before, but that's a nightmare."

"And we get a chance to look at the talent." said Padma.

"Not much about today," said Danny, looking around. There was indeed a dearth of likely lads.

"Well, as there's no Harry and none of these fab Frogs and Krauts, we've got to settle on the one really attractive boy," said Parvati.

Danny was interested.

"Where?" he asked, looking around again.

The three girls tittered and Danny realised he'd been silly.

"Have you ever caught a fart in a colander?" he giggled.

"Ooh, Danny! . . . One day!" said Mandy. Was she quivering?

Danny had no wish to be near a quivering Mandy so, after hurried goodbyes, set course for Gambol and Japes with Mandy's Tell Dean that Ravenclaw expects! sounding behind him.

Danny smiled and thought: Ravenclaw expects but Hufflepuff gets! Hufflepuff had a centuries-old tradition of being the sex-mad house. Many highly-respected pure-blood surnames derived from Hufflepuff frolics in the days before the Begetless Charm protected Hogwarts girls from the consequences of their intense interest in penises. This school year Danny and Mandy would be competing for male flesh, but Danny suspected that most of the cock that was going would be won by those lucky, lucky Hufflepuff girls—what a waste!

He smiled further when he remembered a bit of Hogwarts lore that figured neither in the textbooks nor in the late Professor Binns' lectures.

In the early years of the century Hufflepuff's door would yield either to the oft-changing password or to a special rhyme.

Any well-developed, tumescent boy from another house could gain entry by reciting:

Jill be nimble

Jill be flash

Jill be ready

With your Gash.

Of course, the Hufflepuff boys were miffed and decided that they would invite girls from other houses, their admission rhyme being:

Jack be nimble

Jack be quick,

Jack be ready

With your Dick.

It is not recorded how many students were ready with their Dicks and Gashes before the rhymes were discovered and neutralised by Professor Dippet in 1937.

In times past, Danny remembered, the original form of the rhyme had been:

Jack be nimble

Jack be quick,

Jack jump over

The candlestick.

This referred to the practice, in these highly-segregated days, of girls using candles as substitute willies—hence the classic goodnight line from Hufflepuff schoolmistresses: Candles out girls!

Danny was slouching along and chuckling at those centuries of Hufflepuff antics when he became aware that he had company. He turned and saw the welcome face of Bent Darren.

"Hello Darren! Fancy some lunch?"

"Please, Danny."

"We'll go to Muggle land. I don't want to be seen too much with you."

The boys turned and set off for the Cauldron.

They reached QQS and Darren pointed and said: "There's my mate Luke!"

Luke was dreamily staring at a picture of the virile Viktor Krum. He started rather guiltily when Danny and Darren came up to him.

"Awright Daz."

"Awright Luke. What yer doin' ?"

"Bored. Got up too early. The only daytime punter there's been in years was that pretty boy you told us of. Oh . . ." Luke had realised who Darren's pretty boy had been and stared in wonderment.

"Do you know Danny?" said Darren.

"No; pleased ter meet you, Danny. I'm Luke."

The two boys shook hands.

"Would you like to join us for a bite to eat, Luke?" asked Danny.

"Please!"

The three of them left the magic area and walked a quarter of a mile to the Italian place that Danny had seen earlier. In the busy streets it was too noisy to do much talking, but Danny thought about the Confundus he had laid on Luke.

Danny had represented himself to Luke firstly as a scruffy, dark-haired rent boy chicken under Mr Rowle's control, and then as a tall, blond young assistant to Mr Rowle. Now he would be presented by Bent Darren as a baby punter. The Confundus would be thoroughly tested.

As they walked, Danny assessed Bent Darren. He had smartened himself up—and had a few washes, to judge by the lack of smell, since Danny had met him four days before.

As soon as they were settled in the trattoria and had given their order, the two rent boys began to gabble. They were both seasoned habituées of the Muggle world and exchanged reminiscences of earlier visits to Muggle restaurants.

Danny let them chat and soon, as he had expected, the subject of Mr Rowle came up.

"I got some good news, Daz," said Luke.

"Go on," said Darren.

"Mr Rowle's got a new man and he's really young and nice."

"Makes a change. What's 'e like?"

"He's called Darren Smith; 'bout twenty; tall, blond and absolutely gorgeous. You know I'm basically straight—"

Darren nodded. Danny remembered the banter between Steve and Tom and noted how much politer were wizard rent boys.

"—well, I tell you what, Daz, this Darren could do anything 'e wanted to me and I'd be begging for more."

"I bin feeling that way 'bout one of my punters, Luke," said Darren.

"Must be the same one!"

"No, my punter's sitting next to me now!"

Luke stared again at Danny.

"I can't get over you being a punter, Danny?" he said, "You could have anyone you liked and they'd pay you.

"You exaggerate!" laughed Danny, "But I like being a punter. I'm Gay and proud of it!"

"Wow! And do you know this Darren Smith?"

"No, I've got nothing to do with this Mr Rowle."

"Except he's like the rest of us and wonders what's going on." said Darren.

"Don't wonder too hard, Danny," said Luke, "Apart from Darren Smith, they're a nasty lot."

"Danny knows that," said Darren, "but, Danny, maybe you didn't know: Mr Rowle came 'imself last night and—this is dead secret; keep it to yourself—'e told us to deliver to the Ministry, never mind the address on the letter."

"That's good news," said Danny, "It means what you're doing is official business."

" 'E promised us money too," said Luke.

"I'll believe that when I see it!" laughed Darren, "They're all back-to-fronts—this Darren Smith, though, he sounds OK. Tell us about him, Luke."

"Well, Mr Rowle sent him to me so I could take him to that place up East. We went there an' 'e done the biz and then we done a bit more biz in a cottage."

"Go on!" said Darren.

"We got in a toilet 'an 'e give me the best blow-job I've ever had in me life."

"You lucky bugger! Did you do him too?"

"No, 'e'd bin up to everything all night—I saw he was limping."

"Like you when I met you, Danny!" laughed Darren.

"And like me again today. I'm afraid I was well and truly sorted last night—and this morning come to that!"

"Shit! I was sort of hoping that Luke 'n' me could do some business with you and we wouldn't charge would we, Luke?"

"No fear!"

Darren's bum and Luke's foot had been pressed against Danny from the moment they had sat down.

"Did you get any moola from Darren Smith?" asked Bent Darren.

"No; it was the only way he was like the rest of Mr Rowle's gang."

Danny felt a bit guilty. He would have paid Luke handsomely had he thought about it. On the other hand, he felt proud to have given the best blow-job I've ever had in me life to an experienced rent boy.

Darren said: "I'd like to meet 'im —'e sounds hot."

"He is hot! I had to stop off in the Cauldron Toilet for a wank just thinkin' about 'im."

Their meals came and, as though they were embarrassed by their admissions of lust for Danny in his two avatars and were anxious to re-establish their heterosexual credentials, Darren and Luke discussed women in general and their girlfriends in particular.

Danny believed that Darren lived and had sex with a girl-prostitute, but guessed that he was, deep down, much more gay than straight.

Luke appeared to live in a shared house with half-a-dozen mixed-gender straights and Danny guessed that it was only peer-pressure that kept him from admitting to himself and the world that he was totally gay.

He let the other two have their strut around the hetero farmyard and then diverted them to a more important topic.

"How's your balls, Darren?"

"Eh?"

"Full or empty, I mean?"

"Very full, Danny; and ready for anything you want!"

In his eagerness to get together with Danny, Darren had come out with the truth, not in the least bothered that a few minutes previously he had been describing how he banged the missus two or three times every night.

"Then, as Luke's balls have been so delightfully emptied this morning, as have mine, I suggest that Darren is ready to do a bit of bumming."

"I'll go for that!" said Darren.

Danny continued: "And as my bumhole has been reamed to smithereens, I hope, Luke, that, for a suitable payment, you might be willing to provide yours."

Luke had opened his mouth, but closed it when he heard the magic word payment.

"Not much in it for you Danny," said Darren, "Wouldn't you rather wait until your own bumhole . . ."

Darren was twitching. He had confessed on Monday evening to a lust for Danny's bottom. Danny would have bet anything that Darren was currently rock-hard.

"There's lots in it for me, I assure you!" he said.

"Where shall we go?" asked Luke.

"I've had a clever idea: it's still August and we're surrounded by hundreds of empty lecture rooms and thousands of empty student bedrooms."

"Lets go then!" Luke was keen—surely keener for something more than payment.

Danny settled the bill and they walked in the general direction of King's Cross. They passed a big block of student halls-of-residence.

"Wait here," said Danny and entered.

There was an efficient-looking woman at the front desk.

It took about ten seconds for Danny to Confund a key from her.

He waved the other two in and they got in a lift.

"Did you use Confundus, Danny? We'll have the Ministry after us." said Darren.

"Don't worry, I got a Wizarding Proxy Service to do it."

Danny didn't suppose that such a thing as a Wizarding Proxy Service existed. It was a good idea, though . . .

They got out at the sixth floor and found their room.

A bed, chair, desk, cupboard, shelf and wash-basin were crammed into a tiny space.

Luke, with professional efficiency, lowered his bottoms and bent over the bed while Darren didn't waste time either: he walked to the bed, dropped his bottoms and was poised over Luke's bottom with a slightly-dripping stiffie and a jar of something.

"Lads, lads!" said Danny, "There's no hurry! Come here!"

He manœuvred them into a three-way hug and held it while engaging Darren in a deep wet kiss. The taste suggested that Darren was a stranger to toothpaste, but you can't win 'em all, thought Danny and continued to lick the inside of Darren's mouth with gusto.

He turned to Luke and found less flavour and more tongue movement. Danny had never snogged a girl, but he imagined that Luke was a girly kisser. He was very dribbly and Danny's upper lip, chin and cheeks were soon awash.

After taking some time to enjoy Luke's noisy slurps, he broke off and didn't need to encourage Darren and Luke, who knew what was expected of them and embarked on a passionate kiss (despite Luke's avowal that morning: I don't kiss! and Darren's I don't do kissin' from Saturday)

There was real passion in it, too. Their hips were twisting and lunging and their grips tightened and moved down to squeeze Danny's (and presumably each other's) buttocks.

Danny thought how they were used to doing business with old or middle-aged men, usually looking for a change from their wives. It must be pleasant to have two young companions; to be free to luxuriate in total gayness (allowed because they were being paid to do it); to find physical expression for the rent boy comradeship which was so apparent in Knockturn Alley.

He broke things up with a command: "Totally naked!" and the boys complied willingly enough

Luke passed the jar from the bed to Darren and resumed his former position bent over the bed.

"What's that, Daz?" asked Danny, taking the jar.

"It's a good Muggle lubricant."

It was called Vaseline. Danny smelt it and didn't like it much.

"I got a better one," said Danny and dug the tube of antiseptic cream from his rucksack.

"I'll sort it," he said, then glancing at Darren's stiffie from which a three-inch slither of clear goo was dropping onto the floor, "Won't be long!"

For the second time that day, he moved his head towards Luke's bottom. The light was much better and he could see that the bottom wasn't just flabby; it was big—at least out of proportion to the rest of Luke's body.

He dropped the tube and used both hands to play with the wobbly cheeks. He saw that the wispy, mousy hair was thicker than he'd thought in the cottage. And there, amid the wisps, a really lovely hole, a hole that he suddenly felt a fierce urge to shag—an urge that increased when he bent and took in the delicious earthy scent. For Harry's sake he couldn't stick his willie in, but he was going to stick everything else in, beginning with his nose.

Luke's bumhole didn't have Colin's magical properties, but, by Merlin, Danny was enjoying it!

He sniffed for a long time, then started licking. As he pressed his tongue harder against the hole, he had the delicious feeling of his facial cheeks being caressed by Luke's bumcheeks.

The pucker wasn't yielding and, reluctantly, Danny moved on to the fingering phase, starting, unusually, with the little finger—Luke was really tight. Danny guessed that, as part of his outward and inward suppression of his gayness, Luke had restricted access to his arse much more than a rent boy should.

Danny used plenty of cream and very gently worked Luke until his hole could take Danny's first two fingers. As a wry reminder to himself of what might have been, he ended by sticking his willy in for a few seconds. Then he pulled out and turned to the bummer-in-waiting.

Darren had stood patiently through all this. He must have needed all his rent boy experience to passively endure the sight of his current bum of choice mincing about before his eyes while its owner worked on another boy's bum.

Now he came into his own. He positioned his willy against the hole and pressed gently.

"Okay, mate?"

"Yeah, Okay."

Darren's patience persisted and it took some time until he was right up.

Danny was half amused and half touched that, even in this amorous situation, when the sweetest of endearments would be in order, Darren and Luke would go no further than the most intimate term allowed between straight males; Okay, mate? Yeah; little bit more, mate. They might have been a couple of workmen moving a piano.

But now Darren was gently beginning to rock. Danny looked at the pear-shaped bum and bent again, this time to bury his nose in Darren's hole.

Darren had cleaned himself up in the previous four days, but it was still rather dirty. Danny was able to savour the earthy, musky bum-signature—so similar to Luke's and yet so special to Darren. There was a nutty tinge and a spicy tinge—ginger—Ginger Nuts!

He got to work with his tongue and, by the time Darren had started his race to the finish, Danny's tongue was just inside the ringpiece and sensing the twitching of Darren's sphincter muscles.

Danny stood up, better to enjoy the sight of Darren going hammer and tongs at Luke. He started wanking and it only took a dozen strokes before he came—six pulses, the second producing a half-inch spurt which was unexpected considering his recent testicular workload.

He reached down and collected his little blob with his thumb, which he then pushed into Darren's bumhole, treating his perineal area to a gentle internal and external massage.

Darren groaned gently and started a long, long come. As he thrust more slowly, but with more force, Danny could feel the muscles in spasm beneath his thumb and fingers. There were many cum-strokes and Danny guessed that Darren was pumping a lot of juice into Luke.

At last Darren lay still. After a bit of panting, he rose slowly. Danny withdrew his thumb and noticed that Luke was reaching for his underpants, which he had placed on the bed. These professionals were so efficient!

Danny wasn't going to let Darren's creation go to waste. He put his hand on Luke's and said: "I'll do that!" just as Darren's willy exited with a slurpy sound.

Danny reached for his own underpants and gave Luke's bumhole area a preliminary clean. Then he positioned the underpants tightly underneath the hole and said: "Let it go, Luke!"

Luke did let it go and there was a huge amount of it. The situation was very sexy and Danny's willy started to stiffen again.

He carefully lifted his pants and squidged them to spread the pool of semen. He found a dry bit to give Luke's bum a last wipe and then he gave the pants a good sniffing before putting them on.

The two rent boys gaped and looked at each other. Danny put their thoughts into words: "I know, I know! How could such a young boy be such a pervert? Well, boys, it's the way I am and I'm glad of it!"

"You aint a pervert!" said Darren and patted Danny's bottom. Then he grinned and smelled his hand. "It's Mr Rowle's gang that's the perverts."

"Yeah, you're OK, Danny," said Luke, "Did we do everything you wanted?"

"You did exactly what I wanted. And I see you even managed another come of your own—third today!"

There was a small stain on the bed cover which, being for student use, was of rough beige on which such small stains wouldn't show up when dry.

"Yeah," said Luke, "and thank you for that, Daz. I'll get my own back one of these days!"

"Anytime, Luke!" laughed Bent Darren, "And that goes for you, too, Danny. You want a replay and it's always on the house an' if you offer your own bum, I'll even pay, never mind the Renter's Union!"

"That goes for me too, Dan," said Luke, "I've met two smashing boys today. I hope you get to meet Darren Smith. He's a lot like you and I'm sure you'd get on."

"That reminds me," said Danny, "There's one way I'm not like him: I pay my way honestly."

He reached in his money-belt. "Sixty pounds each. . .shut up!" This last was to cut off the two renters' protests that they didn't want paying.

He reached in his rucksack. "And ten Galleons. . .don't start again!"

Three boys dressed, tidied the room and left the building, dropping the key off on the way.

On the pavement, Danny said: "I'm going to King's Cross. Which way are you going?"

The other two were going home so, after multiple handshakes and goodbyes, they set off in three directions.

The sesh had cheered Danny up after his depressing encounter with Voldemort. He was almost walking on air when he stopped and said out loud: "They cannot really mean that!"

What had amazed him was a bookshop called Gay's the Word. On inspection it turned to be exactly what it unbelievably said.

Danny went in, nodded to the assistant and single customer, both of whom gawped at him, and started browsing.

The fiction he soon dismissed. Who, apart from children, would want to read stories about gays when they could be taking part in their own gay story?

The Gay History books were another matter and he selected eight books which he thought would be useful in the Hogwarts library for Muggle Studies. This took half an hour of browsing and, all the time, he was enjoying the sensation of his underpants slowly drying.

Danny's kind-heartedness led him to include two Lesbian-only books in his selection.

He went to the counter to pay and suddenly became aware that the shop had filled up substantially over the last few minutes. There were now eight or nine browsers. For a moment he felt panic as he wondered if Mr Rowle's gang had identified him as an enemy and followed him. He held his wand tightly as he mouthed Safe! to his Amulet. There was no doubt that people were furtively observing him, but then he realised that they had been drawn here by the Gay bush-telegraph, or rather mobile phone. He could just imagine it: Can't be a day over eleven and he's looking at all the gay books. . . you must come and see. . .

Smiling, and regretting that he could not spare some time to meet the clientèle, he settled up and walked smartly out the shop. Two or three men straggled after him but he was soon across the road, in the lift of a big hotel and had Apparated to the Dorchester before they were anywhere near him.

— CHAPTER SEVENTEEN —Mr Rowle Neutralised

In his room Danny dumped his books, had a poo—pleased that his underpants were still niffy—brushed his teeth and put a fresh tube of antiseptic cream, together with a tiny flask in his rucksack.

He thought of ringing Fulham again, but decided not to as he needed to be able to concentrate on one thing only from now on.

After a last check that he had everything he needed, Danny Apparated to Birmingham and within a minute had responded correctly to If you can hear this say fifty, and was being hugged by the Creevey brothers.

After a cup of tea and a chat with Mr and Mrs Creevey, all the little Creeveys and several Creevey hangers-on, the three of them retired to the end bedroom.

After a SICK in which the cuddle part was very gropey, Colin, not beating about the bush, ordered: "Right, Danny! Get 'em off!"

Danny stepped backwards.

"Later! We've got important business to see to first . . . though I'll let you have a quick sniff of this before it dries."

He lowered his trousers exposing the heavily-stained pants.

Colin and Dennis knelt and had some long sniffs.

"Helluva cum!" said Colin, "Whose is it?"

"Tell you later. First the newspapers."

Colin fished out two complete issues of the local paper folded to reveal the key items of news.

"We thought it was a brilliant idea, Dan," said Dennis, "passing a real death off as Steve's pretend death."

"Let's have a look," said Danny.

One of the deaths was of a man aged twenty-three who had drowned in the canal. The other was of an eighteen-year-old who looked to have died of a drug overdose.

"I don't fancy drawing Mr Rowle's attention to canals," said Danny, "Let's go with this one."

The selected article read:

Man Found Dead at

Erdington Flat

AN investigation has been launched following the sudden death of a young man in Erdington.

An ambulance was called to a block of flats on Gravelly Hill and paramedics contacted West Midlands Police at around 8.15am.

Police officers arrived soon afterwards and the man, believed to have been eighteen, was confirmed dead at the scene.

West Midlands Police say that foul play is not suspected.

"How are you going to draw this to Mr Rowle's attention?" asked Colin.

