
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1183030.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Gen, F/M, M/M, F/F
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Draco_Malfoy, Harry_Potter/OC, Harry_Potter/Everyone,
      Astoria_Greengrass/Draco_Malfoy, Everyone/Everyone
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Hermione_Granger, Ron_Weasley, Lucius_Malfoy,
      Tom_Riddle_|_Voldemort, Voldemort, Pansy_Parkinson, Astoria_Greengrass,
      Neville_Longbottom, Ginny_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Gangsters, Gang_Violence, Murder, Sexual_Violence, Physical_Abuse, Crimes
      &_Criminals, Organized_Crime, Love, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Anal_Sex,
      Rape, Gang_Rape, Abduction, Age_Difference, Aggression, Alternate
      Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Alternate_Ending, BDSM, Crossdressing, Forced
      Marriage, Forced_Prostitution, Forced_Relationship, Character_Death,
      Death_Eaters, Drugs, References_to_Drugs, Drugs_Made_Them_Do_It,
      Developing_Relationship, Father-Son_Relationship, Love_Confessions, Love/
      Hate, Boys'_Love, Love_Triangles, Rough_Sex, Sex_Toys, Public_Sex, Drunk
      Sex, Shower_Sex, Car_Sex, Disasters, Car_Chases, Guns, Girls_with_Guns,
      Gun_Violence, Shooting_Guns, Drug_Dealing, Prostitution, Name_Changes,
      Sex_Change, new_world_order, London, Ministry_of_Magic, Hogwarts,
      Azkaban, Dementors_(Harry_Potter)_-_Freeform, Patronus, Spells_&
      Enchantments, Wands, Magic, Dark_Magic, Dark_Mark, Hand_Jobs, Handcuffs,
      Public_Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Public_Blow_Jobs, Drunk_Blow_Jobs, Awkward
      Blow_Jobs, Non-Consensual_Blow_Jobs, Office_Sex, Foot_Jobs, Under-Desk
      Blow_Jobs, First_Time_Blow_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-13 Updated: 2014-02-19 Chapters: 4/? Words: 8727
****** Don't Take Me For Granted ******
by ProblematicPancakes
Summary
     After being shunned from the wizarding community, Harry Potter finds
     himself in an environment he has never imagined himself in. A new
     lifestyle, new acquaintances, new goals in life. Where will this take
     him? (Yaoi, Yuri, Straight, generally this story is filled with sex,
     violence and swear words. You're reading this at your own risk. OOC,
     slightly AU, non-canon/alternative ending)
***** I *****
If anyone asked Harry Potter five years ago where he saw himself at 18, he
would probably say something along the lines of I will be doing an internship
in the Auror's Department at the Ministry or maybe I will be travelling the
world in the search of a permanent solution to the black magic problem. Not
even in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he will be kneeling in a dark
room, having a dick shoved in his mouth at a gagging speed, accompanied by
applause and mocking laughter. It got to a point where he no longer knew
whether he felt sick because of the cock pushing into his asophagus or because
of the odour which came with it. Or maybe it was just the food he ate for make-
shift dinner yesterday – two tuna sandwiches and half a bottle of Sprite which
he dug up from a Tesco's dustbin, somewhere down in Kingston.
 
Was this better than sleeping out in the cold, windy streets of London? He
couldn't say. Partially, because his ability to speak was muffled by the
presence of another man's manhood in between his teeth. Partially, because
really he didn't give a shit anymore. Not even a half, not even a quarter. At
times he had episodes of thoughts where he would contemplate over the pile of
crap that his life turned into. How did he get here? What caused all of this?
What would have happened if he hasn't done it?
 
His thought process was abruptedly halted by the sudden erruption of
disgustingly salty semen into his mouth, causing him to choke. If he didn't
know the threat of being shot or stabbed was lingering over him, he would have
advised his partner to consume more fruit in the future to improve the taste.
He read about that in a Cosmopolitan which some middle-class Asian woman left
on one of the seats in London Bridge Station. These days it took twice as much
to collect two and a half pounds for a train fare. Why didn't he think of doing
this for money before? Could save him a lot of time and pride – well, at least
before he lost the last remains of the latter.
 
At this point in time there was nothing in this world that Harry James Potter,
aged 18, would refuse to do. Which is probably why he has found himself in this
room amongst strangers, the kind you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley at
midnight, coming back smashed from a night at a Soho club, especially if you
were one of them cunts who carried both a Kindle and an iPad in your Michael
Kors handbag. Harry didn't even have a clean pair of boxers to his name, let
alone a toy for spoiled, Muggle teenagers, so he felt relatively safe, hugging
the brick wall covered in piss. That is, until a colourful mob approached him
with a harsh, army-shoe kick to the sheen as a hello. Didn't momma tell you
it's dangerous to be out at night by yourself?
 
He remembered clearly being yanked up and slapped across the face with an empty
bottle of Heineken, then thrusted against the wall. He supposed that's the
point at which his vision should have gone blurry, if it wasn't for the fact
that he had to pawn his glasses to get a winter coat from the charity shop.
Yes, around today passed three months since the last time Harry Potter has seen
the world in more than just blobs of colours – mostly greys, reds and greens,
the colours of everyday life in the British capital.
 
