"Hairy Peter & The Gallstone" - a spoof

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 28 - Punishment

The lights in the room came on.

Even from his position on the floor under the particularly large and fleshy buttocks of one of the Scratchenclaw females, Peter was able to see some of what was happening around him.

The room was a mess. All the beds and furniture had been overturned. The electrical device Anita Hancock had been using to torture Don had been smashed, its control box lying in pieces on the floor with wires sticking out form it in all directions. There was other debris spread across the floor, most of it so completely broken that it was impossible to tell what it had been part of. Two of the Scratchenclaw girls lay near Peter moaning faintly. Where the window had been there was nothing except a blank stone wall.

"It's a male."

Wong Wei's voice rang out stridently, with a note of distaste in it.

"I don't really care." The female on top of Peter's face shrugged. "One face is much like another," she said. "And if it's a male then I won't be nearly so worried if I suffocate him completely."

"If you don't, then I'm sure someone else will," said Wong Wei. "After that commotion I expect all the dormitories know what's going on. I'm going to make quite sure he doesn't forget his visit here before anyone else gets their hands on him."

Peter felt hands on his groin, probing and prodding at the Seelthril.

"I can't get through this thing he's wearing," said Anita Hancock. "You'll have to take it off him."

The buttocks on his face shifted slightly, blocking his vision. Hands pulled, pushed, wrenched and strained trying to remove his Seelthril suit.

"It won't come off," announced Anita.

"I can see that," snapped Wong Wei. "It's enchanted. I really can't be bothered with this. Gemma, finish him off."

"I'd be delighted," came the reply from the heavy weight on Peter's face.

Gemma, a hefty girl in her second year at Fessewarts, adjusted her position on top of Peter. His mouth was underneath her, completely covered by her smothering flesh. His nose was pressed between her meaty buttocks, his nostrils pressed shut. He was completely unable to breathe.

He struggled, of course, although he knew it was hopeless. Even if Gemma had not been so heavy; even if Wong had not also been sitting on his chest; even if Anita was not holding the tops of his thighs, still there were others in that room who would not have hesitated to take their places and make sure he could not move. He had no hope of escape at all.

As his consciousness began to fade, Peter was sure his mind had started to play tricks. Out of the corner of his eye, half hidden by Gemma's flesh, he thought he saw the solid stone wall start to crumble. A dull roaring filled his ears; an unreal sound that was something like a continuous roll of thunder and something like the breaking of huge waves on rocks heard from underwater. It was only when the pressure on his relaxed suddenly with squeals of fear from the females in the room that at least he knew some of what he was hearing and seeing was real.

The wall where the window had been did crumble or, to be more precise, the entire wall on the outer side of the room disintegrated into dust that filled the room chokingly. The solid stone was replaced by a dazzling orange light that suddenly retreated to a pinpoint at the very end of Merry's spell crop some yards away outside.

Four Flying Phalluses sped into the room while Don remained unsteadily perched on the fifth outside. Gemma, Wong and Anita, taken by surprise, were physically knocked from Peter, and while Freda and Samantha grasped Peter's arms Merry and Herniame grasped his legs. Almost unconscious, Peter was lifted from the floor and out into the night with the four girls supporting him.

Twice they nearly dropped him as they carried Peter between them over Fessewarts buildings and grounds back towards the Figgitch stadium. The second time it was very close as they had to swerve violently to avoid one of the old building's pointed towers the did not see until they almost crashed into it. Herniame lost her grip on Peter's ankle as they turned, and the extra weight pulled him from the grasp of the others. He fell, turning over in the air as he plummeted towards one of the stone courtyards. Once again it was Merry's rapid incantation that saved him, slowing his descent enough for them to catch him and to grasp hold of his wrists and ankles firmly enough to carry him once more, this time face down.

The ground rushed past Peter, a dark blur of buildings, courtyards, paths, grass, bushes and small trees. His senses were returning slowly, but his brain was far from fully recovered when they landed at the side of the Figgitch stadium and Samantha was organising the others putting away the Flying Phalluses.

"What was Flinch doing?" he asked.

"What?"

The rush to put away the Flying Phalluses ceased abruptly.

"What did you say?"

Peter looked around vaguely at them. "Flinch," he confirmed. "Perfidious Flinch. You know, the university caretaker."

"Yes yes yes," said Freda. "We know who you mean. What did you just say about him?"

"I asked what he was doing," said Peter, still mystified.

"When?"

"Just now. Down there, somewhere. Looking up at us with a pencil and paper in his hands."

"Oh shit!"

"If Flinch saw us we're in serious trouble." Samantha and Freda looked horror-struck at each other.

"Nothing we can do about it now," said Herniame calmly. "If he saw us then we'll hear all about it. If he didn't, then the sooner we get back in our dormitories the better."

*

Neither Peter nor Don made it down to breakfast on Sunday morning. The first either of them heard of any trouble was when Neil Shortass reappeared in the Grindonner dormitory.

"They were talking about you at breakfast," he said, waving a piece of toast he had brought back from the main hall.

"Go away, Neil," Don told him.

"Who was talking about us?" asked Peter, not particularly interested.

"Fumblebum," said Neil. "He made an announcement, and it sounds like you're in loads of trouble. And so are your sisters, Don, and Herniame too. He said he wants to see all of you in his study at ten o'clock. He probably didn't notice you weren't actually there when he announced it."

"What's the time now?" asked Don.

"Five to ten," Neil informed him.

It was ten minutes before Peter and Don were dressed, Don in his older, dirtier robes because his usual ones had been left somewhere in the Scratchenclaw dormitories, and at the door to Chancellor Fumblebum's chambers. The door, unusually, was open.

"Should we go up?" asked Don nervously.

Peter gazed up the winding staircase. "I don't suppose it makes any difference," he said hopelessly.

"I'm sorry, mate," said Don. "If it wasn't for me..."

Peter shook his head.

"Just... thanks," said Don.

"Right," agreed Peter. "Come on."

At the top of the stairs the small crowd parted to allow Don and Peter through. Chancellor Fumblebum was seated behind a huge green-topped desk, his long white beard stretching in front of him and hanging over the edge of the desk. The expression on his face was one of anger, and so it was on the face of Professor Flit, Head of Scratchenclaw House. Freda and Samantha looked defiant. Herniame stared at the floor, expressionless. Perfidious Flinch was the only person present who looked thoroughly pleased with himself and with everything.

"Ah, Mr Weenie and Mr Petter," said Chancellor Fumblebum, looking at them over the top of his spectacles. "I'm so glad we didn't have to start without you."

"I'm sorry, Chancellor," said Peter at once. "We weren't at breakfast. We didn't know you wanted to see us until a few moments ago."

"Out all night," sneered Perfidious Flinch. "Too tired to get out of bed. See? I told you. Bad 'uns, all of them. Expel the lot is what I say. Send them down. No excuse for it."

"Yes, thank you Mr Flinch. I'll bear your opinion in mind when I make my decision. Now, what do you all have to say for yourselves?"

Chancellor Fumblebum looked from one to another. There was a few minutes silence, and then they all spoke at once.

"Stop!" commanded the Chancellor holding up his hand for silence. "Let me make it plain, we are dealing with flagrant disregard for Fessewarts' rules about nocturnal expeditions; we are dealing with burglary and the taking of Fessewarts' property for reckless joyriding; we are dealing with breaking and entering; assault; affray; disrespect for Fessewarts' most honoured traditions; devious circumvention of some of the most fundamental enchantments on which our institution has been founded and last, but by no means least, destruction of part of the very structure that has stood for over three thousand years and withstood the ravages of both the Mistress of Mooning and He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon to say nothing of the wars and insurrections in the intervening years. I don't think it's too much to expect a civilised and coherent reply when I ask if any of you has anything to say for yourself?"

"We didn't mean to do all that," said Herniame uncomfortably. "All we wanted was to get Don back."

"And why," Chancellor Fumblebum asked more gently, "Do you suppose he was unable to come back on his own?"

"Because he was being held prisoner by the Scratchenclaw rug-munchers who were trying to rip his bollocks off," retorted Freda hotly. "We weren't going to just leave him to be permanently disfigured."

The Chancellor sighed. "My dear girl," he said, "If you were seriously worried then why did you not speak to your Head of House about it? Professor Mackafart informs me she knew nothing of your concerns. If you had only stopped for a moment and thought about it, you would have realised that was your proper course of action. If you had thought a little further and bothered to check, you would also have found, as Professor Mackafart would have assured you, that there was no possibility of disfigurement or permanent damage to Mr Weenie inside the Scratchenclaw dormitories or any other dormitory. The same magic that ensures males who stray into the female dormitories are given a reminder they will not forget in a hurry also ensures they and everyone else in there cannot come to any harm. I don't doubt that Mr Weenie would have received a most uncomfortable lesson from the young ladies who you, Miss Weenie, so uncharitably refer to as rug-munchers, but I can assure you that he would have suffered no lasting damage from his experience. He might even have learned something new from it. So now what do you have to say?"

Even Freda and Samantha looked embarrassed. "Sorry, Chancellor," they both apologised, closely followed by apologies from Peter, Herniame and Don.

"You have no idea," continued the Chancellor, pressing the point home with all the finesse of a heavy cudgel, "Just how much work will be involved to put right all the damage the five of you have done. There is hours or work, possibly days, to rebuild everything you have destroyed, and I myself shall have to work extremely hard on the old magic to restore it to its proper efficacy. My staff and I have better things to do. You will, of course, be punished. Perhaps you would care to tell me how you think I should punish the five of you?"

"Expel them, Chancellor," sneered Flinch, "Expel all of them."

"Thank you, Mr Flinch. You have already made your opinion plain. You may go."

Chancellor Fumblebum's tone made it clear that for Perfidious Flinch to stay was not an option. He left, mumbling under his breath.

It hit Peter with the force of a Flying Phallus travelling at full speed. Chancellor Fumblebum had just said "Tell me how you think I should punish the five of you," and indeed there were five of them there standing in front of him. There was no sign of Merry, and yet surely Perfidious Flinch had seen her as clearly as he had seen the rest of them.

"You were going to say something, Mr Petter?" The Chancellor's question cut across Peter's thoughts. He shook his head.

"No, Chancellor," he said quietly. "I'm just sorry for the trouble we've caused."

"Listen to me carefully, all of you" said Chancellor Fumblebum. "What you have done is foolish and dangerous. That said, I am not displeased to see your loyalty to your friends. I do, however, expect you to learn the lesson that such loyalty must not stand in the way of common sense, which has been seriously lacking here."

The Chancellor fell silent. After a while Peter began to wonder, to hope, whether perhaps that was all.

"Thank you, Chancellor," he said, preparing to go.

"The punishment?" prompted Professor Flit who had been silent until now.

"Ah, yes, the punishment." Chancellor Fumblebum tapped the desk with his fingers. "Tell me, Mr Petter, what do you think your punishment should be?"

"I don't know," said Peter, startled that the Chancellor was apparently asking him to name his own punishment. "You're not going to expel us?"

"Not this time," said the Chancellor much to their relief. "I might think of something worse. What could be the worst punishment I could devise for you, Mr Petter?"

"I've no idea," Peter gasped. "I couldn't... well, I have no idea..."

The Chancellor's eyes sparkled. None of the students could tell whether it was with amusement at Peter's discomfort or whether at the thought of devising a truly devious punishment.

"We could do detention," put in Herniame hurriedly. "Extra studying in our free time."

"You could," agreed Chancellor Fumblebum. "Except that you, Miss Grimwaite, would thoroughly enjoy the opportunity for more studying. I was thinking more along the lines of making the punishment fit the crime."

There was silence. No one could work out what the Chancellor was thinking.

"I have already discussed this with Professor Flit," he said at last. "And she agrees with me. Your punishment will take three forms, and will be under the supervision of the professor. It will take place during half term week, and it will occupy you fully. You will not have any free time at all, and you will not be able to visit the village of Asfixi-by-Mooning with the other students. You will make one visit to the village under strict supervision, and more about that will be explained to you nearer the time."

There was a groan from Freda and Samantha. The Chancellor ignored them and continued.

"Firstly, there will be additional study with Professor Flit. By the time she has finished with you, I will expect you all to be as proficient in the control of Flying Phalluses as any student who has ever attended Fessewarts. Secondly, you will assist Professor Flit in rebuilding the walls you have damaged. I do not expect this to be a quick task as none of you has any experience in building, and for this task you will be properly issued with spell crops and taught how to use them properly. Thirdly, and most importantly, you will learn that the activities of those rug-munchers as Miss Weenie so colourfully called them, are not to be feared or sneered at. There is much to be gained by an in-depth study on, so to speak, the receiving end of their attentions."

"No!" said Freda and Samantha simultaneously.

"I don't understand," said Herniame.

"Neither do I," said Peter.

Don looked terrified.

"I think it will be most appropriate," said Chancellor Fumblebum. Now there was no disguising the broad smile on his face. "I shall ask Professor Flit to be present at all times, and to select an appropriate group of ladies to take part. I'm quite sure that a jolly good time will be had by all, and at the end of it you will all be able to fully appreciate the beauty of the relationships these ladies enjoy."