"I reckon it's best if Tom, who's known to be Steve's mate, does it."

"That's putting him at risk. Will you be there to protect him?"

"I'll be there pretending to be him."

"Oh, yeah. And Confund the lads who know what he looks like."

"No, I'm gonna take on Tom's appearance."

"Danny!"

Colin was amazed.

"You don't mean to say you can do Corporeal Impersonation?"

"No, I've got some Polyjuice."

"That's illegal!" said Dennis.

"Yes, but it's undetectable and doesn't trigger the Trace. Hermione's used it."

Dennis said: "So that's what you wanted Tom and Steve to be at home for. They promised to be in from two o'clock."

Colin said: "And then you just go down to the Rent Scene and wait for Mr Rowle and when he comes show him the paper—"

"—and claim my hundred pounds," said Danny, "I don't suppose he'll pay up, but I'll try and seem desperate for it."

"So how do we do it?" asked Colin.

"First we go shopping!"

Danny explained his scheme and the others reckoned it to be sound.

They were on the way to the city centre when Dennis stopped and said: "Oh, Danny?"

"What is it, Den?" asked Colin.

"What if he wants to have sex with Danny?"

"Bloody hell! Imagine forgetting that," said Danny, "I suppose I'll have to risk a little light Confunding."

"Jugson too," said Colin.

"Oh, I haven't had time to tell you: Jugson's out of it."

Danny described Monday night's events.

"So there's only Mr Rowle to worry about," said Colin.

"But he might be randy and come back tomorrow, or anytime," said Dennis.

"You could give him the same as Jugson," said Colin.

"Too suspicious," said Danny, "Besides, he likes mouth not bottom."

They thought for a bit, then Colin said: "Well, if you can't give him a disease you could give the boys a disease—only pretend, of course."

"That's it, Col! We could all have horrible sores. Furnunculus is hideous and painless. If he thinks it's a Muggle disease and not a spell, he'll never come back. And it's only classed as a Fun Curse so it won't trigger alarms at the Ministry."

"Sorted!" said Dennis.

"Not quite," said Danny, "I've never cast it and I'd need to practise."

"Off course, Dan!" said Colin.

"Off course, Dan!" said Dennis.

"Mind you, you'll owe us big big big time!" said Colin.

"I'll stay the night and pay you everything I owe."

"And tell us more about Monday night—" said Dennis.

"—And about did Oliver Wood beat up Piers—" said Colin

"—And what else you've been doing—"

"—And have you seen Dot and Alice—"

"—And who gave you all that cum today—"

"—And—"

"Steady on! My head's dizzy! Let's just get on with the shopping."

"And make Love Love Love all night!" said Dennis, as a defiant Parthian shot.

After visiting a "sports" shop to buy clothes and a supermarket to buy a pair of gloves, a hairbrush, handkerchiefs, self-sealing envelopes and scissors—all in plastic wraps—the three young wizards repeatedly talked through the plan as they walked to the men's toilet of a posh department store.

There, they had a pee—with the usual peeking and flashing and giggling—and Danny washed his hands very carefully before putting on the gloves. Freedom from contamination was essential.

They set off down the towpath and found Steve and Tom at home. They looked well.

After cheerful greetings, all five boys squeezed into the already-frowsty tent and Danny explained:

"Today's the day, boys! We're going to help you Steve and maybe you Tom as well.

"The idea is that we've got a friend who looks like he could be a mate of Steve and he's gonna persuade this geezer and his gang that Steve's dead so they'll leave you alone.

"The other thing is to try and sort Tom out which means first thing to check whether the police have really got his DMA."

"DNA," corrected Tom.

"Off course. First thing is to collect a sample of yours, Tom, so please sit quite still. Colin the brush."

Colin unsealed the hairbrush and started work on Tom's long, slightly matted hair.

Danny thought the hair was quite attractively coloured being a fairly light brown with a little bit of red—but not enough to make it definitely sandy.

He also thought that brushing someone else's hair was an intimate, if innocent, activity and that the beautiful Colin would be really testing Tom's sexuality.

After a couple of minutes, Danny said: "That should do it. Now we'll wait a while for the dust to settle."

"How's it gonna work, Danny," asked Tom.

"We've got a tame policeman who'll run a check."

"And what if it comes up?"

"Then a little bribery may be needed."

"You're all real pals to do this for me."

"It's not just to save you from a four-do-two, we're trying to save both your lives—from murder or heroin and gurt wold murder and gurt wold 'eroin offends us summat turble!"

Tom laughed: "That's Zummerzet, not Brizzle."

Steve laughed too. "West Country starts at Kidderminster!" he said.

"West country starts at Foive Wise!" chipped in Dennis.

After a minute of regional banter, Danny said: "On with the show!"

The gloves came off and Dennis was carefully holding an open envelope and Colin a well-wiped, open flask.

Danny snipped a tiny lock of Tom's hair and dropped it into the envelope which Dennis sealed; then a second lock which he dropped in the flask.

At once the contents of the flask started a sort of fizzing, but without the gas, and turned a nice jade green.

"That's magic!" said Tom, and the wizards avoided each other's eyes.

Colin closed the flask and Danny stowed it, together with the envelope, in his rucksack.

"Now Tom, can you swap your clothes for these, please?" said Danny.

"Your friend's not going to wear them is he? They're dirty."

"That's precisely the reason that we need them."

"Outside clothes only?"

"Yeah."

"Thank gawd for that!"

Tom started divesting in the crowded tent. No-one volunteered to go outside to make more room: Steve was apathetic and the other three were avid for the show.

There wasn't much of a show, though Colin later said that he'd got a good view of a bump four inches from his face.

When Tom was clothed again, he said: "Good swap! The best gear going."

"That was Colin," said Danny, "Trainers fit?"

"Yeah, fine."

"That was Dennis."

Danny bagged the old clothes and stowed the bag in his rucksack.

"Right! We're off!" said Danny.

"Good luck!" said Steve.

"And we really mean it!" laughed Tom.

Ten minutes later, the boys were back at the Creevey's and soon found themselves SICK'd and ready for the test.

Danny pointed his wand at Colin's face and thought: OK! Furnunculus!

Immediately Colin's face burst out in the most horrible suppurating boils and sores.

"Aaaargh! It's horrid!" said Dennis.

"Let me see!" said Colin dashing to the Mirror.

"Any pain?" asked Danny.

"Not really," said Colin, peering closely at his reflection, "But it feels unpleasant and there's a nasty smell."

Danny thought: OK! Finite! and Colin's face became as smooth and unblemished as before. He went over to Colin and kissed his face all over just to be sure.

"Do me, Danny!" said Dennis.

"Wait a minute, Den," said Colin and turned to Danny: "Danny, are you doing it non-verbally?"

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone. And I'm doing it in your flat, but don't tell anyone."

"But what about the Trace?" asked Colin.

"It's all sorted, but don't tell anyone."

"But Danny—" began Dennis.

"Don't ask, brothers! Suppose someone wanted to learn my secrets. They'd know I'm not too bad at Occlumency so they'd turn to my dearest friends and a skilled Legilimens would very soon know everything your minds know about me. So there are some things I just can't tell you—at least not while Scumbag's around."

"They'd find out about our sex life!" said Dennis.

"Oh Dennikins!" said Harry, giving Dennis a hug, "That's not secret, it's just that it's polite to keep it private."

Colin came over to join the hug and then said: "Go on, Dan, ruin Dennis!"

Danny obliged and spent a couple of minutes practising, including self-inflicting. Then came a knock on the door and a call of Supper!—still the most effective spell to attract teen males.

Before they left the room, Danny told the brothers: "I'll be Apparating out of here at half past seven, but don't tell anyone!"

The meal was as rumbustious as usual and Danny was quite glad to be back in the bedroom and able to concentrate on the task in hand.

He took his clothes off—all of them—and put Tom's on.

"Take the Polyjuice here, Danny, so's we can see what Tom's like," said Colin.

"Sorry, Col, It only lasts an hour and I want to take it as late as possible."

"Aw! I wanted you to shag me with Tom's willy," said Dennis.

Danny and Colin laughed.

"It's weird, isn't it?" said Danny, "Maybe later, but there's only one priority now: there's lives at stake."

He had to roll his trackie bottoms up a long way and hold them up with one hand. He magically enlarged the right-hand pocket to give himself more wand-room and his left-hand pocket to hold the all-important newspaper. His top was like a tent and he had to shuffle as his trainers were at least three sizes too big.

The Creeveys were in hysterics by the time he had kissed them goodbye, donned the Invisibility Cloak and Disapparated.

The first thing that he did when he landed at the car park by the Rent Scene was to apply a Disillusionment Charm and stow the Invisibility Cloak in his rucksack—it was one encumbrance too many.

He shuffled down towards the steps and saw that there were four boys there: two who had been there on Monday, one new one who looked nearer thirty than twenty, and fat, blond Darren.

He had last seen Darren being given ten pounds instead of the promised fifty for a hard shag, but he supposed that ten pounds would buy his next wrap of heroin which was all he really wanted.

There was, unsurprisingly, no sign of the boy who had pulled a knife on Mr Rowle two days earlier.

He checked his Disillusionment by shouting out to them: "Get your cocks out for the lads!"

No Reaction. Good!

When he got quite near to them he laid a Confundus:

This evening a rash will appear on the faces of some of you.

This will look nasty, but it is a mild infection known as THE PLAGUE and usually heals up in a few weeks.

Only one rent boy has died so far from complications.

You are not worried about the rash; it is just part of life.

He waited some way up the road and after ten minutes Confunded a fifth boy who turned up.

He noticed one punter who drove round the block three times but apparently found nothing to his taste.

He quite enjoyed the wait. This was the culmination of his efforts. He anticipated success and wouldn't even think about failure. He was longing to know what it was like to have a man's body.

And as a background to all his thoughts Tom's clothes, nicely warmed up, were giving off an attractive, mellow boy-odour.

At eight o'clock the phut he had been expecting sounded and he shuffled quickly around the far corner from the steps and drank half the Polyjuice.

Immediately he had a very odd feeling as every bit of his body changed. After about fifteen seconds, he reckoned he was fully grown and adjusted his clothing, rolling down his bottoms and tying the waist-chord.

As soon as he had done up his laces, he dodged behind a parked car, gave his face the Furnunculus and removed the Disillusionment Charm.

Standing up, he slouched back round the corner and towards the steps. He knew Mr Rowle was watching from the car park.

The boys were not exactly pleased to see him, but welcomed a diversion from the numbness of hanging around doing nothing.

"Awright Tom," said a couple of them.

"Awright."

"Where yer bin?" asked one boy.

"In the pen. I was meant to get out at nine this morning. They're taking the piss." He found the Brizzle or Zummerzet accent much easier in Tom's body.

"What yer in fer?"

Danny gave two boys the Furnunculus before saying: "Aggravated Burglary."

"Was Muggle wiv yer?"

"You're joking! Muggle's bin dead fer three weeks. Didn't you hear?"

"No! What he die of?"

"OD—me missus told me when she were visitin'. She saved me the paper—look."

The boys gathered round and one of the more literate read the article aloud by the light of a street lamp.

"What was he doin' in Erdington?"

"Living wiv three girls an' another bloke. If 'e 'adn't died I was gonna smash 'im."

"Why's that?"

"Robbed me, the little shit! I need money bad. Scene any better?"

"Is it—Look out!"

Danny turned and saw Mr Rowle crossing the road.

He called out: "Looking for business, Guv?" protruding his bump a little. And a pretty high-class bump it was, as he noticed for the first time.

Mr Rowle looked at Tom's face.

He was lost for words for a bit then his look changed to disgust and horror—Danny was wondering if he was remembering Jugson's little problem.

"Your face!" he said, then noticed that two other lads were also afflicted.

"What's happening?" he shouted.

"Don't worry, Guv," said the most talkative of the boys, who was also the most unattractive, "it's only a little rash. Usually clears up in a few weeks."

"That's right," said some of the others.

"You looking for business?" repeated Tom.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

"Been away, Guv."

"In prison, Guv!" called out one of the boys, helpfully.

"Do you know a boy called Muggle?" Mr Rowle asked Danny.

"Yeah. Used to share a pad. I was just showing the lads the paper about him. Did you used ter go wiv 'im? I'm better. Try me."

"What paper? Show me."

The literate boy yielded up the paper. Danny was delighted that Mr Rowle took it with his arm fully outstretched.

He read the article. Then read it again. His shoulders sagged.

"Where's Erdington?" he asked.

"North Brum." said Danny "Never mind him. He's gone. How about a bit of business with me?"

"What was he doing there?"

"Living wiv three girls an' another bloke," said the talkative boy, again helpfully.

"And how did he die?"

"Overdose, of course." There was a tinge of contempt in the talkative boy's reply.

Mr Rowle tucked the paper in his jacket pocket. His body-language shouted defeat. Danny almost felt sorry for him: every night for two months and then having to confess failure to Scumbag. Still he'd had some cheap sex.

"What about the two hundred reward?" asked the very old boy.

"What's that?" said Danny?"

Talkative answered: "A hundred fer whoever found Muggle and a hundred fer 'im ter do the business."

"Bloody 'ell!" said Danny, "You musta really fancied 'im! And I'm better!"

"Your infection—"

"Don't worry about it! I'm not infectious any more, an' nobody's died of it."

"There was that lad who died of complications," said Talkative.

"Oh, thanks very much," said Danny, then turned to Mr Rowle: "He always was a lying little shit, Guv. Come on, I really need the money. I just got outa prison at three. It should've been nine, but they fouled up the paperwork."

"What about the two hundred? You should share it between us." said Geriatric.

"Yeah, we did our best," said Talkative.

Mr Rowle made no reply. He stood thinking for a while, then set off smartly up the road away from the car park.

As the lads watched him go, Geriatric said: "There's six of us. We could roll him."

Danny guessed that street robbery was being suggested and said: "Shut up. I just got out of nick. He's mine. You lot wait there."

He walked after Mr Rowle and, as expected, heard the phut as soon as the death eater had turned the corner.

He walked around the corner himself, cleared his face and Disillusioned.

He walked back and found that the rent boys, now that the prospect of two hundred pounds had been remove, were sunk back in apathy. He cleared the two ravaged faces and laid a closing Confundus on them:

It was NOT Tom here tonight, but another Tom that looks a bit like him.

The rash has cleared up. It was only a minor infection and no-one's ever died from it.

You will be kind to each other.

He donned the Invisibility Cloak, removed the Disillusionment and Apparated back to Colin's and Danny's bedroom.

Colin was sitting at the table working on his photo-albums. Dennis was playing with dozens of small farmyard animals laid out on the floor. He had Danny's dirty underpants ready to hand.

Danny's Apparition was totally silent but the displacement of air caused a slight draught.

Colin and Dennis both looked at the door, thinking it had been opened, then at each other.

Colin twigged immediately: "Danny!" he said.

Danny took off the Invisibility Cloak.

"Merlin's beard!" said Colin, "It's really weird! Is that really you?"

"I swear I'm not Tom!" said Tom's voice.

"Look at yourself in the mirror."

Danny walked over and gaped. One part of his brain knew what to expect, but another part was bemused. He waved and it was extraordinary. Danny was moving Tom's arm.

"I'm not enjoying this!" he said, "Still, only twenty minutes to endure."

Dennis was still agape.

"How did it go?" asked Colin.

"Couldn't have gone better! He swallowed the overdose story and he was utterly disgusted with the terrible infection. I'm sure he's won't be back. I feel a bit funny. I'd better sit down!"

"Oh, Danny!"

Colin rushed over and led Danny to the comfy chair. Danny felt drained and slightly giddy. He slumped.

Colin sat on the arm of the chair holding his hand and hugging him round the shoulder.

Dennis got up from the floor and stood dithering in front of Danny.

"Shall I get a Paracetamol from Mum?" asked Colin.

"No, she'd want to see me."

"Have a sip of my Ribena, then," said Colin.

Danny took the carton and drained it.

"Thanks, that's good."

Dennis fetched his Ribena, which was nearly full, and Danny took a deep swig.

"Thanks, Den, I feel better now. Well, say something!"

Dennis spoke for the first time: "I'm stuck. You're Danny and I want to hug you and hug you, but you're not there."

Danny got up and said: "We've got a duty to educate ourselves by exploring the adult male body so just you pretend that this is really Tom.

He took off his trainers and his top, feeling a new wave of eerieness at the sight of his hairy chest.

Then the big one!

He lowered the tracksuit bottoms and stepped out of them.

Tom had an impressive pleasure-package: a long, fat, brown willy, supported by a bulging sack, swayed whenever Danny moved; a huge mass of hair, with an outcrop reaching the navel, had the same hint of russett as the rest of Tom's hair.

Danny reached down and lifted the willy with a thumb and two fingers. Danny had another jolt: this willy was really heavy.

He pulled back an inch of foreskin and, surprised, had to pull back another inch to reveal a beautifully pink bell-end.

He went over to the mirror.

Tom was not handsome and his body was not shaped in the traditional concepts of male perfection, but there was no doubt that for the next few minutes Danny was in control of a wonderful specimen of Man.

He turned round, noting the little pot belly en passant and looked at the bottom over his shoulder. Again, it was nothing special but Tom's best friend (a girl probably, thought Danny sadly) would love this bottom more than any other in the world.

Colin and Dennis came over and started feeling his body. He had a surge of affection and reached out a hand to stroke Colin's hair. Colin was kneeling and closely examining the genitalia. As Danny saw Tom's hand on Colin's head, he thought: It's not the same!

He raised an arm and sniffed his armpit. It had a pleasant, fresh smell, a smell that had formed a minor component of the miasma inside the tent and the staleness that had come from Tom's warm clothes.

Dennis, too, was kneeling and had parted Tom's bumcheeks. Danny reached round and used a forefinger to feel the bumhole. Like the front bits, the size was startling.

Colin broke the silence: "Danny, why aren't you hard?"

Good question. Danny felt a strong feeling of unsettledness, a yearning for something, but the yearning was not lust. Perhaps Tom's body wanted a woman.

Danny closed his eyes and thought of Mandy and the Patils naked with their breasts jiggling and their legs wide apart, inviting him to—No! It was repulsive!

Surely Colin's beautiful bum would excite him.

He drew Colin up and led him to the comfy chair. He bent his friend over and looked at the infinitely sweet bottom.

Yes! He felt the arrival of lust.

He stroked the cheeks and looked at the little bumhole. One day Harry would press his willy there and enter Colin, stretching him in a way that he had never been stretched before.

He thought of Harry losing his powers of rational thought as he started to rub himself inside Colin. He thought of Harry increasing his stroke and, in a delirium, thrusting as hard as he could.

He thought of Colin's joy as he felt the sweet pain of his idol at last having his rough way with Colin's greatest treasure.

For a moment the image of Rape came into his mind. Surely that came from Tom!

He bent down and smelled the delicious Colin-scent.

Danny was hard.

He looked down and saw the Tom was very hard indeed.

Danny nudged Dennis and said: "Get a ruler. I want to measure this."

Dennis brought the ruler and the answer by the Alice Method was Six and Three Quarter Inches.

Danny threw the ruler away and sat next to Colin on the edge of the chair with his legs splayed.

"Fancy a suck?" he said to Dennis, who didn't need asking twice but immediately wrapped his lips around Tom's glans.

From Bent Darren to Danny to Dennis had passed some ancient lore of cocksucking which Dennis, with his lips and tongue and head was now applying back to Danny.

The feeling was one of total joy punctuated by little extra bursts of sensuality.

Danny would normally have come by now, but this seemed better: a long period of low-key pleasure anticipating the majestic conclusion.

