Dumbledore, Please Explain Your Twisted Logic!

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good.

Chapter Twenty-one

An Orgy of Guilt

The next few days passed in the best of fashions. There was something about Trelawney's death that made everyone happy, including herself. In the space of a few short hours, they had effectively lost both a moaning ghost and a moaning Divination professor. Admittedly, it was a bit disconcerting to run into the odd couple on the grounds or in one of the bathrooms, but everyone agreed that a freaky ghost romance was much more agreeable than two miserable souls.

"I wouldn't say everyone's happy about it, though," Hermione said hesitantly on Monday morning at breakfast. She was a bit bleary-eyed from working all weekend, but she was happy to announce that she'd had a breakthrough with her Arithmancy project and was now on scroll two.

"How d'you mean?" Ron said around a mouthful of sausage.

"Manners, Ron!" Hermione admonished him. "Well, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall seem a little weirded out by it. So does Draco, to be honest. I noticed it in the Prefect's Bathroom Thursday morning, and ever since they seem a little more... subdued."

"I didn't notice," Harry said unapologetically.

"But I see what you're saying, now that you point it out." Ron thoughtfully chewed on his jam-covered biscuit and looked up at the staff table. "Dumbledore seems pretty much the same, but he and McG both seem to be looking at Trelawney's empty chair a little too often."

"Hmm..." Hermione said pensively. She shook her head and said, "I suppose it's none of our business."

Harry tutted sharply and leaned forward across the table at Hermione. "What kind of idea is that?" he scolded her. "We gotta stick our noses in and find out what's going on--it's in our blood by now."

Hermione smiled wryly. "After six years of mysteries and twists, I think I'm a bit pooped. Give me a few years, and if I'm not busy in the Ministry by then, we can dip back into a little adventure."

"Hoo, that's what I like to hear!" Ron cheered and gave Harry a high-five. Hermione was going to flick a piece of bacon at them when Gregory Goyle showed up with Luna Lovegood.

"Gregory!" she said delightedly. "Luna! So nice to see you two. Hey!" Ron had taken advantage of her inattention to lob the head of the sausage at her. Laughing heartily, the trio scooted around enough to make some room for Luna and Goyle.

By now, it was official: Harry Potter was dating Luna Lovegood, and Hermione Granger was dating Gregory Goyle. The latter romance had caused quite a scandal, it being between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, not to mention the fact that Hermione was the smartest witch in the school while everyone still thought Goyle was the stupidest. Every girl in Gryffindor, plus a few from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and even Slytherin, bombarded Hermione with questions, asking her why she had made such an awful choice in her boyfriend. And since she was not one to satisfy the gossip chain, all she said was, "There's more to Gregory than meets the eye." They tried to wheedle more information out of her, but it was really quite a hopeless pursuit: After all, she was the one who had been fighting Death Eaters the past three years while they'd been hiding behind The Daily Prophet.

Now that Harry and Luna were officially together, they were officially allowed to snog. And so, after a few kisses over breakfast, Luna turned to him and said conversationally, "Hey, Harry, would you like to snog in a broom cupboard before we have to go to class?"

Harry blushed magnificently. How was it that he could stand years of ridicule from his classmates plus battles against Voldemort, yet something as harmless as his girlfriend mentioning snogging in public made him want to dive under the table? He fought the color in his face, however, and replied, "Of course, Luna." Might as well get used to it, he told himself with a grin. She's going to be a lot more forthright than either Ginny or Cho, no matter who's around to hear it.

So they excused themselves to snog. It was marvelous. Harry discovered a spot on Luna's neck that might as well have been a second clitoris, what with all the moaning it produced. At the same time, Luna's fingers, wet from his mouth, conducted a serious expedition of Harry's rippled abdomen. Harry retaliated by tickling her ribs just below the breast, and she wriggled about purposefully so that her clothed nipple brushed up against Harry's wrist. They giggled and laughed, then kissed solemnly, then made some funny noises, then fell silent again. Sometimes they were relatively still, and sometimes they bucked about so much that the brooms and mops clattered along with them. Then Luna pulled Harry into her for the deepest kiss yet, while at the same time positioning his arse up against a large container of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She grounds his buttocks against the container for a brief second, then broke off the kiss, leaving him reeling.

"I've gotta go to class now," she said primly. Not bothering to straighten her clothes or tame her hair, she pranced down the hallway, throwing in a twirl every ten yards or so.

"Oh my..." Harry breathed, massaging the balloon that seemed to be growing in his stomach. "Oh holy fuckness... How can someone manage to be that hot?" He seriously didn't know how Luna did it. Shouldn't it be a crime for someone to be so smart and so brave, yet so sexy as well? Or maybe, Harry figured, it was the fact that she was such a great person that made her truly sexy.

Either way, when Harry stopped by the bathroom en route to Transfiguration, he discovered that the Cockmice had held a marriage ceremony on the head of his penis.

