Two Scenes Harry Potter Claims He Never Witnessed

In the largest room, on the highest floor, of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter kneeled in front of a black mahogany door. His eye was at the level of the iron keyhole and his knees separated the light that shone from between wood and floor. He strained one eye, the frames of his glasses pressed against his cheek and brow, to stare at the scene beyond the door.

He could hear no sign of the going-ons in the room beyond him. His eye, however, saw the pressing of two bodies—one pale body and one darker, slipping against each other. Still no sounds, but bodies twisted, and cocks pushed against, and into, bare asses.

Harry blinked and tried to refocus his gaze, tried to find the bodies once more. When at last he saw a flash of movement across his line of vision, a dark head bent forward. The hair fell, and brushed across a dark face, and eyes shone between locks the color of night.

Sirius’s face crested from beneath the shadow of his hair. The skin of his face paled, then turned red as he struggled against the grip of spindly fingers. Sirius fell away from Harry’s sight through the keyhole, under the grasp of the hands that held his wrists.

In Sirius’s place—in the only area Harry could clearly see—bent Severus Snape. He loomed over the other man. His cock, veined and dark pink against the pale skin of his stomach, glistened. Harry watched, stunned, as Severus grabbed his thin, long cock in one hand, clutched Sirius’s shaggy hair in another, and roughly shoved it into the small ass that remained high in the air.

Harry fell backward. He managed to crawl into a sitting position, then move to sit with his back against the hall’s wall. In all his life, he never thought he’d see—

It was only by chance that Harry, having been unable to sleep for the fourth night in a row, wandered down the seventh floor corridor. His feet led him to a stretch of blank wall, not unfamiliar to him. Without thinking, Harry crossed in front of the wall three times.

He was caught in the tangle of his thoughts, attempting to figure out ways in which to find out what Draco Malfoy was up to—what Draco spent all of his time in the very room beyond the wall’s surface for. It wasn’t until a door appeared before him, with a soft pop, that Harry realized exactly where in the Castle he stood.

It was the Room of Requirement. Except when Harry reached for, and then opened, the door, he was met with a greenish, dim light. A glowing orb hovered in a distant corner, high in the air so that it illuminated only a small section of the room. Harry turned to shut the door and, mid-turn, he heard a voice groan as though in agony. His hand paused on the door’s knob, and he held his breath with the hope of gauging where the groan came from.

He didn’t have long to wait, as a voice, from the very same direction as the orb, grunted. Behind the voice, or maybe underneath it, a rustle of something else reverberated in otherwise silent room.

“Oh,” gasped the voice. And in the instant it took the voice to travel around him, Harry had closed the door with a soft click. He knew that voice. He knew it.

The palms of his hands stretched wide across the stone wall as he felt his way around its edges. His body, hidden by the blanket of dense shadows, slid soundlessly closer. With each step he crept steadily toward the green orb and the voice that seemed to be near it, or to be part of it.

When he ventured as close as he dared, he struggled to see, to penetrate the orb’s light. It no longer seemed to be above him, high in the room. Instead, it appeared to be suspended just over what looked to be a four-post bed, surrounding it with an eerie glow.

What lay in the bed disturbed him. Not just disturbed, but really fucking creeped him out. It was him but not him. Not him because he was him; that is, he was himself. But the him in the bed was also him because that was his face, his eyes, his glasses, his cock jutting from his hips—his cock.

This Other Harry was in the middle of a bed, naked but for the glasses. This Other Harry lay spread out, one hand trailing in something glistening on his flat stomach. He watched the fingers travel towards the Other Harry’s nipples, pinching them before placing his wet fingers into his mouth. What the—and there was something else, something green protruding from his—

Another voice—a guttural moan and pleading “yes, yes, he would do just that—suck them while my cock is thick in your ass”—rang out and arms wrapped around a post of the bed. Long fingers, thin forearms, and a forehead pressed into the wood of the post, pale-blonde hair cascading down around it. Draco Malfoy stood at the edge of the bed, wrapped tightly around a bedpost, grinding himself against it while he watched The Other Harry.

The Real Harry stood still, too shocked, too astonished to really move or say anything. Draco Malfoy was watching someone who looked like Harry being fucked in the ass by a green something or other. And Harry was watching Draco dry-fuck himself against a bed.

This had to be a dream. There was no way Draco Malfoy would ever want to watch Harry coming all over himself, sucking on his fingers, being impaled by a—and there was definitely no way Draco would ever be shimmying his trousers off and climbing up to kneel over Harry. Draco was not pulling his cock out. Draco was not removing a green dildo from Harry’s ass. And Draco was not sliding his short, thick cock in between Harry’s spread ass cheeks.