Harry Pothead

WARNING: Contains rape. Obviously we do not find rape humourous. The sort of rape that occurs is actually impossible, so we'll leave you with the words of Stephenie Meyer,"It's FICTION, anything can happen!"

Part One: What Happens When a Man and a Boy Reluctantly Do It

Two elves slid the Golden Throne at the Gryffindor Table out for their master, Harry Potter, who elegantly parked his cute butt down on it. He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed and arms around his head opened his mouth as wide as it could go as he waited for Elf Number One to pop a piece of toast into his mouth.

"Hurry up!" He barked as his best friend, Ron Weasley, sat down in the chair next to him.

"Morning, mate!" Ron yelled cheerfully in Harry's ear. Harry jumped and slapped him around the head.

"You dingus! You almost made me choke on my bread! Fuck you!"

Ron rolled up the sleeves of his robes and grabbed Harry into a headlock and let out a string of words that made the first years shrivel up in fright. When he was finally done, he threw Harry back in his throne and snatched the bowl of porridge out of the hands of the girl sitting opposite him.
"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked as he snapped his fingers twice and his Elf's hurried over to quickly pour a jug of Pumpkin Juice in his waiting mouth.

"Dunno, she told me that she's waiting for someone."

Harry snorted. "Her boyfriend?"

"I'm her boyfriend, you dickhead!" Ron thundered.

"She's probably giving her other boyfriend head right now."

Ron slapped Harry around the head. "I'm her boyfriend! I am! Hermione's only boyfriend is me! Don't you forget that!"

"Your girlfriend is a slut, Ronald! Admit it or I'll curse the bejeezus outta you!"

Ron pushed his chair back and pressed his forehead right against Harry's. "HERMIONE IS NOT A SLUT! YOU CAN'T BE A SLUT IF YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND!"

Harry pushed his throne back too, knocking over his two Elf servants. "Fuck you mother heifer!" He shouted and stormed from the Hall.

He had his fists clenched and he was fuming. "Fuck that ranga!" He screamed out and he rushed down the flight of stone steps to the dungeons. "I'll show him."

He walked for ages and ages down the corridors, climbing steeper and steeper into the school when he eventually reached a tight spirally staircase. He had never seen this staircase before. "What the fuck? Who has hidden this staircase from I; the great Harry Potter?" He shrieked and cursed. He raced down the stairs and found himself in a dark, dank room with a double bed and chains hanging from the wall that were freshly oiled.

"Ah, Harry Potter. I've been waiting for you," a high-pitched voice came from a shadowy corner. Harry rolled his magnificently green eyes.

"Hasn't everyone?"

"Shut up, boy! I've been waiting for you ever since you stepped foot in this miserable castle," The voice continued. "Years and years."

"Who are you?"

The man stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to be none other than Argus Filch the Caretaker. "I knew it," Harry said breezily, even though he secretly had no idea.

"Get over here, Potter!"

"No! No one tells me what to do, old man!"

Filch dived forwards and grabbed Harry's neck. Harry cried out in pain and tried to grab Filch's hands but somehow Harry's were chained to the wall.

"No one calls me old man, you...you...young man!" Filch released Harry's throat and he gasped for air. "Pants off, Pothead."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Okay, is that ever gonna stop! That bag of weed under my bed was sent from an admirer, I had to use it!"

"I said, Pants off, Pothead!"

Harry growled. "You imbecile, my hands are chained to this wretched wall you wretched man!"

"I don't care! Find a way to take them off!"

It took a while but finally Harry had managed to get his hand-woven pants from India off of his arse. Satisfied, Filch ripped his own off of his dirty unshaven arse.

"Ew!" Harry shrieked.

Filch looked down at his bush. "What!"

"Umm, don't you ever shave? I wax my arse every other day!"

Embarrassed, Filch covered his arse with both hands. "Shut up, Pothead and close your eyes!"

Harry refused to do so. Filch shrieked with rage and ran forward and stuck his disco stick in Harry's own. Harry screamed in pain. "How are you doing this?"

"Practise!" Filch screamed and wedged it in tighter.

Harry screamed and screamed and writhed and thrashed, hoping that his Knight in Shining Armour would rescue him from this horrible torture. But no one came to help. He paused, confused. Help always came to him immediately when he asked for it. "NO!" He yelled intensely. "HELP IS FOR WEAKLINGS!"

So he let Filch continue.

A/N: Yeah..we wrote that about 4 years ago. On a sugar high. So calm the fuck down if you're getting all worked up about it.