Colin had slithered off the chair and was stroking Tom's balls while watching his brother keenly.

"Can I have a go?" he said, and Dennis yielded at once.

Being sucked by Colin was very like being sucked by Dennis, but there many differences in detail and, yet again, Danny thanked Heaven for variety in sex.

Watching Colin's sweet head bobbing around, Danny was moved to see that each brother had one arm his brother's shoulder.

Normally, this sort of sexual set-up would have involved the brothers' four hands wandering over Danny's body. But this wasn't quite Danny and the brothers were reassuring themselves that it was the real Colin and the real Dennis.

A minute went by and Colin passed back to Dennis who, this time, enhanced matters with some gentle tugging with his free hand at the base of Tom's shaft.

It was not long before Danny felt the climax approaching. He was going to spurt into Dennis's mouth. No! He wanted to see Tom's spurts.

He gently pushed Dennis's head away and started to wank.

Tom's voice groaned.

It took very few strokes before an arrow-like spurt exploded on Dennis's upturned face.

Dennis looked stunned and, acting on instinct, Danny diverted the next spurt on to Colin's face—then a second and third—then back to Dennis to finish off.

The brothers still looked amazed as Danny got up and found two handkerchiefs.

"Just wipe your eyes. I want my real nose to be able to smell Tom's cum."

They wiped their eyes carefully, then Colin said: "That was a surprise! Was it you or Tom?"

"I don't know, but I can't wait to be at the receiving end—specially if it's Colin-cum!"

Colin smiled: "Well, I can't give you that much yet, but when I can, you can have it whenever you want!"

"And me!" said Dennis, and the sound of his high treble voice proposing to deal out gallons of cum made Colin and Danny laugh.

"You've got a lot of changing to do, Den!" said Colin.

"We all have," said Danny, "talking of which there's only another four minutes of Tom."

He got up and went to the mirror. He peered over his left shoulder and admired Tom's bum again. Yes, it seemed the sort of bum that would waste its time bouncing up and down on the sort of human who would enjoy Tom's big bollocks bouncing against her own, revoltingly curvy, bum.

Urgh!

"Col, what's Tom's bum smell like?" asked Danny.

Colin bent and sniffed.

"Sweaty, but absolutely no smell," he said.

Danny thought that that was to be expected: Polyjuice would create a clean copy of the target and the odours would need time to develop.

Colin reached between Tom's legs and Dennis had a close look at Tom's hairy chest and then reached out to pass a hand over it and toy with a big, bumpy nipple.

Colin had started running two hands down the legs and Dennis was tentatively sucking a nipple when Danny felt something changing.

"Stand back, boys! It's happening!" he called, and looked at Tom closely in the mirror.

It was extraordinary. In the course of a few seconds Tom shrank by a foot; his rough skin became milkily smooth; his hair became untidy; and his big, brown willy became a little winkle.

There he was!

"Danny's back!" shouted Dennis, and the Creeveys rushed to hug and kiss their friend.

Then Dennis dragged Danny to a bed and gave him a quick, effervescent Dennis-shag.

Colin followed on immediately. His performance lasted slightly longer and his slightly larger willy was enough to set Danny's bumhole throbbing again.

When Colin had slipped his willy out, Danny went to his rucksack and treated himself to some more Dittany.

"Are you sore there, Dan?" asked Colin.

"It wasn't us," said Dennis, "Was it Oliver?

"Yeah!"

"Tell us all about it!" said Dennis.

"Later! I really need to relax and then I've got phone calls to make. And you two need to wash your faces. Tom's cum's lost its tang so I'll never know what it's like, now."

"There is one way—" began Colin.

"I don't think so, Col. That body had the feeling of a straight boy."

"You could pay," said Dennis.

"Yeah, he is a rent boy," said Colin.

"Maybe!" said Danny, "I'd want to find out about Muggle diseases first!"

In the kitchen, Mrs Creevey provided cocoa and Danny felt the warmth and comfort that this innocuous drink has provided for so many British soldiers, whose troubles were much worse than Danny's.

When he'd finished the mug, he asked Mrs Creevey if he could use the phone.

He called Tickles! to his Amulet, then phoned his mother.

He assured her that he was having a wonderful time. No, he was not lonely; he was at the Creeveys and would spend the night there. Yes, he was eating properly. Yes he was combing his hair—and brushing his teeth and wiping his botty. Yes, sarcasm was the lowest form of wit. Yes, he looked forward to her return on Saturday and a trip to Diagon Alley to make sure he was fully kitted for the new term.

When Danny could get a word in, he said: "Mum, has Dad called yet?"

"Not yet, dear. He rings at ten."

"Can you please ask him to do a bit of business for me?"

"Will I need to write things?"

"No, it's so simple that even—"

"Now don't be cheeky!"

"What it is Mum, is two Muggle boys—well, men—they're twenty and eighteen—they're waifs that me and the Creevey's met. Mr Creevey has sorted them with the Muggle medicine people, but they're in a complicated position with Muggle law to do with inheritance and identity."

"So you want to set Corstorphine on it."

"Yeah, could Dad give Mr Pembroke the go-ahead, please?"

Corstorphine Pembroke was an ex-Slytherin wizard who Mr Jorrocks had sponsored through Muggle law examinations and who acted whenever Jorrocks and Company needed a solicitor to deal with Muggles.

He was a gay man, living in the flashy London Docklands with his gay partner who was a skilled tailor supplying fabulously expensive clothes for witches and wizards.

"I'm sure that'll be OK, Daniel."

"Excellent! I'll say ta-ta for now, Mum."

"Oh, one thing, Daniel: about the buttons for your dress robe—"

"Mum, Mr Creevey wants to use the phone."

"That is bad, Daniel! Not for the white lie, but because I know Mr Creevey is in bed. What have Stephen and I always taught you about white lies?"

"I know:

Prima facie is essential,

Secunda facie is prudential.

and I didn't even make prima facie!"

"Anyway, Daniel, I'm sure you've got things to do, so off you go. Night-night."

"Goodnight, Mum!"

He phoned Fulham and got Alice.

"Hi, Danny!"

"How's it going?"

"He's moved in!"

"That's great!"

"Yeah, Miss Horne's a real livewire. She looked round the place, asked Piers if he'd be happy here and offered us really good terms. Then she took Piers up West to tailors and bootmakers and god knows what; back home to collect his stuff and back here after a couple of hours. That chauffeur must be a whizz-kid too! Do you want to speak to Piers?"

"Guess!"

"OK! See you, Danny!"

After a few seconds: "Hi, Danny!"

"Hi, Piers! Happy?"

"Completely. When are you coming to visit?"

"Tomorrow, all being well. And do you fancy a visit to the West Country to see Grant?"

"Yeah, of course, as long as you're there."

"How's your bum."

"Still sore—Outside and inside. It was a good night though. I'd like to make it a regular—once a month or so."

"I'm with you—try and tie it in with school half terms and holidays, though."

"Yeah, OK. You don't fancy a flying visit tonight?"

"No, I'm in Birmingham and, even if I were in London, I wouldn't. I think you should spend your first night just making friends—just the three of you."

"We did that this afternoon—we went to the pub."

"I phoned and guessed you were there."

"Are you at the Creeveys' flat?"

"Yeah. School projects with Colin and Dennis."

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you're saving yourself up for me!"

"You suppose right, but it not because I don't love you!"

"Same here!"

"I'll phone at eleven; be in!"

"I will. 'Night Danny!"

" 'Night Piers!"

Danny took a quill and parchment and set out to write to Professor Dumbledore.

He thought about the wording and then penned a note for Tickles to deliver:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

As you know, my father is minded to withdraw me from Hogwarts. Could you please spare some time to discuss future options?

I would like this to be settled as soon as possible. I am at the Creeveys tonight and tomorrow morning.

Yours Jorrocks (D.)

If there was one thing in the world that Dumbledore knew, it was that Mr Jorrocks was convinced that Hogwarts was a safe school providing the best educational options.

Danny hoped that his message would suggest a secret and that the Professor would accept the implied urgency.

He addressed it to:

Professor Albus Dumbledore

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

For immediate action.

Professors M. and F. please forward ASAP!

DTJ

He sat up with Colin, Dennis and Mrs Creevey watching TV until Tickles arrived and had been tickled, treated and dispatched.

"I'm for bed," said Danny, "Goodnight, Mrs Creevey."

Within five minutes Danny, Colin and Dennis were snuggled up together in bed and Danny was reporting as much of his extraordinary week of sex as he could without compromising anti-Voldemort security. Progress was slow as the Creeveys supplemented their regular chorus of coos and wows with requests for more detail.

He finally reached his university career and Dennis, fascinated by the thought of Bent Darren's lust being eternalised via rent boy Luke's rectum, leapt out of bed to inspect the Darren-stains on Danny's underpants.

The pause was too much for Danny: in an instant he was deeply asleep.

— CHAPTER EIGHTEEN —Dumbledore Discourses and Pembroke Promises

His next moment of consciousness was accompanied by a knocking at the door and little Geoff Creevey's voice calling: "Danny! Professor Dumbledore's here!"

He hurried to get out of bed, but progress was slow as his limbs were entangled with eight Creevey limbs.

They sorted themselves out and scampered down the corridor to the kitchen.

It was nine o'clock.

"Daniel, how pleasant to see you again!" beamed the Professor, "And Colin and Dennis!"

"And you, Sir, though it's a few days earlier than we might have expected."

"Now, Mrs Creevey, might I impose on your hospitality by craving a few minutes alone with Daniel?"

"Of course! Come on you four! And Professor, I'll make sure they don't listen at the door."

Mrs Creevey left with her brood and the Professor turned to Danny: "I deduce from the nature of your letter that you have something secret to impart."

"Lots of things, Sir. Most importantly I know where Voldemort is hiding."

"Indeed, Danny, and where is that?"

"He's staying with a family of death eaters called Jugson at Hildenborough Hall about thirty miles South-east of here."

"Ah . . . was it perhaps you who stampeded a herd of cows yesterday?"

"You knew!"

"Yes, some of my friends have been watching Hildenborough Hall for some time."

"Then why haven't you acted?"

"Acted?"

"Captured him. Taken him to Azkaban."

"It's impossible. He is so protected that his captors would themselves be captured unless they were in such numbers as only the Ministry could provide, and the Ministry remains wilfully unbelieving."

"Then the Killing Curse—I had a clear shot at him myself yesterday.

"And why did you stay the spell?"

"I don't know. He's utterly evil, of course, but he's still human—he had a mother once."

"A thoroughly commendable view, Daniel."

"If I'd known he was uncapturable, though, I'd have gritted my teeth and done it . . . but Sir . . . why haven't your watchers killed him?"

"Because they are under strict instructions not to."

"Good lord! Why not, Sir."

"For reasons I can not explain to you. And Daniel, over the next few weeks your creative mind may make some surmises but I must ask you to keep your thoughts completely to yourself."

"I promise, Sir. You know about Wormtail and Nagini, do you?"

"Yes, I know about them. So you have seen Voldemort!"

"Yes, Sir. He's absolutely hideous, isn't he?"

"Would you believe me, Daniel, if I told you that he was the best-looking boy I have ever seen at Hogwarts?"

"Merlin's beard! Then his present appearance . . ."

". . . is due to a lifetime spent doing evil. How did you get on to him, by the way?"

"Through a death eater called Pucey—oh, and Sir, he's planning to poison Hogwarts water supply with cyanide."

"And how is he going to achieve this?"

"By boiling down, or something, peach stones and almonds. They've got a collaborator in Hogsmeade I think. And Slytherin's got a separate supply so it looks as though Voldemort is trying to murder the other three houses."

"And how much of this concoction would he need."

"I tried to calculate but didn't have enough info, but as a starting figure I reckoned several hundred thousand peaches and millions of almonds—ten almonds for each peach he substitutes."

"Yes, in his foolishness he's using sweet almonds instead of bitter almonds."

"You knew about this scheme as well!"

"Yes, Daniel. In fact it was your own father who drew the attention of one of my colleagues to the fact that large numbers of imported peaches were being diverted away from Muggles. Your father wanted nothing to do with it so he priced himself out of the business—hence the death eaters' use of Mr Fuller of Shoreditch—of whom, I presume, you also know."

Danny nodded and continued: "But if you know about it, why let it continue?"

"We're quite happy to let Voldemort waste his money and people. It's an unbelievably silly scheme. Apart from the astronomical amount of fruit and nuts, Hogwarts takes its water from a mountain stream that feeds into a big cistern. The so-called separate feed to Slytherin is from a smaller cistern situated high in the mountain. It's not drinking water but is there because Slytherin toilets being at the bottom level of a deep dungeon, their sewer needs a continuous high pressure stream to flush upwards into the main sewer."

"Voldemort didn't do his homework!"

"No, Daniel, and, moreover, he didn't realise that the kitchen, which supplies food to all four houses, shares the water from the big cistern. And despite the use of gas-masks at Cross Stead he didn't realise that the smell would ensure that no-one would drink any seriously poisoned water or use it to cook with."

"What a clown! And surely, by killing everyone in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, he would be eliminating his own future slaves."

"My guess is that, if he doesn't win quickly, he'll try and use the poison in the end-game, by which time some of the families in those three houses would have switched to his side and their children would be tipped off not to drink the water.

"But most of all I think it's a sense of his known cleverness. He knows that all the food and drink that comes into Hogwarts is screened for Dark Magic so the idea of using a Muggle poison would appeal. What he doesn't know, because he's never taken interest in mundane things, is that Muggle poisons would trigger other protective alarms."

Danny thought for a bit and then said: "It's such a pathetic scheme, I wonder if it's not a dummy to divert you and the other Goodies or to test how thoroughly you're keeping tabs on him."

"We thought of that Daniel, and, even though he hasn't got his best people on it, we're sure it's a genuine scheme. How did you learn of it, anyway?"

"From the rent boys—sorry Professor, catamites—in Knockturn Alley. A death eater called Mr Rowle was forcing them to deliver letters and packets and Mr Pucey was a prominent addressee."

"Renting is an acceptable term for an honourable profession, Daniel. I know Pucey and Rowle and am not surprised that they are stupid enough to use their own names. But you said Rowle was coercing the boys, Daniel?"

Danny explained how he had Confunded the rent boys and Mr Fuller of Shoreditch.

"You may have been a bit precipitate, Daniel. Didn't you consider that here was a way of intercepting and reading Voldemort's letters?"

"That would be to make the same mistake as Mr Rowle: you've no idea how unreliable these boys are. Besides, it would take a lot of manpower and I knew the Ministry wouldn't be interested. Now I'm glad that you and a band of colleagues are doing what the Ministry should be doing."

"I would ask you to forget that fact, Daniel. Reverting to your precipitancy, you know that Confundations can be detected and detection would cause Voldemort to take extra care in all his future actions—something we would wish to avoid."

"We're dealing with the B team here, Professor. Rowle, Pucey and Jugson are poor wizards and they're stupid and stressed out."

"Yes . . . I'm inclined to agree that it's a good thing that you've fouled this part of Voldemort's communications system."

"I mentioned the B team but I've learned nothing about the A team except that they are involved in two other projects."

"Which are?"

"I only know their names. One is something to do with the Ministry."

"I know about that one, Daniel—and please don't ask me about it."

Danny had opened his mouth.

Danny complied and said: "The other is referred to as You-know-where."

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then asked: "You have no more information?"

"I'm afraid not, but if you can infiltrate the Junior Ganymede Club, you might learn more."

"Maybe, although Voldemort is quite a need-to-know wizard. Even his closest lieutenants are in the dark about a lot of his doings."

"Which are also in the dark," laughed Danny.

Professor Dumbledore smiled: "Indeed!"

"Oh Professor, I'd better tell you about the B team's other project."

"Please do, Daniel."

"Well, Voldemort's set them to hunt up an old prophecy by Professor Trelawney."

"WHAT?"

Danny shifted back in alarm. Professor Dumbledore had always seemed rational and kept his emotions (apart from sense of humour) under control. But now he was terrifically upset.

"D-Daniel! Tell me quickly. This is important."

Daniel said: "Wait a minute, Sir."

He went over to the teapot and freshened the Professor's mug.

"Here, Sir. It's best when you're having a hard time."

Professor Dumbledore took a big sip and said: "Thank you, Daniel, that is indeed welcome. Now please tell me what you have found out."

Danny told the story of Robert Webb, alias Steve, his childhood link to Professor Trelawney, his parents' murder and Mr Rowle's desperate efforts to track him down.

"It's not actually a prophecy, is it Sir?"

"No. It's advice to Voldemort which has leaked from some Dark Universe. Please hear me repeat it, Daniel, to be sure I've got it:

Think over, think over the fifth of October,

Piggy-wig, soldiers and booze.

The Dark Lord should hasten to harry and chasten

And finish the boy who he rues.

"Word-perfect, Sir. What do you think it means?"

The Professor pondered for a bit.

"Well, Daniel, there are all sorts of resonances which you have doubtless picked up, but one possibility is that it is to do with Quidditch."

"Quidditch! I don't get it."

"The fifth of October is the letter B."

"That's what Dennis said."

"A pig is someone who eats a lot—an eater. That gives us Beater. Soldiers could be Other Ranks—OR. And one form of booze is the chaser. That gives us Beater or Chaser."

"Good lord! I'd never have got that!"

"And then Beaters are people who harry, and chasten is similar-sounding to Chaser."

"Fantastic! So it advises Voldemort to get after Harry when he's at Quidditch?"

"It might be so. We must certainly arrange extra protection for the Quidditch pitch this year. Who else knows about this rhyme?"

"Me and the Creeveys, and we're safe. Steve and Tom, and they're safe now that we've put off Mr Rowle and Mr Jugson."

"Put off? What do you mean?"

Danny explained about the stinging hex, the Furnunculus and the Birmingham newspaper. He didn't mention Polyjuice and the impersonation of Tom as he didn't want the Professor to ban anything else.

"So I think we're safe now, Sir. Mr Rowle's had no other lead or he wouldn't have been visiting Birmingham every day for the best part of two months."

"And are you really sure he won't be coming back for pleasure?"

"You should have seen the boys' faces, Sir! And his face when he saw them! No, he'll take the newspaper back to Voldemort and be grateful to be done with Birmingham for ever."

"Good. Then all that is left is to remove the rhyme from Steve and Tom's memory. Can I leave that to you, Daniel?"

"It seems a shame, Sir. Steve's had an awful eight or nine years and the rhyme is a memory from his happy childhood."

"Nevertheless, for safety it must be done, Daniel."

"Could I just do it temporarily, Sir? For a year and a day—that's magical. And, next year being Leap, it's three hundred and sixty seven days which is a really good Prime. And it can always be renewed."

"Very well, Daniel. As soon as you can, if you please."

"Yes, Professor."

"Now, Daniel, before I leave, a final word. You have seen today just one example of your father's value. I must repeat in the strongest terms what I told you a few days ago: it is vitally important that don't do anything to compromise your father's proclaimed neutrality.

"I'll stick to my promise, Sir."

"It's likely to be a difficult year, with the school squeezed between Voldemort's supporters and the Ministry. A little upsetting of the Ministry might be put down to childish japes, but I must ask you to take care. You must, however, avoid any upsetting of Voldemort's supporters—which means some members of Slytherin. In fact a degree of friendship towards Slytherin and a hint of sympathies biased towards Voldemort would not go amiss."

"I'll try, Sir!"

"With subtlety, Daniel. And allow me to congratulate you on a task well done. But please, in future, if you feel impelled into a crusade, please keep me or your Head of House informed. Now, one more taste of this excellent cuppa and I must go! Ah! A powerful drink! Goodbye Daniel!"