**********

Minerva McGonagall had never felt so guilty in her entire life. Wait, scratch that: there had been one time during the war when she and Dumbledore had to sacrifice the lives of an entire family in order to prevent an attack on Diagon Alley. The worst thing was that their plan failed, Diagon Alley had been attacked, hundreds had died, and those parents and their two young children had been sacrificed in vain. That had sucked so much it fellated.

So in reality, this was the second-most guilty Minerva had felt in her entire life. She had as good as killed Sybil Trelawney. She had gone up to the North Tower to deliver the letter and had instead gotten raped. It was an accident, she knew--Trelawney hadn't meant to rape her! But the shame had been too much for the poor Divination professor, so she had run off and killed herself. And that made it McGonagall's fault.

As she watched her students file into the room, she suppressed a tremble and strode up to the board to begin drawing an illustration for the day's notes. "Everyone pull out your books," she said automatically, "and turn to page 584." Holy Merlin, was that her voice? It sounded so mechanical! She wasn't even speaking now--the words were leaving her mouth as if by someone else's will.

At least Sybil came back as a ghost, a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her. And at least she's gotten together with Moaning Myrtle. So, in a way, she's happier because she's dead. By effectively killing her, you made her life better!

What bollocks! Trelawney might be having fun with Moaning Myrtle, but after a few hundred years, every ghost couldn't help but regret their refusal to face the afterlife. She had talked to Nearly-Headless Nick about it, and he said that it was his biggest problem: He felt like a coward for not Going On. It'd only be a matter of a couple decades until even Sybil and Moaning Myrtle felt that same guilt.

Minerva gave her head a shake and put her mind on teaching. And yet never through the lecture did the matter leave her mind.

~~~~~

Just a dozen meters away Draco sat in the back of the class, fidgeting with his textbook and completely incapable of concentrating on his notes.

He had killed Professor Trelawney. Or as good as killed her. He had played with her emotions since the school year started, and then he had just thrown her away. Two days later, she was dead by her own hand (or rather, her own candles). It didn't take a genius to figure out whose fault it was.

I've never killed somebody before! Draco thought, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. I wouldn't have minded torturing a few Mudbloods during the war, but I wasn't even a Death Eater! And Sybil Trelawney most definitely wasn't a Mudblood.

Ah, come on! She was old; she was going to die anyway!

But it's still my fault.

She was as delusional as Fudge and as crazy as Dumbledore himself. She was the most annoying thing Draco had ever stuck his penis into, and that was saying a lot! Certainly she deserved to die?

No matter how annoying she was, his conscience lectured him, she didn't deserve the ending you inflicted upon her. She trusted you enough to let you enter her vagina--and you broke that trust.

Fuck it all! When did he grow a conscience? Growling bitterly to himself, Draco slouched even lower in his seat and resolved not to think of Trelawney for the rest of the day. She was just a loony teacher, and the world was better off without her. From here on out, he'd expel her from his mind.

He failed miserably, of course.

~~~~~

An hour later, Draco left Transfiguration with a load of homework and guilt. An hour of ignoring Professor Trelawney had turned into an hour of consciously trying to ignore her and thus thinking about her the entire time. He never knew that remorse was so powerful! He always figured that, if he killed someone, it'd feel exhilarating at best, discomforting at worst. That was, of course, before he actually became responsible for someone's death. Now, he marveled at the holes that chewed themselves into his stomach and the lumps that filled his chest and squeezed his rapidly beating heart. Guilt was painful!

"Hey, Draco," someone cooed into his ear. He jumped a mile and barely missed plugging that person in the nose with his fist. "Whoa, calm it down!" Cho cried, for that was who it was.

"Sorry," Draco muttered, straightening his bag. "Didn't see you coming."

"If you need to work out some of that tension, then let's find the nearest broom cupboard and knead it away!" She licked one of her fingers and placed it against the bulge in his trousers. "What do you say?"

He really shouldn't. This was exactly what had led to Trelawney's death. He had said to himself, "Oh, I just want to toy with her a bit. It'll be a quick wham-bam, and then off I'll scoot! She'll be game for it, and she's way too old to fall in love with me! There couldn't possibly be any complications!" And then she had died. He decided that it couldn't happen again, so he opened his mouth to tell Cho that he'd have to pass for now, because he was very busy. What came out instead was, "Sure! You bet."

So they went to the nearest broom cupboard. Draco snapped a string off one of the mops and tickled it against Cho's pubic hairs. The Asian girl slapped some oil-based polish on Draco's chest and rubbed it around until he gleamed. Then they kissing heavily and rubbed the oil deep into the crevaces of each other's bodies. Draco pulled a throbbing erection from his trousers and was about to stab Cho in the cervix when the door suddenly flew open, and another couple bumped into them.

"AAAIYIKES!" Cho squealed.

"GO THE FUCK AWAY!" Draco yelled.

"What the hell?" said Edmund, for he was the male half of the couple.

"Cho, is that you?" And Marietta was the female half.