Like a deja vu, he was yanked up again, this time by a pair of deeply scarred,
most likely once feminine hands, with a chipped off, dirty red nail polish.
Looking at her face, all that Harry could make out was some sort of a brunette
hairstyle and black marks on the face. Other blobs surrounded her in an
unarranged fashion. Harry hoped she wasn't going to ask him to lick her out or,
worse yet, fuck her. From an early age of being a toddler, young Potter
strongly detested vaginas. They reminded him of over-boiled hot dogs, the kind
that Aunt Petunia got him for his sixth birthday. To his relief, the girl kept
a strong hold on his collar. What's your name?
 
For a second he forgot. He forgot that he was The Boy Who Lived, that he was
the famous Harry Potter, the hope of the wizarding community. Secretely he was
pleading that his name was Peter Wilson or maybe Kevin Finnigan, but no. Harry.
Harry Potter.
 
What's that scar? Oh that. He forgot all about it. A lot of people had scars.
Fall off a swing or have an unfortunate accident during Quidditch, have a tree
branch smacked across your head. Scars were everyday things, it's not like
Harry had a third head. And yet that scar, that bloody mark, was the first
thing that people noticed about him. It was like having a twenty pound note
stuck to your forehead, everyone's curious about it. I've had it since I was
small. Long story.
 
Who was it who said that him and Riddle were similar? He couldn't recollect the
face at this precise moment. At that time he couldn't comprehend that
statement, he though it was absurd, how could he and his mortal enemy be in any
way equals? And now he was following in his footsteps, like a bad sequel, he
lingered like a bad smell after the most dangerous wizard of the time has been
eradicated. He was gone, and so was the need for Harry Potter, the saviour.
 
Sit down, on that couch. He didn't know there was a couch in the room. Well, it
was more like a basement. From the intensity of the light he predicted naked
bulbs, the kind he had in the cupboard at Privet Drive, and a complete lack of
windows. The stuffy smell of unventilated, moist space mixed with the smell of
sex and dirt and blood. And it smelt good. You don't seem to want to escape.
 
Should I? He questioned, cheekily. It was a risky move. For all he knew they
could chop him into pieces here and now, they seemed like they had no remorse,
nothing was holding them back. In a way, Harry was like that as well. They
could kill him right now and he wouldn't give a shit. The rush of adrenaline
probed him to continue. I don't have anywhere to go to anyway.
 
In the distance a soft sound of undistinguished music unfolded, catching Harry
offguard. To be honest, it didn't matter what it was, anything was better than
the music he had to suffer through at the Burrow, back when he still had
friends. Funny that, friends, the concept of friendship. Harry wondered whether
those friends of his were just looking for an opportunity to get rid off him?
Because he certainly handed that to them on a fucking silver platter.
Ungrateful bastards.
 
You'll stay here. A different, higher female voice spoke, reminding Harry of
his Year 5 Maths teacher. Looking back, she was a good piece of arse, long,
blonde hair, what looked like double-D cups and legs to die for, but all of
that was ruined by her annoying voice and the impression she had of all
children being mentally impaired to the point where they couldn't hold a pencil
on their own. Primary school wasn't exactly the best time of his life. And you
will follow my orders. Potter was desperately trying to make out where the
voice was coming from, trying to locate the pair of mouth from which the sounds
were coming out. It was bloody annoying not knowing who your superior was,
especially in an environment like this. I'm over here, you scum.
 
I'm sorry, I can't see. I need glasses.
 
And for a second he forgot he was Harry Potter. For a second he forgot he was
in a shady, crime-ridden basement in an unknown location. For a second he
forgot he was The Boy Who Lived, shunned from the wizarding community for
killing the last remaining members of his genealogical tree.  
***** II *****
Harry Potter was absolutely and utterly glad to be able to make out the shape
of his dick once again. Not that it was anything unusual, to a man of his age
to have a dick, but seeing a blurry blob for over three months could deflate
even Hugh Hefner's ego.
 
The teen found himself in a different room, this time actually a room, with
windows and everything, and they even had lamp shades – although mismatched.
Courtesy of the landlord, the heaters were clearly on, compensating for the
leaky roof over his head. The pillows and duvets must have housed drug addicts
in them before, being covered in what looked like blood and other human
substances. With disgust, Harry grabbed a long, thin needle through the sheets
and carefully dropped it into the make-shift bin, commonly known as a plastic
bag, slightly ripped.
 
It was definitely better than living in the streets. London rats were not
exactly the friendliest creatures – Harry thought even PETA wouldn't be
interested in saving those disgusting rodents. They got really brave over the
past few decades, or so Harry heard during one of his mingling sessions with
the resident hobos of Victoria Station. Damn, those guys were better informed
and more accurate than BBC's morning news! Young Potter was certain that there
were rats present in this building as well, but thankfully he hasn't spotted
any yet – maybe because only a few hours ago he has regained his sight. He
bloody hated rats, and he wondered whether it was just the general perception
slash stereotype of the animals, or whether it had something to do with his
previous encounters with the animagus Peter Pettigrew.
 
His sexual frustration was gratified as he came onto the plain, purple sheets,
his eyes rolling back and his hand mindlessly pumping his manhood. It was a
good time. It would have lasted a lot longer if the door to the room didn't
swing open at the speed of light,with a sharp face appearing in the void.
Scabby, pull your knickers up and get a move on. The girl, apparently known as
'Queen' amongst her fellows, had long, chocolate hair, blue eyes and a dramatic
eyeliner that made her look like she belonged in California rather than
Kensington. Despite the freezing cold outside she was wearing a belly top with
leggings. Her feet were bare, the toe nails painted in what was known as french
manicure. But the aura about her was fishy, something was not right about her.
As if she knew more about you than you knew yourself.
 