"Goodbye, Sir!"

When the Professor had Disapparated, Danny reflected. It looked as though the Professor must have assumed that Danny had relied on the Invisibility Cloak during his exploits. Danny was not allowed to take the Cloak to Hogwarts and the Professor didn't realise that Danny's Disillusionment Charms had advanced from rudimentary to brilliant.

He would have some fun this year.

Taking his cue from a pompous Muggle space-opera he recited to himself:

Sperm, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the wizard Danny. His one-year mission: to explore strange new dormitories, to seek out new boys and new penises, to boldly come where no man has come before.

Laughing, he went into the living room and asked Mrs Creevey for one more telephone call.

Corstorphine Pembroke confirmed that he had had an overnight Fax from Mr Jorrocks authorising him to give Danny full assistance.

They agreed an appointment for eleven o'clock at the Birmingham chambers of Mr Pembroke's firm.

Then Danny, Colin and Dennis set off for the bijou residence of Steve and Tom, Danny having told the Creeveys of the need to Obliviate the Piggi-wig rhyme.

They found the boys awake and delighted to hear the good news from Danny:

"Steve, that bloke believes you're dead and he believes that there is a deadly infection among the Birmingham rent boys. He won't be back. Nor will any of his mates, so you're safe.

"And Tom. The best plan for you is to get fixed up with a new identity. We'll keep the DNA plan in reserve. Now we'd better decide your new name. Keep Tom so you're still answering to the same Christian name. Choose a surname that's easy for you to remember."

"My first friend at infant school was Gary Warrington."

"Right! From now on you're Tom Warrington! Now, get dressed and we'll all go to see a high-class Solicitor."

As Steve and Tom dressed, Danny Obliviated the rhyme from their memory for a year and a day.

Corstorphine Pembroke was a handsome man in his mid-thirties. He had an effusive, confident, wise and trustworthy manner which, coupled with a mellifluous baritone voice, reassured all those who came into contact with him—even those who knew that he was a crafty man, used to sailing close to the wind in Muggle and wizard legal matters. He was also a deft hand in judging just the right amount of Confunding that Muggles might need.

"Daniel!" he said, shaking hands, "And, surely two Creeveys who I met at that gala sporting occasion!"

"And this is Robert Webb . . . and Tom Warrington," said Danny.

Mr Pembroke seated them and sat behind a desk with an expensive-looking fountain pen poised over a notepad.

"Daniel, I assume you are going to be spokesman."

"Yes, Mr Pembroke. There are three issues.

"Firstly, Robert has been living away from home for some years, calling himself Steve. When his parents died unexpectedly in early July, he went into hiding fearing that it was murder and he would be next.

"Now he thinks that he was precipitate and, as he is an only child, would like you to chase up any inheritance.

"The second matter is that Tom needs to be introduced into the official system. He is about eighteen and was born to travelling folk. His early years were spent in the West Country. His birth was probably never registered. He has never been to school and never had a National Assurance number. He parted company from his parents and has been living any-old-how for some years.

"The third matter is that Robert and Tom have been sleeping rough for some weeks and need to have a base. How about a flat in Aston, lads? Near, but not too near the city centre."

The boys nodded.

Mr Pembroke spent half an hour eliciting the details, occasionally glancing at Tom's bump, and said goodbye to the lads with a promise of fast and effective action—a promise that Danny knew was genuine.

They agreed that Mr and Mrs Creevey would serve as contacts and Colin gave Mr Pembroke and the boys the address and phone number.

Before he left, Danny was allowed to make a phone call. While he was telling Piers Sorry I'm late; I'm on my way! he extracted a fat wad of banknotes from his cache and put them in an envelope.

Outside, he slipped the envelope to Colin, with instructions to trickle money to Robert and Tom according to their needs.

Then after farewells (two warm hugs and two warm handshakes) he walked towards the station, found a quiet spot, Apparated, Disillusioned and was standing outside the terraced house in Fulham.

It was Alice who answered the door.

"Hi, Alice!"

"Danny! What are you doing here?" she asked in surprise.

Danny walked in, saying: "Whatyer mean? I just rang to say I was coming!"

"Yeah, from Birmingham!"

Danny met Piers at the doorway to the living room and hugged him tightly.

"Settled in?"

"Yeah, it's good here. We made dinner together last night. Dot and Alice use stuff you've never heard of."

Dot was hovering and Danny shook hands with a: "Hi, Dot!"

Then he turned to Alice and shook hands, saying: "Sorry, Alice! I only had eyes for one thing."

Then it registered:

"Did you say Birmingham?" he asked Alice.

"Yes, Dot did a 1471 and got a Birmingham number."

"It was from Jorrocks and Company. We route our calls all round the country. Industrial espionage is a big nuisance."

Though it was a lie, Danny thought this routing thing was quite an interesting concept. It would fight back against the sneaky Muggle habit of tracing calls—he remembered the Tiggywinkle farce

They all went into the kitchen while Alice made a pot of tea.

"There's a family feel already," said Danny.

"Yeah," said Dot, "and we've got our first family outing tomorrow night. It's to the theatre and we got you a ticket, Danny."

"Can't make it. Sorry. Daddy's high-priority business needs."

"We'll miss you, but we've got a suitable reserve."

"And, speaking of high-priority, I haven't had breakfast yet."

"We've got chicken salad," said Dot, "Shall we bring lunch forward."

"Yes, please!"

"I'll go and get some bread," said Alice.

"And please can I make a phone call," asked Danny, "I might be stealing Piers from you tonight."

"Of course you can phone, Danny," said Dot, "We heard about this Grant. Sounds interesting!"

Alice left for the bakery and Danny dialled Grant's number. After negotiating Mrs Woodward, he heard Grant—West Country in a different way from Tom's.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Grant. It's Darren Smith. On the train, remember?"

"Yeah, of course. Nice to hear from you."

"And to hear your voice too. I'd like to see you. Me and my close friend Piers would like to visit Stroud tonight. Any chance of linking up?"

"Absolutely! You just say where and when."

"How about we treat you to a meal—a pub by the river would be nice—we'll get to a hotel and give you a ring."

"That'd be great! I'll see you later, Darren."

"See you, Grant."

Danny hung up and Piers said: "Who's this Darren Smith?"

"Dad has business rivals-cum-associates near Stroud and he wouldn't want it to be thought that he'd sent his son to spy on them; so for the rest of the day I'm Darren!"

Danny rang Jorrocks and Company to do some organising for him and finished just as Alice returned and Dot was dressing the salad.

Lunch was a bubbly affair.

Piers still gaped at Dot adoringly from time to time, but had lost all trace of embarrassment and was voluble on the subject of his new home. After only twenty-four hours, he had put childhood and school behind him and was well-settled in his brave (and gay) new world.

Dot and Alice were also delighted with what was a major change in their lives too. Danny was much impressed by their obvious sense of responsibility: in conversation they avoided sexual topics and reined in their campness—presumably, Harry thought, to avoid pressurising Piers with their age, glamour and experience—grooming was the word in the modern cant.

In keeping with the prevailing tone, Danny also adopted unwonted decorum; under other circumstances, he would have been, by now, pressing very hard for some degree of physical relationship with Alice and Dot.

It was all to do with two thirty-year-old poofs taking care of a fifteen-year-old boy, who would soon, Danny hoped, be meeting a kindred spirit of his own age.

The lunch was alcohol-free, but it seemed to grow in jollity; and, like all good things, came to an end too soon.

When the taxi arrived to take Danny and Piers to Paddington, goodbyes took the form of handshakes. It won't be long before hugs and kisses take over thought Danny.

— CHAPTER NINETEEN —Back to Stroud

On the train to Stroud, the two friends neglected their reading material in favour of reliving and analysing their Tuesday evening adventures with Ollie.

Danny summed up as the train slowed down for Swindon: "I reckon all three of us found things within themselves that they'd never suspected."

"I knew about bullying and being bullied," said Piers, but being turned on by a tranny and actually begging a boy to piss in my mouth . . .!"

"It's like lots of colours in a paintbox," said Danny, "Some people stick to one colour, but you and me—and probably Ollie—will always be able to mix and match."

"There's one colour I'll never use!" laughed Piers, as an attractive young woman passed down the aisle.

"Don't spoil it! Shut your eyes and think of Ollie!"

But they looked into each other's eyes, happy to be young, gay and together.

At Stroud, they walked to a fairly posh hotel where Jorrocks and Co. had reserved (and prepaid for) a double room.

The receptionist shuffled her papers, then said: "Mr P. Jones and Mr D. Smith . . . here we are."

She looked at the boys.

"The reservation's for a double room. We can do you a room with two single beds if you prefer."

"We're OK with a queen-size," said Danny—though inside his head a little voice was saying: Are they near enough for our willies to reach?

Their room turned out to be well-lit and spacious—more than adequate for a one-night stay—but it won't be a one-night stand, I hope thought Danny.

They rationed themselves to a SICK, with hands not too far-flung, then set out to explore the town and find a phone-box, Danny not trusting the hotel staff not to listen in.

When Danny called the Woodwards', Grant's voice came quickly, which suggested that he had been sitting by the phone.

They arranged to meet in a café at seven o'clock, which gave Danny and Piers some more time for exploration.

Danny phoned his mother and the lads debated how to spend the rest of the afternoon.

At Danny's suggestion, they caught a country bus which "happened" to take them past Hillside Farm. There was a slight risk that a Pucey might recognize him, but Danny couldn't resist having a look to see if his disruptive activities had had any visible effect.

It was a forlorn hope and the set-up looked unchanged on the outward and return journeys.

"We should be wearing cardies like the old dears getting off coaches at motorway service stations," said Piers.

An old man sitting near them responded: "It's uz old 'uns feel the cold—zummer an' all."

They got chatting and, as they were passing Hillside, Danny said: "That's a pretty-looking farm."

"Arr, that's Hillzoide. Moi eldest worked there for a bit, but them say it's all Poles and that now."

Beyond the fact that the farm was run by "Young Miz' Puzey" Danny couldn't get any details from the man. The Confundus was clearly effective.

At a quarter to six they were sitting in the café chatting about the countryside that they had seen from the bus.

"Next summer, do you fancy going camping, Danny?" asked Piers.

"Darren!"

"Sorry!"

"Yeah, I love the countryside and it'll be nice to have a long time with you—we won't see much of each other through the year."

"I'll see you at half-term I hope, Darren. If you don't want to see Olivia again, we could be alone—just us two. Whatever you want."

"It's whatever you want, Piers, though we're young so we don't really know what we want—in fact that applies to older people too."

"Yeah, let's just take it as it comes."

"And not plan our life away! —Ah, here he is"

A Range Rover had pulled up outside the café. Mrs Woodward had driven her son to his date.

Piers turned round and the two boys peered inside the car.

The Woodwards were having a conversation.

Danny giggled and said: "I'll come in and say hello to Darren and his friend, dear . . . Oh Mum, there's no need and don't kiss me goodbye."

Eventually Grant emerged and entered the café.

"Hiya, Grant. Meet Piers," said Danny, brightly.

The boys mumbled their alrights and shook hands, taking the lead from Danny who had given Grant's hand a healthy squeeze.

Danny tried to look at Grant through Piers' eyes and vice versa. If Piers had ratty features, it had to be admitted that there was a touch of Pig about Grant's face.

Danny knew that not everyone saw the sexiness beneath the skin as quickly as he did. He hoped that Piers and Grant wouldn't be stuck with first impressions and to pre-empt potential brooding, he started to gabble.

"We came across on the train. And we've been on a country bus ride. And we're staying in a nice hotel. Tell us about your holiday, Grant."

This made a neutral subject—easy chatting while they were getting used to each other.

Cyprus, Spain and the Black Sea were discussed, but Danny could sense the underlying tension: Grant and Piers had lived shamed and secret lives, stricken as they saw it with an unseemly sexuality. They had been liberated by Danny, and each knew that the other had had some degree of sexual congress with the little boy who was sitting next to them.

When the topic of holidays seemed to have been covered just short of boredom, Danny said: "Have you found somewhere nice for us to eat, Grant?"

"Oh, yeah, we'd better make a move."

He led the boys along the road and towards a water-side pub. As they were walking, Danny gently manipulated their grouping so that Piers was in front and the Penis-Puller—especially attractive as it palpitated under Piers' tight track-suit bottoms—was displayed to Grant.

The pub turned out to be a gem: location, staff and menu couldn't have been better.

They ordered food at the bar, Danny insisting on paying, and took their drinks—non-alcoholic, sadly—out to the fairly crowded, family-oriented beer-garden.

They found an empty table and Danny saw that their nearest neighbours were a middle-aged black couple.

"Hi!" he called to them, "What a lovely spot! Is this your local?"

"It certainly is!" said the man, "Where are you from?"

"Grant here's a Gloucestershire boy and we're from near London, having a break in the sticks."

"Our son's from London and he's coming down for a visit," said the woman, "He likes a break too."

All five of them smiled at each other and then lowered their voices and carried on their own conversations.

"Well, we'd better get to know each other," said Danny, "Me and Piers are old friends now so why don't you tell us about yourself. How old are you, Grant?"

"Sixteen."

"You're big for sixteen: five foot nine with a nice willy. Do you think you've still got some growing to do?

"Don't know," mumbled Grant. He was blushing and not looking at Piers whose ears had also turned red.

"Just done your O-levels? How did you get on?"

"Passed all nine, Darren; but I don't know how."

"So A-levels next?"

"Yeah. Maths, Economics, History, though I'd like to keep my languages up."

"What languages did you do?"

"French, German and Latin."

Surprise stirred Piers out of his shyness: "Latin!" he said.

"I go to a grammar school and they keep up the tradition."

"What, a real grammar school?" said Piers, "with eleven plus and all that?"

"Yeah, we're one of the few areas that haven't gone comprehensive. Do you do Latin at your school Piers?"

"Yeah, we did. I went to a boarding school, but I've left now. I've got a job in the city with time off to study for O-levels."

"How old are you then?"

"Fifteen."

"Wow, you're getting an early start in life!"

Piers and Grant were looking at each other and Danny was relieved that they were slowly losing their initial shyness.

"What about you, Darren?" asked Grant.

"I'm thirteen and I still go to boarding school—though it's not a posh one; it's really vocational training for disturbed boys and girls."

"Girls! " said Grant, in some surprise.

"Most boarding schools take both sorts now," said Piers, "though mine only had a few."

"And is that why . . .?" asked Grant.

"Why I'm gay?" said Piers.

Their tones had dropped to a conspiratorial level.

Grant nodded.

"I don't think so. It just happens. If it had got out at school, I'd've been really picked on, and the girls were anti-gay too."

"It's like that at my school too," said Grant, "there's lots of peeping in the showers but if anyone actually made a move, they'd be stamped on."

"Has anyone put that to the test?" asked Danny.

"Some of the sixth-formers have. They just got looked on as jokes, though people say there's been violence out of school."

"Danny's the lucky one!" said Piers.

"Yeah, maybe a special school's more tolerant," said Danny, "Anyway, I wasn't having any messing about and let it be known from day one that I was a gay eleven-year old."

"And what happened?" asked Grant.

"Lots of big boys couldn't get enough of me wanking them off in the loos; but I didn't start having real sex until I met Piers a couple of weeks ago."

Grant was surprised.

"A couple of weeks! I thought you'd been friends for years!"

"Two weeks and four days," said Piers, "and the world has changed forever. To discover that gay sex is fun and nothing to ashamed off; to be able to tell people I am gay is fabulous."

Grant looked nervous.

"Did Danny tell you about how he and I met?" he said.

Piers nodded.

"I felt confused afterwards," continued Grant, "so I'm glad you two've come down. Just having someone to talk to helps."

"Why did you feel confused?" asked Danny, "Was it about whether you were gay or was it the particular circumstances?"

"Bit of both, I suppose. You've got to admit, it was a bit seedy."

Danny Laughed.

"Tommyrot!" he said. "If two people enjoy themselves and don't harm or offend others, it's not in the least seedy! Sex should be about physical pleasure and having a good laugh at the same time . . . And spiritual: a meeting of souls."

Grant thought for a bit, and then:

"Yeah, you're right, but it doesn't get over the fact that we're still a minority group and most people would say it's only right when it's a boy and girl doing it."

Piers interposed: "Two weeks and four days ago, that thought was like a black dog sitting on my shoulder but, now I've met Darren, it's gone to doggy-heaven and I'm so happy!"

During this conversation, their neighbour's son had arrived and greeted his parents. The three of them were reading the menu, but Danny noticed that the newcomer was giving him some surreptitious glances.

He was a tall, elegant man dressed in expensive but unshowy designer clothes—a floppy suit and a pastel-turquoise shirt. He had a shaved head and a single thick gold ear-ring.

The food arrived and, in the absence of conversation as three hungry teenagers tucked in, Danny pondered the young man's motivation.

His initial thought was that the interest was sexual but, if the young man had been a genuine boy-fancier, he would have, at the very least, appraised Piers and Grant as well as Danny.

It had to be faced: the dark stranger had recognized him!

Now the Ministry, despite a brain-vacuum at the top, had some nifty wizards and witches, some of whom—specialist information manipulators— had managed to keep Danny's (and Piers') picture from the Muggle papers—and the Prophet, come to that.

So the young man was either a Muggle connected with Jorrocks and Company or a wizard connected with the Ministry. No other people in Britain were likely to know Danny's face.

Then from the depths of Danny's memory came a picture in the Prophet showing a blurred image of a senior Auror called Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Young, bald and dark: this was surely him!

The baggy trousers made sense: like Danny's they could conceal a wand in the hip pocket.

So what was he doing here?

It would have taken a lot of espionage culminating with the reading of Grant's mind to plant Mr and Mrs Shacklebolt here before the boys' arrival; and Danny did not believe that the Ministry or Dumbledore or the Dark side could have achieved this—or even that any of them would make the attempt.

So Kingsley Shacklebolt really did come from Gloucestershire and really was visiting his parents; and, coming from the Auror's office, he was probably safe. He must have been surprised to see Danny!

What to do?

He decided to do nothing positive, but to give Kingsley Shacklebolt the opportunity to make contact if he wished.

His opportunity came in the midst of a discussion on school sports when Grant and Piers had recently emptied their bladders.

"I'll have a pee and get some more drinks in," he said and dawdled his way inside.

Luck was with him: the Gents was empty.

He slowly approached the urinal and slowly unzipped.

As hoped, Kingsley Shacklebolt came through the door and took station next to Danny.

"Dumbledore said you'd promised to keep him informed," he hissed.

Good! Kingsley Shacklebolt was on the right side. Danny took his time answering him.

Then, as Kingsley Shacklebolt unzipped and pulled his willy out, he said: "Can't a boy enjoy a pee in peace?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt's willy was very black, with plenty of foreskin.

Danny had a couple of seconds admiring it, then said: "I keep my word. This is a purely social visit to meet up with a boy I met on my business visit."

At this moment another patron entered and the two wizards finished their pees, washed their hands and left together.

When they reached a safe spot where they could not be overheard, Danny stopped and said: "You really come from round here?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded.

"Then these nasty folk at the farm must know you and we'd better have nothing more to do with each other."

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded again.

"Good luck!" said Danny, "Oh, and nice cock, by the way, Kingsley!"

They parted—Danny to the bar and a surprised-looking Kingsley Shacklebolt to the garden door.

When they had finished eating, Danny asked: "Coming back to our hotel, Grant?"

"I don't know," said Grant, dubiously, "It seems a bit weird."

"After all that chat, you're still not sure?" said Danny, "It's normal, believe me!"