"Marietta?" Cho whimpered, blushing deeply as she quickly straightened her clothes, cringing as her shirt stuck to her oiled skin. "What're you... what're you?"

"Draco?" Marietta gasped as she realized just who was with her best friend. "Draco Malfoy! So that's who you're seeing, Cho!"

"No, Marietta, it's--"

"But this is awful!" Marietta wailed. "This is just absolutely bloody awful!"

"No, Marietta," Cho tried to explain quickly, "it's not, it's... it's..."

"You're fucking bloody Draco Malfoy all this time, and you didn't tell me?"

"What's the big fucking deal?" Edmund interrupted. Draco just backed slowly away, hoping to get away from the escalating argument.

"I... no, please, Marietta, try to understand..."

"But Cho, I'm fucking him! I've been fucking Malfoy for the past year now!"

Draco took this moment to set off at a run, only to find that a crowd had gathered and was now watching the fight with a good deal of interest. His escape route was blocked.

"I'm sorry, Marietta," Cho whimpered, beginning to cry. "I--I didn't mean to--"

"But why did you choose him, Cho?" Marietta huffed, slamming an exasperated fist into the wall. Her glare was one of supreme annoyance, and yet it didn't seem truly angry. "You knew he'd cheat on you."

"I..." Cho whimpered. "I... he's just..."

The crowd waited with baited breath as she searched desperately for the right words. She didn't find them, and instead she sagged against the closet's doorframe, tears streaming down her face.

"I wouldn't have gone after him if I had known you were so in love with him."

"I'm not, though!" Cho protested, humiliated. "He's... he's just a man on the side. The person I've really been seeing this year is... is Vincent Crabbe."

"Oh," Marietta said, calming down. "Oh. Okay. Whew, for a second there I thought I was fucking your man!"

"What?" Cho said, startled by Marietta's change in attitude. "You're not mad, then?"

"Of course not!" Marietta said. "It's not like I'm in love with Draco Malfoy."

"Me, neither," Hannah piped up from the crowd. "He says it an awful lot, and it sounds really nice, but mostly I just like to feel his dick throbbing inside my vag."

"I don't even mind giving him blowjobs," Romilda Vane said from a crowd of Gryffindor Fifth-Years. "Blowjobs suck as a rule, but when a cock is that veiny, I can't resist!"

"He does things with private places that should be illegal!" a Sixth-Year Hufflepuff breathed, her knees trembling. "I'm like: 'Yeah, keep saying you love me, and I'll say it too, just as long as you keep pounding my peehole!' "

"Whoever actually thinks Draco Malfoy loves them is pretty stupid," Daphne Greengrass said. "No offense, Pansy."

"You all are a bunch of good-for-nothing whores!" Pansy cried, squaring her hands against her hips. "I seriously can't believe you lot. And you, Cho... Vincent fucking Crabbe? Talk about no taste!"

"But I wasn't in love with him, either," Cho insisted. "It was a pretty cool thing we had going, but he just wasn't enough to satisfy me. No offense, Vincent."

Crabbe, who was standing by himself near the edge of the crowd, scratched his head and said, "Huh? What's going on?"

"Now Draco Malfoy is an entirely different matter!" Cho cooed. "He must be at least twenty centimeters of meaty yumminess when erect!"

"And still a good thirteen when flaccid," a Ravenclaw Fifth-Year guessed. The boys that were present moaned in envy.

"What I like is when all 20 centimeters of him are lodged firmly up my arse!" Euan Abercrombie inserted, his boyish face shining with glee.

"Draco Malfoy fucks boys, too?" Lavender squealed. "Oh my fucking Merlin on a dildo! That is so hot!" This statement was echoed by a dozen girls at the same time, and the crowd pressed inward until Draco could barely navigate ten inches in each direction.

"Can we have a gigantic, Draco-centric orgy?" Marietta suggested. "We'll all come together and see how many of us can lick Draco's cock at the same time!"

"And I can take Draco up the arse!" Euan suggested excitedly. "And if any of the other gay guys are willing, we can see how many penises he can fit into his mouth at once!"

"I don't want to fuck Draco!" Terry Boot cried. "I may be gay, but that doesn't mean I'll have sex with every guy who asks me."

"I wouldn't do any random guy, either," said a gay Third-Year from Slytherin, "but if it's a Draco orgy, you can count me in!"

"Any males experimenting with their sexuality?" Lavender cried to the ever-growing crowd. "Feel free to join!"

Draco had never been so flabbergasted in his life. He couldn't even speak, he was so bowled over. Here, half the population of Hogwarts was planning a giant orgy centered entirely around him, and nobody cared that he was the biggest slut since Godric Gryffindor! Everybody, it seemed, worshipped his penis... and arse, and mouth, and fingers, and heck, pretty much his whole body! This should have been the biggest ego-inflator ever!

But it wasn't. As the girls talked excitedly about their favorite sex toys, Draco's heart plummeted. Was this what it had come to? After years and years of having sex with everything that moved, he could now do it with impunity. But at what cost?