I'm coming. Harry replied, hastily doing up the button on a new pair of
trousers he has received. They were a size too big around the waist, but
otherwise fit well, and had two pockets at the back, the kind in which you
could carry your keys or a kilogram of amfetamine. One or the other, because
both clearly wouldn't fit into one.
 
I think you already did that, didn't you? Queen looked Harry up and down and
spun around as she noticed him getting up from the bed. You need a cut... And
maybe some McDonald's. But follow me for now.
 
Where are you taking me? Harry questioned, careful not to step on the
miscallaneous bits of glass and plastic scattered across the carpeted steps
which seemed to continue on into the darkness. There were no pictures on the
walls, from what he could make out, and there was only a small hint of light,
creating shadows on the stairs. Clearly the occupants were too busy with other
things to care about the state in which their accomodation was in.
 
Watch out, the light gets bright here. The girl pushed the door open and, as
she said, a sudden wave of artificial light hit Harry's eyes like a lighting
bolt, making him squint. It seemed like a shock therapy to him, maybe they were
testing his limits. He didn't know, all he knew was that once his eyes adjusted
to the brightness he saw a room full of mismatched furniture and mismatched
people. There were people of all different shapes and colours, natural and
coloured hair, piercings, tattoos and cute dresses, army boots and Air Forces
and high heels the size of Voldemort's wand. It would look like a church group,
if not for the fact that there were chains and guns and knives lying around
like they were flower pots, and instead of tea and biscuits there was beer and
crisps on the table. The room was peculiarly silent as Harry scanned it with
his green eyes, trying to remember each face. There couldn't have been more
than twenty of them there, but the way in which they were spaced out made it
seem like they were a whole army.
 
The room seemed to be a living room, there was a window, one of those big,
Victorian ones, but the curtains were drawn, probably to prevent the outsiders
from peeking inside. Guys, this is Scabby. He is our new meat in the area.
Don't treat him too harshly.
 
A volcano of laughter erupted, with some people high fiving or spudding each
other, whistling or shouting incomprehensible words. It reminded Harry of the
Gryffindors' Common Room when they have won a Quidditch match and he would be
thrown in the air by a crowd of hands while they were chanting his name. But
this time it was different – those people weren't his housemates, at least not
in that sense, they were older, equipped with weaponery and didn't have a clue
about a bunch of wizards running around with wands behind the walls of one of
London's pubs.
 
It didn't take long before he was pushed to sit down on a red couch, in between
a man and a woman, judging around twenty-two years of age by their faces. They
were very similar to each other, both blonde, with smart eyes and straight
noses, a bit of redness around the nostrils and a vast majority of their
visible body covered in colourful tattoos. They introduced themselves as
Sharpie and Bonnie. Harry thought it was odd, not knowing anyone's actual name,
but he supposed he was growing used to it by now. Names didn't matter in this
world, after all.
 
He felt a bit plain in the mix, with his white t-shirt and navy blue trousers.
Sharpie was wearing a black pair of skinnies, ripped on the thighs, some sort
of a glittery top and a black, leather jacket. All of that was decorated by
large, golden hoops and a maching chain, making her look ghetto and high-end at
the same time. Bonnie, on the other hand, was wearing grey trackies with a
matching hoodie, and wore a pair of chunky headphones around his neck. The cord
didn't seem to be plugged in into anything really, it must have been worn as a
decoration or a habit which he had. What was perhaps the most peculiar about
his attire was the choice of shoes, high, black Dr Martens, but Harry supposed
that was solely to satisfy the general need of feet protection required in
schemes like this one. He wondered if he'll be made to wear boots like that as
well.
 
So what is he for? A short, ginger girl with breast out of proportion queried,
as she cupped Harry's face in between her hands. The left one was cold, the
right – warm. His clean shaved face was irritated by her numerous silver rings.
Somehow young Potter was unable to force himself to look the girl in the eye.
She ran her thumb over his cheek in an affecionate matter. He's got quite a
face.
 
Cat said he should go to the City. Queen walked over to the pair and looked
Harry straight into the eyes. They claim you can smell his preference from a
mile away, and we haven't had those in a while now. Plus, she stopped, looking
over meaningfully to the right, but at no person in particular. Loco said he's
proper good at it as well.
 
Ahh, lucky bitch! Big Boobs gave Harry a soft slap across the face and
straightened herself. She acquired a dramatic pose, like something out of
Shakespeare, with one hand on the forehead and the other across the abdomen. I
was sent to the South East, the things you see there, the people, ugh!She
seemed to shake at the very thought of that experience. Harry was slowly
catching on to what he was being asked to do.
 
Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy that time in your life, Poppy. After a few
months you were practically begging Cat to send you to one of those rats. Queen
forced herself down in between Sharpie and Harry, putting her arm over his
shoulders. Say, how much experience do you have?
 
Experience? Harry swallowed harshly, feeling a lump growing in his throat.
Experience in what exactly? He was hoping it didn't mean what he think it
meant. He had plenty of experience in stealing, lying, killing and getting out
of trouble, he knew how to work his charm and he used to have plenty of
acquaintances ready to sacrifice their own lives to save his goddamn arse. But
if it was about that...
 
Sex, Scabby! The brunette yelled to the general satisfaction of the rest of the
mob. Fucking, shagging, making love, whatever you want to call it, apparently
you suck like a pro, you must have turned plenty of booties on that dick of
yours, haven't you?
 