"People will wonder."

"It's just three boys on holiday. If some people wonder, let them! Come on!"

"Yes, please come, Grant!" said Piers.

"OK!" Grant smiled.

"Make a night of it. Phone your mum and see if you can stay till tomorrow," said Danny.

"Er—OK."

"Brilliant!" said Piers.

"Brilliant!" said Danny.

Ten minutes later the three boys entered the bedroom. Danny and Piers kicked off their trainers and flung away their tops. Grant nervously followed their example then slumped in the armchair.

"We always start this way," said Piers, drawing Danny to him and engaging him in a loving kiss-and-cuddle.

Breaking off, Piers reached a hand towards Grant.

"Come and play!" he said.

Grant arose. His face and ears were bright red. He seemed to feel the need to say some words of explanation.

"Er—," he said before Piers softly pressed lips to lips, kissing him ever so gently and stroking the back of his head with one hand while the other squeezed his buttocks.

Grant was nearly as tall as Piers so the embrace was neater and without the stooping that was required when Piers kissed Danny.

Piers paused for breath.

"What do you think?" he said.

" Er—I can't believe I'm doing this."

Danny called from behind him: "Kiss me too, Grant!"

Grant turned round and goggled: Danny was starkers; and moreover, four and a half inches of Danny-cock was pointing upwards to Grant's face.

"Come on, lover-boy, squeeze me, please me!"

He pulled Grant towards him and they engaged in a brief kiss before Danny said: "It's easier lying down," dragged Grant towards the bed, lay down and pulled Grant on top of him.

"Yow! Take your weight on your elbows and knees!" he gasped and, when Grant obliged, found his lips.

Danny was as gentle as Piers but probably more enterprising: his tongue ranged over the inside of Grant's mouth; a hand found its way inside Grant's clothes and Danny stroked and squeezed his bottom before tickling his bumhole with a finger.

After a while, Danny felt Grant's track-suit bottoms and underpants slithering away: Piers was disrobing him.

Danny sucked extra-hard, taking Grant's tongue into his mouth. He moved his hand from Grant's head to stroke his back while continuing to minister to his bum.

Grant had been more or less passive through all this, but now he gave a little groan and jerked his pelvis causing Danny to feel a fairly hard willy nudging his thigh.

Piers now eased the two boys apart so that he could take off Grant's t-shirt. He kissed Danny en passant and said: "Bit of alright is our Grant!" then: "You've got a lovely body, Grant!"

"And a nice willy!" said Danny, looking down.

It was a nice one too: a comfortable six inches, and fat; and, as a bonus, a gentle upward curve which echoed the upward straggle of Grant's mousey pubic hair.

"Is it ready for action, Grant?" said Piers.

Grant just looked at him.

"Come on Danny, let's give him a choice!"

The two boys draped themselves over the side of the bed, bottoms up.

"Who's it going to be, Grant?" asked Piers.

"Er—what do you m-mean?"

Piers laughed: "which of us is going to get a good shagging off you?"

"Er—Darren, if he'll let me—er"

It was Danny's turn to laugh: "Let you? I'm gagging for it! Show him the ropes, Piers."

Piers jumped up and fetched the cream. He talked Grant through one finger, one-and-a-half fingers, two fingers, spread fingers and then said: "Go in slowly; listen to Darren."

Danny was still a bit sore but a hole that had coped with Sea Jay and Ollie needed no more than a couple of pauses before Grant was fully in.

"Now give it to me, Grant!" moaned Danny.

Grant did give it to him very hard, but he was tremendously excited and climaxed immediately, pumping seven or eight come-strokes into Danny. He lay panting for a few seconds then withdrew slowly and mumbled: "Go and wash."

"Allow me!" said Piers and sat on the bed. He pulled Grant towards him, and took Grant's willy, still semi-hard, deeply in his mouth, giving it a thorough sucking.

Danny turned to Grant and said: "I suppose you think this is dirty, Grant?"

"Er—Not really," said Grant, bravely, "I just never thought . . ."

"As long as Piers enjoys it, don't get upset."

Piers freed his mouth: "Piers enjoys it!—and now, Darren, can I take advantage of your current position?"

"We'll have a slight change!"

Danny manœuvred Grant so that he was lying down on the bed, face up, with his feet close together on the floor. Danny climbed on top of him, splayed his legs and started snogging him.

Piers mounted the other two and, supporting his weight with his hands, pushed himself gently inside Danny. As expected, his thin tip slid in easily and was quickly followed by the rest of his willy. He began thrusting with a vigour in the Dennis Creevey class.

Danny could feel his willy rubbing against Grant's belly. He had not had any sex during the day and he felt a long, slow orgasm deliciously approaching.

Danny was pleased to notice that Grant was really into the swing of things now: kissing Danny vigorously and stroking with both hands—Danny's back and Piers' head.

Piers was still powering along when Danny's orgasm arrived. He clutched Grant tightly and bit into his shoulder as Piers' energy gave Danny stroke after stroke of exquisite pleasure.

Piers was approaching his own climax and emitted his usual quiet whimpers as he too seemed to enjoy an extra-long, extra-strong come.

The three of them lay still, panting for a while, until Grant said: "Darren, could I . . .?"

Piers got up, allowing Danny to roll over and lie face-up on the edge of the bed. Danny raised his legs in the Sea Jay style and said: "Grant, stick it in quick!"

Grant took one look at Danny's new posture and jumped up, muttering "bloody hell!" He stood staring at Danny's upturned bottom for a moment, then bent down and pushed slowly in. He had a few quick strokes, then settled down to a slow rhythm that suited him.

Danny could see that Piers had crouched down behind Grant and guessed that Grant was currently receiving some bumhole attention—whether from nose, mouth or fingers he could not see. Whatever it was, it seemed to enhance things for Grant who eventually came with more intense grunting than on the previous occasion.

Piers reappeared and gave them a cuddle in situ.

As they disentangled themselves, Grant indicated a tiny sticky patch on his stomach. "Is that your come, Darren?" he asked.

"Yeah, I can't do big ones yet."

"Watch out, here comes Piers, the human vacuum cleaner!" laughed Piers, as he swooped to lick Grant's stomach.

Danny went into the bathroom and shat out a turd plus some Grant-cum.

It was just past ten o'clock and no-one was tired so they dressed and went for a wander. Grant took them to an corner-shop where a schoolmate sold them some cans of lager and cider. They went to a quiet spot at the edge of the town where a small wooded area gave them cover for their illicit drinking.

Grant was still slightly embarrassed but Danny and Piers jollied him out of it.

"I'm sorry Grant," said Piers, I would've kissed your bumhole but it smelt so strongly of shower gel that I couldn't take it."

"I'll remember to wash it off properly next time," said Grant, ". . . if there is a next time . . ." he concluded sadly.

"Of course there'll be a next time," said Piers, "My landlords say I can have anyone I want to visit and you can come up for the odd weekend. We can share my bed and do our homework together. I'm going to have a table that folds down from the wall."

"Would they mind us sharing a bed?" asked Grant, "Wouldn't they guess?"

"Off course they'd guess!" said Piers, "but they wouldn't be bothered."

Grant perked up: "You could visit me too—and you, Darren. The sleeping arrangements wouldn't be so nice, but it would still be fun and I promise I'll wash properly."

"Take your top off, Piers," said Danny

Piers did so and Danny sniffed his armpits. There was a pleasant, acrid smell which Danny would have recognized as coming from Piers, even on a blind test.

"Have a deep sniff, Grant," he said and, after Grant had smelt each armpit in turn, "Don't you think that's a really sexy smell?"

"Er—I suppose so, but that's because I know Piers. It's different if it's strangers."

"Well, smell is an important part of sex—just like sight, sound and touch and, to a lesser extent, taste. So when you see your friends, it's good not to be too clean. I probably got underarm deodorant, aftershave, shampoo, body spray, foot spray, talcum powder and hair gel off you today, when all I needed was Grant."

Unprompted Grant had seconds from Piers and then turned to Danny. He opened Danny's top, lifted his t-shirt and buried his nose in one armpit and then the other.

"I could live with that," he smiled.

"How about this?" laughed Danny as he went for Piers, pulled his bottoms down and buried his nose in Piers' bum.

"It's—er—dirty."

"Never mind; perhaps one day you'll—"

"I'll do it!" interrupted Grant.

He stooped and Danny heard a tentative sniff as Grant's nose was three inches away; then another with nose buried between the cheeks; then a long, silence as Grant presumably made contact with the hole and inhaled deeply.

Danny had found Piers' bumhole particularly ripe and awaited the verdict with interest.

Grant withdrew.

"It's OK," he said' "It still seems dirty, though."

"It's one of the secret pleasures of gay life," said Danny, "but remember to do it before bumming: lubricant and semen destroy the smell."

Grant laughed: "Piers, when we get back, can I please destroy your smell?"

The lads giggled.

"Of course you can!" said Piers.

They set about the booze and told each other dirty jokes with much tittering. They talked about their school life and home life, with Danny exercising discretion on both topics.

Eight cans of weak liquor is not much between three people, but these were teenage boys and it was enough to make them quite merry.

On the way back, there was much horseplay and jollity. Whenever anyone had a pee, it was a hands-free affair with another boy doing the penile manipulation. Danny noticed that Grant's willy went semi as soon as it was touched. It must be rejoicing after two or three years in the wilderness!

Back at the hotel, Grant stripped in a twinkling and was standing rampant next to the bed by the time the other two boys had thrown their clothes off.

Danny handed the cream to Grant and arranged Piers so that he was in Danny's original position—face-down over the side of the bed, with his feet on the floor. Danny sat upright in the middle of the bed, with his legs in a V. Piers immediately took Danny's willy in his mouth and sucked gently while fondling Danny's balls.

Grant, meanwhile, busily fingered Piers and was soon rogering away in a slow, steady rhythm.

Danny found that, by leaning forward, he could snog Grant who, this time, responded enthusiastically. Danny was delighted that Grant was clearly relaxed about the physicality of gay love. Grant's mouth tasted of booze.

As he sat stroking the backs of both Grant's and Piers' heads, feeling Piers' tongue flickering over his bell-end and bouncing to Grant's steady thumping, he felt in Heaven. It would have been a different sort of heaven had it been the Creeveys, and different again had it been Sea Jay and Jonathan (he must try that soon!), but there are many Heavens in the gay world and Danny exulted once again at being a boysexual.

Piers came first, judging by his excited squeals; Danny followed soon after—another flood of feeling in a golden glow of boylove; Grant, though, took quite some time, eventually subsiding with soft grunts and his tongue, for the first time, pressed hard, of its own accord, into Danny's mouth.

Eventually they disentangled themselves.

They brushed their teeth, Grant using Danny's brush, and got into the bed.

Grant took the middle and lay on his back with his arms around the other two as they snuggled up to him.

"Are you happy, Grant?" asked Danny.

"Yeah, it's brilliant! Changed my life like it changed Piers' nearly two weeks and five days ago!"

They giggled.

"What do you feel about your gayness now?"

"I'm not sure: I'm not like you two—I can't convince myself that I'd never want to go with a girl. But I do know that I find boys really attractive, not just to bum them, but to share their physicality—like I'm sharing yours now."

"I notice that you picked my bum rather than Piers' bum. Considering that all the gays who've seen it think Piers' cute little bottom top of the Premier League for bums, I find that a little surprising—flattering, of course, but surprising all the same."

"Er—I don't know really."

"Truth between friends, sweet Grant!"

Danny kissed Grant's ear.

"Well—er—you're very sweet, yourself," said Grant.

"And barely pubescent. Is it little little boys that you really like?"

"It's embarrassing . . ."

"Why be embarrassed? Boys are probably at their peak of prettiness when they're ten or eleven, so of course everyone's attracted to them and I know from experience that for a huge number of teens and grown men there's a physical—or even sexual—side to the attraction."

Grant was still shamefaced: "Well, you've convinced me today that being gay is normal, but going with little boys is definitely abnormal—"

"Bollocks!" interposed Piers, "I've had sexual feelings for boys since I was eight and Danny's spent his last two years at school wanking off sixth-formers and letting them suck his willy; and he enjoyed it, didn't you Danny?"

"Yeah, it was real fun! My only regret is that I never had a real love-affair and I never let them go all the way. When I met Piers, even though I was still virtually a little boy, I knew I wanted to have sex with him and, if I'd met either of you when I was ten or eleven—or even younger—I'd've really enjoyed the Full Monty!"

"We're different from you, Grant," said Piers, "in that we both like hairy men—maybe not that different as you seemed to enjoy doing me."

"I did enjoy it," said Grant, "but you're hardly a man, even though you're fully developed. I've sometimes wondered whether, if I turned out to be gay, my tastes would get older with me, but, as it is, I can't ever envisage myself as falling for a middle-aged man."

"I read once," said Danny that teen boys who fancy little boys usually grow up hetero but often retain a mild fancy for kids and maybe indulge themselves if the opportunity comes—even if it's only leg-stroking and bottom-patting."

"That may be me," said Grant, "We'll just have to see; but whatever happens, tonight will be the great highlight of my life."

Piers laughed: "You never know! The best may be yet to come!"

"No! Tonight was the first and it made me feel happy with myself so, whatever comes in the future, it's all dependent on tonight!"

"Whatever happens," said Piers, "don't simply class yourself as a little-boy merchant."

They were quiet for a time, then Danny asked: "How young do your fancies take you, Grant?"

"I don't really know."

"Come on! Truth between friends, sweet Grant! Suppose you're the only man on a desert island and dozens of little boys come running up saying 'Bum me, Grant! Bum me, Grant!' How young would you go?"

"Six or seven, I suppose—but I'd never . . ."

"No, of course not. I'd go as young as ten or so; what about you, Piers?"

"I was a bit iffy about you, Darren. So I reckon thirteen."

There was another pause, then Danny said: "Maybe it's not so clear-cut: I wouldn't find fiddling with a six-year-old boy positively repulsive, but I would with a girl."

"It's all theoretical," said Grant, "but I tell you what: all this talk about sex has made me randy. Do you fancy going for two-all, Piers?"

"Yes please!" said Piers, "No! Hang about! We can't let him go without a proper sucking, can we Darren?"

"Good idea! Grant, turn sideways and let Piers rape you with his mouth and I'll investigate the perfumed garden at the back."

The lads shifted and Danny was able to press his nose against Grant's hole. It was quite hairy and did indeed carry some sort of commercial fragrance. The taste was sharp and perfumey when he licked it. He pushed his tongue hard and it went inside by a tiny amount. Life is good! He thought.

He replaced it with a slowly-inserted finger and stimulated Grant gently, working up to a good wiggle when Grant started his climax. It was another of the great gay treats he thought: to feel a bumhole tighten and throb under the finger during orgasm.

As soon as Grant had finished, Piers shifted over to Danny, engaged him in a kiss and squirted the sticky liquid into his mouth.

Danny squished it round his mouth and let it dribble down his throat.

"Different flavour, isn't it?" said Piers.

"Yeah, toothpaste!" said Danny.

"Sorry, I should've thought."

"If you hadn't brushed your teeth, it would've tasted of booze!" said Danny.

The lads giggled.

"That's the only thing about today that hasn't been perfect," said Piers, "Did you enjoy that Grant!"

"Yeah, lots and lots! . . . But I think bumming is best."

"You're the expert!" said Piers.

"For a fourth cum, you produced a lot!" said Danny, "Let me feel your balls to see how big they are."

As expected, they turned out to be big.

Five minutes later, with Danny still cradling Grant's privates, the three contented boys were enjoying the sleep of innocence.

At eight o'clock the next morning they awoke—stiff-muscled from having rolled over each other in their sleep, but nothing that a good hot shower wouldn't put right.

Neither Danny nor Piers could summon up an erection, but the inexhaustible Grant's first action was to give Piers another bumming, so restoring parity.

The shower was used purely for business, but it reminded Piers: "Do you remember our first shower, Darren."

"Two weeks and five days ago!"

"Can I tell Grant the story?"

"It's up to you; you're the one who had egg on his face . . . so to speak!"

"I'll tell you over breakfast, Grant."

Danny and Piers checked out. At the front of the hotel, they picked up Grant who took them to another café—down-market enough to be really a caff.

They ordered English breakfasts (That's one less Full Monty you've missed out on Darren, said Piers) and Piers started a précis of the Case of the Little Whinging Convenience.

By the time he'd got as far as the shower at the Dorchester, the lads had nearly finished their breakfasts, having made slow going because of the continual need for hysterical laughter.

"Then Danny got in the shower with me and when he put his hand on my bum, I knew my life would never be the same."

"It didn't stop you nearly belting me when I kissed you."

"That was the old Piers. I was guilt-stricken because I wanted to kiss you so much."

The door of the caff opened and the lads paused to let the newcomer pass by on the way to the counter.

But the newcomer didn't pass by.

A voice spoke from the entrance.

"Good morning, Master Daniel!"

Danny turned.

It was Mrs Figg.

— CHAPTER TWENTY —Destruction

Looking back, Danny was proud of his self-possession at a moment when the universe seemed awhirl.

He rose politely and shook hands with Figgy, saying "What a pleasant surprise! How did you know to come here?"

"I jus' missed yer at the hotel and they said you 'adn't 'ad breakfast; an' I know the appetites of young gentlemen!"

She looked at Danny's friends and cackled.

"Anyway, I brung a message from yer Dad: 'e's auforised yer to sign some papers in Bristol so we gotta go there on the nex' train."

Danny turned to his friends.

"Sorry lads, my dad's out the country and I'm the only one he trusts, so I've got to run.

"And Piers, you can tell Grant the truth, but please keep it secret, Grant—even from your parents.

Grant was open-mouthed.

"Got your train ticket?" asked Danny.

Piers nodded.

"Got some money?"

Piers nodded again.

"I'll phone you both."

"See yer, Darren!" said Grant, having got at least some of the picture.

"See yer, Danny!" said Piers, who was well-used to Danny's eccentric activities on behalf of his father's firm.

"See yer, boys," said Mrs Figg, and don't you go botherin' the yokel cats, Piers Polkiss!"

Danny gave his two friends quick cuddles and left with Figgy.

"Don't say a word," he said guiding Figgy down an alley.

He fished in his bag, took out the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over their heads.

"Let me have the fun of guessing. You're Miss Tonks and you've come from Professor Dumbledore and he sent you as Figgy so I'd know you're the real thing."

She nodded.

Danny continued: "And it's because Mr Shacklebolt reported my presence and Professor Dumbledore feared a security breach—but he didn't need to: what I told Mr Shacklebolt was true: we came down to see a friend that I'd met on the train when I came before."

Tonks laughed and said: "You're OK Danny, Dumbledore trusts you. Anyway, he knows a new friend's quite in character for you. I don't suppose that you ever go on a train without picking up someone. He looks a nice boy too, this one. Is he a goer?"

Danny laughed: "I suggest you Metamorph into the shape of a cheeky monkey!"

Tonks laughed too: "That really is a case of pot and kettle!" she said, "Anyway it was only a polite question."

"So you can have a polite answer: yes he's a goer! Now, what does Dumbledore want?"

"He's worried about the You-know-where project that you told him about. We can't find out anything about it, so he wants to encourage Voldemort to add Pucey to the team. He's a wanker and we might get further tracking him."

"Good idea, but how does he propose to do that?"

"By burning down the poison factory."

"Leaving Pucey as a spare man. Brilliant. But where do I come in?"

"It's very mundane, Danny. It's a two-man job. Everyone's busy and he doesn't want to disturb Kingsley's much-needed break, even though it's on his doorstep."