The cost suddenly became clear when Draco spied Neville Longbottom standing in the middle of the crowd, gazing at Draco Malfoy with a single tear running down his cheek. The Gryffindor boy didn't merely look disappointed: He looked as if his soul had just been crushed, as if he had one reason to continue living and that reason had been snatched away. And nobody noticed, for they were all too busy with their orgiastic plots.

Then Neville spoke, and only Draco paid attention. "I must be stupid," the Gryffindor boy whispered, his voice broken, "because I thought we did have something going." Then he pushed his way through the crowd and ran down the corridor.

Draco watched him go, his heart dropping even further in his stomach. His eyes stung badly, and he even felt a bit sick. So this was the cost! He had a reputation: He was a man slut, and he was expected to live up to that name. People would praise his body and his sexual prowess, but nobody would ever love him. Nobody was stupid enough to love a proven slut. And nobody would believe that he could give love in return.

On impulse, Draco pushed through the crowd in an effort to chase after the Longbottom boy. He ignored the slaps on the back, the gropes up the crotch, and the cries of, "Orgy tonight at 9:00 in the Slytherin Common Room!" He didn't even want to know if they were being serious. He just wanted to find Neville Longbottom and speak to him.

Sadly, however, he hadn't been quick enough. Neville was long gone, and Draco doubted he could find the boy without a tracking device and a couple bloodhounds. Feeling more depressed than before, Draco decided to skip Potions, figuring that Snape would let him get away with it again. In the meantime, he really needed to walk out on the grounds alone to sort out his thoughts.

**********

That afternoon Dumbledore and the students held a dress rehearsal. It clipped along amiably, finishing just three minutes over the two-hour mark Dumbledore wished to obtain. Through some miracle, everyone remembered their lines, which was a definite first. However, Dumbledore wasn't entirely pleased with the performances.

"Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin," he said gravely, referring to Draco and Neville. "I am afraid your onstage chemistry has faded since we last practiced on Monday."

"Sorry," Neville mumbled. "I'll try to do better."

"Yeah," Draco murmured.

"The kiss wasn't as electric as I had hoped," Dumbledore continued, staring them down. "Your mannerisms were awkward to the point of being uncomfortable, Master Malfoy. Gryffindor would never act like that. As for you, Master Longbottom, you looked like you were kissing a fish, and you broke it off much too soon. Now kiss again, right now, and this time do it properly."

"No way." Surprisingly enough, this came from Neville, not Draco. "I refuse to kiss him any more than I have to!" He planted his feet apart and crossed his arms firmly over his chest.

Dumbledore sighed sadly and put an arm around the Gryffindor's shoulder. "My dear boy," he said, "you are Salazar Slytherin--you are one of the four leads. If you fail to perform your part, the entire play will crash down with you."

"I don't think I care anymore," Neville said, trying not to cry. "I don't care about anything anymore."

"And that is why you are not the director," Dumbledore said, none too gently. "Now be a good boy and kiss Draco Malfoy."

"No," Neville repeated.

"Yes," Dumbledore countered. He placed his bony palm against the small of Neville's back and prodded him gently towards Malfoy. With his other arm he guided Draco into an awkward embrace with his costar, and from there Dumbledore laid their heads on each other's shoulders. "Now kiss."

Draco hooked his arms under Neville's armpits and took the boy's cheeks in his hands. Neville tried to turn away, but Draco kept his grip firm, and the Gryffindor boy found himself unable to move as Malfoy slowly brought their lips together in a deep kiss. Neville gave him only five seconds before he broke away; but in those five short seconds, Draco worked as furiously as he possibly could, try to communicate something more to the Gyffindor boy than mere physical pleasure.

"Again," Dumbledore said.

So they kissed again. Looking anguished, Neville took Draco roughly by the neck and drew him in for a much harsher kiss than before. Draco was grateful for the sudden rush of emotion, even if it was born more of despair than of self-assured love. He deepened the kiss and added some tongue, trying to get Neville to react even more strongly. It worked, and in another moment Draco was sure he even felt the wetness of Neville's tongue on his cheek. But then he realized that a tear had escaped from Neville's brimming eyes and mingled with the kiss.

After about thirty seconds, Dumbledore stopped the pair. "Better," he said. "Remember to kiss like that on the night of the play."

Draco broke apart from Neville and tried to catch the Gryffindor's gaze. However, Neville merely gave him one sad glance before he turned heel and strode to the opposite end of the stage.

"We have only three more dress rehearsals," Dumbledore informed them. "On top of Wednesday and Friday afternoon, I've decided to also hold one on Thursday so as to make sure everything is perfect. Any questions?"

Everyone kept their mouths shut, so Dumbledore let them go at eight minutes to 6:00. Hermione could have tried to squeeze in a few minutes with Professor Vector, but she didn't bother; she pretty much had the project in hand by now, and she decided to write another four scrolls of the essay after dinner.

