AN: Aaand the next one :)
Warning: This chapter includes the probably weirdest lemon in fan fiction history...
Please let me know what you think
Due to this chapter, I have changed this story's rating to 'M'.

Digging Rabbit Holes

Harry was once again lost in the intimidating maze some people might refer to as brain. He stood outside the small overcrowded pub, with music that seemed to be loud enough to entertain half of London. His eyes were glazed, while his expression resembled a goldfish frozen in time.

There was a glass in his left hand, too large for a shot, but too small for a beer. Did he have a whiskey perhaps? Harry didn't remember.

He was all by himself, since Hermione and Ron had remained inside like proper little non-smokers. He didn't remember how many cigarettes he had smoked this night, but a moment ago he had tossed the empty package away. Intentionally aiming for the bin, he had missed it by almost three feet. Instead it lay on the ground, and was currently being stabbed to death by a long, thin and red high heel.

Harry wondered for a moment if cigarette packs could feel pain, and felt sorry. It just had seemed to be such a difficult task at this point: walking over, bending down, lifting the pack, and for what? It was easier to pretend the cigarette pack hadn't been his in the first time.

The red heel was attached to long leg, that lead to a polka dotted dress. Its owner wore matching red nail polish and in impressive amount of black hair was twisted up into a beehive, that added an additional four inches to the already impressive height.

Harry walked closer. He had to talk to that woman, or so the alcohol in his bloodstream told him.

When he got close enough, he tapped her on the shoulder, interrupting a conversation with a plain looking friend, he hadn't even seen before. "Excuse me, please" he stuttered out, trying not to sound too drunk, but miserably failing: "Do you have a lighter, darling?" he asked, trying to send a seductive smile, that probably looked as if he'd been electrocuted for a moment.

Both woman started laughing, the Lady with the red heels not even turning around. Harry was wondering what was so ridiculous about his question, when the plain friend pointed to the already lit cigarette in Harry's hand.

"Oh" Harry exclaimed, then threw the lit cigarette away, and asked for another one. Finally the woman turned around and offered him a red Marlboro.

Ignoring the cancer stick in on front of him, Harry ogled the woman. She seemed to be older than him, probably in her mid thirties, had an impressive amount of chest hair and a 5 o'clock shadow. That was unexpected. Not that Harry minded. Despite considering himself 75 per cent heterosexual, the love of his life had been a man.

The woman... man had impressive eyebrows and a beauty mark under her left eye, which was an obvious fake. Apart from that, the face sparkled like a disco ball: glittery eyeliner, combined with glittery lipgloss and glittery blusher. Now that Harry paid closer attention, he noted that the woman's... man's body was covered in a shimmery lotion.

"Like what you see?" the transvestite asked in a deep throaty voice.

Close up, he realised that his object of attraction was almost an entire head taller than him. Harry didn't mind. Tall bodies usually meant long legs, that could wrap themselves around him in a snakelike grip, pulling him closer to...

A hand waved in front of his face "do you still want that fag, sweetie?" A now annoyed voice asked him, not too happy about his tendency to space out when he was drunk (or sober). "Yes, t-t-thank you," he barked out, embarrassed.

It took a couple of attempts for his uncoordinated fingers to place the cigarette between his quivering lips. He hated how his upper lip started to shake whenever he got too horny or too drunk. No wonder that he usually sounded like a retard whenever he tried to chat up a woman... or man.

A this moment, Harry noticed that he still held some instant bravery in his hand, and gulped it down. Vodka, already a bit stale.

He placed the cigarette back in his mouth, then repeated his question for a lighter. The transvestite in with the red heels did not move, but his - now that Harry came to think of it - gender undefined friend started to dive through their bag for one.

Long, painted fingernails stroke up and down Harry's biceps. "My name is Cedric, by the way. What is yours, sugar?"

"Hrrmmmmmmm?!" Harry answered eloquently in highest concentration.

Cedric chuckled without parting his lips. The result was a sound like the opening of a jar. He moved his hand from Harry's upper arm to his chest, then up to his shoulder, where it rested for a moment. At the same time, his friend had found a lighter and offered it to Harry, who blindly fumbled for it, not wanting to take his eyes of his new friend. Cedric scared him a bit.

Harry was right in his assumption, because the next thing he remembered was Cedric's tongue in his ear, while he took the lighter out of his hand, and lit the cigarette for him. At the same time his other hand was massaging Harry's buttocks.

Harry's own hands just hang down at his sides. His brain had decided to go on a holidays and failed to inform him what else to do with them. The cigarette was hanging between his shaking lips, but he hadn't taken one drag of nicotine yet. His main attention was on Cedric's hand, which slowly moved from his left butt cheek to the front of his jeans.

Harry felt the material tightening. His knees went a bit wobbly, and his legs started to shake.