"Right, Tonks; I'm on your team. What's the plan?"

"Straightforward: I'm going to burn the place down, making it look accidental if possible and your job is to Confund people to safety before the place goes up—Dumbledore says you're a good Confunder."

Danny glowed with pride. Praise from Professor Dumbledore!

"Also, you've got recent knowledge of the geography," continued Tonks, "None of us have spied out the place for months."

"How do we get there?" asked Danny.

"I've got a loan of an Invisibility Cloak," said Tonks, "and I know where the farm is on the map. If I hadn't found you, I was going to Apparate in stages."

"That's how I got there," said Danny, "I can take you a quicker cross-country route now I know the way. Can you Side-along me?"

"No Worries! It's best if we keep under one cloak."

"Before we start, has your short-form Polyjuice got a reverser? Why not change to what you're really like so I can recognize you in the future."

Tonks pulled out a small bottle and took a swig. As Danny watched, Figgy's features blurred, her body lost its sack-of–potatoes look and there was a slim, boyish young woman.

"How much of you is Metamorphed? I suppose you were born with lime-green hair!" said Danny.

"Honestly, this is me, apart from the hair!"

"You're a good-looking witch!"

Tonks giggled.

"How irrelevant can you get?" she said.

"It's not irrelevant. I may be gay, but I can appreciate feminine beauty. And, if you know that you're a beauty, you're going to be more self-confident, which means you'll do your Auror tasks even better."

"Talking of which, Let's get on with it!"

They walked to the end of the alley and Danny pointed out the direction: "By the house with the pale roof."

He held Tonks tightly and, after a quick whirl, they were standing on the pavement a hundred yards up the road—or rather, Danny was standing despite the fact that Tonks was yanking him downwards."

"Sorry!" she said, "I'm not very good at landing."

"Plenty of practice coming up!" said Danny, and Tonks did indeed improve, though they were both well-bruised by the time they reached the hilly wood where Adrian Pucey had masturbated so memorably.

Danny scarcely noticed: he was picking himself up from the ground a mile from Hillside Farm when a thought struck him.

"Tonks," he said urgently, "I've just realised that Pucey may already be working on the You-know-where project. Could we have a quick consultation with Professor Dumbledore before going ahead?"

"He's gone away, Danny," she said, "He's doing something dead important and he won't be back until Sunday."

"Never mind," he said, with forced cheerfulness, "Let's carry on!"

When they reached Wankwood, Tonks donned her own Invisibility Cloak. Danny gave her the layout: "That brick building to the right of the farmhouse is our target. What'll you use, an Incendio?"

"No, not powerful enough. Ever hear of Conflagro Expandentisque?"

"No."

Such a lot to learn! thought Danny.

"It spreads fire wherever your brain concentrates. I used it in my Auror's exams."

"What range? Can you do it from here?"

"Should be OK. If it doesn't work, I can always repeat it from closer in."

"The thing is, it's just possible that a big cloud of poisonous gas or liquid could be released."

"Do you think we'll be safe here?"

"I don't know Tonks. If we're not, then the people in the farmhouse will be at risk too."

Danny thought of Adrian.

Tonks said: "So we need a Ventus to blow the cloud on the diagonal away from us and the farmhouse. That's quite a localised spell, so if you're close in, you'll have to do it."

"Good thinking, Tonks!"

"So what's the plan?"

"There are two rooms in the building. I'll go down and check the smaller one on the left—that's where they do the bona fide farmwork. Then I'll knock on the door of the naughty room. There's probably a single house-elf working there and I'll Confund him into thinking there's a fire and that he must warn the farmworkers and all go off together to tell Pucey.

"When everyone's safe, I'll write a D for Danny on the wall of the building. When you see that, count to five to allow me to do the Ventus and then start the fire. If it doesn't work, move in closer and try again. Whatever happens, as soon as you see fire, Apparate to that field where you farted when we landed."

"I didn't think you'd noticed."

"Too gentlemanly to mention it. Hopefully, I'll be there waiting for you."

"Good plan, Danny! And we can go back later and check that it's all done!"

"Right! Ready?"

"Ready!"

"I'm off!"

"Good luck!"

Danny walked cautiously through the trees and picked up the path leading down to the orchards and up to the farm.

He reached the yard and tiptoed up to the open door of the apple-sorting room. There was no movement and no sound. He entered and looked round. Nobody. Good!

He crept back into the open air and along the side of the building. He paused to plan his actions, then gave two knocks on the door of the cyanide plant—knocks based on his best memory of Pucey's knocks.

After the expected delay, one of the double-doors opened. A house-elf—presumably Tunky—emerged, grotesque in his gas-mask. Danny had his wand ready and, at ten yards' range, laid the Confundus:

The place is on fire.

It wasn't knocks on the door you heard; it was something cracking in the flames.

You must run and tell master.

Tunky screamed and ran towards the farmhouse.

An elated Danny followed him and pointed his wand at the wall. Just a D, a Vento, and a Disapparate!

Then he froze. He couldn't be sure that the staff of the gas-chamber was comprised of just a single elf.

He hadn't ordered Tunky to collect any colleagues who may have been working with him.

Danny was furious with himself. Why did he always think of things too late?

He would have to check.

He retraced his steps, then entered the building, calling out: "House elves! house elves! Leave the building!"

There was no response, but the gas-masks might have blocked out his voice.

He peered inside the hermetic chamber. It was neatly laid out and there was no place where an elf might be working unseen.

There was a passage on each side of the gas-chamber and there might be elves working at the rear so Danny would have to go there.

Puceys and goodness knew who else would be arriving at any moment so Danny would need to create smoke to give credence to Tunky's alarm.

He ranged over the available spells and managed to produce a cloud of dense, greasy smoke in the doorway.

He dashed down the left-hand passage and turned right into a fairly substantial workspace. There were two one-foot diameter pipes, one horizontal and one vertical, connecting the chamber to the exterior—fresh air pumped in, dirtyish air out, Danny supposed.

The workspace was cluttered with benches and machinery and Danny had to scamper around to check that no oblivious elves were working there.

A breath of acrid smoke hit his lungs before he had finished searching. Just a minor nuisance he thought, but the second breath set him coughing. He would have to Apparate out unless—yes! there were some human-sized gas-masks hanging on the wall.

Holding his breath, and regretting he had never learned the Bubble-headed Charm, he grabbed a mask, put it to his face and pulled the elastic strap over his head. It seemed a good fit, thank goodness.

He pulled his cloak up, finished his search and found the other passage as visibility became really bad.

Groping his way along the passage, he found the door and was about to exit when he saw some blurry human figures outside.

Damn! At the moment of exit, his Invisibility Cloak would be useless! His outline would appear amidst the smoke.

Again he cursed his lack of foresight and applied a Disillusionment charm before going outside.

Mr Pucey and Adrian were standing twenty yards away, together with an unknown man who ran off as Mr Pucey ordered: "Run the hose here, Trott!"

They were going to fight the fire. This wouldn't do and, regretfully, Danny decided that Confunding was necessary. Mr Pucey would be the easier to Confund, but Adrian was less likely to be subjected to a follow-up probe by Voldemort.

Thinking quickly, Danny produced a gentle Ventus, immediately followed by a Confundus.

Adrian Responded: "Dad, the cyanide could escape! We've got to get upwind!"

The two of them ran around the corner of building and, even at this moment of crisis, some part of Danny's brain took pleasure at the sight of Adrian's muscular buttocks.

Father and son were shouting at each other. They swerved and entered the farmhouse. Of course! The threat of a cloud of poisonous gas meant that Mrs Pucey should be moved to safety too.

Danny produced a powerful Ventus, changing the angle so that his D would not be visible from an upwind position.

Nearly there!

He ran to the mid-point of the building and used his wand to inscribe a six-foot high D.

Then he Apparated to a point a few yards from where three Puceys—including a presumed Mrs Pucey—two other humans and five house-elves were gathered.

He couldn't bring himself to go to the meeting-field because it seemed possible that he still might have to a bit of Pucey-protecting.

Tonks' spell, when it came, was spectacularly successful. A dull whoomph was followed by smoke of a different texture from Danny's smoke pouring from the doors and eaves of the building.

Then someone screamed!

"It's Mrs Pascoe!" called Mrs Pucey.

"We can't do anything!" said her husband.

But Danny was already moving. He guessed that Mrs Pascoe was an apple-woman who had been at elevenses when Danny had checked the apple-sorting room and had returned to work while Danny was busy at the other end of the building.

When he entered the door, a wave of heat hit him. The brick walls and steel trusses were ablaze. This was such an obviously magical fire! What were Professor Dumbledore and Tonks thinking of?

The place was filled with an evil-smelling smoke and it was presumably this which had knocked out Mrs Pascoe, who was lying foetus-like on the floor. He was glad of the gas-mask.

Summoning one last effort of brain-power, he marshalled his spells. Whatever he did had to be done quickly. The roof girders were beginning to buckle and, beneath the roar of the flames, were sounds that sounded ominously like bricks cracking.

Danny pointed his wand and Levitated Mrs Pascoe to a vertical position, then moved her at walking pace towards the door. He generated a gust of smoke to disguise the fact that she was floating rather than walking and deposited her ten yards from the door.

All the humans leapt forward to pull her to safety. One of the farmhands was the quickest and Danny wondered if he was Mr Pascoe. As he and Mr Pucey carried Mrs Pascoe to safety, Danny was relieved to hear her cough.

Danny reinforced his Ventus and moved some way further upwind. Really these Puceys were stupid: he laid another Confundus on Adrian who shouted: "Further away! It's going to go!"

As the Hillside party moved speedily down one of the paths away from the farmhouse, one of the buildings walls bulged and then collapsed.

Satisfied, Danny Apparated.

"Is that you Danny?" said Tonks, "You took your time! Stopped to do a bit of rubbernecking, I suppose. When you get older, you'll learn that you should always stick to your plan."

Danny, who was still slightly stunned after coming within sight of Death, responded with a humble "Sorry, Tonks."

"What's happened to your voice?"

"Sorry," said Danny again, and threw his gas-mask to the ground.

"What's that, a souvenir?"

"I had to go inside to make sure everyone was out," said Danny and Vanished the mask.

"Shall we give it five minutes and then go back to check?"

"No need; I saw the building collapse."

"Straightforward, like I said. Though Kingsley would have been more professional."

Danny laughed.

"It's not really a laughing matter," said Tonks "We're up against a serious Enemy!"

"Tonks," said Danny, "Trust me. Kingsley would have failed to avoid casualties. I needed all the knowledge I gained from my first visit and I believe that Professor Dumbledore thought that would be the case, but wouldn't admit that he preferred to use a thirteen-year-old boy rather than a Senior Auror."

"Don't get big-headed, Danny," said Tonks, "Dumbledore would never think like that."

"Oh, no? What about Harry Potter? Dumbledore has had him fighting against the Dark Side since he was eleven. He's a wise man, Tonks, and believes in horses for courses."

"All's well that ends well, anyway, Danny."

"Yeah, though there are still problems. Can you get a letter to Professor Dumbledore quicker than an owl?"

"He's incommunicado till Sunday, but I can make sure he gets it as soon as he's back."

"Good. Then, if you're not particularly busy, I can write it at the Dorchester and we can have a spot of lunch together."

"Sounds a good plan. How will we get there?"

"If you can Apparate me to London, we can go visible and get to the hotel à la Muggle."

"Where in London?"

"How about Hyde Park?"

"That's straightforward."

And this time, she was right.

— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE —Piccadilly Pandemonium

Danny and Tonks were sitting in the Promenade restaurant at the Dorchester. Tonks had ordered a large gin and tonic and Danny a fancy non-alcoholic cocktail.

This was a cosmetic arrangement: after the morning's stresses Danny wanted to do a little illegal under-age drinking.

"I really needed that!" he said, as he put the glass down on Tonks' side of the table, "I wonder if I'll grow up to be an alcoholic: that's one of the signs—needing to have a drink to wind down."

"I shouldn't worry yet, Danny. It's maybe a Necessary but not Sufficient condition. And there's Cause and Effect: maybe the sort of person who's going to become an alcy come what may is the sort of person who's drawn to stress. I confess, it's too deep for me."

"I'll risk one more, if you'll oblige. And here's the letter. Please read it."

He passed his letter over and Tonks read to herself:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I am very sorry that, with all the excitement of the Professor Trelawney prophecy, I forgot to tell you two things:

(1) On Saturday 21st August I went to Tussaud's and heard Mr Pucey, with abuse and violence, forcing his son, Adrian, to learn the Disillusionment Charm. Adrian is a Slytherin seventh-year.

(2) Three days later, when I was spying on Hillside Farm, I heard Mr Pucey tell his wife that Adrian could make them the number one family with V. if only he'd try.

This may be an unknown project; I can't see Adrian being important for the Ministry project; Could it be the You-know-where project? Could this be Pucey trying to join the A team? If so, could You-know-where be Hogwarts?.

When Tonks mentioned You-know-where, I wanted a quick consultation with you but you were away till Sunday, so we went ahead anyway.

I regret to have to tell you that this morning's exercise had some complications and I have left two hostages to fortune:

(1) I had to do about a dozen spells at speed and couldn't swear that I said OK! before every one. So there may be a record in the Ministry along the lines of:

UNDERAGE Vento spell 10:48 Hillside Farm. AUTHORISED (D. Jorrocks)

Through Dad's Ministry contacts I'll check this.

(2) I had to Confund Adrian Pucey twice. I picked him rather than his father as I thought V. was less likely to Probe him

Yours in remorse,

Daniel

P.S. I thought the fire from the Conflagro Expandentisque spell was obviously magical, but Pucey isn't a brainbox so there's hope on this one too.

Tonks refolded the letter and tucked it in her bag.

"Danny," she said, "what were the complications?"

"Firstly, I stupidly assumed that because I'd seen only one elf coming out of the right-hand end, he was the only one there. So I had to go in and check. Secondly, a woman returned to the left-hand end after I'd checked it so I had to rescue her from your fire. Our timings were thrown to pot and I had to deal with a whole gang of Puceys, farmworkers and elves."

Tonks laughed loudly.

Other diners stared with interest.

"Here was I accusing you of unprofessionalism and you were rescuing people from a blazing building."

Danny laughed too. "It's like a film! But in the film we'd spend two hours hating each other and end up in bed together."

"Talking of which," said Tonks, "What do you do?"

"Eh?"

"You know. Gay. What do you do?"

"It's common sense. You don't need me to tell you."

"I do. Honest."

"Well nature decreed that, to propagate the species, you have two sorts and one sort puts A into the other sort's B. But for variety and pleasure, A can go into B2 or B3. Now with gay men, you don't have a B1, but you have two A's , two B2's and two B3's. And of course everyone has two hands as well."

"That's about what I guessed. So what happened to all the A's and B's last night?"

"Sorry, Tonks, comments to third parties are out of order."

Tonks laughed loudly again: "Fourth parties too!"

When the meal was over, they said goodbye with a kiss and Danny went upstairs. to relax by revising some of the easier wizarding books. He didn't feel up to any advanced stuff, but occasionally looked up from his books and wondered how he could train his brain so as to reduce mistakes of the type that had cost him so much trouble that morning.

The phrase Too much bed and not enough sleep came into his mind. Was his sex life affecting his mental life? He would have to monitor this over the few months. To see how his studies were affected by lots and lots and lots of sex.

At six o'clock he rang his mother and confirmed that she would be coming home on the next day.

He phoned the Creeveys and left a message with Mr Creevey, saying he'd be in Birmingham on Saturday morning.

Then he phoned Dot and Alice.

Piers had returned and was full of chat.

"Hi, Danny! Where are you?"

"Dorch."

"Shall I come over?"

"No. You've got to bed in with Dot and Alice—metaphorically, of course!"

"Of course!"

"Anyway, I've got an appointment at seven and then I need a quiet night in. I've had three exhausting nights."

"Did you sort out your dad's task?"

"Yeah, no worries."

"I was surprised to see Mrs Figg, but her husband used to work for your dad, didn't he?"

"Yeah. I am sorry I had to rush off. How did you get on with Grant?"

"Mega! I'm so glad you brought us together, Danny. Not just because of what he is—a gay boy to talk to—but because of who he is—a really warm-hearted, hunk; and Danny . . .?"

"Yeah?"

"I told him I loved him."

"Good for you, Piers."

"But I told him I loved two other boys as well."

"Dot's hardly a boy!"

"So you guessed. I thought you had. But Grant was alright about it and he said he loved both of us and we got quite soppy."

"Excellent! Life is good, isn't it Piers?"

"Yeah, but there's a complication."

"Oh, no! Why can't life be plain sailing!"

"Don't fret, Danny! It's just that he plays Rugby, so he won't be able to come to London for three weeks."

"That's probably not a disaster. By the time you meet again, he'll feel comfortable as a gay sixth-former in the rugger first team and you'll feel comfortable as one of Jorrocks' rising stars, living with the girls."

"Yeah, I think you're right. You know he walked me to the station and you'll never guess what happened!"

"Well, I wouldn't have guessed but, now you've said that, I have guessed. Where does he get it from?"

"Do you think it's for life, or do you think it's because he's just been—sort of—liberated?"

"I haven't had enough experience to guess. I hope you didn't go in the station loo!"

"No fear! It was bushes in a park like you and me last Sunday. And Danny, he gave me a tremendous bumming. It was so good!"

"I bet. Isn't it great that, whatever troubles we have to cope with, we'll always have that to cheer us up?"

"Yeah, we were saying that on the platform, and wondering: say I hadn't decided to go cottaging at that precise day and time, and say you hadn't had to go to Stroud at that precise day and time, what sort of lives would me and Grant be having?"

"Maybe we'd have all met some other way. No-one understands Fate!"

"Yeah . . . when are we fated to meet next, Danny?"

"Well, I want to go to Birmingham tomorrow. The Creeveys are arranging accommodation for those boys we met camping by the canal. Then Mum's back tomorrow. What time do you have to go to work on Monday?"

"They sent me a letter saying Induction at eleven o'clock, though normal hours will be eight to four-thirty."

"Good! Then why not stay at the Dorch on Sunday night. We can say a proper goodbye and you'll have time for a leisurely breakfast."

"Firm date?"

"Firm date! Be here at six!"

"I'll be there. See yer, Danny; I love you."

"I love you, Piers."

Danny set off for his appointment with the four Piccadilly rent boys in a romantic glow. As he mentally scrolled through the many boys who he loved, he felt a temptation to put them into fanciability order. He resolutely refused this temptation—even with Harry and Colin. Love was love and that was it.

He looked back on his pre-pubescent days, when he had handled so many big and little boys' genitalia. There was the pleasure of sex, of course, but Love hadn't been his dominant emotion: it was more like companionship; except for Harry and Colin—and with these two, Hero Worship was a big component of his Love.

He wondered whether his new romantic feelings were merely a product of hormones or due more to emotional and intellectual maturity.

Like Fate, this was an insoluble mystery, but he knew that his adoration of boys made him a better human being; and he knew that no-one on the Dark Side would have such feelings.

At a quarter to seven he approached Piccadilly Circus and kept to the South side of the road. finding a convenient position on the other side of Eros to discreetly monitor the colonnade.

There were loads of people there. They were mostly youngish. Some were scruffy and some smart. Danny had an awful suspicion: perhaps his promise to dole out money had spread like a virus from rent boy to rent boy; thence, perhaps, to the wider gay community; perhaps even to straights.

He had heard about these urban rumours before; now he was observing their power at first hand. He noticed a fair number of women among the crowd. Perhaps they worked as a bisexual team with male associates.