"But they're sadists," burst out Don. "They're completely mad!"

"As I said, Mr Weenie," Chancellor Fumblebum told him seriously, "Professor Flit will be present at all times. Also, I can quite assure you that the majority of these ladies have no interest in causing pain unless there is a very good reason for it. In any case, a little pain would only be what you thoroughly deserve. This is a punishment, Mr Weenie, and you must remember that. You should think yourself fortunate that I have selected such an educational series of punishments rather than simply expelling you from Fessewarts. Now, all of you, go."

The five students and Professor Flit turned to leave Chancellor Fumblebum's chambers.

"Not you, Mr Petter," called the Chancellor. "I want a word with you on your own."

Peter waited unhappily, sure that whatever the reason the Chancellor wanted him to stay behind, it was not going to be pleasant.

[Susan Strict]

Is anyone still enjoying this?

There's probably another twelve chapters to come (I haven't finished writing it all yet). Are there enough people reading it to make it worth me continuing to post it on here?

[lowielowieke]

i'm still reading it and checking evry day to see if you typed a new chapter. i like it very much.

[illtaket42]

I haven't missed a chapter yet - and I don't intend to as long as you keep on writing.
It' better than the original story

[sexualreflex]

mistress i can tell you wholeheartedly that i am loving this, infact i check daily for a new chapter, please keep up the good work

[Susan Strict]

Oh good.....


Chapter 29 - He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon

"Yes, Chancellor?" asked Peter in the forlorn hope this would be something minor that Chancellor Fumblebum wanted to mention.

"Sit down, Peter," said the Chancellor indicating a chair to one side of the desk and dashing any hope that Peter had of it being something quick and insignificant.

Peter sat.

"How are you finding Fessewarts?" asked Chancellor Fumblebum pleasantly.

"It's fine," replied Peter, wondering what was coming next.

"It doesn't suit everyone," the Chancellor told him. "And you have been brought up in a non-magical vanilla household. You may be finding some of it rather strange to you."

Peter gulped. "Not completely vanilla," he said hesitantly. "Lotta and Mrs Bottomley were a little unusual at times."

The Chancellor raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Really?" he asked in surprise. "Well, well. I would never have thought old Inger had it in her. Poor old Eustace. It must have been a nightmare for him, particularly if his daughter went that way too. It's such a shame after all that Inger Bottomley said about your mother and father too. If only she had found it in her earlier."

Peter said nothing. He very much wanted to ask what it was Inger Bottomley had said about his mother and father, although he suspected that he would not like any of it.

"There are some people," continued the Chancellor, "Who don't approve of the way we do things at Fessewarts. Some simply don't understand us, and others understand us perfectly and hate us for it. Some are not so extreme; some merely disapprove and would like to make everything different. We even have some of those on our staff at Fessewarts."

"Yes," said Peter. "Professor Scrape for a start."

Chancellor Fumblebum raised one finger warningly. "Don't take everyone at face value," he told Peter. "Professor Scrape has my complete confidence and support."

Peter was tempted to tell the Chancellor of the conversation he had overheard between Professor Scrape and whoever else it was on the spiral staircase to the Little Bustards tower. For the moment, he decided, it might be better to keep quiet.

"These matters are trivial, Peter. There are far more serious dangers facing us all, dangers that are far from obvious and that certain people are refusing to face or to believe. You know of what I am talking, Peter?"

Peter nodded. "He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon," he said. "He's back, isn't he?"

Chancellor Fumblebum actually laughed. "No, Peter, Alan Semavivus is not back. Not unless you already know something that I don't. However, I am quite certain that he is now trying to come back, and when he does it will be far from pleasant. You, in particular, Peter, may find yourself plunged deeply into matters that no inexperienced young man should ever have to face alone."

"Me?" asked Peter. "Why me? I mean, what has any of it to do with me?"

Chancellor Fumblebum's serious expression returned. "You already know, I think. The clump of green hair just to the right of your genitals shaped exactly like a peacock is reminder enough. Alan Semavivus failed to kill you once, and his failure has rendered him powerless for the last eighteen years. Now, I believe, he may be recovering his powers and there may still be a connection with you that he can use. I can't stress enough, Peter, how important this is. If you see anything unusual, hear anything unusual, sense anything unusual or even dream anything unusual then you must come to me at once. Do you understand?"

"I'll come straight to you," agreed Peter.

"And there hasn't been anything unusual?" asked Chancellor Fumblebum, his bright eyes fixed intently on Peter.

"It's all different to anything I'm used to," said Peter. "I really don't know what's unusual and what isn't."

"Any odd dreams?"

Peter hesitated. "I keep dreaming about odd women," he told the Chancellor. "Some of it is most peculiar. It's scary sometimes. It's mostly scary."

Chancellor Fumblebum threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Peter! Peter! Oh no, Peter! I can quite assure you that at your age dreaming of women is perfectly normal, however scary they might be in your dreams. Nothing to worry about at all, absolutely nothing. If that is all that is worrying you then I shall let you go."

"Thank you, Chancellor," said Peter, much relieved by the Chancellor's reassurance. He stood up and turned to go.

"Don't forget the half-term detentions, " the Chancellor reminded him. "There's a little more to them than may be immediately obvious."

Peter's departure from the Chancellor's chambers was delayed once again. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"It won't do you any harm at all to learn to fly a little better," said Chancellor Fumblebum. "Nor will it do you any harm to develop some expertise with a spell crop, although I have to say the way you demolished that wall of the Scratchenclaw dormitory after the old magic had taken over was most impressive. Not at all the action of an inexperienced undergraduate, I must say. Perhaps you would like to impart how you managed to do it?"

"It wasn't me..." began Peter, and then stopped.

"Wasn't it?" asked the Chancellor, again looking straight at Peter with such an intensity that Peter felt as though Chancellor Fumblebum's bright blue eyes were searching inside him for the answer. "Perhaps it was Miss Grimwaite. She might have read about such powerful incantations somewhere, although it was a remarkable achievement for someone who has never previously handled a spell crop. Or perhaps it was one of the Miss Weenies, although from the reports of their professors over the last year I would never have imagined they had such skill."

Peter had the distinct impression the Chancellor knew exactly who had wielded the spell crop that had so efficiently removed the wall of the Scratchenclaw dormitory. He said nothing.

"No matter," said Chancellor Fumblebum. "You may go."

Peter started down the winding staircase.

"Just one more thing," called the Chancellor. Peter stopped again. "Be careful of Miss Shagger, won't you?"

*

"I can't believe we're going to miss the chance of visiting Asfixi-by-Mooning," said Herniane unhappily at lunch.

"It's all very well for you," said Don equally miserably, "I was going to go home at half term. It's my younger sister's eighteenth birthday, and Mum and Dad always give great parties. I bet Freda and Samantha won't be too pleased either. We'll have plenty of opportunity to go down to Asfixi next term. Anyway, it's nothing special. It's much like any normal wizarding village."

"I've never seen a wizarding village," pointed out Herniame. "My parents aren't wizards, remember? You haven't either, have you Peter?"

"No," agreed Peter, not caring particularly whether he visited Asfixi-by-Mooning or not. "Anyway, you'll still get to see it. Fumblebum said we'd be taken there under supervision, remember?"

"Not much point in that," grumbled Don. "It's going to be the worst half term we'll ever have here, you just watch. Hello. Look. The post's late today."

As usual, a flock of Little Bustards had entered the main hall, each bearing an envelope or small package that was dropped in front of its proper recipient. A particularly large Little Bustard was heading straight towards Don.

"Looks like you've got a letter, Don" said Herniame with interest. "Quite an unusual one by the look of it."

Don stared in horror at the large purple package suspended from the leg of the Little Bustard.

"Oh no! It's a smothergram. Those wretched sisters of mine must have told Mum and Dad about half term already."

"What's a smothergram?" asked Peter, but he need not have bothered. The smothergram dropped from the Little Bustard's leg on the table in front of Don and immediately started to swell.

"Keep back," advised Herniame, "I've heard about these."

Most of the other students had also heard about smothergrams. There was an expectant hush in the hall, and those who did not already have a clear view of Don moved and jostled each other until everyone was able to watch what was going on.

Don appeared rooted to his chair, his face fixed in an expression of total horror awaiting the inevitable. Having reached about three times its original size, the smothergram stopped swelling. A split appeared in it, and an unearthly shriek of anger came from it.

"That's Don's Mum," Herniame confided to Peter. "He said she can really shout when she's angry."

The smothergram did not stop at a single shriek:

"You wretched, wretched, stupid boy," it screamed. "How dare you sully the name of our family with such behaviour? I'm ashamed of you. We're all ashamed of you. You don't deserve an expensive education, and as for missing your sister's birthday, well I'll be surprised if you ever dare to show your face in our house again. She hasn't stopped crying since she heard the awful news. You thoroughly deserve this, and I hope it teaches you a lesson."

The split in the smothergram disappeared. It swelled a little more then began to change shape. Two large protrusions appeared on the side facing Don. The other side thickened and broadened until the whole smothergram resembled the waist, hips and thighs of a mature woman. It did not stop there. The changes continued until there was no doubt about the resemblance, with solid, shapely buttocks and every detail formed perfectly.

The smothergram vibrated, and then lifted, poised like an animal about to pounce, which was in fact exactly what it was. With another shriek it launched itself straight at Don's face, thighs apart, and clamped firmly around his head.

Automatically, Don tried to pull it off him although he knew it was useless. The smothergram would maintain its grip until it had finished, and there was nothing, magic or otherwise, that had the power to remove it.

It squeezed. Then it flexed. Then it squeezed again, adjusting its position until Don was completely unable to breathe in its suffocating embrace. Apparently satisfied it had achieved the position it wanted, it started to pulse steadily. As it pulsed, it seemed to be tightening its grip on Don, whose efforts to remove it were becoming more and more frantic by the second. Finally, as Don's movements were becoming weaker, the smothergram bulged and stretched and in one rapid pulsating thrust it opened wide enough to take Don's whole head inside it.

Immediately the smothergram changed shape. It became transparent and it shrunk until it was no more than a thin, clear membrane stretched over Don's head and tightly around his neck. Don's face was clearly visible, eyes wide and mouth open trying to gasp for air as he rapidly suffocated. As his eyes started to glaze and his hands dropped to his sides the smothergram vanished, exploding into a cloud of tiny stars that twinkled briefly before falling to the floor in a grey dust. Don gasped at the air in relief. There was a ripple of applause from around the hall.

"Your mother sent that?" asked Peter, shocked.

Don nodded weakly. "I never thought she would," he panted. "She threatened to do it if I ever misbehaved at university, but I never thought she would. I'll never, never, never do anything she doesn't like again!"

"Of course you will," Herniame told him with a slight grin on her face. "Only next time, you'll make quite sure there's no way she is ever going to find out about it!"

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 30 - Practical Jokes and A Prisoner

Half term was rapidly approaching, and Peter was becoming more and more nervous.

Firstly, the day before the half term holiday started was to be Fessewarts' first Figgitch match of the year and Peter's first ever Figgitch match against another team. The regular practice sessions as a member of the Grindonner team had undoubtedly improved Peter's abilities at all the skills required of a bleezer, but he was still unsure whether or not he was now good enough to compete against the far more experienced Smotherin team.

As if worrying about Figgitch was not enough, Peter's bizarre nightmares continued. Interspersed with random dreams involving Lotta Bottomley, the Mad Mistress of Mooning, various sadistic lesbians, Merry Shagger, Herniame Grimwaite and various snackles from the Grindonner Figgitch team, the recurring dream of being a female and being desperately unhappy with that state of affairs awoke him in a cold sweat of fear more frequently than any other nightmare.

Nor were the nightmares Peter's only worry. Whenever he saw Herniame, her one topic of conversation was the gallstone she was sure was in the room in the second floor corridor of the north wing and how she was sure that Professor Scrape intended to get his hands on it.

"I keep seeing him near there," she said with a concerned expression.

"Why do you go near there?" asked Peter.

"Because I use the room at the top of the Little Bustards' tower for studying, of course," Herniame told him over and over again. "It's the only place I can get peace and quiet. Don knows how worried I am about it."

Don might well have known how worried Herniame was about it, but he said nothing of it to Peter. Whenever Herniame appeared, he disappeared without a word as rapidly as he possibly. There seemed to Peter to be little doubt that Don was deliberately avoiding Herniame, and on the occasions when beating a hasty retreat simply was not possible Don avoided any eye contact with Herniame and only spoke in monosyllabic grunts when it was absolutely essential to make any reply at all.

Freda and Samantha Weenie were not a particular worry to Peter, but both were proving to be a serious distraction and a major inconvenience. Both, quite naturally, would have been a serious distraction to any young man. Their identical long red hair made them impossible to overlook, and their full and voluptuous bodies frequently exposing far more naked flesh than might be considered modest by some, could not fail to stir the heart and loins of any normal male. Both, too, made no secret of their passion for any and all sexual activity, with a sense of fun that combined with an urge to experiment and that rarely found its limits.

