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Harry Potter: Hogwarts' Lessons in Love Part 1 - The Nightmare (tort,humil)
by Mike M

Harry was having a bad dream. In his troubled head, he had just won the
Quidditch Finals for his team and his school. On the field and in the
stands it was a bright, sunny and grand day. Everyone was cheering for the
champions, especially for "Harry! Harry! Harry!" Gryffindor banners were
magically flying over the excited stadium. His team mates were carrying
him high over their shoulders into the electrified air. As they neared the
passage to the locker room, they got a little rough.

He had to push himself down so his head wouldn't be cracked against the
doorway. Soon, things got worse. Without much care he was dropped to the
floor then pushed along, until the team was in the locker room. Afraid to
say anything, he turned to his locker and started to undress. He wished
he had brought his invisibility cloak, as he could feel the angry stares
behind his back. Too bad he couldn't just disappear and run away. Soon,
he realized that he ran out of clothes and equipment to remove from his
body which was covered in a cold sweat. He knew he had to go to the
showers. Eventhough he just wanted to throw on his regular clothes and
leave, Oliver Wood, the captain, would insist he showered.

"What's wrong?" he asked himself. "What did I do?" As he turned to face the
group of naked strapping teenagers, he had a dreadful feeling he was about
to find out.

The male members of Team Gryffindor stood up straight and coldly stared at
Harry. To his horror, the young men of Team Slytherin came barging in from
the shower area, wearing nothing but scrapes on a few limbs and scowls on
their faces. He could hear the cheering of the stadium crowd, muffled by
wood and stone, then it suddenly ceased. There was a moment of deathly
silence. Harry was about to run into the hallway or cry or scream! He heard
one or two of the showers turn on, then his captain finally spoke.

"Looks like the hairless wonder saved the day once again!" Wood sneered.
"What do we think about that mates?"

Names and other nasty insults started flying at Harry, followed by dirty
shirts and jockstraps. The boy cringed under the assualt, slowly sinking
into a fetal position on the cold stone floor.

"Ron! Ron!" Harry whimpered. He thought if only his best friend were with
him, together they could fight back.

"Ron's not comin' for ya, poor baby!" said Bletchley, the Slytherin keeper.

"Why can't we win without you, just once? Huh?!" asked Fred.

"Yeah, baldy, share a little of the glory!" yelled Wood. "For fifteen
minutes, we were bustin' our arses and kickin' theirs, then BAM!" The teen
slammed the side of his fist against his locker door. "You had to end the
game. You had to end the season. Harry, or Hairless, had to have it all his
way!"

Harry looked up as wagging, maturing genitalia moved closer to him from all
directions. Up higher he could see big athletic arms twirling towels. Higher
still, there were mean looking faces, faces that normally looked friendly,
cute or wickedly lickable to Harry. "Wickedly lickable!" That's a phrase he
borrowed from Ron. "Ron, where are you?" Harry thought as he shut his eyes
tight.

He tried to summon a stern voice but half cried, "I am hairless, but it's not
my fault!"

Fred and George replied in unison, "Be quiet, Ickle Dick!"

Towels started snapping with each sting accompanied by a shout of "Ickle
Dick!." The twelve year-old shifted his arms and legs, trying to protect his
naked abdomen, his neck, his face and most importantly his little boy penis
and testicles.

"They wouldn't try to hurt me there, would they?" he silently pleaded to
himself.

After a while the stinging towels stopped, only to be replaced by kicking
feet and broomsticks poking him then digging into him. They dug into his
skinny legs, into his thin biceps, even into his ribs that felt they were
about to crack.

Harry wondered how he was going to finish the school year with his body
being covered by bruises and scratches. His frail body that used to be a
nice, lightly tanned color started to shake. He could hear himself crying.
He could feel the warm tears seeping between his face and hands.

Suddenly, amidst the grunts and insults, there was an evil chuckle. Harry
was engulfed by terror, and part of him, a big part, wished that the new
sound meant a quick death. The other part wished for revenge. Someday he
wanted to be the one standing over their whimpering bodies.

The feet left him alone, except for one. The toes wrapped around his ear,
and the rest of the foot pressed his head cruelly to the dank, grey stone
beneath.

"Please... please stop..."

Captain Oliver responded, "Stop? Why we're not even started! Right, chaps?"

The room filled with sniggers and laughs, but only for a few moments.

Harry felt something oily being poured on his neck, down his shoulders and
arms. The hot pain told him what it was. It was the ointment the team used
on sore muscles.

An anguished scream came out of the boy's mouth, but still there was no
mercy shown to the naked champion seeker. The oil kept pouring down, in an
excessive amount, over his back and down his legs. Except for his head and
the parts he kept scrounched up, his body felt like it was sunburned and
someone was pouring boiling water over it.

"The showers..." Harry groaned through his hands as he tried to lift his head
and inch his way to the place with the cool tiles and cold water, but he felt
the foot on his head press harder and two hands grab his ankles.

"Not quite yet!" Oliver said, as he twisted his foot on Harry's head.

Marcus, the Slytherin captian who had Harry's ankles, yanked them down
exposing the main subject of the teenagers' insulting jokes. "Look! Harry's
hiding a twig from his broomstick," he jeered.

"And me without my twig trimmer!" George said then laughed at his own joke.

"Hey! Those are the tiniest Golden Snitches I've ever seen, ha!" added
Terance, the Slytherin seeker.

"Let's pour some right there, shall we?" asked Marcus. "Maybe, it needs to
get hot before it starts sprouting hair."

"Grand idea, ol' chap" Oliver said then started to laugh.

Fred said, "They're not going to be golden for long. They'll be beet red in
no time!"

The rest of the teens followed with their own laughter and encouragement for
the continued torture.

Harry's hands shot out away from his face towards his endangered boyhood
which was now, to his amazement and shame, erect to it's full three inches.
Bletchley caught his wrists and pulled them away. Harry found himself
stretched out between two Quidditch players who were just too strong.

His captain, who had released Harry's head from under foot, walked around to
Harry's waist on the opposite side of where Terance stood with the ointment
container. The crying boy could see through his tears that Oliver had a huge
erection. It seemed to get longer and thicker as he looked down on his
youngest player. Harry thought it must be at least twelve inches long! Were
his tear filled eyes tricking him?

"This I've got to watch!" the Gryffindor captain declared as he knelt to
study Harry's hardon in anticipation of the painful drowning it was going to
get. "Maybe, I should pull back the skin for maximum eff...."

Harry was about to scream and keep screaming when he heard those words and
saw Oliver's hand approaching his stiff prick, but just then the door burst
open and Hagrid stepped in. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

Hagrid started, "Yeh boys ready fer a celebra..." He squinted his eyes, then
he bared his lower teeth in disgust.

"Help! Hagrid, help me, please!" Harry shouted as he struggled to free
himself.

Hagrid just shook his head and said, "Fer shame! A shameful spot fer a young
wizard who was gonna be one o' the best. Fer shame." He turned around,
stepped into the hallway and shut the door with an angry thud that almost
broke it off the hinges.

Harry screamed for dear life, "Hagrid! Come back! Hagrid!" The hot oil came
pouring down, but it was his best friend who was holding the large jug.

"Ron!" he cried out as he sat up in his sweat drenched bed in the dorm room
he shared with Ron Weasly.

    

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