He had excellent distance vision and scanned the crowd for any of his four rent boys—particularly Number One, but could not see any of them.

Seven o'clock came and went. More and more people arrived. Danny noticed that some of the men were really old—he saw one who looked well past seventy.

The crowd was so large now that people had spilled, not only onto the pavements beyond the colonnade, but also into the road so that cars had to drive around them.

At about five past seven, there was a stir in the crowd and a lot of shouting. For a few seconds Danny could not make out what was happening; then he saw that some people were fighting. The crowd expanded as some backed away from the fighting but remained as spectators; at the same time, others ran inwards, obviously eager to join in.

Two streets by the colonnade were completely blocked and the blockage became worse as the Friday-night crowds moved towards the action out of curiosity—tourists, pleasure-seekers, foreigners on the mysterious purposes that make them a far bigger West-end group than natives.

Soon the whole South-west corner of the circus was blocked and all traffic came to a halt. Those cars that tried to nudge forwards were kicked and jumped on. Danny could hear the sound of headlamps being smashed.

The red buses remained stationary. Their drivers knew that even inching forward could lead to a manslaughter charge.

A police car had disgorged four officers, but these remained safely at a distance restricting their actions to shouting and gesticulating.

There was more breaking glass: people were smashing the windows of shops and eating-places. It look as though a concerted raid on Boots the chemist was taking place.

This was what the Muggles called Mindless Violence, but it was violence against property, not people; all the fights seemed to have been finished. There was a sound of police sirens. It looked as though things would soon be over.

He had a last scan round before setting off back down Piccadilly. At the colonnade, there, by a miracle, stood the solitary figure of Number One. Perhaps it wasn't a miracle: perhaps Number One had been standing at the same spot for hours, oblivious to the chaos that surrounded him.

Danny set off towards Number One. At one stage, he had to pause as a swirl of people—women included, he noticed—set off up Piccadilly to rampage in a new area.

He eventually reached Number One just as the noise of the sirens started to drown out the happy shouts of the rioters.

"Alright, mate!" said Number One, I got some good news for you."

"Good," said Danny, "Let's get out of this mess first."

He led Number One up the North side of Piccadilly, clear of the crowd which was concentrated on the South side.

"I'm Darren," said Danny, "What shall I call you?"

"Aaron," said Number One, pronouncing it to rhyme with "barren".

"Rhyming names!" said Danny, though there's so many Darrens that you must get it all the time."

"Yeah. But listen, Darren, mate: I told yer I 'ad some good news: I found your punter!"

"Yer never!"

"On me muvver's grave! He stopped goin' wiv you 'cos he's gone all soft on anuvver renter."

"I thought it was summat like that."

"Anyway, this renter—'e's called Paul—will do a runner for two 'undred."

"How do I meet him."

"You don't. 'E's paranoid. 'E'll only deal wiv me."

"So, if I give yer two hundred, you'll pass it to Paul who'll vanish."

"Yeah, an' then yer punter'll be runnin' after you on yer King's Cross beat right away."

"What's in it for you?"

"If yer can get togevver two 'undred, you can spare another twenty for me, can't yer."

He looked at Danny pleadingly.

"You can't fool me, Aaron!" said Danny.

"Whadyer mean? You're a pal. I'm dealing yer straight."

"Yer'll get twenty off Paul too, won't yer?"

"You can read me like a book, can't yer? Yeah it's true but that's between me an' Paul. I'm straight with him 'an I'm straight with you; 'an when yer start rakin' in the 'undreds, you won't forget yer Aaron, will yer?"

Danny was loving it. Aaron was really good. It was like that Russian acting system: Aaron believed every word at the time he was saying it.

"Yer done well!" he said, and he meant it, "Now tell us about all these people who came to my party?"

"Well, word spread there was this renter chick who was makin' two grand a night an' givin' it away so they all wanted a bit of the action. But all this shite"—he waved his hand to indicate the running crowds and flashing blue lights—"is the Anarchists—they're on a good thing: demo against money and grab some if you can."

Things had got much more peaceful and the police presence was by now an overkill. During their talk, Danny and Aaron had not noticed two large constables approaching them from behind.

A loud voice bellowed: "Callum Wood!"

"We was jus' walkin', Guv," said Aaron, "We weren't wiv all them rioters. We weren't doin' anything"

"Just as you weren't doing anything last time when you got a not guilty. We both saw you kicking in windows, didn't we, Chris."

He glanced at his mate who nodded.

"And your little friend was doing it too. What's your name, son?"

"Darren—Darren Smith, Sir," said Danny meekly.

"Where are you from?"

"Flat 2, 45 Heath Street, Hampstead NW3 6UA," said Danny who, as a matter of basic technique always carried around a few Muggle addresses in his head.

"Sounds real, Rog," said Chris.

"And what are you doing going round with a thieving, rent boy crackhead like this? Does he make you steal for him? Does he make you have sex with him? Or with men so he can have your money? Is he dealing drugs."

Danny put on his most innocent expression: "I was playing football in the park, Sir, and when everyone went home, I thought I'd walk up to the centre to have a look round and the fighting started and I was scared and he got me away."

"And both of you kicked in windows, didn't you?" said Rog, "but you're only a kid, so you just make a statement that you saw Wood here kicking in windows and we'll let you off and give you a nice meal and a drive home."

"I get it, Sir."

Rog turned to Aaron: "And you: if you don't hold your hand up to all the naughty things you've done, we'll find things to send you away for a long time."

"You're very quiet, Chris," said Danny, "When you joined the Met you took an oath. Was perverting the course of justice and malfeasance in public office included?"

"Shut your face, you little know-all," shouted Rog, We'll sort you out down the station."

"Down the station," said Danny, "I will have my super-duper solicitor who, unlike your bent duty solicitors, will take his job seriously and have the two of us out about thirty minutes before serving papers for wrongful arrest."

"You think you're smart, don't you?" sneered Rog.

"No; just honest," said Danny.

"Come on, Rog," said Chris, "they're clean. Let's look for some dealers."

Without saying any more, Rog turned and joined Chris. They were walking away, and Danny congratulated himself on once again having overcome dodgy police practices without magic.

Without magic be blowed! he thought to himself, fingering his wand as it lay in his pocket. He laid a mild Confundus on Rog who turned and walked up to Aaron.

To the astonishment of Chris and Aaron, he pronounced: "I'm sorry. I won't cheat you or anybody else again," and walked back to his partner.

"Let's go, Aaron or Callum—that nearly rhymes, too," said Danny, and they walked away smartly.

Danny thought of the things he could have done to Rog: punching Chris would have been a laugh but would probably have brought the Aurors in force—Danny would have been the ultimate cause and the Ministry had no time for jesuitic get-outs.

Having Rog lowering his pants and pooing on the pavement would have been good, but he'd have lost his job, which was a bit too severe a penalty. One day, though!, thought Danny.

He turned his attention to Aaron, who had started burbling about the mythical Paul: "So when d'yer think you can get the two 'undred together, Daz?" he asked.

"I've got it with me now," said Danny.

"You're talking posh like yer did to that copper."

"I need the practice. Anyway, I brought the two hundred so I could give fifty each to the four of you I met last Saturday."

"I done the work, Daz. I found yer punter."

"How did you find him when you'd forgotten his name?"

"I didn't forget it: I remembered it."

"So what is it?"

"Er—wait a mo—do you know I've forgotten it now I've found 'im!" concluded Aaron triumphantly.

"It doesn't matter anyway," said Danny "since I found my punter on Monday."

"No I found him—through this Paul geezer."

"Aaron, my punter's never met your Paul."

"Then this Paul's bin windin' me up! I'll kick 'is bollocks in. But I still did the work, mate. I bin lookin' all week; I could've earned 'undreds; I 'ad ter turn down some really rich punters."

"Aaron, do you know what eighty percent means?"

"Yeah, it's what yer wins if an 'orse comes in at five-ter-four on."

"And, do you know what a hundred percent means?"

"Yeah, it means the whole bloody lot."

"Well, I'm sorry, mate I must confess eighty percent of what I've ever told you has been lies."

"What yer mean?"

"Exactly that; but a hundred percent of what you've ever told me has been lies."

"No, Daz, I've always told yer the troof!"

"Now listen carefully, Aaron: I think it was a mean trick to try and con two hundred pounds from a baby rent boy, but as I started the lying, I'll still let you and your mates have fifty pounds each."

"One of 'em's inside, so that's sixty-six each."

"No it's not. Here's the dosh. It's fifty each. If you have to hold fifty for the lad that's inside please do."

Aaron didn't look in the least surprised at being given two hundred pounds for doing nothing—Danny was sure that he would keep it all.

"Cheers, Daz," he said, "I had to work hard for that."

"Yeah, but I'm sure Paul was good company," said Danny, "Now I do want you to do a little more work for me."

" 'Ow much?"

"You get paid in food. I've been surviving on crisps and chocolate and I'd like your company while I eat."

"Awright."

They hopped on the tube from Green Park to Victoria where they found a steakhouse.

They looked a slummy pair and they were asked for cash up front. Danny gave the waiter twenty, saying: "Let me know when that runs out."

They ordered steaks and did the familiar trick of sharing the one alcoholic drink they were allowed. Aaron was legal but the waiter asked for ID, which Aaron supplied—a student union card with an unfamiliar name and face: "They never look at it," said Aaron.

Warmed by a little lager and the prospect of a good feed, Aaron wakened up to the odd situation.

"How come, if yer can throw yer money about like this, yer doin' rent for thirty quid?"

"I'm not on the rent, Aaron, I've got a rich daddy."

"So why did yer get us looking for yer punter?"

"He owes my dad money and no-one knows where he is. He'd used rent boys in the past, so I thought I'd go to the 'Dilly and see if anyone knew him."

"An' yer found 'im. Did he pay up?"

"Yeah, no worries."

Their meals arrived and the conversation slowed. Aaron was skinny but ate a lot of food at a fast rate—on the camel principle, Danny thought.

Sitting next to Aaron, Danny could detect the fuggy smell of clothes that had not been washed for a long time. There was also the sour smell of a body that had also avoided water for weeks or months, though Aaron apparently washed under his arms.

Danny was a connoisseur of boy-whiffs but found Aaron's redolence a little stronger than he would have liked.

Even so, his willy, unexercised for nearly twenty-four hours was keen, and Danny asked Aaron: "Can we have a kiss and a wank together before I go home?"

"Where shall we go? Y'can come back to my squat if you want."

"No, we'll book into a hotel for the night, but only stay for a wank."

"Safe. I know a good'un."

They finished their desserts and Aaron took Danny to a low-star hotel.

"Ask f'ra single room for one night in the annexe. There's no one checking who goes in an' out. It's where the punters takes the chickens. Tell 'em you want a quiet room."

Danny complied and obtained a room without having to use a Confundus. His claim to be sixteen was accepted without question.

He found Aaron waiting for him in the porch of the annexe. He unlocked the door and they made their way upstairs to the room.

It was about as basic as possible. Danny deduced that this was because Muggles had their own Vanishing spells.

He drew the curtains and, turning back, saw that Aaron had his willy out and was stimulating it. Do this punter quick and get on to the next one, thought Danny.

"Not so quick," he said out loud, and drew Aaron into a cuddle and snog.

Aaron clasped Danny tightly, groaned and kissed Danny back with extreme passion. Make the punter think you're really turned on, thought Danny.

Danny backed off.

"Gently," he said, "I'm not a punter; we're just two mates."

They started kissing again and this time Aaron was fairly unresponsive.

After a bit Danny asked Aaron to strip and lie down on the bed.

Danny peered, fondled and sniffed at Aaron from top to toe. The highlight was a flagstaff erection which felt silken in Danny's fingers—surprising, since the rest of the body was mostly rough and used-looking.

He turned Aaron over. Aah . . . he would never be bored with boys' backs: all different, all beautiful. Aaron had scrawny shoulders, prominent ribs and vertebra, flabby buttocks. This was light years away from the image puked on the public by the gay mags.

The little bumhole nestled between the cheeks, surrounded by fluffy hair, seeming to demand a stretching from a friendly penis. Danny was not going to oblige: he had heard about Muggle diseases.

Despite the rank odour from the boy's body, there was nothing from the armpits, genitalia or feet. Aaron must have had some feeling for rent boy professionalism.

There were scars on the boy's arms.

"Who did these?" he asked.

"I used ter cut meself," said Aaron.

"Why?"

"Don't know."

Danny was always amazed at the Muggle capacity to create their own hells. It was as though some Muggle Voldemort was in control of every aspect of Muggle life.

Without comment, he pulled the boy to his feet and dropped his own lower clothing.

"Let's have a wank together," he said, and they stood in the middle of the room rubbing themselves.

Aaron spurted almost at once—two little squirts on the carpet. He seemed emotionless and Danny was reminded of Rowle and Jugson. He wondered if this was something to do with autism.

He took a long time to come—presumably the lack of genuine emotion in Aaron had put him off. When he did come though, there was a genuine spurtiness. He was developing quickly!

Aaron wiped his willy on the bed and got dressed quickly.

"You go first," he said, "Don't wait for me; I'm going to have a little kip. Here's twenty for your fare."

"Thanks," said Aaron, "You want any more people tracin' an' you can find me at the 'Dilly."

"See yer, Aaron."

"See yer, mate."

Danny wondered if there was going to be a Please Sir, I want some more, but the lad left immediately.

Danny was indeed going to have a kip, but not here.

He Apparated to his bedroom in the Dorchester.

— CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO —Bijou ResidenceOn Saturday morning, Danny awoke at eight and stretched pleasurably. Mum's coming back and I'm seeing Colin and Dennis, he thought.

After a shower and a Room Service breakfast, he re-packed his bag, pulled on his Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to the foot of the Creevey's block.

Having pronounced the word duckwalk, he was allowed in and found the whole Creevey gang in the hallway.

After the initial greetings, Mr Creevey said: "We've been waiting for you Danny. Off you go, boys."

Colin and Dennis guided Danny to the lift.

There was a taxi waiting and the three of them piled in.

"Where are we going?" asked Danny.

"Guess," said Colin.

"Don't tell me Tom and Steve have got a flat already?"

"We knew you'd guess," said Dennis.

"He got it wrong; It's Tom and Robert," said Colin.

The taxi took them a couple of miles north and stopped outside a new block of flats—sixteen, Danny reckoned.

The boot had to be emptied and double-checked as such before Colin and Dennis left Danny on guard while they toted a big microwave oven up to the flat.

When the four boys came down to deal with the rest of the luggage—in heavy-duty plastic bags—Danny was pleased: Tom and Robert looked smart and normal.

The boys' flat was, indeed, new. There were single beds on two opposite walls, a living area in the middle and a tiny kitchen area which made the room L-shaped. The centre of the L was taken up with the passage and a separate shower and toilet room.

"Ooh," said Danny, this flat's perfection!"

"We're not going to foul it up," said Robert.

"Mr Pembroke didn't hang about," said Danny.

"No, he got certificates from the Doctor and the Social and got the Council to refer us to the Housing Trust—all on Thursday afternoon," said Robert.

"And we moved in yesterday," said Tom.

The three youngsters glanced knowingly at each other: this smelled of Confunding—the best sort of Confunding, which helped people to do what they were going to do anyway, but made them do it in a fraction of the time.

They unpacked the bags. The flat was let furnished and Mr Creevey had brought bedding over on the previous night. Now, as well as the microwave, they had cutlery, crockery, food, bedside lamps and, most importantly, a kettle.

"We were dying for a cuppa last night," said Robert.

"And it's been weeks since we've been able to brew our own," said Tom.

"And where I've been living, the tea's pretty ordinary," said Danny.

With great care, five mugs of tea were made, a coffee table was shifted and the three juniors sat on a bed facing Robert and Tom.

"Happy?" asked Danny.

"Can't believe it," said Robert, "The social pay the rent and tax; we get the dole; we get food from the Sal."

"Have you seen Mr Pembroke?"

"No, one of his solicitors was with us all yesterday when we had to sign all the Papers."

"And that includes proving I exist," said Tom.

"And trying to make me rich," said Robert.

Dennis was bouncing and at last got his really important question in: "Are you going to do punters?"

"Not here," said Robert, "we agreed on that; but I'm gonna keep a couple of good ones."

"And I'm thinking about it," said Tom.

"And we're not bringing girlfriends back, unless it's a threesome," said Robert.

From the three on the bed came a simultaneous Ugh! What a waste of two boys' bodies! and You said you weren't going to foul it up!

Tom laughed and said: "You three are really gay, aren't you?"

There was a chorus of assent and then Robert said: "And we're gonna get a job or go to college."

"That's great," said Danny, and how are you doing with the drugs.

"I'm OK," said Tom, "but he's suffering."

"Just a bit," said Robert, "but I'm never touching that stuff again?"

"Just tea," said Dennis, and refills were arranged.

They talked for a long time about life in the city.

Then Dennis, who had been unusually quiet, said: Have you christened the flat?"

Robert snorted: "A flat-warming? No fear! We're not going to get the place wrecked."

"I think Den meant just booze," said Colin.

"No, Mr Creevey just brought soft drinks," said Robert, "and we're not big drinkers, are we Tom?"

"Not so far," said Tom, "but now we're off that stuff, we might have to watch it—alcohol's fouled up millions more people than heroin."

"We'll watch each other," said Robert, and the boys sensed the true friendship behind these words."

"What I actually meant," said Dennis, "was the emission of—what's that word you use, Dan?"

"Semen," said Danny, smiling. He and his friends were all sex-mad, but Dennis was the champion.

Robert laughed: "Give us a chance, Dennis! We've only just moved in; unless you had a sneaky one last night, Tom?"

Tom laughed, too: "No, my mind was on other things, like how my life's suddenly become better over the last two weeks."

"Why don't we christen the place now?" said Dennis, bubbling with excitement.

"You can't produce semen, can you?" said Robert.

"No, but I can get the feeling and I've helped other boys produce it!"

"I can come," said Danny.

"And me," said Colin.

"We're English," said Tom, "and we don't go in for all that bleeding heart crap—"

"—Except sports," interrupted Robert.

"Yeah, and soaps."

"And counselling."

"Yeah, I began wrong," continued Tom, "What I mean is you've been so wonderful—"

"—Just 'cos we don't shove thank yous in your face—" said Robert, continuing the cross-talk performance.

"—But we are really grateful," said Robert, "and you don't need to offer us sex: you've done enough for us."

The three wizards glanced at each other and laughed uproariously.

"What's so funny?" asked Robert, "producing semen is sex, isn't it?"

"It's just that you've got it the wrong way round:" said Danny, "We're really hot for you, but we don't want you to feel that you have to let us out of gratitude."

"You're just saying that. How can three pretty little lads like you fancy rent boys?"

"We all like you and fancy you and that's that!" said Danny.

"Especially the new you!" said Colin.

"Well, whatever you want," said Robert, "Anything—and that goes for Tom, I'm sure."

"Anything," said Tom.

"When do the window cleaners come?" asked Dennis.

"Er—window cleaners?" said Robert.

"I'm gonna take a chance," said Dennis and started to strip.

Danny and Colin stood laughing for a moment, so that, by the time they had started on their clothes, Dennis was naked and making comically exaggerated thrusting movements causing his tiny stiffie to wiggle about.

"Come on, you two; it's time for a christening!" said Dennis.

Robert and Tom, a little bit embarrassed, started divesting.

"There is a complication:" said Danny, "we can't do much until you two've had all your medical results in; so let's christen your flat by wanking on the kitchen floor—it'll wipe off the tiles."

The five naked boys trooped into the kitchen.