Peter would not have denied that he found both Freda and Samantha exciting and arousing. With more important matters on his mind, however, to be pursued relentlessly by the two of them was proving to be more than he was prepared to endure. After several impromptu sessions in deserted lecture chambers, invariably involving the two girls tying Peter to one of the beds and spending far longer playing, teasing, tormenting and sitting on him than he found desirable or tolerable, Peter did his utmost to avoid them.

Merry Shagger also worried Peter, not least because of Chancellor Fumblebum's warning to be careful of her. She was, perhaps, the only one of all the first year undergraduates who seemed completely unconcerned by anything that happened around her. None of the lectures or the tasks set by the professors bothered her in the slightest. She completed everything with an air of unhappy boredom, as if even the most testing of the required exercises was something she had done a thousand times previously. She always greeted Peter with at least as much enthusiasm as she greeted anyone or anything else, and somehow Peter always found her right next to him when it was necessary to select a partner for any activity in any of the lectures. However much Peter questioned her as to why she had apparently not been seen by Perfidious Flinch on their nocturnal rescue mission, she offered no explanation other than to say again that people often did not notice her. She accepted Peter's thanks for managing to free him from the Scratchenclaw dormitory after the walls had closed over the window as though it was all part of a perfectly normal day to virtually vaporise ancient and magically protected stone walls with a quick incantation.

Despite everything about Merry that was unusual, strange, and frequently more than a little frightening, Peter could not help liking her and thinking that Chancellor Fumblebum's warning was misplaced. Merry, he reasoned, had been brought up by wizarding parents far from Fessewarts and from such everyday places as Kingston-upon-Thames where the Bottomleys lived in non-wizarding near-vanilla suburbia. No doubt the island in the Indian Ocean where Merry had spent her childhood was a far more dangerous place, and an early knowledge and skill with such matters was simply a requirement for survival.

It was pondering all these weighty matters, and others, that made Peter late for lunch that day. To have picked that particular day to be late was, he knew, exceptionally lax even for him because all the students had been advised by notices in each of the Houses' common rooms that Chancellor Fumblebum would be making an announcement to the whole university. All the staff and students were required to be present punctually, and it was for that reason Peter was hurrying down the stairs with even less attention to everything around him that usual.

Despite his lack of attention, Peter could not have missed the dull thump of the heavy explosion followed by the screams from hundreds of students. He stopped, almost at the bottom of the staircase with Fessewarts' huge entrance archway in front of him and the double doors to the main hall to his left. For the first time since he had been at the university, the main hall's double doors were closed, and a strange smell drifted faintly up the stairs towards him. He recognised the smell vaguely, but at first he could not place where he had smelled it before. A familiar figure rushed across from the entrance archway and knelt to try and see through the large keyhole of one of the double doors.

"Hey! What's going on?" demanded Peter.

The figure jumped up guiltily and turned towards him. "Oh. Oh shit. You're not in there."

"I know I'm not in there," said Peter reasonably. "I'm here. I'm late. What the hell has happened? I heard an explosion. Why are the doors shut?"

"They're not," said Freda, opening one of the doors as she spoke. "Come down and take a look. I thought you'd already be inside. You usually sit by the door."

A cloud of translucent pink smoke drifted out from the main hall. Freda sidestepped to avoid being caught in it as it spread.

"Go in," she suggested. "They might need your help."

Peter could only just see inside the main hall, but the sight that met his eyes was like nothing he had ever seen or ever could have imagined in his wildest dreams. He took two steps towards the hall and then halted abruptly as he realised what was happening and why.

Through the clouds of pink translucent smoke billowing around the hall, the shapes of many people, both students and professors, were visible. Every one of them was engaged in exactly the same activity, and every one of them seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it.

Peter could hardly believe what he saw. Professor Mackafart had turned on Chancellor Fumblebum and pushed him to the floor on his back. Hoisting her professorial robes up to her waist, she squatted over his face and then descended onto him with a most uncharacteristic girlish squeal of delight. Professor Flit was sitting on Professor Scrape who did not seem to be protesting at all. Ingrid had cornered Perfidious Flinch and had clamped her huge thighs around his face. Professor Sanitar had leapt from the platform where the university staff usually sat and had managed to pull Neil Shortass onto one of the tables before clambering on top of his face. Wong Wei, unsurprisingly perhaps, was grinding down onto Anita Hancock. Clive Quebec was somewhere underneath the large backside of Violet Shaw. Kate Pye was on top of David Smith, and although Peter was unable to make out the pairings and exact activities of everyone he knew, it was quite obvious that nearly everyone was similarly occupied.

Peter took a step back.

"Go on," Freda encouraged him. "I can't see where Herniame is, can you? I hope she's all right. You'd better go in and check."

"No way," Peter refused. "It's your love potion, isn't it? The one you were experimenting with in the common room a few weeks ago?"

"It's not a love potion," said Freda indignantly. "Anyway, we modified it. That first one didn't work properly even when we made it work at all. There wasn't much point in having something that makes you fall in love with the first person you see. Most people just fell in love and then did nothing about it. They just went away starry-eyed until it wore off and that was the end of that."

"So what does this one do?" asked Peter, fascinated despite his shock at what he had seen and annoyance that Freda had nearly made him walk into it.

"You can see," said Freda. "It makes girls want the first man they see between their legs, and it makes men want to be underneath the first girl they see. Usually that way round anyway, although there are a few peculiarities, I think."

"But why?" asked Peter. "I mean, why did you set it off in the main hall?"

Freda shrugged. "I wanted to see if it would work on everyone," she said. "I didn't know you wouldn't be there. That would have been a bonus, particularly if you were sitting near the door as usual and I was the first one you saw." She grinned impishly. "Besides," she went on, "We don't need it, do we? You can get a good lungful of it if you want, or you can just come upstairs with me. It will be hours before it wears off everyone else, so we have plenty of time. Samantha's waiting upstairs too. I said I'd bring you up if it all went all right."

"You're crazy," said Peter firmly. "You'll be in all sorts of trouble if they found out it was you and Samantha who did it."

At that moment there was a commotion from the doorway of the main hall.

"Peter!"

Peter whirled round to see Olivia Birch in the doorway staring at him.

"Oh no," said Freda.

"Get out of here, bitch," said Olivia, "He's mine."

For a moment it looked as though Freda might argue, but the tall, strong, athletic Olivia Birch was an imposing figure. Freda retreated up the stairs.

"Now look here," said Peter hastily. "It's a sort of love potion that exploded in the hall and it's making you act differently and... ow!"

Olivia grasped Peter's arm and twisted it behind his back. "Upstairs," she commanded. "We'll finish this in the dormitory."

As much as Peter struggled and protested, there was nothing he could do to stop Olivia taking him all the way up to the Grindonner common room. Even the Fat Facesitter cowered before Olivia's single-minded determination and gave up her usual insistence that they performed a sex act of her choice before they entered Grindonner Tower.

"Now up," ordered Olivia, pushing Peter towards the entrance to the female dormitories.

There was nothing Peter could do. Olivia was far stronger than he was and the arm lock she had on him made it impossible for him to break free. He was forced through the doorway and up the stairs.

Halfway up, a siren sounded. Olivia ignored it, and three seconds later the dormitory magic took over. The entrance behind them at the bottom of the stairs slammed shut as solidly as the window in the Scratchenclaw dormitory has closed when the dormitory magic there had adjusted to what was happening. The stairway behind Peter and Olivia rose up and propelled them forward up the remaining stairs into the main dormitory area, flinging both of them onto the floor some yards from the top of the staircase.

Olivia lost her grip on Peter, but he knew it was pointless to try to get away. Although the stairway had returned to normal and undoubtedly the entrance from the common room was not open as usual, it would close instantly if he went within six feet of it. Unless he could devise some other method of escape, he was trapped until he had managed to stay at least ten feet away from any female for a period of at least seventy-two hours. He lay where the stairway had dumped him, staring hopelessly at the ceiling and waiting for the inevitable.

When it came, it was with a force and energy that took Peter completely by surprise. Freda's and Samantha's pink gas had turned Olivia from a responsible and respectable Captain of Figgitch into nothing less than a crazed animal with a single-minded lust for Peter's face between her legs. She leapt on him with a cry of triumph, throwing off her robes over her head and ripping her panties to shreds simply because it was quicker to remove them that way than to take them off normally.

The way Olivia now sat on Peter was nothing like the way she had sat on him during Figgitch practice. Then, she was on top of him either held immobile while he tried to make her orgasm, or concentrating on nothing more than making him lose consciousness from lack of air as rapidly as possible. Now, her only aim was her own pleasure, and it was obvious she was already well on her way. Her smothering flesh covering Peter's face was wet; wetter than Peter had ever known a woman to become even after the most intense climax.

Her orgasm was fast and furious. Her body shuddered; her muscular legs clamped vice-like onto the sides of Peter's face and tightening on him until it felt as though she would crush his skull; her fluids flowed over him, filling his mouth and nose and choking him until he felt as much as if he would drown as suffocate.

Fortunately for Peter it did not last for long. Gasping with the force with which the climax had hit her Olivia eased herself from him and stood up shakily, rubbing her sore knees.

"This floor's too hard for this," she declared. "I need to get you on a bed."

Peter saw no point in trying to resist her. He let her pull him towards her room and push him down onto her bed. Unlike the room he had seen in the Scratchenclaw dormitory, Olivia's room was her own with only the one bed. There was a large window at one side, but Peter knew that here at the top of the Grindonner Tower he was far from the ground and the walls were smooth stone. There was no hope of escape that way, and any thought of escape in any direction was quickly extinguished as Olivia produced a pair of solid metal handcuffs and attached Peter's right wrist to the bed frame.

"Now we can carry on in comfort," she told him. "I'm going to give you the best facesitting you've ever had!"

Peter tried to explain that he really had had enough facesitting and that Olivia was under the influence of the twins' enchanted pink gas, but his words were stifled as Olivia jumped on top of him again. Three times more she reached a climax, shuddering, smothering, squeezing and crushing his face underneath her firm flesh.

Finally she fell back onto the bed beside him, out of breath and exhausted. She was asleep in seconds.

There was a knock on the door. Olivia stirred but did not wake. Peter stared apprehensively at the closed door, wondering what would happen if it were someone who had been affected by the pink smoke and by some chance had not yet found a partner. He had no idea how long the effects of the smoke would last, but somehow he doubted that it would be wearing off for anyone who had been in the main hall when the explosion had released it over everyone.

The door opened slowly and a familiar face appeared.

"Hi, Peter," said Herniame. "I thought I would find you in here. Freda said that Olivia had taken you away."

"Herniame! Didn't you get caught in it?" Peter asked in surprise.

"I did," said Herniame. "I couldn't avoid it. It was a bit unfortunate really..."

"Why? I mean, who did you end up with? And how did you manage to shake it off?" asked Peter.

"It wasn't very nice," Herniame told him. "I couldn't help it. I just happened to look in his direction and he was looking in mine saying something nasty as usual. I think that was the only reason I managed to fight it off after a few times of... well, you know."

"Who?" asked Peter. "Oh... Plokkoy?"

Herniame nodded. "It was quite funny really. I could see he was hating every second of it, but he just couldn't help himself. With both of us hating each other so much it didn't seem to have quite the force it had with the others. Most of them are either still doing it or fast asleep. The professors seem to have managed to shake it off, but all they've done is gone from the hall and left everyone else to get on with it. I think they were all a bit shocked, and some of them were just so embarrassed!"

"Is Don down there?"

"Oh yes," there was anger on Herniame's face. "He seems to be enjoying himself with some girl from Suckenpuff. I don't think he made the slightest effort to fight it."

"And Merry?"

"No. She was there. You should have seen her, Peter. She was magnificent. As soon as the explosion went off she jumped up onto the table and raised her arms in the air. There were sparks coming from her fingers. Her hair stood out in all directions crackling with electricity. You've never seen anything like it. The air around her turned green, and she just climbed down from the table and calmly walked out of the hall surrounded by a sort of green bubble. It was amazing."

"But..." Peter was lost for words. "But even Fumblebum was caught by it. I saw Professor Mackafart sit on him."

"I saw that too," Herniame agreed.

"So how did someone like Merry manage what she did when even Fumblebum couldn't?

"I've no idea," said Herniame. "Maybe she realised what was happening more quickly than Fumblebum. She knows a lot of magic. Anyway, she did it. What we need to worry about now is how to get you out of here."

Peter shook his head. "It's impossible," he said. "You know the dormitory magic. I'm stuck for at least seventy-two hours; probably a lot longer. Olivia's handcuffed me to the bed."

"We managed to get Don out of the Scratchenclaw dormitory," pointed out Herniame, "And this is going to be easier because I'm already on the inside and I'm supposed to be here."

"Unless you're planning on smashing the wall again and conjuring up a couple of Flying Phalluses, I haven't a hope," said Peter miserably. "I'm stuck."

"Rubbish," snapped Herniame. "You're not thinking. You annoy me so much sometimes. If you don't start making an effort, I'm going to give up trying to get you out of here and just do what I threatened."

