The Fletwock Trophy

The Fletwock Trophy

Now that Christmas was over, life had become rather depressing at number twelve Grimmauld Place. The new term at Hogwarts would be starting in a few days. Sirius was sulking. Mrs Weasley had everybody back on pest control. She'd discovered a fresh nest of Doxies which had somehow escaped notice in the run-up to Christmas. The fact that her husband's recovery from snake bites had been delayed by a stupid experiment with Muggle 'stitches' only made her more bad tempered and determined to work it off with another frenzied assault on the house. Everyone was soon fed up with it, Harry most of all, as Mrs Weasley kept insisting he mustn't go outside. He knew she only had his safety in mind but it was still galling to be treated like a child. So he was quite pleased when Mundungus Fletcher took him on one side after lunch and muttered a furtive invitation to the races.

“Dumbledore sez I gotta keep an eye on yer,” Mundungus explained. “But I got this business opportunity, see. Too good to miss. If you was to come wiv me, now, I could kill two birds wiv one stone. Dumbledore can't complain about that, can 'e?”

Harry wasn't so sure, but with the way Dumbledore had been treating him lately, he didn't particularly care. Which was how, half an hour later, Harry found himself in a secluded field with Mundungus waiting for the start of the first race of the afternoon, the Fletwock Trophy.

“Wow,” Harry said excitedly, staring across the grass to the fine beasts lining up at the start. “You didn't tell me it was a flying horse race!”

The animals were bigger than Muggle horses, with powerful muscles rippling under satiny skin – and each had a pair of feathery wings folded against their glossy sides. They snorted and pawed the ground with their huge hooves, eager to be off. Each had a small wizard sitting astride, decked out in bright racing colours, holding them in.

The official standing by the line of horses raised his wand and sent a stream of green sparks into the air; the signal for the start. A shout went up from the crowd and the horses surged forward and thundered down the track. So far it was very much like a Muggle horse race, but then the resemblance ended; as each animal jumped the high hedge at the end of the course it spread its wings and took to the sky. Harry gasped at the magnificent sight. The horses swept round above their heads, vying for position. They followed a course marked out by glowing beacons hovering in the air.

“Back in a minute,” Mundungus told Harry. “Just going to put a bet on with the Peri-Mutuel over there...” he gestured towards a group of Middle Eastern looking fairies clustered around a board which displayed the odds on the horses in the next race. Harry nodded, his attention on the beautiful spectacle of the winged horses circling above them, their silvery wings spread wide and gleaming in the sun. Mundungus disappeared into the crowd.

Harry watched the horses make one more circuit then glide gracefully down to land in a small paddock to one side of the course. They folded their wings, tossed their heads and trotted to a stop, their breath smoking in the frosty air.

Harry walked over to the race board where he'd last seen Mundungus, but there was no sign of him. Feeling vaguely uneasy, Harry started to search among the crowd. As he passed a small paddock where a dozen young colts trotted playfully up and down, he saw Mundungus sidling furtively towards him. His heart sank. What had Dung been up to now?

“All right, Harry?” Mundungus said. He glanced quickly all round. “Oh, crikey...” He pulled a Butterbeer bottle out of his pocket and passed it to Harry. “Here, quick, drink this,” he said urgently. Harry took the half-empty bottle from him. What was Dung getting so worked up about? Maybe alcohol wasn't allowed at race meetings... He downed the contents of the bottle, then choked. “Hey!” he spluttered indignantly. “This isn't Butterbeer – what the fuck?” He turned to Mundungus, who was looking apprehensively at a couple of burly figures in racecourse uniform running towards them.

Harry saw something long and silvery shoot out of the end of Mundungus's wand and streak off down the field. He thought it looked a bit like a weasel. “Was that your P- ” he began, but Mundungus hurriedly shushed him. Next minute they were being dragged off by the two race officials. “You wait till the Ministry inspector gets here,” one snarled. “If you've been doping those horses, you're both looking at a lo-ong stretch in Azkaban.”

*******************************************************

Harry scowled at Mundungus. They were locked securely in a straw-strewn stable, waiting for the Ministry inspector.

“You going to tell me what's going on?”

Mundungus squirmed. “Er, just a business opportunity, went a bit wrong that's all. But not to worry, mate, help'll soon be on the way.”

“Your Patronus?”

“Yeah, it'll fetch the nearest member of the Order.”