Not particularly. Harry murmured, making the whole room go quiet in an instant.
They seemed to wait for the continuation like an audience in a theatre, when
the climax of the play was about to unfold. Harry was the lead character, the
main role who was about to drop the most important line of the script. I'm
actually a virgin. I- I only kissed, like, twice in my whole life.
 
It's not like it's bloody rocket science! Bonnie spoke up for the first time
and stood up, untying his pants. Apparently he liked a bit of air as there was
nothing underneath them. No one apart from Harry seemed to be shocked by this
sudden outburst of exhibitionism. Look, this is a dick, this is the butthole,
you put one in the other and that's sex. Simples.
 
Wait, are you saying I'm meant to be a prositute... For gay people? This was
beyond Harry's scope of comprehension. Sure, he wasn't a big fan of vaginas,
but then it wasn't like he had a special affinity for dicks either, it was all
really unimportant to him during puberty, with all of that chasing Voldemort
and his groupies around the whole goddamn wizarding world and a few failed
relationships with girls who were solely after his known name and the stacks of
galleons in his vault, so even as an adult he wasn't completely sure whether he
preferred one to the other in any particular manner. Well, he supposed he'll
have to find out the hard way.
 
One has to pay their rent, Scabby. It's a sure, mostly quick and well paying
way of earning money, and you might even start to enjoy it, like Poppy here
did. Queen stood up and gestured at Bonnie to hide his family jewels away from
general sight. Now get up, say goodbye to the crew and follow me, I'll take you
to see Cat and the lot. They are so excited to meet you.
 
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how Harry Potter, aged 18, the ex-saviour of
the wizarding world and The Boy Who Lived started his career as a whore. His
family would have been proud.
***** III *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Harry Potter was enjoying the ride in the black BMW with it's windows darkened
to the point where he couldn't tell whether it was the Big Ben that was
repainted grey, or was it just his eyes being deceived by the filter. He hasn't
been to London too many times, apart from the occasional trips to the Zoo when
it was Dudley's birthday or when he was travelling to King's Cross to take the
Hogwarts' Express. It was quite exciting for him to go past Trafalgar Square
and down Oxford Street, seeing all of those rich people coming out with huge
Chanel or Prada bags out of Old Bond Street and inspecting the alternative
group of people chanting 'Hare Krishna' in the space between McDonald's and one
of the countless souvenir shops.
 
After a few more minutes the car took a final turn and the engine was smoothly
turned off. Harry followed as everyone got out and silently walked towards a
restaurant called Mariposa. Apparently that meant 'butterfly' in some sort of a
language, because there was a butterfly in the logo of the place. It seemed
quite warm and welcoming, and was full to brinks, with a queue lining up in
front of the door. Without any words said, the security guard let the group
through and into the establishment.
 
They didn't take a table, however, and that much was to be expected, Harry
thought. A cough or two escaped his mouth as they passed through the area for
smokers and he spotted a group of business people, all in ironed suits and
ties, sipping on white wine. He wondered if he will be asked to serve one of
those men in the future. They looked like they would pay well for such a
service.
 
The group, led by Queen and a butch, hairless macho of an unknown identity
walked through the bar and the kitchen, breaking every single possible health
and safety rule possible, through to the backyard and up the fire escape
stairs, until they reached solid, thick black door with no handle, but only a
lock. Typical for London. Without having to knock, the door was opened by a
wave of smoke and a petite girl with long, black hair and a tanned complexion.
Italian or Spanish, she must have been. She looked a lot more classy than the
girls back at the house, Harry thought, as he examined her cream, body-hugging
dress. But by the tattoos covering her whole body and face he guesssed she was
one of the mob as well. Right on time, as always. We can always count on you in
that matter, Queen.
 
Queen returned a smile and stepped through the door. Harry and the rest
followed. I try my best. Where are they?It was a weird custom for people to
take of their coats but not their shoes. Not wanting to stand out, Harry shook
off his new, leather jacket, courtesy of Bonnie, and followed Queen who trailed
off down the long corridor. On both sides it was lined with doors, reminding
Harry more of a hotel than a house, but at least this one was lit. Maybe,
because there weren't any windows here. Finally, Queen pushed open the last
door on the right and the pair stepped through. Only now Harry noticed that the
rest didn't follow.
 
The new room he has just discovered felt like the Chamber of Secrets after Ty
and the rest of the crew have given it an Extreme Makeover – Hogwarts edition.
Harry had to blink a few times before he accepted the presence of huge, sphynx-
like cat statues in white and gold, carpets which looked like they were
handmade and not by some poor fellow in India, but an experienced carpet maker,
and for once everything seemed to match in some way or the other. Harry felt
like everything in this room had a purpose, and he enjoyed that feeling.
 
That is, until he nearly had a heart attack when, with a slightly terrifying
noise, one of the biggest statues started to spin around, revealing a tall,
slender figure in its lap after half a turn. This must be Cat, Harry thought,
and then congratulated himself on winning the award of Captain Obvious of the
year. What he found peculiar about that figure is that you couldn't tell if it
was a man or a woman, no matter how long you stared and observed. From far
away, despite the cigarette smoke fogging their facial features, Harry spotted
numerous piercings in every possible space on the face, and where a piercing
wasn't anatomically acquireable, there was tattooing which immitated a feline's
fur. Never in his life had Harry Potter seen a sight like this.
 