"Eh?"

"What I threatened. In your dormitory on that Saturday morning before we rescued Don."

"What did you threaten?" Peter remembered that morning when Herniame had come to his dormitory while he was still asleep and after everyone else had gone to breakfast. She had pulled the bed covers from him as he lay naked under them, and refused to return them to him until he paid attention to her concerns about Don's disappearance. He also remembered noticing how Herniame's robes clung to her body, accentuating her curves, and how much he had been aroused by her.

"Peter!"

"Oops. Sorry."

Olivia had left Peter fully dressed, needing only his face for her particular desires. Peter's thoughts together with Herniame's presence had prompted his robes to start to roll upwards, and his arousal was obvious.

"Your robes haven't done that for a while," commented Herniame lightly. "I threatened to give you a good seeing-to, and I think I'm going to do it. Olivia won't be waking up for at least an hour, and I don't suppose there will be anyone else around for some time either."

"I'm going to have enough problems stuck in these dormitories without you starting on me as well," said Peter miserably, but well aware that Herniame was watching his twitches of excitement at the thought of it.

"You can't get out of that handcuff?" asked Herniame.

"If I could have got out of it, I would have got out of it," said Peter, exasperatedly.

"Good," said Herniame.

"Why good?"

"Because, Mr Petter," said Herniame with a wicked grin, "I'm going to teach you that it's about time you made more of an effort to behave yourself and have some consideration for your friends. You will remember, no doubt, I also told you that you deserved a good punishment and I would make sure you received one. As I said then, you are going to find out that Professor Scrape's lectures are nothing compared with what I can do to you. So for a start, I think I'll have you completely naked."

"You can't. Not while these cuffs are locked onto me," said Peter morosely.

"I can. Nagoy," said Herniame, smiling with satisfaction as Peter's robes flew off. "That's one I learned from Professor Mackafart, and this time you haven't got any excuses like being late for Figgitch practice. You're all mine."

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 31 - Hard and Soft

"I'm surprised Olivia doesn't wake up with all that noise you're making," said a small voice from the doorway.

Herniame froze. Peter would have frozen if he had not already been virtually immobilised by the handcuff on one wrist and Herniame's firm buttocks planted squarely on his face as she slapped at his genitals with one end of the leather belt she had found in Olivia's cupboard.

"Don't stop on my account," said Merry, walking casually into the room. "I'll just watch."

She sat down in the armchair facing the bed and pulled out her spell crop.

"Do let me know if you would like me to do anything," she said. "This is very nice, isn't it?"

Herniame had still not moved, her eyes fixed on Merry. Her earlier search of Olivia's room had found a number of belts, canes, paddles and crops although none of the magical kind. Using them vigorously on Peter was, as she had expected it to be, enjoyable and satisfying, particularly when he squealed and yelped in pain. It was not a surprise to her when she started to become aroused. She had always known that her particular preference went a little further than the conventional feminine dominance of sitting on a helpless male, and to be able to cause such intense discomfort with no one to stop or even to limit her enthusiasm was an erotic luxury that had frequently been a part of her dreams and fantasies. Removing her own clothes was, naturally, an obvious progression to the course of events, and sitting on him while she whipped him provided the little additional stimulation that for the moment was all she wanted.

Herniame had not yet decided whether later she might demand the attention of Peter's lips and tongue, or whether, perhaps, she might make use of that rigid erection if indeed it was still as rigid when she had completely tired of using the various implements to cause him pain. She toyed with the idea of using her teeth on him, not like Professor Sanitar's 'dangers of oral sex' lecture but as an experiment in which she used her mouth to bring him repeatedly to the edge of climax and then her teeth to bring him back each time. It was only the thought that Olivia might awake before she had finished that had stopped her yet doing it. She resolved to find an appropriate time and place when and where there was no chance of being disturbed for several hours.

In a rush of movement, Herniame reached down, grabbed her robes from where she had dropped them on the side of the bed, and held them over her hiding her nakedness. Merry raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Why do that?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. "I've seen you in the shower half a dozen times."

"It's not the same," protested Herniame indignantly.

"Isn't it?" asked Merry. "It looked exactly the same to me. What part of you changes when you're sitting on Peter?"

"You know what I mean," snapped Herniame. "Peter's naked."

"Yes," agreed Merry. "I've seen that before too. He was my first. It was in the lecture about vaginisms. You must remember. You were there."

"I'm suffocating down here," came Peter's muffled voice from under Herniame.

"Shut up, Peter," said Herniame and Merry simultaneously.

"I suppose he's stuck in here," said Merry. "Do you want me to get him out?"

"I'm quite capable of getting him out myself when I'm ready," retorted Herniame.

"Really?" Merry seemed surprised. "I didn't think you could do anything like that."

"I wasn't planning on wrecking the walls by brute force," said Herniame.

"Neither was I," replied Merry. "I don't think I could get away with that twice. I was thinking about the floor this time."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Herniame.

"Oi!" Peter's muffled voice came from under Herniame again. "No one is going to be able to get me out of here. If you would all leave me alone I'll have a chance of getting out all on my own."

"It seems a pity to waste that," said Merry, ignoring Peter's protests and indicating Peter's erection with the end of her spell crop.

"You're not having it," snapped Herniame.

"But you don't want it. You want Don," pointed out Merry.

"That's not the point," insisted Herniame, sounding rather less sure of herself.

"It's exactly the point," Merry told her. "Anyway, it's not going to happen. Look: Olivia is starting to wake up."

Olivia was certainly stirring, although she was still far from being awake. Reluctantly, Herniame left Peter and dressed rapidly.

"So how do you intend to get him out?" asked Merry with interest.

"We don't all have to go at things like a bull at a gate," said Herniame. "Watch and learn."

Herniame opened the window and then returned to the bed. "Hotkrey," she commanded, and watched the handcuffs spring open before telling Peter to dress as quickly as he could.

"I'm a bit..." said Peter.

"A bit what?" demanded Herniame. "Hurry up. Aren't you dressed yet?"

Peter was struggling with an erection that would not subside and his robes that were determined to show it to everyone.

"Go on," said Merry to Herniame. "You do whatever it was you were going to do, and I'll sort out Peter. It will only take a moment."

Herniame stood by the open window. Peter thought for a moment that perhaps she had somehow arranged for someone to meet her there with Flying Phalluses at the ready. Instead, she started to sing softly. He was convinced she had gone completely mad, but his attention was pulled, literally, elsewhere.

Merry strode across the room towards Peter, and without any warning she grasped his erection firmly and yanked him round to face the door.

"Ow! What are you doing?"

"Spurticus rapido continuum," Merry commanded, tapping the end of his hardness painfully with her spell crop.

It was a most peculiar sensation. The touch of Merry's crop sent a tingling deep into him. It grew in intensity, as though the whole of his groin, the tops of his legs, buttocks and lower abdomen were all experiencing the feeling that he normally associated with only a very small area of his anatomy shortly before orgasm.

Merry gripped his erection more firmly and pumped it back and forth a little. The orgasm went through him, and now it was his whole body that was part of it. His legs trembled and almost gave way. Merry tightened her grip even more, and the orgasm continued in a series of seemingly never-ending spurts and ever-increasing intensity of sensation.

"She's here."

Herniame's call from the window cut across the impossible ecstasy of Peter's continuous orgasm. Merry touched him with the end of the spell crop and uttered a single, simple command: "Stop." She let go of his rapidly wilting erection and let his robes fall.

"Oh," said Herniame looking at the mess on the floor. "Surely you knew an incantation that would get rid of his erection without doing all that."

"Of course," admitted Merry, "But it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting."

At that moment Olivia stirred again and muttered something unintelligible.

"Come on, Peter," urged Herniame. "You have to go while you have the chance."

"How?" asked Peter going to the window where Herniame was looking out. "Great Heavens! Are you sure?"

Hovering just outside the window, its wings beating steadily, was the delictocipard.

"She'll be happy to carry you for me," said Herniame. "I've met her several times since... since Ingrid's lecture. We're very close!"

Peter started to climb out through the window and onto the back of the delictocipard, half expecting the stone frame of the window to start closing as it had done in the Scratchenclaw dormitory. He paused, suddenly concerned.

"Are you sure it's all right?" he asked Herniame. "I mean, she's... well, she's pregnant, isn't she? Are you sure it won't hurt her to carry me?"

"She's very strong," Herniame assured him. "Much stronger than she looks, and it's only a short distance. She will take you down to the ground and then leave you, that's all. I've read everything there is to read about delictocipards and talked to Ingrid about everything she knows. Yes, I'm quite sure. Hurry, before Olivia wakes up or something else happens."

Peter's fingers clutched the long, silky coat of the delictocipard as it edged away from the building with Peter on its back and then circled slowly downwards. It landed on all four feet at once with scarcely a tremble, and waited until Peter dismounted. Briefly, too briefly for Peter's liking, it pressed its nose against him in what was clearly a caress of friendship, and then it was airborne and away towards the forest with a quick backward glance at the window where Herniame stood looking out.

Peter raised his hand in thanks both to Herniame and to the delictocipard, and began to walk round to Fessewarts main entrance. He did not get very far. Before he had gone fifty yards his legs gave way and he ended up sitting on the grass. Merry's incantation had been the last straw in what was a day of intense strain on Peter's stamina. He had to rest for more than an hour before he was ready to move again, and when he eventually reached the Grindonner common room it was almost deserted. Freda's and Samantha's pink cloud had taken its toll. Most had returned, and most had gone straight to their own beds. There had been no sign of any of the professors as the students began to recover. Lectures, it seemed, had been abandoned for the afternoon.

Peter did not go to his dormitory. Instead he collapsed in an armchair by the fire and stared at the flickering flames that, as usual, kept the common room at exactly the most comfortable temperature without ever being tended or fuelled. It was comfortable. After his exertions, Peter quickly fell asleep even though he had intended only to sit and think for a while.

When he awoke it was dark outside. The common room was quiet, and at first Peter thought he was alone. A slight sound from the corner of the room made him look up. It was no great surprise to see that Merry was there, nor that she was wearing her silvery nightdress.

"Hello, Merry."

"I thought you would never wake up," replied Merry, standing up from the armchair where she had been sitting watching Peter for the last few hours. She walked over to Peter and sat on the arm of the chair beside him.

"I still like you," she said. "Do you like me?"

"You're a bit scary sometimes," said Peter.

"Do I really look scary?" asked Merry in surprise, turning towards Peter as she spoke.

He looked. At that moment, no one could possibly have described Merry as looking scary. Her hair, soft and slightly dishevelled, hung loose around her shoulders. She was slim, neat, and yet just a little too long-limbed, as though she was no more than a teenager who had just put on a spurt of growth and the rest of her body had not yet caught up with the lengthening of her arms and legs. Her shoulders were bare, with only the thin straps of her silvery nightdress breaking the smooth flow of skin from her arms to her slender neck. The nightdress hung loosely about her; not so loosely that her girlish shape was lost in it but loosely enough for it to flow around her, clinging and outlining one part of her body and then another as she moved. Delicate patterns in the shiny material accentuated her breasts, pulled tightly across them and, as if she were outgrowing the nightdress and had burst through it, exposing a little ring of white skin around each of her slightly darker nipples that stood impertinently stiff and inquisitive.

"You scare me with your magic," said Peter, and then as Merry's face clouded with sadness he reached out to put his arm around her.

She slid from the arm of the chair onto his lap, snuggling her head onto his shoulder. For just a second she raised her face to his, touching his lips lightly with hers, and then pressed tightly against him she closed her eyes.

Peter said nothing, enjoying the warmth of her body scarcely covered by her nightdress. He was still tired, and by the time Merry had fallen asleep comfortably resting on him, he too was drifting away into a deep sleep. If he dreamed this time, he remembered none of it.

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 32 - Merry

A chorus of shouts and wolf whistles awoke Peter and Merry.

Merry sat up and looked around the crowded common room sleepily. "Go away", she said before closing her eyes again and snuggling against Peter's shoulder.

"Go for it, Peter," advised Jack Binnstok.

"Give her one," suggested William Poster.

"Or two," added Michael Hunt.

"Sit on his face," recommended Freda Weenie, with Samantha nodding in agreement.

"We will, if you don't want to," Samantha told Merry.

"Shut up," Merry replied without opening her eyes.

"I think we ought to move," Peter whispered to Merry. "It's time for breakfast, and we'll be late for today's lectures if we stay here."

"Oh bother," Merry whispered back. "I'd rather stay here."

She sat up and stretched, apparently unaware that every man in the room was looking at her.

"See you later," she said to Peter, and strolled casually across the common room and up the stairs to her dormitory.

Peter ignored the eager questions from the other students. He had no wish to discuss any relationship he might or might not have with Merry or with anyone else. He headed for his own dormitory. Although he was not particularly tired, having spent the first night free of nightmares for several weeks, he was aching from the attentions of Olivia and Herniame on the previous day. Sleeping in an unusual position in the armchair with Merry on his lap and leaning against him had also left him uncomfortable. He would have much preferred to have gone to bed, but missing lectures really was not an option and he was hungry. Instead, he took a quick shower and headed to the main hall for breakfast.