Harry groaned. Of course he wanted to be rescued, but he didn't particularly relish the thought of Mrs Weasley finding him locked in a stable with Dung, suspected of race fixing. Of course it might not be her; with any luck it would be Remus, or even Tonks. But suppose it was Dumbledore himself?

“Can't you get us out of here, Dung?”

“Nah, they nicked me wand when they locked us up. You're lucky they didn't have yours, too.”

“Only because I left it at Grimmauld Place,” Harry said sourly. “So what were you doing with those colts? Trying to dope them?” A horrible thought suddenly struck him. “Was that what was in the bottle? Am I going to be knocked out to save your miserable skin?”

“Nah, nuffin like that – ow, let go Harry -” For Harry had grabbed Mundungus by the throat and was furiously shaking him.

“Control yourself, Potter.” An icy voice came from a dark corner of the stable.

“Oops,” mumbled Mundungus. “Looks like help's arrived.”

Harry let him go and stared in horror as his hated Potions master stepped out of the shadows.

“Is one of you going to tell me what's going on?” Snape demanded curtly.

“Erm, just trying to look out for young Harry, here,” Mundungus said. "They copped 'im fer 'riding a broomstick without due care and attention in the vicinity of a winged 'orse race' – thought I better rescue 'im – don't want 'im in front of the Wizengamot court again, do we? Only I got nabbed too, see..."

Harry glared at him indignantly.

Snape looked from one to the other, his lip curling. "Now, why don't I believe you," he said softly. "Even Potter's ineptitude wouldn't stretch that far... would it?"

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself but before he could say more than “I didn't –” an excruciating pain seized him in the groin. He doubled up, clutching at himself, groaning loudly.

“Oh, blimey!” Mundungus gasped. “I thought it only worked on colts, honest...”

“You thought what, precisely, only worked on colts?” Snape asked, his eyes narrowed. Mundungus mumbled something, looking warily at Snape, who drew out his wand. “I think you'd better tell me the truth, Fletcher,” he said coldly.

“This mate of mine breeds flying racehorses, see,” Mundungus said reluctantly, keeping a wary eye on Snape. “And, er, I was to get him some spunk from a race-winning colt, see, to use wiv 'is best brood mare.”

“A colt?” said Snape scornfully, raising an eyebrow. “And how did you propose to do that?”

Mundungus looked over at Harry, who was now moaning in great distress, his trousers round his ankles. One of his hands cradled his vastly swollen balls and the other clutched his massive erection.

“Well, there was this potion, see...”

Comprehension leaped into Snape's black eyes. He strode rapidly over to Harry, who was tugging fruitlessly at his cock, tears streaming down his face. “I – can't – COME ” the boy panted. Snape put his arm round Harry's shoulders and stroked his wand gently along the length of the boy's cock, half-singing an incantation in a deep murmur. Harry gave a choked gasp as he exploded into powerful orgasm. Spunk fountained from his cock for a full minute of blessed relief.

When it was over, Harry clung to his Potions master, weak and trembling. For a moment he thought he felt Snape gently stroking his hair. But as he looked up he was sure he must have imagined it; Snape's face was sardonic as ever. Harry stepped back, feeling foolish. He started to say something, but Snape's attention was now focussed on Mundungus Fletcher, who was trying to conceal something behind his back.

"What are you hiding," Snape demanded coldly. "Hand it over." He marched over to Mundungus, caught him by the scruff of the neck, and hoisted him into the air.

Mundungus reluctantly held up a full bottle. "Err - business opportunity, can't disappoint me customer."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Fletcher, Potter is... for want of a better word... human."

A mumbing whine came from Mundungus Fletcher. Harry caught the words "magic potion" and "might've worked".

Snape snorted. "Even the remotest possibility of a brood of winged racing Potters is too horrifying to contemplate." He tapped the bottle lightly with his wand. "Evanesco semen!"

The cloudy liquid in the bottle promptly vanished. Harry gaped at him, open mouthed. "But, if you could do that..." he said slowly, "couldn't you have made it disappear from my, er, bollocks?" He went bright red.

"Well, I suppose I could have." Snape drawled. "But this way was far more... entertaining."
He regarded Harry with a dark gleam in his eyes which the boy chose to interpret as amused malice. The more objective Mundungus, however, recognised it for what it was and chuckled quietly to himself. Future developments with these two would be well worth watching. He'd bet on things getting very hot between them before much longer. Now, if only he could find someone to take the wager...

THE END