There was much giggling. The three younger boys were rampant, Robert had a semi and Tom's long, brown, thick willy swayed as he walked. I've had that, thought Danny and giggled.

The boys stood in a circle. Danny saw that his two friends were, like him, focused on Robert. It was not that Tom, as he jiggled his powerful willy, was not attractive; but they had seen him—or Danny transformed as him—before; Robert, with his incredibly smooth body, was new to them. And, of course, there was another willy to admire

Robert's willy was slightly small, with a tight foreskin, but Danny yearned to have a mouthful, and was certain that Colin and Dennis would be equally appreciative.

There was an attraction in contrasts, too: the gnarled, veiny, masculine thing that Robert was now rubbing vigorously arose from a twee little bush of dark hair which showed no tendency to spread upwards like that of Tom, Grant or several other big boys of Danny's acquaintance.

In fact Robert seemed to have no body hair at all: arms and legs fuzzless; not even the single nipple-hair that presages a coming chest-jungle; and, Danny was sure, a bumhole as smooth as Dennis's.

Four of them were wanking now—by unspoken agreement, slowly so as to prolong and intensify the bonding.

Tom stiffened very gradually. Again by unspoken agreement, nobody touched each other, so Tom was denied a helping hand.

Danny felt that all five recognized the validity of the shared sexual experience, but kept it muted out of sympathy for the situation whereby two of them were massively indebted to the other three.

And people thought boys were insensitive!

Colin was the first to come with a respectable blob, then Danny with his gallant little effort. Robert splashed out some good spurts and this inspired Denis, who had been stroking very slowly, to emit his come-squeaks while gazing wistfully at Robert's nipples. Because he had nothing else to offer, he spat at the mess on the floor.

Tom was now the focus of attention—fully erect and wanking hard. He had his eyes closed and Danny thought that he was probably thinking of a woman.

It was a noble sight: for a good two minutes he rubbed and rubbed, his body sometimes arching as a wave of pleasure hit him.

Finally, he seemed to glow as every sweat-gland in his body turned on.

With a groan, he tilted his willy upwards and, using the trench mortar technique, sprayed a streak high in the air, aiming for the conglomerate on the floor. He overshot and it landed on Dennis's knee.

Dennis giggled with delight as the next shots, with better aim, hit the floor: splat, splat, splat, splat, dribble, dribble, dribble.

Danny was utterly convinced now that, forgetting about sexual matters, a big come was a work of art in itself.

Colin echoed his thought: "Fabulous come, Tom!" he said; then, warm-hearted as ever, "Not that yours wasn't fabulous too, Robert!"

Dennis had scraped cum from his knee and sniffed it. "Just like before!" he said mysteriously.

They got dressed and Danny found a cloth and went to clean the floor.

"Hang on!" said Dennis, and raising his right hand chanted: "I name this room Robert and Tom's flat. May God bless her and all who wank in her."

They sat down again and chatted for a while, then Danny said: "Let's go to a pub—our pub."

"Danny, you didn't listen to Mum: she's doing a roast dinner," said Colin.

"Sorry, it must have been when Geoff was telling me about his martial arts."

"We'll have to be off now in fact, if we're going to walk. See yer Robert; see yer Tom. Dad'll be round to see you're OK and you've got Mr Pembroke's man to look after you, too."

"Goodbyes were said and platonic hugs exchanged for the first time.

"Job done!" said Danny as they walked down the road.

"We can pick up the canal," said Dennis, "I looked it up on the map."

"We can't get lost, anyway," said Colin, "There's the tower."

"That was fun, this morning, wasn't it?" said Dennis, "Doesn't Tom come lots?"

"Yeah," said Colin, "I wonder how much Harry comes. I noticed me and Danny's cum is getting more all the time."

"That was even more than when he came on our faces—I mean when you did, Dannikins," said Dennis.

"Was that the biggest one you've seen, Dan?" asked Colin.

"Seen, yes, but Ollie pumped a lot inside Piers and Sea Jay did the same to me but I've only seen the stains—you've seen Ollie's too. I don't know about Grant, though."

"Oh, tell us, Dan. Didn't it work out?" said Colin.

"Oh it worked out fine. Piers and Grant took to each other so they've each got a gay friend their own age, but not too local. The thing is, at the moment and maybe forever, Grant's urges are one-dimensional. He's what Alice calls a five-star, turbocharged, butch arse-bandit."

"He'll grow up straight, then," said Colin, wisely.

"At present it would be Den that attracted him most—maybe even Geoff."

"No wonder he's a shagger, he needs a good session with Tom an' Ollie to educate him in shageeism," said Colin, "Why don't you arrange it, Dan?"

"Not a good idea: we'd have the Statute of Secrecy blown in no time."

"But you are a good arranger," said Colin, 'talking of which, Danny darling, now you're a man, what are your plans for sex at school this year?" asked Colin.

"I haven't really sorted them out, but number one priority is to pump my seed into Harry—perhaps we can fix it so he's doing you at the same time."

"No, please don't fix. I want it to be just me and Harry; and please don't ask him on my behalf—I want it to be his idea."

"OK, but Harry might be totally straight and I'm pretty sure Ron Weasley and Hermione Grainger are trying to fix it so Harry and Ginny . . ."

"That'd be awful!"

"I know, Col, but it's a possibility, even though it's a cliché. How long are you going to wait?"

"Don't know," said Colin sadly.

"Then I suggest that, if Harry doesn't turn out to be the slut we hope he will be, then, as soon as Dennis can come, he takes your fragrant virginity."

"No, you, Danny," said Dennis, " You're Col's brother and his best friend."

"Well, whichever of us it is, let's promise to each other that the second will stick it up two seconds after the first pulls out."

"I promise," said Dennis.

"There's another point, darling Colin:" continued Danny, "out of loving respect, Dennis and me've kept your bum totally virgin, but how about allowing tongues and fingers?"

"Yeah, OK," smiled Colin, if it'll give my brothers pleasure—and I'll feel a bit less selfish."

"It's not selfish to save things for the one you love—I'm saving my bum-squirt for Harry."

"How long will you wait, Dan?" asked Dennis.

"There'll be no second chances; I'm a growing boy and I need bum as much as I need food."

"Let me be first reserve," said Dennis.

"No—also out of respect for Colin because he can't be first reserve. If Harry says no, I'll maybe try his dorm: Ron's unlikely, I've got some hope for Dean, Neville's too immature and Seamus takes every opportunity to tell me he's not gay.

"Most likely it'll be my dorm. We've all had little-boy feelies and rubbies, so some of 'em should be up for it."

"Any chance we can have watchies?" said Dennis.

"Difficult to arrange," said Danny, "and when me and Creevies get together, it'll be doies, not watchies."

Dennis giggled and squirmed in anticipation. Then his mind reverted: "Col, shall we do tongues and fingers after dinner?"

"If Danny wants to."

Danny guffawed: "Don't talk wet! Of course Danny wants to . . . but not after dinner, after supper. Why don't you stay the night with me. Mum won't mind and, if your mum and dad know she's looking after you, they won't mind either."

The Creeveys chirruped their approval, then Colin also reverted: "Tell us more about your sex plans for Hogwarts, Dan."

"Well, once I've lost my fifth virginity, I have a personal target: to get to know every willy in Hogwarts."

"What does know mean?" asked Colin.

"Mainly by sight, unfortunately, but sometimes by touch, smell, taste or anal expansion."

"You forgot sound, Danny," giggled Dennis.

"Well, if you hear any singing willies, let me know, Den."

Back at the Creeveys, Danny tried the Dorchester, but his mother was still at Aunt Rose's. When Danny rang there, Mrs Jorrocks was more than willing for Danny to have his friends on a sleepover and, after Danny put Mrs Creevey on the line, permission was granted.

Colin and Dennis were overjoyed and lunch was a hilarious affair, as was an afternoon spent playing with the little Creeveys.

At four o'clock the three boys Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry checked the bar and found, as he hoped, Mundungus Fletcher, who waved a cheery, but not yet drunken, hello.

"Wait here; I just want a quick word with Mr Fletcher." he said to the Creeveys.

"He sat down next to Dung and said: "That was trumps, Mr Fletcher. What's your source's schedule?"

"Bad. 'E 'ad ter flush the last brew away wen 'E got raided. 'E's gort lacewings goin' so it might be two or three weeks."

"Can you send me an owl? Uncle's home on such-and-such a date, or something. Double the quantity, double the price OK?"

"Yeah OK, but tradin' margins is terrible it's only becorse of yer Dad . . ."

"I know and this time you're gonna have to give me an extra discount."

"Oh Gord. 'Ow much?"

"A Gypsy's."

Dung chuckled: "I do reely need one, but lookin' only, OK?"

"Yeah, it's just so my friends can see."

"I aint a ruddy freakshow!"

"Call it education, Professor Fletcher."

Dung and Danny made their way to the gents. Danny jerked his head and the Creeveys followed.

It was fairly busy, but Mundungus, knowing who had access to significant purse strings, dithered, holding the door open for people leaving, and found a wide space into which he slipped with a Creevey each side and Danny next to Colin.

The Creeveys managed to suppress their gasps, which was a good effort, thought Danny, as he gazed at a limp willy which was more than six inches long and very fat.

Dung really needed a pee and the boys had a good long goggle at the great hose gushing into the trough; then the long, serpentine slithering as Dung shook it dry.

As they left the gents, Dung called out: "Come tomorrow, Master Daniel. Bring yer frien's. Special back ter 'Ogwarts offers."

"Thank you, Mister Fletcher," they said, Dennis through fits of tittering, and parted—Dung to the bar and the boys to Charing Cross Road.

"Golly!" said Colin, "That's like you said, Dan, it's a whopper!"

"I wonder what it's like when it's hard," said Dennis, still tittering.

"He's a freakshow!" said Colin, and Danny burst out laughing.

"Do you think there are boys at Hogwarts with monsters like that?" asked Dennis.

"There's sure to be one or two," said Danny, "and I hope to find them."

"Just think," said Dennis, "you may find a first-year with a little button and by your last year he could be as big as Mr Fletcher."

"What are you going to do about the first-years?" asked Colin.

"I'm going to talk to them and make sure that they're the first Hogwarts generation to understand about gayness. I don't know whether I'll do it individually or in groups, but do it I will—in fact, that's a higher priority than the willy-hunt."

"But not higher than the Harry-poke," said Dennis.

"No," chuckled Danny, "Holy Grail!"

"This way, brothers," interposed Colin, "Let's look at Piccadilly Circus."

"Definitely not," said Danny, "There was rioting there yesterday."

So they went by back streets and were soon walking into the Dorchester.

— CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE —We'll Meet Again

"Hiya Mum!"

Danny and Mrs Jorrocks had a hug and a kiss.

"Oh, Danny, your hair!"

"Sorry, Mum, I didn't have time to comb it, what with being bitten by a dragon, catching Spattergroit and being held prisoner by Scumbag."

"Don't joke about things like that."

"I know, mothers always worry."

"Yes, Mrs Creevey was worried—hello Colin, hello Dennis—but I said to her 'My sister, Rose was saying. . .' "

Some minutes later, Mrs Jorrocks brought up the subject second-dearest to the boys: "Where shall we eat?"

"What d'yer fancy, boys?" said Danny.

"Fajitas, Fajitas!" said Dennis and the other two boys responded in unison: "All fall down."

Then Colin asked if they had time for a game of Whish.

"You could play too, Mrs Jorrocks," said Dennis.

"My Whish-playing days are long gone," said Mrs Jorrocks, "but I'll come and watch."

"Shall we phone Piers and meet him after Whish?" asked Colin.

"Eek . . . eek . . . eek!" said Dennis.

"No, he needs to settle at his new place," said Danny, "and I kept him away on Thursday night—and tomorrow night, if Senior Management permits."

"Senior Management would love to see Piers again," chuckled Mrs Jorrocks.

They took a taxi to Madame Tussaud's and Mrs Jorrocks paid for a court (You're having a Lesbian affair with Mr Fudge, aren't you? from Germanica.)

Danny's Whish was about as good as the previous time, but the Creeveys had both improved.

Changing and showering was done in a quick, erection-free, manner. The boys were saving up for later.

In the taxi to Covent Garden, Mrs Jorrocks said: "I promised Mrs Creevey that I'd send you boys back in time for a special end-of-hols Sunday dinner, so it's best to have a light breakfast. That means plenty to eat tonight."

"We'll force ourselves," said Dennis.

"Force-feed ourselves," said Colin.

So the boys (and Mrs Jorrocks) got through a healthy mountain of Mexican Platters and, after playing Charmless (a wizard form of the Muggle game Speechless) for an hour at the hotel, the boys said goodnight and were soon locked in Danny's bedroom.

They did a SICK.

"This is a historical moment," said Danny, as they undressed for the third time that day, "Sniffs first, I think. Off you go, Den."

"No, you lead the way Danny," said Colin, now naked and bending over the bed, "You've always led the way in hanky-panky."

"OK"

Danny advanced towards Colin's enticing bottom and buried his nose in the crack.

"Aaaaargh!" he said, standing up, "We let you have a shower!"

"Oh, yeah," said Colin, "I never thought . . ."

"Den, see if you can get anything," said Danny.

Dennis applied his nose, then backed away saying: "Nothing."

"I was hoping for autumn leaves, mountain streams, wood-smoke and a touch of incense," said Danny, "Never mind; to business!"

Danny stooped, bestowed a few kisses on Colin's cheeks, then homed in on the target and pressed his tongue against the opening.

He licked the hole a few times. It was incredibly smooth.

He pressed with his tongue and the tip slid inside Colin. He wiggled and his tongue went as far in as it was going to go. For some time he wiggled. He didn't find it sexy, or even sensuous. It was simply the completion of another stage in mutual love and togetherness.

He was lost in a mystic sense of universal peace—Nirvana, some Muggles called it—but aware, nevertheless, of the physical basis, with Colin's bumhole expanding and contracting under his tongue and Colin's muscley buttocks twitching with pleasure under his hands.

Dennis laid a hand gently on Danny's shoulder, not to nag but to say I'm here. Danny raised a hand and placed it over Dennis's.

After existing in a timeless zone, Danny withdrew his head and nudged Dennis to take his place.

As Dennis applied his head to Colin, Danny realised that Colin had been giggling and squealing with pleasure for some time. Colin's vocals changed subtly as Dennis started his ministrations and Danny's dreamworld changed too. As he watched the two shimmering blond heads, with their so-fragile necks, he thought: these are brothers; and these are my brothers.

By a psychophysical consensus they all three felt the urge to move from mystical to material, and fingers was on all their minds.

Colin turned round and raised his legs in the air. "I want to look at your face, Dan," he said.

Danny knew how boys' bumholes worked now. He sat next to Colin's midriff and stretched his longest finger towards his own mouth, but Dennis pulled his hand over and moistened the finger for him.

Danny set his finger on the hole and moved it so as to stretch it: up and down; left to right; round and round. Then he held his finger still and pressed. He felt Colin's muscles yielding easily and pushed the tip slowly inside. Then a bit more . . . and more . . . then his finger was fully in.

He moved it in a circle and felt Colin's relaxed state. He started to wiggle and Colin squealed. He and Colin looked lovingly into each other's eyes.

Dennis, who must have been observing all this with pleasure and unusual silence, joined in by laying his head on Colin's tum and took Colin's willy in his mouth.

Danny felt Colin's ring tighten as his semi went hard.

Then Dennis was nodding his head strongly and Colin shrieked again as Danny worked his finger inside Colin and his thumb outside.

Colin's come was quick. It was also dramatic as his loins jerked causing Dennis and Danny to sway like ships caught in a hurricane.

As soon as it was respectful to do so, Dennis raised his head towards Danny's and kissed him, releasing a flood of what was probably ten parts Dennis-spit to one part Colin-cum into Danny's mouth. Never mind; it was cum-flavoured.

Live-wire Dennis was shuffling them around at once and Danny found himself lying head-to-toe with Dennis, who said Fingers! to Colin before engaging Danny in a sixty-nine.

So Colin, who had probably anticipated a long period of inertia, thinking with enjoyment of his new sexual experience, was called to duty, and both of the others came with fingers in their bottoms—clumsy fingers, but nonetheless welcome.

"What do you think, Col?" asked Dennis.

"Absolutely fantabulissima! But it makes me envy you a little bit, Dan."

"Why's that?" asked Danny.

"Because you'd be happy doing all that with any boy, but I'd only want to do it with people I really love—that's Harry and you two."

"And Piers," said Danny.

"Piers and lots of others who I like are sort of in the reserves and I'd only enjoy doing it with them if one of the big three were there too. I'm not really envious, it's just that I feel I'm not getting the most out of it."

"You are getting the most of it, Col," said Danny, "liking people and being friends are the really important things. Love and sex are just two different sorts of icing on the cake."

"What do you think, Den?" asked Colin.

But Dennis was fast asleep.

Morning came and the three young wizards woke in their usual tangle of limbs with stiff bodies and stiff willies.

Dennis was the last to wake, jerked out of his sleep as the other two rolled over to enjoy a morning snog. Dennis was tired but bummed Danny on auto-pilot. As soon as he had finished, Colin bundled him off and was soon bouncing merrily on top of Danny while Dennis administered a now-permitted finger to his brother in blood.

With much squealing, Colin pumped whatever he had left to pump into Danny and lay still ready to have another hour's sleep on top of his brother in love.

It was not to be, though, as Dennis bundled Colin out the way and turned Danny over so that he could sit on his willy. Colin wanked Dennis and, all three having satisfied the first part of their morning urges, washed and dressed.

The second part, despite Mrs Jorrocks' admonitions, comprised substantially more than a light breakfast, and it was a comprehensively stuffed pair of Jorrocks who said goodbye to Danny and his mother at the Cauldron.

After a session buying Hogwarts stuff in Diagon Alley with Mrs Jorrocks, Danny spent the rest of the day on the studies which he had neglected over the past week. He read hard and made many notes and, by the time Piers arrived promptly at six o'clock, his brain was tired and he welcomed the end of his studies.

Mrs Jorrocks took them to the same Indian restaurant and they had the same food and drink.

They each had a big day ahead of them so they went to bed early.

Danny kissed his mother.

"Goodnight, Mum."

"Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight, Mrs Jorrocks."

"Goodnight, Piers."

In the bedroom, they went straight for what Danny called The Core Curriculum: Piers bummed Danny ferociously; then Danny bummed Piers ferociously.

They lay talking about the future.

"What'll you be doing this time tomorrow, Danny?"

"The best scenario is that I'm lying, utterly shagged out, in Harry Potter's arms; the worst is that I've persuaded neither Harry nor any of my dorm-mates to frolic with me and I'm having a solitary wank."

"What about Colin and Dennis?"

"You said tomorrow, not the day after . . ."

"You're lucky; I won't get any till Grant comes, unless . . ."

"Don't hurry things with Dot he—I mean she—has got to have time to get her head round going with a tiny tot."

"I know, I'll just let him—and Alice—set the pace."

"What about half-term? We've got a provisional date with Ollie. Now Grant's arrived and now you're living with the girls, should we scrub that? He won't be hurt."

"Can't plan ahead that far, Danny. I can only think of the next few minutes . . . I need to be done"

Danny rolled Piers over and bummed him again, this time slowly and gently. Then he felt tired, but not so tired that he didn't enjoy being entered again by Piers and being shagged with love and friendship.

"Darling Piers," he said.

So the week of sex ended with Danny and Piers enjoying their joyous, loving, uninhibited, red-hot sex. Danny's last thought before falling asleep in Piers' arms was: As long as boys can be together like this, the World is a Good Place.

THE END