Cedric's hand reached its - goal - and he could feel his claw-like nails rubbing against his pulsing member. Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back. A loud moan escaped his lips. In his drunk state, he didn't care where he was, or how many other people were around him.

Cedric's tongue, which had just been attached to Harry's ear, snaked now down to his Adam's apple. A singe finger traced the veins of Harry's left arm from his wrist towards his biceps, where it was joined by the rest of the hand. The hand moved further up, until it had his neck in a vice-like grip.

"Do you like playing games, sugar?"

Harry's brain was still blank, and his body was unable to answer, which was apparently the equivalent to a 'yes.'

"I like playing games, too!" Cedric said, and nibbled on Harry's earlobe.

Somehow Harry agreed to accompany Cedric home, though he no longer remembered how that had happened. They stood outside a rundown townhouse, were a door opened with a screeching noise. Harry entered after Cedric and felt like he had just travelled forty years back in time. A lush red couch sat in the centre of the stuffed living room. The floor was a fluffy cloud of white, and the walls were covered in zebra print. Beaded strings were covering the large double windows, and the entrance to the kitchen to his left. There was a small round television blurring some black and white noise in the corner on top of a makeshift table, that looked like it used to be the inside part of a washing machine.

Before Harry could inspect the room any further, he felt himself being pressed into the couch, and covered in eager kisses. Once his shoes had been taken off, Cedric was working on the zipper of his jeans. A cry escaped his lips when his length was suddenly engulfed into a pair of hot lips and an eager tongue circled around his top.

Sweat was dripping down his back and his forehead while his cries of pleasure got louder and more desperate. He dug his fingers deep into the couch, almost ripping the fabric apart. "More, please, deeper ... yesssssssss" he heard a voice, that sounded like his own, scream.

He saw stars. Fireworks. They twinkled, and danced, and somersaulted through the sky. The world was burning in bright red flames, ten thousand times brighter than the sun. Then it started to boil, bubble, overflow. The Earth was vomiting lava like an oversized volcano. more More MORE!

Just...

It wasn't the world! That scenario happened inside Harry's body and he couldn't hold back any longer.

A voice laughed mockingly. "Such a little kid," it teased. "Cannot last longer than two minutes." Then the voice came closer, and turned back into a sultry whisper: "I hope you last longer next time"

Before Harry found the right words, or any words at all, he heard someone giggling. Muffled footsteps. Cabinet doors were opened, then closed, then there was the sound of liquid being poured into a glass.

Harry tried to sit up. Slowly. His body wasn't quite responding yet. He felt drained and exhausted, but in an excruciatingly good way. Eagerly he accepted the glass of whiskey offered to him, and gulped it down. "Want another one?" Cedric asked, the bottle still in his talons. Harry nodded, not trusting his vocal cords.

Along the way, Cedric had gotten rid of the polka dotted dress, and stood now in front of him in a lacy bra with leopard print, and matching panties that were...

Holy Shit!

Harry spew liquid all over himself and had a coughing fit. With teary eyes he starred again, mouth hanging wide open. He wasn't sure if he'd manage to close it ever again.

Cedric was still standing in front of him, one high-heeled foot on the black table next to the couch, smiling seductively, the whiskey bottle in one hand.

Harry gulped. Loud. His eyes were trained on his crotch-less panties. Reflected by the light, glittered several piercing against smooth, shaven skin.

The whiskey was completely forgotten. Harry's head got light, and he slid down the couch. As if asking for approval, he glanced up to Cedric with heavy, lust filled eyes.

Harry could not remember a lot of details after that. At one point, he was sure he sniffed some white powder through a rolled up ten pound note from Cedric's belly button, but then everything turned into one gigantic blur.

At some point, Cedric's friend, who's name he still didn't know, joined the party. He didn't look as plain as Harry first thought. He actually looked a lot like Draco, or rather morphed his features into Draco's.

First he only saw him standing in the corner, but then he moved over, or floated over, as he didn't touch the ground, or moved his legs. He smiled at him. A brilliant, true smile. Draco winked and took his short shorts and his oversized red shirt off. He wore nothing underneath. His flesh was white and unmarred apart from his left wrist. There was some gauze wrapped around it. Harry had never noticed it before. It was on top of Draco's pulse point, and the gauze was coloured in a brownish red tint.

Blood.

Harry shuddered for a moment, but his concentration got interrupted when Draco bent down to sit on top of his hips.

Though he was already spent, it took him less than five seconds to build an erection again. Harry moaned in anticipation.

The room began to swirl, until everything was nothing a wild mixture of colours, and even those faded into non-existence. His sense of smell, so strong just a moment ago, disappeared into nothingness. He could not hear a thing, but only feel and see.

He saw Draco on top of him, moving up and down in a steady pace. Sweat dripped down his from slender neck to his collar bone. They were surrounded by a brilliant blackness, deeper than everything Harry had experienced before.