"Let's get out of here," Harry whispered to Luna. So they left the Great Hall and headed outdoors. There were a few inches of snow on the ground, but the night air was above freezing, and Harry now knew how to cast a Warming Charm. Together they crossed the grounds until they reached the stables.

"How're you feeling about the play now?" Luna asked Harry.

"Okay, I guess," Harry sighed. "I've come to terms with it. I just want it all to be over with."

"It will be," Luna said, a little misty-eyed, "in a week."

"And then I can focus my entire attention on you!" Harry grinned, giving her a kiss on the nose. She giggled and pinched his butt. "Hey!"

They devoted the next while to kissing, and it need not be said that they both enjoyed themselves immensely. Then Luna touched Harry's penis, and her eyes grew wide as she whispered, "Have they...?"

"Yes," Harry replied, smiling a little. "The Cockmice have held a marriage on the head of my penis. Again, I might add."

"Marvelous!" Luna said, clapping her hands together. "In that case..." And in one swoop she lifted her robe and her dress entirely above her head and threw them to the ground. She now stood in front of Harry in her bra and underwear. It was obvious she has chosen her undergarments carefully: the bra was sleek black, and the underwear was a thong. Harry's eyebrows flew up as his jaw flew down, and his penis flew out. Luna grinned and said, "I feel the same way about you, you know. You are indeed an amazing young man, and I like you better than Neville. This is no offense to Neville, of course, because he is still better than most young men out there, but you really take the cake and feed it to the Shrezfifflits, too."

"I think I love you," Harry whispered, trying for just one moment to disengage his brain from his testicles. "I think I love you very much. But... do we really... I mean... I want you--very badly. I want to make love to you, to fuck you, to do, well..."

"Everything," Luna supplemented.

"Yes, everything," Harry said, his mind blowing a fuse at the thought. "But, well... what happens if we're rushing into it?"

"Do you think we're rushing into it?" Luna asked him, still smiling.

"Well... no," Harry said honestly. "It feels right. But at the same time, I'm worried with what happened to Ginny and me, and... um... I don't want to same thing to happen again. Not that it will!" he added quickly. "I know it's a different case entirely. Oh Merlin, I'm bollocksing this up right and proper!"

"No, you're not," Luna said. "I understand you, and so does the Heebripple. We both agree that sex should only come when you're certain about it ... when both of us are, actually. How about for now we just continue kissing? Does that sound good?"

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling a little.

So they kissed some more. Then they made love.

What is there to say? In between the kissing, they exchanged reflections. Harry started it off by saying, "It's not right for me to compare this to my relationship with Ginny, is it?"

"I compared it to my relationship with Neville," Luna said reasonably after a few kisses. "So I suppose some comparisons do benefit us."

"I think, though," Harry said around a bit of necking, "I should do a bit less comparing and a bit more contrasting. Because this is totally different from what Ginny and I had."

"Good idea," was all the reply Luna gave him. Then she left the rest up to him.

It was rather hard to think while he kissed, but by spreading his thoughts out over thirty minutes, he managed it. Basically, I'm more mature now than I was when Ginny and I were together, he decided. We had sex not because we were ready, but because we were afraid that Voldemort might kill us before we were ready. Neither of us wanted to die a virgin!

But now, there is nothing pressuring us. If I say no, Luna wouldn't think any less of me. She's not like other girls, who'd accuse me of being gay. And that's just one of the many things that makes me love her.

I do love her, don't I! I really do!

And thus Harry made up his mind. He loved Luna Lovegood. He wouldn't make the same mistakes he made with Ginny. And he did want to have sex with Luna. Mostly it was because he loved her, but a small part of his brain was willing to admit it was also because he'd been blueballing for two weeks now, and he'd finally and legitimately won a woman's heart. Having sex right now didn't feel rushed--it felt like the perfect time. Holding off any longer would only be feeding his own self-righteousness. So basically, sex with Luna Lovegood was a win-win situation.

The first time with Ginny had been understandably awkward. They were both virgins, after all--it had hurt for Ginny, and Harry had climaxed entirely too early. But practice makes perfect, and now this first time with Luna was the best thing Harry had ever experienced in his entire life. On top of the fact they both knew what they were doing, Harry was also more mature than he had been when he was with Ginny, and so he now knew more clearly than then what he wanted in life. And what he wanted was the Ravenclaw girl that he held in his arms during his multiple climaxes. Fuck the morons who said heroin was better than sex-- they obviously had no idea Luna Lovegood existed!

**********

Draco seriously considered playing the "I love him, I love him not" game with himself, but after searching around the Hogwarts grounds for a whole hour in the gathering darkness, he found that all the flowers were dead. And so he realized that he'd have to make up his own mind what to do about Neville.