"You all right, Peter?" asked Herniame.

Peter nodded. "Not so bad," he said. "Thanks for your help. I'd still be stuck up there if you hadn't helped me."

"How did she help you?" asked Don. "Where were you stuck?"

"Not underneath some girl from Suckenpuff and thoroughly enjoying it," pointed out Herniame.

"I wasn't," protested Don. "I couldn't help it. You know what happened. You were on top of Plokkoy if I remember correctly."

"Not for long," said Herniame defiantly. "I made the effort. The only effort you made was to see how much you could please that girl."

"I couldn't help it," insisted Don. "Honest."

"It doesn't bother me what you do or who you do it with," said Herniame airily. "Why should it?"

The conversation was, fortunately perhaps, cut short as Chancellor Fumblebum stood up and called for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I need your undivided attention for a few minutes."

He waited for the inevitable murmuring and whispering to die away before he continued.

"I'm not going to dwell on yesterday's little incident," said Chancellor Fumblebum much to the surprise of most of the students, "Except to say that I am perfectly well aware who was responsible and that any repetition of such behaviour will result in two of our most promising students leaving Fessewarts permanently. That would be a pity."

The Chancellor looked directly at Freda and Samantha. They returned his gaze with looks of perfect innocence. He smiled briefly.

"Now," he continued. "As you all know, half term is approaching. Many of you will be going home for the week, and many more will take the opportunity to visit the village. Be warned: there are dark forces at large."

Malcum Plokkoy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Bullshit."

"There are those," said Chancellor Fumblebum looking straight at Malcum, "Who will ridicule the idea that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Sat-Upon could return. They may be right. Whether they are right or not is immaterial. Support for his beliefs has once more taken hold in some quarters, and those who would change our way of life are gaining power. This university stands for everything they detest, and as students here you are all potential targets for an attack. You will be aware that the deep magic surrounding Fessewarts provides some protection, and there is safety in numbers. When you are outside the university grounds you will not have that protection, and you must be on your guard. Stay in public places where there are plenty of people. Avoid individuals who seem out of the ordinary. If you see or hear anything out of place then report it at once. You should all know the emergency contact details for the Ministry of Sitting and Sadism, and if you do not then you should make sure you have spoken to someone who does before the end of today. If in doubt, go directly to your Head of House for guidance.
You will, of course, realise that there is more of a risk in wizarding towns and villages where it may be more difficult for those of you inexperienced in wizarding matters to distinguish the normal from the uncertain. For this reason, when visiting the village of Asfixi-by-Mooning you are to stay in groups of not less than five students unless you are accompanied by a professor. There will be no exceptions to this rule. There will be some of my staff in the village throughout half term, and there are also officials from the Ministry. Any students who are judged to be taking unnecessary risks will be confined to the university. I trust this will not be necessary.
Finally, I must warn you that even the security of Fessewarts may not be sufficient to provide complete protection. There are indications that the dark powers may have already penetrated our security. It seems unlikely that there would be an outright assault on our establishment, or that an open attack within our walls is likely. Even He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon himself would hesitate to take on the formidable strength we have here. However, if any of you notice anything that appears to be out of place, you must go directly to your Head of House or to me. Do not attempt to investigate it. Do not attempt to fight it. Do not mention it or discuss it with anyone else. Also, and for the same reason, practical jokes like yesterday's incident are not helpful. I do not want any more of them."

Chancellor Fumblebum sat down. The atmosphere in the hall was electric; a mixture of fear, of disbelief, and of excitement. There was a buzz of conversation immediately, breakfasts remaining half-eaten on the plates in front of the students. It was twenty minutes later that Chancellor Fumblebum stood up again and calmly reminded everyone that lectures would be starting shortly and that there was no excuse for being late.

"Vanilla Avoidance is a complete waste of time anyway," Herniame commented to Peter. "We wouldn't be here if we were vanilla, would we? The problem with half the students here is avoiding too much kinkiness, not avoiding anything vanilla!"

"I quite like the Vanilla Avoidance lectures," Peter disagreed.

Herniame sniffed. "You quite like Vanessa Valium," she said scornfully. "If she was an ugly woman with no bust and with her robes done up to her neck you wouldn't have the slightest interest."

"It's not that," protested Peter. "She's really interesting."

He was still protesting to Herniame when they took their seats in Vanessa Vllium's Vanilla Avoidance lecture, although the moment the professor appeared his attention was fixed on her. Annoyingly for Peter, the clump of green hair just to the right of his genitals shaped exactly like a peacock chose that particular moment to start itching furiously again.

"Sit still." Herniame hissed at him. "What's the matter with you?"

"I've got an itch," Peter whispered back. "It's really uncomfortable."

"Don't scratch it here!" Herniame told him. "Wait until you're on your own afterwards!"

"I have to scratch it," Peter insisted. "You have no idea how uncomfortable it is."

"It's embarrassing sitting next to you!" Herniame whispered furiously.

It was embarrassing for Peter too, but the itch in the clump of green hair just to the right of his genitals shaped exactly like a peacock was simply too intense to ignore. He tried his utmost to resist the urge to scratch, without success. He squirmed and wriggled, until almost the whole class was aware of his problem. Finally, Professor Valium broke the flow of her instructive monologue and took notice.

"Mr Petter? What's the matter?"

"Sorry, Professor," Peter apologised, "I can't help it. I'm rather uncomfortable. Could I be excused for a few minutes please?"

The professor walked towards Peter, her eyes fixed on him. Peter's itching suddenly became worse; so much worse that he was unable to keep his seat. He fell from it to the floor, writhing in absolute torment at the discomfort.

Most of the students were, quite naturally, watching Peter with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. Don was one of the few still looking at Professor Valium, and possibly the only one who really saw properly what happened next. As Peter writhed, wriggled and pulled frantically at the itch that had now become a deep, painful throbbing, Professor Valium seemed to have problems of her own. As she drew closer to where Peter was sitting she gasped and clutched at her chest. She struggled for breath, each gulp of air appearing to cause her intense pain that worsened with each step she took. She backed away as quickly as she could, staggering and only just maintaining her balance. As soon as she had regained her original position some distance in front of the students, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere far behind where Peter was now recovering slowly.

"Lecture over," announced the professor. She left the chamber through a small door in the opposite corner to where the students had all come in.

Don turned, just in time to see Merry at the back of the room concealing her spell crop in her robes.

"She's dangerous," he muttered to himself.

It was much later that day after all the lectures were over that Don had the opportunity to tell Peter and Herniame what he had seen.

"It was definitely Merry," he said. "First she must have made you itch like that, Peter, and then when everyone was looking at you she did something to Professor Valium."

"I knew it," agreed Herniame. "We know how dangerous she could be, and this proves it. Peter, you have to stay away from her. I think you ought to go and tell Fumblebum what happened. Perhaps we should all go."

"I reckon we need to stay together," said Don, looking worried. "She might attack any of us if she knows we're suspicious."

Peter looked worriedly from Don to Herniame. "I'm not sure," he said.

"Peter!" Herniame almost shouted. "How can you doubt it? You've seen what she can do, and now Don's seen her doing this..."

"What did you see, Don?" asked Peter. "What did you see exactly?"

"I told you," said Don. "I saw her with her spell crop when you and Professor Valium had that trouble in the lecture."

"See?" Herniame prompted Peter. "First she has a spell crop of her own when no one ever has one until after they have graduated. Then she demolishes the whole of the wall of the Scratchenclaw dormitory without the slightest effort or concern. Then she pulls that trick in the hall. I don't know what she did, but quite obviously she used powers to stop that green gas affecting her that even Fumblebum couldn't raise. Now this. On top of all that we know that she is directly descended from the Mistress of Mooning, and her parents went off half way around the world because of it."

"It doesn't make sense," said Peter. "If she wanted to hurt me she had plenty of opportunity to do it last night. We were alone in the common room for hours. Why would she try and do it right in the middle of a lecture where everyone else could see her? It really doesn't seem sensible. Maybe you're jumping to the wrong conclusion. After all, Don didn't actually see her do anything with her spell crop, did you Don?"

"No," Don admitted. "I saw her putting it away. Why would she have got it out if she didn't do anything with it?"

"Peter, you just can't see it because she's pretending to be nice to you," said Herniame. "All you see is a girl who can make you orgasm more intensely than anyone you've ever known before, and you think the sun shines out of her... well, out of any part of her anatomy you care to mention!"

"It's not that," said Peter obstinately. "It just doesn't make sense. I'm not going to Fumblebum about her and that's final."

He turned his back on Herniame and Don, and stalked angrily away.

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 33 - The Rampant 3000

Peter's nightmares were becoming more and more vivid, and now the sole theme of them was the mysterious, desperate female that he became and who, always alone in a sparsely furnished chamber, yearned to find something that eluded her and that she needed to reach freedom. Worse for Peter, that female was now filled with hate for someone, although who that someone might be was as difficult to understand as was the something she sought.

Invariably Peter awoke sweating and shivering, afraid to close his eyes and sleep again in case the same nightmare returned. He became exhausted from lack of sleep, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the lectures. His performance at Figgitch practice was seriously deteriorating. He saw little of Herniame or Don, deliberately avoiding them whenever possible because he knew very well that they would somehow blame Merry for his problems and nag him to go to see Chancellor Fumblebum. Neither did he see much of Merry, always wondering in the back of his mind whether there was any possibility that Herniame and Don were right and that Merry was a danger. He remembered Chancellor Fumblebum's warning, and yet he told himself over and over again that if Merry wanted to hurt him then she obviously had the ability and had had the opportunity over and over again.

Half Term was now only two days away. The Figgitch match against Smotherin was set for the following afternoon, and Peter was ready for neither. Figgitch now filled him with fear, not so much at the physical exertion of the first part of the game or even the second and thirds parts of it underneath the snackles of the Smotherin team. It was the fear of failure that worried him. To fail, to be humiliated by failing, in front of the entire university, was more disturbing to Peter than any injury he might sustain.

He went to bed early, hoping that somehow he might manage to avoid the nightmares and somehow manage to have the unbroken sleep he so badly needed.

It was not very long after he went to sleep that Peter was woken. The dreams had not yet started, but although he had no idea what time it was he could tell by the small sounds in the dormitory that at least most of the others were already in bed and asleep.

"Move over," said a little voice in a whisper.

"What on earth?" Peter sat up in shock.

"Quiet! You don't want anyone to hear us."

"Merry, what the hell are you doing here this time of night?"

"Be quiet. Don't say anything." Merry slid into bed beside Peter. She was completely naked. "Just go to sleep. I'm here to help."

There were a hundred and one reasons why Merry should not be there, but for some reason when her arms were around him and her firm, naked body pressed against him Peter could not think of any of them.

"Go to sleep," Merry repeated.

"I can't," he told her. "I'm..."

"Of course you are," she said softly, reaching down with one hand and taking hold of his erection.

"You can't," Peter whispered hurriedly. "Not here. Everyone will hear us."

"I wasn't going to," Merry whispered back. "Just relax."

She squeezed, and murmured a few words that Peter could not hear. Instantly his erection wilted, and although the desire to hold Merry's naked body close to him was as strong as ever, the desperate sexual urge had disappeared as completely as the rigidity in his manhood. She still held it firmly, and that was both pleasant and satisfying.

"Sleep," she told him, and rather to his surprise he found himself drifting into sleep without the slightest difficulty and without any fear of the recurring nightmares.

He awoke as everyone else was waking and light was streaming in through the great windows at the end of the dormitory. Merry was gone. For a moment Peter wondered whether perhaps it had all been a dream. He had not, he realised, had any of his usual nightmares, and he felt particularly refreshed and alert. It was the first full and comfortable night's sleep he had had for many weeks. Had she really been there? It did not seem possible. He lay for a moment considering it, but when he turned onto his side and prepared to get out of bed there was no mistaking her gentle scent on the pillow next to him. He headed for the main hall for breakfast, feeling happier than he had felt for a long while.

"Morning, Peter. Ready for the big day?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Peter sat down between Herniame and Don.

"Oh! You're talking to us?"

"Of course I'm talking to you, as long as you stop trying to tell me how horrible Merry is."

"You really do need to be very careful." Herniame looked worried.

"I'll be careful," Peter assured her. "Anyway, today I have other things to worry about."

"Look at that!" said Don suddenly, a forkful of egg and bacon at a complete halt in mid air between plate and mouth.

Herniame and Peter looked. A number of Little Bustards had appeared as usual through the open window at the end of the hall and were delivering messages to some of the students. Eight of the Little Bustards together were struggling under the weight of a single very large package.

"If that's a smothergram," said Herniame, "Someone is in real trouble."

"Looks like it's you, Peter," said Don, finally stuffing the bacon and egg into his mouth now that he had established the destination of the mystery package.