Queen grabbed Harry by the wrist and yanked him forward, while at the same time
shutting the door with her foot. The sound of the door closing made him flinch.
Why was he scared? Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world who has
died once already was scared of an androgenous cat look-a-like and closing
door. Brilliant. He wondered how Voldemort would feel if he found out that a
pair of Muggle doors is more petrifying than he ever was. His contemplation
over Tom Riddle's supposed depression was halted as he heard his name being
mentioned in a conversation.
 
… Harry Potter, so I brought him here. I'm wondering if that scar of his will
have a bad influence on the profits. Queen glanced at where the lighting bolt
presented itself on Harry's forehead with material worry in her eyes. Harry
didn't blame her for not knowing the story behind the mark, not realising that
in the wizarding world there were plenty of people who would pay fat sums just
to have a picture taken with the famous Harry Potter. Maybe we should just
cover it up with foundation and powder, it's not big so it should cover well.
 
I'm thankful for your insight, Queen, but you will find that we might just have
hit the jackpot with this one. Cat rose up from the seat and the cloud
surrounding their face followed. It was almost inhumane, the amount of smoke
and the shape which it took, perfectly shielding the face from every angle. It
seemed like... Magic, really. First, I want to have a word with Mr. Potter on
his own, you see. Just to confirm some... Thoughts which I have had about him.
 
The brunette girl nodded her head and was gone in an instant. Harry wondered if
it was common to eavesdrop in this setting. Maybe it was amongst the lower-rank
members, but he didn't think someone as high up as Cat would allow for
something like that. His fringe was pushed back by a medium-sized hand and one
of Cat's thumbs ran over his bolt. It's definitely genuine. Ah, how small the
world is, isn't it, Harry?
 
Harry was having one of those feelings where you find a knot tied in your
stomach or you feel like a ton of bricks has been discarded in it. I'm not
completely sure I understand what you mean. It was especially weird hearing
statements like that from someone without a face.
 
I vaguely remember you, like through a fog – funnily, which is probably why I
recognised you in an instant. Cat inhaled some of the cigarette and let it out.
The other hand was now supporting one of the hips. I was a Seventh Year when
you came to Hogwarts. Back then I was one of those quiet people, sitting in the
corner of the Dining Hall on my own, it taught me many things. One of them was
to remember important faces and names. Of course, yours is not easily
forgotten.
 
Are you... Are you trying to say you're a wizard as well? Harry's eyes grew to
the size of tennis balls, it was unbelieveable. He had no idea still who this
person might be, but for the sole reason that Cat also attented Hogwarts and
knew what it's like there... It was almost like finding a long lost sibiling.
Have you been shunned as well?
 
Cat pulled out a wand from a pot which stood on a low, mahogany table, waved it
and a lockcould be heard turning on the door. Colloportus it was. I'm still in
there. Here, my powers are more. I heard that shunning doesn't take away your
magical powers, you just cannot access strictly magical places, correct?
 
I don't know, but I suppose... They took my wand so I couldn't test that. Cat
went over to a cabinet and pulled out a set of jingling keys out of the
trousers' pocket. Precisely finding the one needed, they opened the door ajar,
presenting racks upon racks of wands of different sizes, shapes and colours.
What the hell, did you rob Ollivander's or something?
 
My hobby is wand making, I would say I'm quite good at it by now.A gesture
asked Harry to step closer to the gallery. Remember that a wand chooses you,
not the other way around. Test those, take your time, wait for the perfect
match.Cat returned to the seat which they previously occupied and payed close
attention to every wand which the boy chose and the reaction he got from the
magical object.
 
Harry thought wands were something you wouldn't understand the importance of
until you have had one of your own. At this precise moment in time, his view on
the matter changed slightly – you wouldn't understand the significance of wands
unless you have had yours taken away and then were able to acquire a new one.
He felt like he was eleven all over again, despite wands continously rejecting
him. After around fifteen minutes and roughly seventy wands even Cat ran out of
patience.
 
What was your original wand? They queried, pulling out a long drawer from
underneath the cabinet. It was full of boxes labeled 'oak', 'pear', 'unicorn's
tail' and so on. Was Harry about to witness wand making for the first time? He
felt more excited than before his first ever Quidditch match.
 
Holly, phoenix feather, 11 inches. Harry watched cautiously as Cat began to
scan the inventory.
 
Impressive size. Have you heard of the Muggle preconception that a man's nose
and feet determine his size? They asked while cutting a holly branch to size.
Harry nodded weakly, mesmerized by the workshop in front of him. In the
wizarding world apparently the size of the wand determines that. For women they
haven't specified what it reflects, unfortunately.
 
That would make Lucius Malfoy quite impressive. Harry thought aloud, getting a
snigger from the wand maker. A sudden outburst of magical power ran through the
room and through the whole of Harry as Cat placed the ready wand in his hand.
It felt as if he was finally reunited with a long lost friend. I don't know how
to thank you.
 
Make me a lot of money. That should settle the deal. Cat closed up everything
and returned to the cat statue. Young Potter wondered whether it's comfortable
sitting there or do you just get used to the bumps and the coldness. Now,
there's no time to waste, orders for you have already started piling in. Don't
be surprised to see some familiar faces from the wizarding world. A lot of
people chose to live like me, in between the two worlds, and some quit
voluntarily. From what I know this one should be interesting...
 