What did Draco feel for that unassuming Gryffindor boy? He didn't rightly know. When they had first fucked, Draco merely thought his penis was having a lucky day inside a most agreeably tight arsehole. Then, however, he and Neville had had sex again inside that broom cupboard. And then another time near the Astronomy Tower. In all, they had had four secret trysts since their first adventure in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and each time had been better than the last. This had never happened before; most of the time Draco found the greatest pleasure in fucking someone for the first time; subsequent outings were not as gratifying, and in a few months he was tired of the person.

Have I developed feelings? Draco wondered as he stopped by the frigid lake. Thin sheets of ice floated around on the lake's surface, remnants of a colder evening. After all these years of fucking on the go, have I finally found someone I can settle down with? Holy Merlin, do I actually love Neville?

He had never loved anybody, not even Pansy! Especially not Pansy. His mum was okay, but she wasn't the mothering type, and even when he was back at the Manor she tended to be distant. And his dad? What a fucking joke! And of course Draco didn't love Crabbe or Goyle--they were his vassals, not his equals, and they definitely weren't put in their positions to receive his affection.

"I don't know what love is!" he said aloud, knowing there was nobody to hear him. "How can I use the word if I can't connect it to anything?"

Maybe, then, he didn't love Neville. Maybe it was just a queer sort of physical attraction that somehow spiked his emotions as well. Love, after all, was a word bandied about with too much frequency. It had too many definitions, and it was probably the most overused word in the English language. Maybe love didn't even exist. It might just be some invention cooked up by ancient philosophers to keep the broad masses content.

"So stop thinking about it already!" Malfoy told himself sternly.

This was easier said than done. Malfoy ended up skipping dinner as a breath of fresh air become a two-hour trek. The trees were bare, and the air was quiet. All the animals were gone for the winter, and he had the whole wide slate of the black sky to fill with his reflections.

Most vivid in his mind was the image of Neville's face--his wrinkled brow and his downturned lip, his sunken cheeks and his throbbing temple. And his eyes--his wide gray eyes that shone with tears, accusing Draco of breaking yet another heart and ruining yet another life. That was the one image Draco Malfoy could not banish from his head, and unless he did something to remedy this situation, that was the image that would haunt him.

At around 8:30 Draco slipped back into the castle. He grabbed a quick bite of dinner from the Great Hall and headed down to the Slytherin Common Room all on his lonesome.

When he arrived, he was in for a rude shock. The place was packed, and not only with Slytherins! No less than two dozen Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors were there, too, most of them girls.

"He's here!" Hannah Abbot cried delightedly from the fireplace. "Hi, Draco!"

None of them were wearing robes--rather, they'd tossed their robes over the couches and armchairs to reveal skimpy outfits beneath. Tanktops and sleeveless tops abounded, as did miniskirts and booty shorts. A few girls were simply wearing their bras; others went braless under their blouses.

"Wh-what're you all--?" Draco murmured, his eyes popping at the sight of them. They were a vast, multi-toned expanse of skin--a sea of neverending legs, protruding arses, and accentuated breasts. Necklines dived and bellies gleamed softly in the light. One of them scratched her crotch and sniffed her fingers afterwards. There was no way his penis couldn't stir at the sight of it all.

"Orgy in the Slytherin Common Room, remember?" Parvati said. "It turns out that some of the girls were just talking the talk--Lav and I tried to get Lisa Turnip to come, but she begged off for homework, of all things! Oh well, we still have a good thirty people. Will that be enough, Draco?"

"Thirty..." Draco whispered, flabbergasted. That was way many more people than he had ever had sex with at one time. Come to think of it, he hadn't even done a threesome before! It was always about his little games, where he went from one girl to the next until he came. As for a whole fucking thirty? That was unheard of!

"We even got a few boys to join," Millicent said. The gay Third-Year Slytherin waved, as did a small coterie of boys from Hufflepuff. "This is going to be the best orgy ever!"

Wow! Well... Draco had never been part of an orgy before. And there was no fucking time like the present! And so he reached for the clasp of his robes.

HOLD IT! His newfound conscience kicked in, and that damn image of Neville blinked in front of his mind's eye. This is exactly why Neville hates me now. If I fuck all these girls, then I'm every bit as bad as he thinks.

Oh, come on! His penis twitched maddeningly, and his fingers played longingly with the clasp that fastened his cloak around his neck. He couldn't deny his urges--Neville should understand that and let him get on with it.

"Are you ready, Draco?" Hannah asked him slyly.

I'll have to tell them no, Draco realized, a rock growing in his throat. I'll have to give some excuse, like homework or a test or something.

And a right idiot he'd look, doing that. What kind of single man would ever forgo an orgy for homework? Heck, even men in a relationship would join! If Draco refused, he'd look like a goody-goody. It wasn't so much that Draco didn't want to become good, but rather that, if he did become good, he'd have to endure literally years' worth of embarrassing comments from every single girl in Hogwarts, plus a few of the forthright boys as well.

I shouldn't care what they say, his conscience argued. If I decline, it's not as if they'll accuse me of being gay--because I already have sex with boys on top of all the girls I fuck. I'm the sex god here, and they know I can give a girl an orgasm. If I say no, it won't make their past orgasms any less powerful.