Thoughts flashed through Peter's mind. Could anyone be sending him a smothergram? He hardly knew anyone in the wizarding community outside Fessewarts. Surely it could not be from one of the Bottomleys? That did not seem possible. Eustace Bottomley might send something like that out of pure spite, or Lotta Bottomley might find it amusing in a sadistic sort of way, but none of them would ever consider being involved in anything remotely magical. It had to be from someone else.

The package crashed onto the table in front of Peter, scattering plates, cutlery and cups in all directions.

"It's not a smothergram," said Herniame, helping up one of the Little Bustards that had collapsed in exhaustion on the table. It made a clicking noise and puffed out its neck feathers.

"That Little Bustard fancies you, Herniame," Don pointed out.

"He's probably the only one who does," Herniame replied sharply. "Who's the parcel from, Peter?"

"There's nothing on it," said Peter, examining the large, long package cautiously. "It's definitely not a smothergram, is it? It would have done something by now."

"Open it," suggested Herniame.

Peter ripped a small piece of paper from one end of the package and peered inside. By this time the package had attracted a great deal of attention from the other students too, and a number of them were crowding round to see what it was.

"Well?" asked Herniame.

Peter looked puzzled. "I think it's a Flying Phallus," he said. "Why would anyone want to send me a Flying Phallus?"

He ripped the rest of the wrapping from the Flying Phallus. Don whistled.

"That's not just a Flying Phallus," he said. "That's a Rampant 3000. It must have cost a fortune."

Herniame nodded. "Olivia has one of those, doesn't she? Her family is rich. Did you order it, Peter? It's a bit extravagant."

"I don't have that sort of money," said Peter, shocked. "At least, I don't think I have. Ingrid withdrew some money from my bank account for me, but I've no idea how much is in there. No, I didn't order it. I have no idea who did, or why."

Olivia Birch pushed her way to the front of the enthusiastic crowd that had gathered around the table where Peter, Herniame and Don were sitting.

"Let's hope it's not a waste of time and money," she said pessimistically. "If you don't do better than you managed in the last few practices then this afternoon will be your first and last match as a bleezer. Remember, young Petter, it's how it's ridden that counts, not the power of your Phallus."

"You'll be all right, mate," Don assured him as Olivia strode away.

"She's just jealous," said Herniame.

"Jealous?" said Peter. "She has nothing to be jealous about. She has a Rampant 3000 of her own."

"I didn't mean that," said Herniame uncomfortably, but she refused to explain what she did mean.

*

The Figgitch Stadium was full when Peter peaked out of the door of the changing room before the match. He had arrived early, still very nervous even though he was feeling far more alert and able than he had felt for weeks. He had hardly eaten any lunch, and had hoped to find time to try his new Rampant 3000 before he had to ride it in front of everyone. It was longer than the university's Flying Phalluses, sleeker, and everything about it suggested power and speed. Unfortunately for Peter, Olivia had spotted him leaving the main hall early and had run after him. She insisted that he accompany her to an empty lecture chamber, and had spent half an hour discussing tactics before ordering him to remove his clothes.

"Why?" asked Peter, startled.

"Isn't it obvious?" Olivia snapped. "I don't want you to be tired, of course, but you know very well that the second part of the Figgitch match relies on you not having an orgasm too quickly. Have you done it today? I thought not. You just don't think, do you? If you haven't done it then you'll do it as soon as the Smotherin snackles start on you. You can practise a little breath control while we're at it, but I won't risk stopping your breathing for too long. That would only be counter-productive."

It was another half an hour before Olivia was satisfied that Peter was as drained of orgasms as it was possible for him to be. She eased her buttocks from his face and wiped her hands on his chest.

"Clean yourself up," she told him, "Then get down to the Figgitch stadium. It's less than an hour before we start."

The four Fessewarts House flags were fluttering merrily in the breeze, one at each corner of the stadium. Behind each of the goal hoops flew the Fessewarts University flag, officially described as "Or, a domina rampant sable" that hardly came close to describing the power of the female clad in black leather on the brilliantly golden background.

The crowd was noisy, even now before the players had appeared. There was much shouting and singing, with some of the professors and post-graduates trying to keep some sort of order, or at least to stop the taunting and relatively mild insults between the opposing supporters turning into a full-scale riot. Someone had at least had the common sense to assign Grindonner and Smotherin members to opposite sides of the stadium with Suckenpuff and Scratchenclaw confined to either end.

"You're not changed yet, Peter."

The Grindonner snackles appeared at the other end of the changing room, pulling a reluctant knoot and a protesting booder with them and brandishing their snackle whips. They lost no time in shedding their robes and helping each other adjust their snackle harnesses, taking the time to aim a practice shot with the snackle whips at the booder or the knoot to encourage each of them to hurry.

"Do you need any help, Peter?" asked Connie. "I think we have time for a quick practice session before the match if you like."

"Stop it, Connie," Olivia reprimanded her, "Save your enthusiasm for Smotherin's bleezer. You'll have your hands on him soon enough. Everyone ready? Right, let's go."

The noise of cheering and applause in the stadium was deafening as the Grindonner team left the changing room. At almost the same second the Smotherin team appeared from the changing room on the other side. Professor Flit, umpire for the match, met them in the very centre of the arena, and the two captains shook hands.

Peter was expecting some dramatic start to the match, perhaps a fanfare of trumpets or a blast from a cannon. He was taken by surprise when Professor Flit simply said, "Go", and everyone else was in the air before he realised what was happening. As he kicked off from the ground on his new Rampant 3000, he was amazed by the power of the new Flying Phallus. Any nervousness that remained evaporated completely as he pushed its acceleration to the limit in an almost vertical climb to far above the stadium.

This, he decided, was going to be the most amazing experience ever.

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 34 - The Figgitch Match

"And there goes Peter Petter the new bleezer for Grindonner on his new Rampant 3000 high over the stadium without so much as a wobble. He really has control of that power, but can he catch the Golden Cock? Watch this young man, ladies and gentleman and we may all be in for something special.
Meanwhile there goes Olivia Birch on her Rampant 3000 and yes that was her snackle whip that caught the knoot, the Grindonner knoot for the first half as they won last time, and he missed the goal hoop by less than six feet. Was that a scream from him? I think so. Olivia must be furious with herself missing the goal like that."

Larry Wooster's commentary echoed around the stadium, blaring through loudspeakers above the roars of the excited crowd. He either missed or deliberately avoided commenting on Peter's very definite wobble on his Rampant 3000 on his way up to circle over the stadium, and the reason for it. Peter wondered whether the kick he had received from Michael Oxlong, the Smotherin bleezer, as he passed him on the way up was allowed by the rules of Figgitch. It was not important, and Peter was far from losing control when it happened, but he would not forget it.

"Now it's Connie Lingus with her snackle whip at the knoot - oh, no, she's missed and it's Smotherin make contact. Yes, it's Poppy Field and she really lashed that knoot. No mistaking his scream this time, was there? He's right up the end of the pitch with just that one lash and if any of those Smotherin snackles can be up there in time he'll be through the Grindonner goal and it will be ten points to Smotherin.
No sign of the Golden Cock yet. The bleezer's are still circling. Peter Petter for Grindonner is way above Michael Oxlong for Smotherin. I hope young Peter knows what he's doing. Mike has the experience after last year's matches and Peter will have much further to go when the Golden Cock appears.
Now here we go. That really was a good defensive shot from the snackle whip of Susan Sox; she really is one of the greatest with a whip. Look at that knoot go right down the side of the stadium and thud! Yes he did hit the grass rather hard, but he's up and those Smotherin snackles are controlling him very well with those snackle whips all the way back towards the Grindonner goal and... well would you believe it? All that control and they forgot entirely to look out for the booder. All three off their Flying Phalluses and on the grass in one hit; that must be a first. Just as well they were near the ground. No damage done. All mounted up again and off they go and they're furious!"

Peter was still circling high above the stadium, not watching the events below him but concentrating on spotting the flash of gold that would tell him the Golden Cock was out. He had felt the power of the Rampant 3000 and he knew that he had easily enough acceleration to reach it well before the Smotherin bleezer on his standard university Flying Phallus, as long as he saw it first. The extra height gave him the advantage of a better view. He knew from the practices that the Golden Cock might appear from anywhere.

Larry Wooster's commentary continued: "The booders really are a bit lively in this match, there goes another snackle off her Flying Phallus, Grindonner this time. And there goes Poppy Field again for Smotherin and YES! She's scored. That's ten-nil to Smotherin but it won't end there and I'm right because there goes Connie Lingus once more right down the middle and SHE'S scored too so that's ten all. Ladies and gentleman this really is the most exciting match we've seen this year. What? Oh, yes, I know it's the first match we've seen this year but there can't be more exciting than this. Still no sign of the Golden Cock and the bleezers must be getting frustrated up there, I know I'd be getting frustrated sitting naked doing nothing watching all those naked girls... OK. Sorry professor. Yes here goes Olivia, wow she really has a turn of speed on that Rampant 3000 just look at her chase that knoot with her snackle whip lashing in all directions. Was that legal? Is she allowed to lash the Smotherin snackles out of her way? She is. All right. Yes she's scored too so that's twenty-ten to Grindonner and STILL no sign of the Golden Cock."

Larry Wooster might not have been able to see it, but Peter saw the flash of gold he had been seeking. It was low and right at one end of the arena right underneath the commentary box, but there was no mistaking it. Peter cursed his bad luck. At that particular moment he was just about as far as he could possibly be from where the Golden Cock had appeared, at the far side of one of the large circles he was making right at the other end of the stadium. He had nearly twice as far to go as Michael Oxlong, the Smotherin bleezer. Worse, Michael Oxlong had evidently just seen the Golden Cock and had turned the head of his Flying Phallus straight towards it.

Peter streaked down and across the stadium on his Rampant 3000, vaguely aware that one of the Smotherin snackles had just propelled the knoot through the Grindonner goal and equalised the score. Larry Wooster was going into raptures about the skills of the snackles and still, apparently, had no idea the bleezers were now after the Golden Cock.

Peter saw that he would be able to overtake Michael Oxlong before Mike reached the Golden Cock. He also realised that if he did, he would be travelling far too fast to stop or to turn before crashing into the solid wooden barrier underneath the commentary box, and a crash at that speed into something so unyielding would have serious, probably fatal, consequences. Thinking quickly, he remembered what Olivia had said during practice about watching out for "dirty tricks", and decided that perhaps just one of his own would not be out of place, particularly after what the Smotherin bleezer had tried to do to him earlier.

As he approached the rear of the Smotherin bleezer's Flying Phallus, Peter wobbled. It was a serious wobble, a wobble that could not possibly be missed by the watching crowd whose attention was now firmly on the two bleezers even if Larry Wooster had still failed to appreciate what was happening. There was a gasp. If Peter were to fall off at that speed and still at least thirty feet above the ground then there was little doubt he would suffer serious injury.

Peter, however, was in perfect control of his Rampant 3000. He was not about to fall off, nor was he going to make Michael Oxlong fall from his Flying Phallus despite the appearance that the Rampant 3000 was completely out of control and would inevitably crash into the back of Mike's Flying Phallus. With the underneath of head of the Rampant 3000, Peter struck the rear of the Flying Phallus a glancing blow, quite deliberately flipping the nose of it up and sending Mike careering skywards. At the same time, Peter appeared to fight to regain control, succeed, and then take a much more leisurely circle around the end of the arena to where the Golden Cock was fluttering excitedly.

It was not quite that simple. As soon as Peter neared the Golden Cock it shot away at high speed straight down the centre of the arena just a few feet from the ground. Peter turned and sped after it, aware that Michael Oxlong was now heading down after him furiously. Larry Wooster's commentary had at last caught up with events.

"After near-disaster for both bleezers, Peter Petter is now closing on the Golden Cock, but Mike isn't far behind him. It's going to be close. And the Golden Cock is determined not to be caught. Just look at it swerve left and right down the arena, but Peter is matching its every twist and turn and... that's it! Peter has it and that part of the match is over with a score of one hundred and twenty to Grindonner while Smotherin trail at just twenty points. It's all down to the last two periods of the match!"

Peter landed triumphantly in the very centre of the arena. He raised the Golden Cock in one hand, quite forgetting that he was completely naked until he heard Larry Wooster's comments over the roar of the crowd.

"And there it is, ladies and gentlemen. Now we've all seen the clump of green hair just to the right of Peter's genitals shaped exactly like a peacock."

*

"Well done," said Olivia as they took a short break before the next period of the match. "Just remember that all it takes is for the Smotherin bleezer to make just one of us orgasm and we've lost our lead completely. We need more points from you to be certain of victory."

"I'll do my best," said Peter, still full of the excitement of catching the Golden Cock. "You had just better make sure that none of you orgasm!"

The crowd cheered madly as Peter and Mike were led out to the padded tables now positioned near the centre of the arena. Professor Drencham joined Professor Flit as umpire, because now it was essential for a very close watch to be kept on the proceedings on both of the tables. It was not unknown for one of the snackles to manage to hide her orgasm with no more than a slight shudder or less.

With great formality, the bleezers were handed over to the opposing team and each, under the supervision of the umpire, was attached to the padded table with his hands held by leather straps away from his sides and ankles similarly held far apart. Each of the snackles inspected the restraints to ensure she was satisfied that nothing except the bleezer's mouth and tongue could be used to stimulate the snackle who was to be restrained over him.

