Harry Cotter and the Philosopher’s Brothel.
The Mirror Of Nemes
Harry was out of breath; running round the corridors to avoid Draco’s minions. Utterly lost he dived into the nearest room, hearing the pounding of feet, which on first glance appeared empty, but on a quick survey he could see a grimy shape in the far corner.
The walls had many lamps on, each one providing a tiny flame that lit up the room, but these were of no interest to the young boy, he was only focused on the shape, which seemed to be covered by a dusty cover that may have once been red…or purple.
Tugging it, he began to cough as the dust went into his chest, a small bit of the bottom of the object emerged, glancing down, Harry could see a filthy leg support that appeared almost unable to hold it’s own strength, let alone the strength of the object beneath:
“Why would you bother covering something this dirty?” Shrugging, he still kept tugging, covering himself in dust as the cover fell on his body. He swore while wrestling to get the sheet off him, eventually kicking it away and tossing it behind him somewhere.
On discovery the object, that he had struggled to see for so long, was a mirror he lost interest, until also spotting the writing above: ‘The Mirror Of Nemes’.
“What the heck? Nemes? Anagram maybe?” he pondered “Meens? Neems?”, shrugging he dragged his sleeve down the wardrobe, revealing a spiny surface, where at first he could only see his own body, but then as the grime cleared, things became a little more obvious.
It wasn’t a standard mirror, the boy on screen was Harry, but the background was not that of the room. It was the vision of a dream the boy had once had. Noticing the mirror portrayed him as wearing nothing but a tight leather thong, he realised just what it was behind him. Behind the figure was a rather fluffy pink room, handcuffs were chained to the walls, creating words and rather rude patterns. A naked Chris De Burgh was kissing his neck, working his way down but as the underwear in the picture began to fall, Harry turned and dived to the floor. It WAS what he wanted, but his wet dreams were for the purpose of him and him alone, who knows what this room was, or who could see him.
Peering up into the mirror, he saw the now empty room reflected behind and breathing a sigh of relief, he tried to creep out of the room, but instead hit the cover he had previously fought with, curling up in a cocoon of mess, dust and his own anger.
With more swearing, he eventually escaped, slamming the door rather loudly, regretting that as Draco and his minions appeared at the end, their eyes drawn to Harry and the noise he has just created. A smirk rose upon the blonde boys face as he ordered his [supposed] friends towards the dark haired wizard:
“Shit.”
Running down the corridor, he sprinted back up to the Wanker’s room; only his heart beating was drowning out the sounds of the rapists and their pitchforks.
The walls had many lamps on, each one providing a tiny flame that lit up the room, but these were of no interest to the young boy, he was only focused on the shape, which seemed to be covered by a dusty cover that may have once been red…or purple.
Tugging it, he began to cough as the dust went into his chest, a small bit of the bottom of the object emerged, glancing down, Harry could see a filthy leg support that appeared almost unable to hold it’s own strength, let alone the strength of the object beneath:
“Why would you bother covering something this dirty?” Shrugging, he still kept tugging, covering himself in dust as the cover fell on his body. He swore while wrestling to get the sheet off him, eventually kicking it away and tossing it behind him somewhere.
On discovery the object, that he had struggled to see for so long, was a mirror he lost interest, until also spotting the writing above: ‘The Mirror Of Nemes’.
“What the heck? Nemes? Anagram maybe?” he pondered “Meens? Neems?”, shrugging he dragged his sleeve down the wardrobe, revealing a spiny surface, where at first he could only see his own body, but then as the grime cleared, things became a little more obvious.
It wasn’t a standard mirror, the boy on screen was Harry, but the background was not that of the room. It was the vision of a dream the boy had once had. Noticing the mirror portrayed him as wearing nothing but a tight leather thong, he realised just what it was behind him. Behind the figure was a rather fluffy pink room, handcuffs were chained to the walls, creating words and rather rude patterns. A naked Chris De Burgh was kissing his neck, working his way down but as the underwear in the picture began to fall, Harry turned and dived to the floor. It WAS what he wanted, but his wet dreams were for the purpose of him and him alone, who knows what this room was, or who could see him.
Peering up into the mirror, he saw the now empty room reflected behind and breathing a sigh of relief, he tried to creep out of the room, but instead hit the cover he had previously fought with, curling up in a cocoon of mess, dust and his own anger.
With more swearing, he eventually escaped, slamming the door rather loudly, regretting that as Draco and his minions appeared at the end, their eyes drawn to Harry and the noise he has just created. A smirk rose upon the blonde boys face as he ordered his [supposed] friends towards the dark haired wizard:
“Shit.”
Running down the corridor, he sprinted back up to the Wanker’s room; only his heart beating was drowning out the sounds of the rapists and their pitchforks.