But really, just how ridiculous would he look if he refused? And just how regretful would his penis be? Already that member of his was begging to be let loose against all those fabulous breasts and vaginas and arseholes and fellow penises. He couldn't deny his very self!

For Neville, I can do it.

"Draaaaaaco?" Daphne purred.

He opened his mouth to say that he didn't feel like an orgy tonight. However, Lavender chose that moment to reveal a bronzed nipple as she eased her breast out of her bra, and Draco's conscience died. "Let's get this orgy started!" he heard himself say.

It was an epic orgy. Two minutes in, every single penis, arse, breast, and vagina was exposed and ready for action. The gay Third-Year Slytherin left his shirt on but unbuttoned it. "That's so, when you rub against it, I feel like I'm being continually undressed!" he proclaimed to a bunch of swooning girls. So Parvati took a leaf out of his book and left her thong on, though she skewed it so that both her front and back entrances were unobstructed.

Thus began the orgy. First came the contest to see just how many people could fit on, around, or inside Draco at one time. Five girls managed to put their mouths on his erection, while two boys took him from behind, and three other boys more or less fit between his lips. A few other girls played around his thighs and nipples, and the ones that were left out played with each other. That was when Draco came the first time, squirting half a dozen people in the process. They all cheered and licked the semen off each other's faces.

For five minutes or so, Draco took to the sidelines to recover his libido and gargle a mouthful of spooj that one of the boys had left behind. Meanwhile, the others kept plunging and rutting. The noises were unbelievable: a veritable symphony of moans and grunts and the rustling of hair. Especially acute was the hollow smacking sounds produced by the friction of bodily parts slipping up and down inside the orifices they were pleasuring.

Then Millicent traipsed over and put her mouth to Draco's nipple. "Hey, big boy," she said around slurps. "How about rejoining us?" She trailed her tongue from his chest to his ear when she suddenly caught sight of a young First-Year cowering on a sofa, trying desperately to concentrate on his homework. "Hey, you!" she cried.

The little boy looked up, terrified.

"Do you want to join us?"

The little boy shook his head fiercely and quaked in his seat. "Homework!" he squeaked.

"That's alright," Millicent said, grinning. "You can just watch. After all, voyeurism is participation."

Though the First-Year never joined, Draco definitely did, and in fifteen minutes he was once again quite hard. A dozen girls propped themselves against the wall with their legs spread wide, and he dipped into them, one after the other. On the opposite wall, all the boys had lined up facing forward, and Lavender took a suck on each of them before starting at the beginning of the line. After making each boy come, she coerced them into fingering her simultaneously until she found the big O herself.

Thus the evening progressed. Within an hour the windows had misted over, and the carpet was matted with sexual juices and saliva. At 10:00 they started a game of genital tag. One person was It, and this person then had to tag somebody's genitals with his or her own. Once that happened, the tagged person was it. It was a rough game--in an effort to tag somebody, people got pretty violent, even going as far as to slam their victims against the wall and ram their privates together. But that only made everyone enjoy it more.

It was while this game was in session that the door to the Common Room opened, and Gregory Goyle stepped through. For a second he just stood there with no reaction except total shock. However, once he saw Draco his gawping turned into frowning, and he marched off to his dorm with a scowl on his face. Draco saw this and thought it was a bit weird, but he decided he'd worry about it after the orgy.

All good things must come to an end. Thus the orgy wound down around 11:30 as the participants gradually ran out of libido and left the Common Room. Draco winced as he picked a bead of semen from his armpit, and he flopped down on one of the few armchairs that remained undisturbed by the orgy (in other words, it was still dry and had no rips).

"Ah, now that's what I call orgytastic!" Millicent sighed as she meandered to the girls' dormitories with Daphne. "We should do that more often."

Soon, Draco was all alone. The terrified First-Year had left the room long ago, and now the place was dead silent. His penis was limp, and his wellbeing was plummeting. He had just had an orgy: He should feel fantastic! And yet, he felt worse than he did before.

Then Gregory Goyle pattered softly into the room, looking very serious. "Draco," he said without greeting him, "you shouldn't have done that."

"What the fuck, Goyle?" Draco whined, peeved. "I can do what I want."

"Sure," Gregory said dismissively, "but this is the reason why you broke Neville's heart."

How the hell did he find out? Draco quickly turned his face away, hoping that his silence would deny that he and Neville had done anything together (he didn't trust himself to speak right now), but all it did was confirm it.

"I'm not stupid, you know," Goyle said. "I notice these things. In fact, Hermione noticed it, too; we were talking about it this morning."

"What the hell are you talking to Hermione for?" Draco snapped, glad for the change in subject. Now that Gregory had mentioned Neville, this morning's guilt all came rushing back, and he realized the enormity of the evil he had just committed. "I forbid you to hang around with that Mudblood!"