With equal formality, two snackles from each side left their team mates and went to stand by the other team's table. It was their responsibility to fasten the snackle's legs to the table either side of the bleezer's head with her hands bound behind her back. They had to check that she was unable to move away from the bleezer's relentless licking and sucking, and to ensure that, for the moment at least, she was not in a position where she might smother the bleezer.

When everyone was satisfied, the two umpires made a final check and raised their flags. Together they brought them down, signalling the start. Each team's two snackles then ran back to their own table to assist with the important task of trying to make the bleezer orgasm before he had managed to drive the snackle held over him to a climax.

Peter stared up in horror at the female held over him by the straps that made it as impossible for her to move away from him as it did for him to change his position underneath her. She was solid and muscular with square features and a jawline that suggested a diet of concrete and cast iron. Her breasts were almost non-existent, no more than mounds of muscle with huge dark nipples that were now the shape of shortened thimbles. Her thighs were huge and rock-solid, an unyielding, rigid bulk on either side of Peter's head that, thankfully, in this part of the match at least, she was unable to clamp together crushingly around him. Between her legs where he was now obliged to lick, was an unkempt, matted, dry mass of hair and coarse skin that showed not the slightest sign of arousal.

As Peter felt the fingers of the other Smotherin snackles on him and the inevitable stiffening, he pressed his lips to the snackle on top of him and pushed his tongue through the tangle of hair into the fleshiness underneath. He was rewarded by a faint gasp from her, and a twitching of her muscles. Despite her fearsome and composed appearance, she was clearly as susceptible to physical stimulation as any other female.

Encouraged, Peter pressed harder, concentrating on finding the precise point of pleasure that usually had the effect he sought. It was not easy. Although as his tongue and lips worked and explored, she was showing definite signs of arousal and a wetness that was quite obviously not entirely from Peter's licking, he could not locate any part of her that produced any greater reaction to his attentions than any other or anything that resembled the little solid button he could work on for maximum effect.

When finally he found it, she was already twitching continuously as his persistent tongue and lips pressed and sucked at her. He closed his lips around the area where he now knew he needed to concentrate, and sucked as hard as he could. Her reaction was immediate and intense. Her body writhed and twisted, straining against the straps that held her on top of him with such force Peter thought they would break. He pressed rhythmically with his tongue as he sucked, feeling the shuddering of her body matching the rhythm of his tongue as he used every ounce of strength in his mouth to exert the maximum pressure on her. He increased the speed, working steadily although his mouth was aching with the effort, until he thought and hoped she was close to a climax. It was not enough, and he knew it. The pressure of his lips and tongue would not take this tough woman to the height of a full orgasm. It would take something more than that, and with grim determination Peter took a huge mouthful of hair and flesh and pressed her clitoris as hard as he could with his tongue against the back of his upper teeth and at the same time closed his lower teeth on her flesh.

She screamed. She shuddered. She convulsed. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. There was no mistaking it.

"Stop!" called Professor Flit, and rushed forward to halt the Smotherin snackles' desperate efforts on Peter's rigid erection.

"An orgasm!" announced Professor Flit. "One hundred points to Grindonner!"

Almost everyone in the crowd was standing and applauding, even some of those on the Smotherin side of the stadium.

As the snackle on top of him was released, Peter looked across to the other table. The table was empty. There was no sign of the Smotherin bleezer.

The umpires were conferring. Professor Flit came back to where Peter lay, still restrained and with his erection pointing resolutely skywards, and looked down at him.

"Very good, Mr Petter," she said approvingly. "You have assured victory for Grindonner. However, the rules do not allow us to stop there. We must continue with the rest of the game."

"What happened to the other bleezer?" asked Peter.

"What usually happens," Professor Flit told him. "He orgasmed after about thirty seconds. There was no chance he was going to make Connie Lingus orgasm anyway. I've never heard of her reaching a climax in all the time she's been at Fessewarts. She's as cold as they come."

The professor turned away and summoned the next snackle from Smotherin.

Peter stared as she walked towards him, wondering how he could have failed to notice her earlier when he had been waiting for the Golden Cock. She was a complete contrast to the snackle who he had just made orgasm. Her long blonde hair floated in the breeze as she moved. With every step she took her full, firm breasts had the suggestion of a bounce but no more. Her waist was slim; her hips full but not excessively wide; her buttocks rounded and perfectly shaped.

She settled onto him with a small sigh, her flawless thighs either side of him and the sweet smell of femininity filling his nostrils. She eased herself into the proper position, murmuring softly with what could only be sighs of pleasure as the Grindonner snackles bound her hands behind her back and strapped her thighs inescapably to the table.

"You may commence," said Professor Flit.

Peter's tongue found the spot immediately, even before the Smotherin snackles had touched his erection. He orgasmed.

"Stop!" called Professor Flit. "Mr Petter, you didn't even try."

"Uh?"

"I said STOP, Mr Petter!"

"Oh."

Peter was vaguely aware of scattered applause and some laughter from the spectators.

"Um, I'll try again if you like," he offered hopefully.

Professor Flit actually laughed. "No, Mr Petter," she said. "That won't be necessary. Save it for the next match. We'll continue with the third part in ten minutes, and then you're free to celebrate your victory in any way you want. Perhaps Miss Titmus here will celebrate with you?"

Pauline Titmus, the Smotherin snackle who at that moment was being released from the restraints that held her on Peter, politely disagreed.

"I think my team captain might disapprove if I celebrated with the enemy," she said with a wry smile. "Some other time, maybe!"

"Ten minutes then," Professor Flit reminded Peter. "Just long enough to get your breath back. You're going to need it."

In fact, although the break was for ten minutes, the third part of the match was considerably shorter. It was Pauline Titmus again who had the doubtful honour of smothering Peter to unconsciousness while Olivia Birch smothered Michael Oxlong. Peter had no idea whether he remained conscious for longer under Pauline than Mike did under Olivia, and it made no difference to the result of the match when, for the first time in many years, the umpires declared a draw for that part of it. The soft yet firm female flesh on top of Peter hardly compensated for the screaming panic from his body as, deprived of air, he fought to breathe against impossible odds. He expected no mercy from Pauline, and received none. He knew that when he awoke it was quite likely to be in Fessewarts hospital, and in all probability it would be for an extended stay under the tender care of Madam Seleet.

He was right.

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 35 - Hospital, Dreams, and Scrape

"You were a long time in the hospital," said Herniame as Peter staggered into the Grindonner common room on Sunday afternoon. "We tried to come and visit you, but Madam Seleet wouldn't let us."

"She wanted to make sure I was all right," Peter told her. "She said she needed to check that I hadn't suffered any ill-effects from the match, and that I wouldn't have any sort of delayed reaction . She ran a lot of tests to make sure."

"What sort of tests?" asked Herniame suspiciously. "You've been up there for nearly two days. It can't have taken that long for you to recover and for her to run a few tests."

At that moment Don appeared. "Well done, mate. That was some Figgitch match!"

Peter was somewhat relieved by Don's appearance and the excuse to change the topic of conversation to the Figgitch match instead of what happened in Fessewarts hospital. Somehow, having to tell Herniame or anyone else just why Madam Seleet had kept him so long did not appeal to him in the slightest. He had no particular qualms about having to satisfy the urges of a more mature woman like Madam Seleet, he simply did not want everyone else knowing about it. In fact, he found Madam Seleet highly arousing. She was not unattractive for her age, but it was a combination of the short white uniform, dark stockings, and total control of herself and her patients that, for Peter at least, was quite irresistible. Not that he had any choice. Madam Seleet made it quite clear he would not be allowed to leave the hospital until she had finished with him, and Peter found himself held either by physical restraints or by magical ones until she released him just before midday on that Sunday.

Madam Seleet's started methodically. Her initial medical examination was brief but thorough, covering everything any normal medical department would check with a patient who had been suffocated to unconsciousness. From the start, she insisted that Peter was naked, and told him that was the way he must remain until she had completely finished with him. His arousal was obvious, even before Madam Seleet touched him.

"You like me, Peter?" she asked.

"I like your uniform," he admitted.

"Most men do," she said. "Not all of them seem to be quite so enthusiastic about it."

After the initial check, Madam Seleet turned her attention to Peter's persistent erection. It took less than half a minute to establish it was working properly.

"Turn over," she said, slipping on a pair of surgical gloves. "Lie on your side and pull your knees up."

"You don't have to do that," objected Peter. "I really don't like it."

"You will do as you're told," said Madam Seleet sternly. "You're not here to enjoy yourself. In any case, I hear that you and some of your friends will be spending a little time as guests of Professor Flit and some of her girls towards the end of the week. Chancellor Fumblebum's punishment, so I believe. You might thank me for this. A little gentle experience of anal penetration will prepare you for what to expect."

"Pardon?" said Peter astonished. "Why... I mean, what does anal penetration have to do with it?"

"You do understand that these girls are lesbians?" asked Madam Seleet.

"Yes," said Peter, "But why...?"

"Surely you're not that innocent?" demanded Madam Seleet. "Apart from oral, how do you suppose lesbians have a sexual relationship? And how do you suppose they are going to do it to you if you're supposed to be experiencing something of what they experience? It will be a large strap-on up the backside for you, young man. More than one, I should think. I expect they will all want to try it. It's not too often they have a man to play with, and you can be quite sure it won't be your male bits that interest them, except possibly to give you a bit of pain if they're feeling particularly sadistic. Did the Chancellor or Professor Flit give you any idea who was going to take part or how many of them there would be?"

Peter shook his head. "No idea at all," he said miserably. "But I don't really understand. Why would they be interested in doing anything to a man? The strap-on thing is to give each other pleasure, isn't it? Doing it to a man is quite the opposite."

"You'll find out," said Madam Seleet. "Now, let's see what we can do with you."

Peter squirmed and moaned in discomfort as Madam Seleet spent the next hour probing his backside with gloved fingers.

"Why?" he asked at least a dozen times. "What's the point of this? It's not giving you any pleasure, is it?"

"It's interesting," said Madam Seleet as she finally withdrew her fingers and threw the gloves into the rubbish bin. "Men behave so differently when I do this, and it's not at all unpleasant to feel your sphincter gripping at my fingers. Not everyone does that, you know. It's almost as if you were trying to hold on and stop my finger leaving you! How does it feel now?"

"It hurts," moaned Peter. "I want to go to my dormitory."

"Don't be silly," Madam Seleet told him. "We've hardly started. If your performance with that second snackle in the Figgitch match was anything to go by, you could do with some more practice. We're going to concentrate on two areas: bringing me to orgasm using only your mouth, and avoiding an orgasm however much stimulation I give you. We'll try some pain therapy for that. Don't look so worried. All you have to do is to avoid having an orgasm. I can happily play with you for hours and hours, but as soon as you orgasm you'll find a sharp electrical charge applied to your testicles. I think it will be uncomfortable enough to concentrate the mind!"

As Madam Seleet said, it concentrated Peter's mind. Even so, however much he tried, he was unable to avoid becoming excited when she manipulated him with her expert fingers and with her mouth. The inevitable orgasm followed, and with that came the excruciating pain that continued for more than a minute and felt as though it was hours of agony. She shook her head sadly each time and gave him a few minutes to recover before she sat firmly on his face and told him to lick and suck, bringing her legs together to cover him completely when he failed to make the effort she demanded. An hour later, she was coaxing his manhood to a full erection once more.

Peter was allowed to sleep, but only briefly. He was exhausted and aching when he saw Herniame in the Grindonner common room.

"Merry tried to get in to see you in the hospital too," Herniame told him, "But Madam Seleet wouldn't let her in either. Just as well, if you ask me. I don't trust her an inch."

"She's all right," said Peter, thinking of the night before the Figgitch match and wondering whether he should mention it to Herniame or Don.

"She's not," insisted Herniame. "She's dangerous, and I'm quite sure she's up to no good. I reckon it was her we heard talking to Scrape on the stairs."

"Talking to Scrape?" It took Peter a moment to remember. Certainly someone had been talking to Professor Scrape on the staircase to the Little Bustards Tower that day they had fled down the corridor onto the North Wing. Could it have been Merry? It seemed to Peter that the way Professor Scrape spoke he was talking to someone much older, and certainly not to a student. He thought he remembered the other voice saying something about giving a lecture, but he was not certain. Too much had happened since then.

"I'm sure it wasn't Merry," he said.

"We'll see," said Herniame ominously. "I'm trying to keep an eye on her, but she keeps disappearing."

"She vanishes?" asked Peter in surprise. "You mean she just disappears?"

"Not like that," said Herniame in a tone of voice that suggested she thought Peter was just being stupid. "I mean that unless I keep close to her all the time I can't find her. She's not in any of the places students usually go."

"Well neither are you," Peter pointed out. "You're always up in the Little Bustards Tower. Maybe she has somewhere like that she goes to."

"I've told you, you need to be careful of her," said Herniame obstinately.