Harry took the piece of paper from Cat and read its content. It was just an
address, somewhere in the City, but there was no name on it. He supposed it
would be a surprise then. With all of his might he was hoping that his first
customer, or, as a matter of fact, any customer, wouldn't turn out to be
Augustus Filch.
Chapter End Notes
     Reviews would be much appreciated, as they help me improve my
     writing.
***** IV *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
In the space of a few hours Harry Potter has visited more bathrooms, shops and
beauty parlours than he thought existed. He always knew there was a side of him
which called towards being a diva, and today that part of his identity was out,
being flaunted and loving it. After getting his hair slightly trimmed and his
glasses swapped for 24 hours contact lenses, the butch macho driver drove him
around designer stores in central London. The gang clearly was no petty thing,
being personally tended to at every shop as soon as they stepped through the
door. A few months ago Harry would have probably protested, but currently he
was more than passive about feminine clothes being thrown on him time and time
again until the perfect combination was acquired. Mr Muscles said it was
because long term clients had known preferences, and so they were gearing Harry
up to the exact standards of the customer.
 
Not to be mean or anything, but what sort of a person orders a male prostitute,
dressed in skinny jeans, a salmon, glittery top from Gucci, a huge, leopard
print fur which doubled Harry in size and Louboutins which took thirty minutes
of practice to get used to. As a goodbye from Macho Man, Harry received a
Chanel shopping bag and was told to check the contents once inside. Apparently
he was to be picked up in two hours. Young Potter seriously and desperately
hoped that the client won't last that long, because his virgin arsehole might
just not take that.
 
Harry swallowed hard and glanced from side to side. A group of Japanese
tourists was shamelessly taking a picture of him, so he waved at them, hoping
that this will scare them away. Unfortunately, the tourists just got closer and
closer, until they huddled around Harry like groupies.
 
Oh, Harry thought. They must be thinking I'm some sort of a British celebrity
or something.The boy became all eyes and smiles, even signing a few autographs,
until the crowd vanished instantly in a wave of panic. Confused, Harry looked
around, only to find a tall, butch blonde with a shirt two sizes too small and
a dick probably two sizes too big, holding a gun in his left hand.
 
Get a move on, Kitty, you being late looses us money.
 
The boy just nodded and, accompanied by the clickety-click of his three-
thousand-pounds shoes, a perfectly fitting size nine, entered the hotel's
lobby. It was all gold and money, like imagine taking all the galleons out of
the vaults in Gringott's and making furniture out of them, clearly the central
fountain was not from IKEA. Harry opened the Chanel bag he was clutching and,
aside from the numerous sex toys he had no idea existed, noticed a small
envelope. Inside it was a letter addressed to the receptionist at the hotel.
Reluctantly, he walked over to the table, smoothly escaping the near death
experience of catching his heel on the carpets.
 
Out of nowhere a beautiful, model-like concierge, dressed all in black
appeared, showcasing two rows of perfectly straight and stunningly white teeth.
Harry began to get the impresion that everyone in this bloody Muggle world was
beautiful and it pissed him off. He remembered Ginny and her awful complexion
which could have been completely avoided if only he went to a secondary school
rather than Hogwarts. But what has been done cannot be undone, and the boy
happily followed the woman to the lifts and up to the twenty-first, the last,
floor.
 
Turns out some people liked living it big. The last floor was just one
apartment, with a private corridor and a separate room service. Harry thought
that the general rule was that the richer a person, the fatter, older and
uglier they are. He was hoping his client was at least clean – he was made to
shower three times in the space of an hour, so he was expecting the same in
return.
 
The door swung open and Harry was welcomed into a living room obviously stolen
from Buckingham Palace, Potter could swear he could still smell the royal smell
of the Queen's buttocks, but there was no one in sight. The boy put down his
collection of gadgets and inspected himself in the huge, golden mirror hung
over a chest of drawers. The image of the boggart-turned-Professor-Snape came
to his mind and he chuckled involuntarily. From the corner of his eye he saw
something move and jumped up in shock. Yes, Harry James Potter was becoming a
little pussy, and the high heels were not helping him with looking masculine.
 
Leaning against the wall in a silk, silver robe, stood a man. And not just any
man. This man had the most perfect cheekbones which Harry had ever had the
chance to see with his own eyes. He stood at at least six foot three, and
looked like he was no more that a few years older than Harry. Somehow that put
him at ease and he actually started to look forward to his job.
 
Is it this time already?The man ran his hand through his untamed, dark blonde
hair and smiled apologetically. I'm sorry, my internal clock is completely out
of sync. Take a seat, I'll just get myself dressed quickly. Harry wondered why
the fuck was that person getting dressed if, from what he knew, having sex
needed as little fabric as possible, but he decided not to question it out
loud. Instead, he admired those long, muscly legs, covered with just the
perfect amount of black hair. But what settled the deal for Harry was when he
slipped off his robe and revealed broad shoulders, muscly arms and back and a
big, tight arse crowned by Versace boxers.
 
At this point Harry Potter, aged 18, decided that he is definitively gay. Or at
least bi with a tipped preference. Through the sounds of running water and the
sudden thickness of steam escaping the nearby shower room, Harry daydreamed
about what his ex-friends were doing at this precise moment, what was happening
in the Wizarding World. Although he didn't long to return, except for a few
moments in the blistering cold when he was begging for change to get himself
some diluted and over-sugared tea, he wished he knew what was going on, or
better yet, how was the world coping without him.
 
On the side table, a beautiful piece of work with silver legs and a crystal
top, the boy noticed a stack of unopened envelopes, crowned by the name
'Matthew Cummings', followed by the hotel's address. How fitting that name was,
Harry chuckled at his own thought. His internal monologue was halted by a sharp
pain to his scar and a wet, male body, appearing in front of him with just a
towel hoisted up around the hips. As Matthew began to slip on and button up a
crisp, baby blue dress shirt, he turned to Harry. I hope you're hungry. Do you
like Japanese cuisine?
 