"She's my girlfriend, Draco," Gregory said quietly, yet coldly. "And that's not changing any time soon. As for your attitude, I cannot do anything about it--only you can. And until you do, I'm not hanging around you anymore."

Had Draco heard that correctly? Did Gregory really just refuse to be around him? "What? Goyle, are you saying you don't want to be my friend anymore?"

Gregory coughed a little. "Consider it a separation," he said, "not a complete divorce, as it were. I need a few weeks without you to see if you're truly worth having as a friend."

"What the fuck?" Draco cried, furious. "How the hell do you think you have any right to do this?"

"Over the Christmas holidays," Gregory continued as if Draco hadn't spoken, "and on into January, I'll evaluate your behavior. If you haven't had a total personality overhaul by then, I'll have to dump you. I can't have you dragging me down."

"This is all Hermione's idea!" Draco yelled. "She's trying to force you away from your friends because she's a greedy bitch, and she wants you all to herself!"

"No," Gregory said simply. "This is something I've wanted--and needed to do--for the past six years. Now stay out of my way."

And that was that. Gregory went off to bed, and Draco remained naked by the fire, flabbergasted and overwhelmed.

Fuck Gregory! He didn't need that dumb boy as a friend anyway; he could get along just fine with Crabbe!

But Gregory isn't dumb, he reminded himself. He's a right sight smarter than I am. What's more, he's actually grown a pair. Ever since Dumbledore started the play, he's been growing in confidence and power. So has that Loser kid, come to think of it. And I hear Luna and Harry are very happy together. It seems that everyone has become a better person except me.

Draco's evil side could no longer argue against reason. He was a mess. Ever since the beginning of the school year, his confidence and self-worth had been flagging. He was a sex addict. He had no girlfriend. And he had no friends--no real friends, that is. Crabbe counted for absolute fuck-all. Draco's grades weren't that stellar, and he wasn't doing anything to improve society. In fact, the only thing he was good at was having sex, and all that had done in the past two months was a lot of fucking harm.

This addiction had lost him friends, his girlfriend, and his only chance at love. It had lost him the respect of others and the cleaner reputation he could have had. All he could basically do now was to fuck people until he died. What else was there?

I could quit, he thought. I could go cold turkey on the sex. And then I could apologize to Neville and win his heart. And then I could show Goyle how good I've been, and he'd become my friend again.

But fuck it all, that would require way too much work! First off, how the hell could he stop having sex for two days, let alone a couple weeks or (heaven forbid!) even a few months? Was he supposed to masturbate? He hadn't done that in years, not when he had a million other people willing to do it for him!

And was he actually supposed to apologize to Neville and Goyle? He had never apologized, not once in his entire life! How the hell was he supposed to start now? All this becoming a better person just seemed like a miserable pursuit to him.

But not as miserable as being stuck in this role for the rest of my life, he realized. How about I give it a try? No sex for a week. Let's make it a game! If I manage to hold off, I win. And if I don't, I lose.

This was going to be the most painful fucking game he'd ever played.

~~~~~

Two minutes later, the Slytherin Common Room was empty, as Draco had gone to bed. There was a pop, and two house-elves appeared. They both wore pillowcases, neither of which bore the Hogwarts crest.

"You is to be cleaning up this mess," the older house-elf said to the younger one.

"Why, Mister Biddles, why?" the young one complained. "The milk spots is being all crusty and most difficult to remove!"

"Junie is to be quiet and do what he's told!" Biddles yelled, sending lashings of magic across Junie's back. "It is being a pleasure to work! You is to be punishing yourself for your most impertinent remark. As for me, I is returning to Mistress Malfoy and is telling her all about the child wizards and witches and their games of mass mating."

He disappeared with a pop, leaving Junie by himself to clean up the stubborn sex juices from the rug. But first Junie conjured himself an iron and an ironing board. Still whimpering a little, he heated up the iron with a blast of magic, placed his left hand against the board, and began ironing. He let out a shriek of pain, upon which he jammed his mouth into his shoulder in order to muffle the noise. Once the skin was bubbling, he removed the iron and repeated the action with the other hand.

By the time young Junie Banished the iron and the board, his entire arm was wracked with the pain that shot from his fingers. Even the tendons as far as his shoulder blades seemed to ache when he moved his hands. And even the slightest breeze against his fresh wounds made him want to cry out in anguish.

To complete the punishment, he began a job that would take at least three hours, even with magic: Picking coagulated sex juices out of the carpet. Whimpering in exquisite agony, he grasped the first stubborn clot with his throbbing fingers and began working it up the matted fibers.

A/N: An extra disclaimer: "Voyeurism is participation" is a line from Shortbus, a film directed by John Cameron Mitchell. Everyone watch it, but make sure your parents aren't around!

Next chapter comes the final events before the climax of this piece. We have only four chapters left, so now's the time to tell all your friends that you know this cool humor fic of a deliciously substantial length that is most definitely going to be completed!

Thanks to my beta, Lisa725. You're awesome!

Now review. All of you. Please. :D