Harry was short of exploding- and there was nothing to make it stop! The blackness burst into million pieces, and the brightest light Harry had ever seen appeared. It blinded him enough to squeeze his eyes shut.

How long had he been out? It had felt like only a mere few milliseconds, yet the entire universe had shifted, and provided him with the illusion of field of dancing rainbows. There were wild colours spreading everywhere. Some of them, Harry had never seen before and had therefore no names for them. It didn't matter.

Harry remembered more alcohol. Glasses of whiskey were passed around like water, and gulped down eagerly. A detached hand with red nail polish was pouring from a never ending bottle of Jack Daniel's, and made sure that Harry lost count on how much he actually had to drink.

A mirror was handed around, on top of it sat line of fine white powder, and a rolled up pound note. Harry eagerly inhaled all of it, while sex with Draco? or Cedric? He was no longer certain. The body shape and facial features of the person on top of him kept on morphing from one into the other.

Another body pressed itself against his backside, rubbing his member against his bum. Smooth fingers explored his body.

Suddenly the man on top of him split into two, and he saw himself having sex with Cedric and Draco at the same time.

Did his body split, too?

Harry didn't know how this was physically possible, but he was at a stage beyond caring. He groped, groaned, moaned and screamed out both their names.

The body pressed against him turned into a snake, and slithered all over his upper body, his chest, his stomach, up to his collar bone and wrapped itself around his throat, tighter and tighter and tighter.

At first, it only felt uncomfortable, but after a while it became hard to breath. Harry gulped, coughed and gasped, but no avail. His lungs started to burn with the lack of oxygen. It felt good in a strange way.

A feeling of numbness set it. Harry's arms became heavy, and he lost any feelings in his legs. His brain turned into mush, but his sense of touch became more intense, and was driving him over the edge.

More hands started touching him, caressing him all over. His shape turned obscure. He saw a weird attachment of limbs, torsos, and heads swimming in a puddle of white skin. They twisted and turned until nothing but a blur of colours was left. His own physique morphed into a blob of colour, too. Everything started to spin and twist: the furniture, walls, carpet and even the clothes, that were spread hazardously on the floor, joined. They all turned into a tornado of blue, red, pink and gold, and spiralled down, down, down, and deeper down. There didn't seem to be an end to this black hole evading his mind.

Harry couldn't help it. He started to scream.

He had to fight. The darkness was getting closer, the pull towards it was increasing in strength - or perhaps it was only he, who was getting weaker? He tried to get hold of something, or anything, but nothing existed any longer.

Only then did Harry realise that he had already ceased to exist, too. His physical form was long gone, and left behind was only his detached mind.

He found himself drowning. He was surrounded by a cool, and heavy darkness that tied him with its deep blues and greens. Harry didn't fight. He let the water pull him down deeper, claim him. Everything became colder, darker, the blues and greens turned into muddy shapes of darkness. The water turned into sticky tar.

Slowly, Harry let go.

Harry woke up to a beeping noise. Something in his head told him that it should be familiar by now. He opened his eyes to find himself once again in the local A&E, with busy nurses and doctors running around.

A few memories of last night came back to him. Images of naked men, hot sex, and too many drugs circled in his still dizzy brain.

Fortunately, the bright light didn't hurt his eyes this time. Perhaps it was still a side effect from the cocaine? Harry had never tried cocaine before and wasn't very aware of its effects on the body.

"Can I make a phone call?" he asked one of the nurses, with a voice so raspy that he didn't recognise it as his own. He just wanted to call Hermione, survive her scolding and go home.

"Over there" The nurse rolled her eyes, and pointed to the reception area. Harry got dressed into the filthy clothes from last night, and stumbled into the pointed out direction.

It seemed to be only a few moments later, when Harry truly feared for his life.

An enraged Hermione stabbed her evil pointer finger into his eyes, as she spat a long lecture on how worried she had been into his face. Harry didn't even attempt to listen. He was too scared for his eyesight.

Ron was standing right next to her, and sensibly kept his face expressionless. He was nodding at every third and failed to notice the mortal danger Harry was in.

He only wished Hermione was already done. As much as he understood his friend's worries, it was getting annoying. "I know, I know, I know, I know it all and I'm truly sorry." He brushed a few shaking fingers through his hair. "Can't we just go home and forget about it?"

As soon as he voiced his request, something in his stomach told him that his hadn't been the right thing to ask.

"YOU need help!" Hermione kept on raging.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded in agreement: "Professional help," he clarified.

Hermione crossed her arms too. She raised her dreaded eyebrow again.

Harry couldn't believe that he had heard them correctly. He was still like a statue, his eyes bursting, and drool dripping down his gaping mouth. He had to let this sink in.

Apparently his friends truly believed that he was a case for the loony bin!