I haven't had the opportunity to try it yet. But I'm not very picky about food.
He smiled, feeling like a school girl, with his hands knitted together in his
lap. Somehow he wished he could just get fucked and leave. Clearly, that was
the job of the ordinary whores.
 
Good, I've booked us a table in the restaurant just a few floors down. Matthew
zipped up his dark grey trousers and hugged them with a black, leather belt.
With a last look into the mirror he ran his huge hand through his hair and
walked up to Harry, extending his arm in his direction. May I?
 
Involuntarily Harry blushed. Feeling a bump in his throat all he did was nod as
he wrapped the palm of his hand around the strong, slightly muscular forearm.
The man was more attractive than a naked Cho Chang, and that said a lot, seeing
as the girl has one of the hottest bodies in Hogwarts. Harry wasn't falling in
love with the man – what he found was, he simply craved his dick like it was
the last Horcrux.
 
A few minutes and a short elevator ride later, the pair found themselves at an
'authentic Japanese restaurant', or so it said next to the place's actual name,
which was written only in Japanese kanji. It was semi-full, filled enough to
prove it was a good place to eat at, but still offering privacy. Greeted by the
maitre d', Harry and his sugar daddy took seats opposite each other at a
hardwood table. Inn front of them laid two menus and two drink cards. The two
browsed the papers for a while, exchanging some acknowledging statements and
finally settled for their choices. The waiter, a short, young man with dark
blonde hair and deep, green eyes, appeared out of nowhere and took down their
orders. He vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
 
Your name is Harry, correct? Matthew asked, pushing his set of chopsticks an
inch to the right and straightening his napkin. The boy nodded in response,
receiving a smile. I've heard you're only new to this business, please, don't
feel constrained. Just because I'm paying for this doesn't mean you have to
act. Relax.Harry slipped off his fur as the heating finally hit him, and
continued to smile. Are you not going to say anything?That's fine, I can do
with a monologue.
 
No, no, it's just... The boy swallowed hard and took a deep breath. I'm just
really scared that I'm going to say something that you won't appreciate, and
after all, I'm here to make you feel good,right?
 
Matthew laughed gently and put his hand over Harry's much smaller one in an
affectionate matter. Don't you worry, I don't get offended easily. Ah, I see
our food is coming.
 
Not the only thing we'll see coming today, Harry thought, but then quickly
shook off that thought from his mind. Why was he so excited in being a whore
and sleeping with a man he only met not even half an hour ago? For godness
sake, he was Harry Potter! The guy who didn't let anyone fuck with him, and now
he was going to get fucked by some rich papa just because that prevents him
from sleeping in the streets? It was mad. He didn't want to be like this –
maybe this was the way he always was. At least no one he knew would see him
here. What a ride that would be for the people who hated him if they found out
that The Boy Who Lived is sleeping with Muggles for money!
 
His internal angst was calmed by the appetising smell of his meal, a Japanese
dish called sukiyaki. Matthew ordered a different dish, Harry had no clue what
it was or what it was called, and both of the men had a glass of sake by the
side of their plates. The boy found that this exotic beverage was slightly more
pleasant to his taste buds than the butterbeer served at the Three Broomsticks
in Hogsmead, but it sure was a hell of a lot more expensive. Not wanting to get
completely smashed, Harry took only a small sip at a time, followed by many
portions of his dish.
 
So, how old are you, Harry?
 
Oh no, the small talk. Harry hated small talk, partially because it was a waste
of time and partially because he absolutely sucked at it. Eighteen. Well,
eighteen and a bit, my birthday is in July.
 
So you're a Leo? Interesting. I'm a Sagittarius, we're meant to go well
together romantically.
 
That guy was smooth. I suppose. I was never good with divination and stuff like
that. The cause of that being Professor Trelawney's spooky glasses and a pushy
way of being, as well as the firm belief that it was more beneficial to care
about the present than about the future. What do you do for a living, Matthew?
 
I'm a top lawyer. Harry eyed him curiously, seeing that as dodgy because of the
man's young age. Family business, but I did get a degree at Harvard, so I feel
like I deserve where I am. Matthew took a bite of his food and chewed it with
upmost precision. Then he cleared his throat. So why are you doing this?
 
Long story. That seemed to be Harry's excuse for anything that happened to him
during the course of his life. Him getting the scar – long story, because you
would have to explain about Voldemort and wizards and shit like that. Him being
shunned from the magical world – long story, because you would have to go
through his whole life up till the age of fifteen to understand why he hated
his aunt, uncle and cousin so much. Finally, this – you have to explain the
aforementioned and then the whole story of him living in the streets for three
months. Not something he really wanted to get into over a hundred-pounds
dinner.
 
One of his chopsticks fell out of his unpracticed hand. Harry picked it up
swiftly and continued picking his food up. From the corner of his eye he could
see Matthew staring at him and thinking. The boy gave him a questioning look,
as his mouth was full with rice. Sometimes I wish I could do what you do. At
this point, a grain of rice fell down the wrong hole and Harry started to
choke. A few coughs later he was fine, but looked like his face was replaced by
a tomato.
 
I'm sorry, but why do you say that? I mean, Harry coughed once again and
inhaled deeply, wiping away the tears that came out of his eyes. You seem
pretty good where you are, a career, good lifestyle, and you're pretty good
looking as well, why would you waste yourself on something like-.
 
Harry was cut off mid-sentence by the default Samsung Galaxy ringtone. With an
apologetic look on his face Matthew picked up the phone. Hello? Yes. Yes. No.
Sorry honey, I have to stay longer at the office today, that celebrity divorce
we're doing right now, the trial is next week and we still haven't typed up the
protocols. I'm sorry. Yes, I know it's our anniversary in two days, I have
everything planned out. Okay. Okay. Kiss Grace good-night from me. Yes, love
you, bye bye.
 
The brunette boy replayed that conversation in his head until the pair finished
their meal and returned to the top floor suite. From there on it didn't take
long for Matthew to get a move on. Not knowing how much time was left Harry
just let him do whatever he wanted with him, also because he was unexperienced
and wasn't really sure what to do anyway.
 
All of his worries were shut off as Matthew captured Harry's lips with his own,
sucking on them like there was no tomorrow. Both sets of arms travelled around
the two bodies and soon enough Harry's top was off, followed by Matthew's
shirt, and then both of their trousers. When they were left standing in just
boxers, the older man pushed the other on the huge, king-sized bed and
continued on kissing. After what seemed like hours of mindless snogging and
groping, Matthew threw Harry on top. You know what to do, right? He huffed,
chest falling and rising heavily, matching his breathing. The boy just nodded
and slowly lowered himself down the bed, finally reaching the bump in between
the legs.
 
First, he caressed it through the expensive fabric with his fingers, one, then
two, then the whole hand, squeezing and receiving appreciative grunts in
return. Feeling a bit braver, he slid off the boxers and was welcomed by a
large, thick cock, the kind you see in porn films. Harry began by pumping it
with his fist, but soon felt the urge to put it in his mouth. Gently, he spat
on it and with his lips began to spread the moisture all over the penis. He
didn't even notice when he picked up the pace. He didn't notice when hos tongue
joined in. He certainly did not notice when Matthew's hand found itself amongst
his hair and pushed him down, making him take the whole thing in. It made the
weirdest sound ever, but apparently made the man feel good.
 
The dick began twitching and arching in the caves of Harry's mouth, and that's
when the older man decided it was time for a change. In this state he seemed a
lot more rough, dominating even. Matthew pulled Harry up by his hips and slid
off his boxers, revealing a small but plump behind. The boy shook at the sudden
sensation of the man's tongue on his hole, licking it like there was no
tomorrow. Involuntarily, Harry let out a moan of pleasure and arched slightly
to push his arse closer to his partner's mouth.
 
Harry grunted when Matthew pulled away and he quickly searched for him with his
eyes. The man was digging around in the bedside table's drawers, finally
pulling out a bottle. He unscrewed it, put a generous amount of it on his
fingers and returned to his previous position.
 
What's that? Harry asked, a bit cautious.
 
Lube. It makes it all a lot easier. Matthew replied but Harry's mind was
already elsewhere, focusing on the cold gel filling his insides, accompanied by
the pleasurable, rhythmic movements of Matthew's fingers. He moaned and grunted
and huffed, trying to contain his pleasure. Moan loud if you want, I enjoy it.
 
And so he did. Harry stopped biting down on his lip, instead letting out the
moans that begged to escape his mouth, as he helped those penetrating fingers
by pushing himself back onto them. Just as he thought it couldn't get any
better and his dick throbbed, Matthew pulled out and browsed through the bag
which Harry brought with himself. From it, he pulled out a red object. Upon
closer inspection Harry realised it was an artificial hand. Matthew pushed it
into Harry's mouth for lubrication and once satisfied began to push it into
Harry's virgin arsehole. It was a bit painful but pleasurable at the same time.
Not being able to help himself, Harry grabbed his cock with one of his hands an
started pumping at it violently, feeling like he was about to come.
 
You're not about to finish yet, are you? Matthew pulled on his hair and lowered
his face to get his mouth in level with young Potter's ear. You have to let me
get my satisfaction as well. I think you've had enough preparation now...
 
Matthew took a quick pause to slide a condom on and then, without any warning,
started to push his way into Harry. It felt bad at first and he screamed, tears
rolling down his cheeks, but soon, bit by bit, entrance was granted, and he
yelled in joy everytime that cock hit his prostate. Harry saw stars in front of
his eyes, he couldn't think of anything else apart from the movement and the
sounds they were making. He picked up the pace with which he pumped his own
dick, as he began feeling weak around the knees and neck, but Matthew's strong
hands held him up by the hips.
 
It took the men a few more minutes before they came to a finish, Harry
decorated the sheets while Matthew filled the boy from the inside. They stayed
in the position for a while, panting and breathing heavily, after which Matthew
rolled off and got off the bed. Harry browsed for his boxers and before he
managed to finish putting them on completely, a roll of twenty-pound notes
landed next to his thigh. My time's up. You better hurry up, they're waiting
for you outside.
 
Harry just noded and dressed quickly, gathering his posessions. As quickly as
he could he left the suite and jumped on the lift. Only now did embarassment
really hit him. He just lost his virginity to some rich kid in a hotel room.
Sure, it was an expensive hotel and he took him out to eat beforehand but
still. As he descended down the floors he counted the notes. One, two, three...
Five hundred pounds for shagging with someone's husband. Someone's father.
 
Harry sunk to the floor, face in hands, devastated by what he had just done.
Chapter End Notes
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