"Maybe," Peter agreed, mainly because he was too tired to argue any more. "Whatever. I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted. I need some sleep."

"I nearly forgot to tell you," said Herniame as Peter was heading for the entrance to his dormitory. "We have to meet Professor Flit by the main entrance tomorrow straight after breakfast. She's taking us to Asfixi-by-Mooning."

"Right," Peter acknowledged. "I'll be there."

He went on up to the dormitory. It was, as he expected, completely empty. Few students spent Sunday afternoons in their dormitory, and now many of them were away from Fessewarts for the half term holiday. Peter wanted to do nothing except sleep. After a quick shower, he undressed and crawled thankfully into bed. He had forgotten about the nightmares.

It was not the same as his previous nightmares. He was worried; desperately worried. He was hurrying to meet someone, and instead of the solitary frustration of the sparsely furnished stone chamber the corridors, passages and staircases of Fessewarts rushed past him. Him? He was still a she, and he still hated it, only now Peter knew that it was not just he who hated it; it was the she that he became in these nightmares who hated it. It was as if not only was Peter caught up in this female body but also there was someone else, someone male who was forced to inhabit this female carcass and whose thoughts and feelings Peter was sharing.

"You're taking risks being here," said a voice.

She turned. The voice came from the shadows, but Peter had no doubt that it was Scrape.

"Risks?"

"It would never do to be showing too much interest in it."

"I'm not."

Scrape laughed, a deep, sarcastic laugh. "Why else would you be here?"

"Why are you here?"

"I would have thought that was obvious. I too have an interest in it. For me it is not a risk. I have a duty, and I am one of those responsible for its safekeeping. No one would question my presence here, but yours is quite a different matter. How would you have explained it if it had been Fumblebum who came out of the shadows instead of me?"

"You asked me to come here."

"I did not. I suggested we meet. I did not mention a time or a place."

Peter felt her confusion, and then her anger.

"You tricked me."

"I merely wanted to know whether your interests were the same as mine. I suggested, and that is all. Whatever was foremost in your mind did the rest. So now we know, don't we?"

There was a note of satisfaction in Scrape's voice as he spoke.

"You're very clever, Mr Hieronymus Scrape."

Professor Scrape stepped forward from the shadows and bowed slightly. "Thank you," he said, ignoring the obvious sarcasm. "And you, my dear professor, are also not without a degree of intelligence, I believe. We might make a formidable team."

"We might, Hieronymus. We might. If, that is, I could really be sure of where your loyalties lie."

Professor Scrape laughed again, and this time the sarcasm had gone from the laugh. To Peter it sounded nothing but pure evil.

"You know my history," he said. "Whatever face I choose to put on, I remain the same person I have always been. I think that should answer your questions. I will say no more."

"So when?"

"It may be difficult," said Professor Scrape. "A certain young female student has taken to using the stairs to that tower regularly."

"We will have to dispose of her. What is her name?"

Professor Scrape bowed again. "Indeed we will have to dispose of her," he said, "Indeed we will."

Peter awoke, trembling with fear and shouting Herniame's name at the top of his voice.

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 36 - Asfixi-by-Mooning

"You still look tired," Herniame told Peter at breakfast.

"I didn't sleep well," replied Peter. "I keep having nightmares."

"Did you tell Madam Seleet? She might have been able to give you something to help you sleep better."

Peter did not reply. He was busy with bacon and eggs, and not inclined to be distracted into thoughts of Madam Seleet at that particular moment.

"Hurry up," Don urged them both. "We have to meet Professor Flit in a few minutes."

When Peter, Don and Herniame left the main hall Freda and Samantha were already by the entrance. Instead of Professor Flit, Professor Mackafart was with them.

"I'll be taking you to the village," Professor Mackafart informed them. "Professor Flit is busy preparing a schedule of work for you. You're all going to be very busy this week, and it's your own fault. Still, it won't do any of you any harm."

"How are we getting to the village, Professor?" asked Peter, remembering the carriages that had brought them from the station in the village when they had first arrived.

"We walk," said Professor Mackafart firmly.

"But it's miles," protested Herniame. "I thought Professor Flit would have used the Flying Phalluses. Learning to handle them better is part of the extra work we all have to do."

"Aye," replied the professor, "She probably would. I'm not Professor Flit. Come on."

It was actually less than two miles from Fessewarts to the village, and there was more than enough to see en route to occupy the students' minds. None of them, not even Freda and Samantha who had been at Fessewarts for over a year but had always gone home for half term, had ever seen anything like the strange countryside around the university.

It was a still, cold, autumn morning, yet many of the trees appeared to be moving as though a stiff breeze was blowing. The road between Fessewarts and the village was little more than a dusty track, but the edges were free of weeds and overgrowing grass as though meticulously tended daily by a conscientious gardener. Stone walls lined the track, and it was these that particularly caught Peter's attention. Several times he turned, certain he had seen one of the stones move or change shape, but every time he looked directly at the wall there was nothing except perfectly ordinary rocks piled neatly on top of each other to form the solid boundary between the track and the fields.

They had been walking for fifteen minutes when Herniame, who happened to be in front of the others at that moment, stopped with a squeal and stared straight at a particularly large stone at the corner of one of the walls where a footpath led away towards a cottage.

"Professor!"

"Ah," said Professor Mackafart, approaching the wall. "Excellent."

"Good morning, Professor," said the large stone, closing one of the eyes that had appeared together with all the other facial features on its otherwise blank, solid surface. "Some tasty young ladies with you today, I see."

The stone put its grey tongue out between its darker grey lips in a suggestive manner. It winked again.

"Good morning to you," replied Professor Mackafart. "Behave yourself. We're not here for that."

"There's always time for that," commented the stone cheerfully. "Particularly for you and your special students."

"Not today," the professor told the stone. "Many people around today?"

"Only students," the stone informed her. "Not much activity about here at all these days, although I've seen a few phylaxes from the Ministry over the last week or two. Is there something happening?"

"What's a phylax?" Peter whispered to Don.

"They're like guards," Don whispered back. "There are loads of them guarding the Ministry in London. I saw them when my Dad took me there."

"We're just being careful," Professor Mackafart told the stone. "There's no point in taking chances. Let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary."

The stone appeared to nod in agreement, although it was physically impossible for it to move at all, wedged between the other stones as it was.

"What was that?" asked Herniame as they carried on walking towards the village.

"That was my friend, Rock," Professor Mackafart told her. "He's a useful source of information. He has connections all the way from Fessewarts to the village, and far over the rest of this area as well."

As they walked down the hill towards the village, there were more and more cottages to each side of the track. Some were only near-derelict shacks, although some were much larger and highly decorated with unseasonal displays of flowers in window boxes and from hanging baskets. A few of the inhabitants came out as they passed and greeted Professor Mackafart.

The village itself sprawled in the valley, the railway track winding away to the south between the high hills. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimneys of some of the houses, varying in colour from a normal shade of grey through red, blue, green and even a vivid pink. As they drew closer, they could see that the village was a hive of activity and it was not purely the students from Fessewarts who thronged the streets. Witches and wizards were everywhere, distinctive in their robes that really would have looked completely out of place even among the most bizarre of crowds in the non-wizarding world. What struck the students the most as they entered the village was the variety of dress. Distinctly wizardly as all of the clothes were, unlike the professors of Fessewarts these were not only in a variety of colours but also in a wide variety of styles, sizes and materials.

Don stared goggle-eyed at a young witch who walked purposefully across the main street in front of him. Her robe, or what there was of it, left her shoulders completely bare and scarcely contained her ample breasts with not much more than a thin strip of material over her chest and around her back, attached to an equally skimpy lower section by just a few black strings. The skirt section ended hardly below her hips in unmistakably witchlike ragged threads swinging as she walked to hide, occasionally, what were evidently the smallest panties either Don or Peter had ever nearly seen. Below that were the shiny black elasticated tops of orange mesh stockings, hidden from three inches above her knees downwards by long purple boots.

"Close your mouth, Don," Herniame told him. "Remember Wong Wei?"

"She's not...?" said Don in disbelief, closing his mouth but not averting his eyes.

"I've no idea," said Herniame. "She might be. I would have thought you'd have learned your lesson by now."

"She can't be," Don insisted.

"Right," said Professor Mackafart quickly, sensing the start of an argument. "We'll have some refreshment before we start on the serious business of the day. Follow me."

The professor led the way to a crooked cottage, larger than most of the buildings in the village with a painted sign swinging precariously in front of it proclaiming "The Firkin Seat" in bold letters.

"Good morning, Madam Rosebuns," said Professor Mackafart curtly.

"Good morning, Professor," replied Tittania Rosebuns, equally frostily. "It's not often we see you in here."

The Firking Seat, the larger of the two public houses in Asfixi-by-Mooning, was already busy. The darker corners were fully occupied by local residents, some eating and some with glasses of dark ale giving off coloured bubbles that rose as far as the low ceiling, merged and then burst with a dull pop from time to time. Most of the other tables were occupied by students from Fessewarts.

"We'll have trouble if they've started drinking this early," said Professor Mackafart, looking at all the students in dismay.

"I'll look after them," Tittania Rosebuns assured her.

"That's what worries me," said the professor.

"You're so negative," said Tittania. "I've taken on extra staff for the week. They all know it's half term, so there wasn't any shortage of volunteers. I think I've selected the best of them."

She waved one hand towards the bar where seven or eight witches working as waitresses were eagerly watching the drinking students.

"I hope you haven't put up the prices just because it's half term," said Professor Mackafart seriously.

"Of course not." Tittania looked shocked at the suggestion. "A pint of Hell's Brew is four Copper Pieces or ten minutes, the same as usual. A full breakfast is twelve CPs or thirty minutes. We don't have any profiteering here."

"What does she mean 'ten minutes' or 'thirty minutes'?" Peter whispered to Herniame as Professor Mackafart found an empty table and led them to it.

"I don't know," Herniame shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find out."

"I know," said Freda, "And so does Samantha. But we're not going to tell you. It will be more fun to let Don find out for himself. I bet he hasn't any money with him."

Despite its fearsome name, Hell's Brew was only mildly intoxicating. Their waitress, a rather plump girl not much older than Peter, smiled happily as she brought the drinks. Don swallowed his first glass in one gulp and ordered another, looking at their waitress as she went to and from the bar.

"Gosh," he said confidentially to Peter, trying to keep his voice low enough that Herniame would not hear him, "She'd be a bit much to have on top of you, wouldn't she?"

It was while Don was half way through his third glass of Hell's Brew that Professor Mackafart announced it was time they moved on.

"Where are we going next?" asked Herniame.

"The main purpose of our visit, of course," Professor Mackafart told her. "To buy spell crops for each of you, so that you will be able to help properly with the rebuilding of the Scratchenclaw dormitory."

"Right, let's go," said Don enthusiastically, and stood up suddenly. "Ooph. Umph," he said, and sat down just as suddenly. "I thought thish shtuff washn't very alcohot... alcotal.. alcapopple... erm... didn't get you dranken."

"It doesn't," said Professor Mackafart with one of her severest glares in Don's direction. "Not if you don't try and drink three pints of it in less than ten minutes. I hope you have enough money to pay for it."

Don gulped. "Oh. I thought you were paying?"

"Absolutely not." Professor Mackafart shook her head emphatically. "If you don't have enough then you'll be taking the ten minutes per pint, while the rest of us make a start on choosing the right spell crops."

"Ten minutes per pint, Professor?" asked Peter. "I really don't understand what it's all about."

"Weren't you listening when I was talking to Madam Rosebuns? Why do you think she found it so easy to employ extra staff during our half term? Had it not occurred to any of you how pleasant it can be for a woman to have a young, fit student underneath her? With so many of you students short of cash it's hardly a surprise Madam Rosebuns was able to pick and choose her temporary staff, and lucky for you, Mr Weenie. You would have been obliged to put up with some wizened old witch sitting on you for thirty minutes at any other time!"

"But..." Don looked in terror at the plump waitress. "Her? I'll be squashed?"

"You should have thought of that before you bought the drinks without having the money to pay for them. You can ask her if she'll let one of the other waitresses do it, naturally. It's her choice, and there will be plenty of others if she doesn't happen to want you. I may be wrong, but I'm fairly sure it would have been one of those two over there if it was one of your sisters or Herniame who decided to make that method of payment."

"Don't worry, Don," said Peter. "I have plenty of money. I'll pay for your drinks."

"You won't," said Tittania Rosebuns, appearing suddenly next to their table. "House rules. Each customer must pay for his or her own drinks with his or her own money."

"I'll give Don the money," said Peter, "Then it will be his own money."

"Not allowed," Tittania Rosebuns told him firmly. "Read the rules. They're quite specific."

She indicated a large notice on the wall by the door:

Rules of the House

No animals
No fighting
No duelling
No cursing
No gambling
No bartering or trading
No money transfers of any kind
No materialising or dematerialising
Vanilla practices prohibited
All customers must pay for their own purchases
Flying Phalluses must be parked outside



The plump waitress came over to their table as well.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asked helpfully.

"We'll have the bills, please," said Professor Mackafart.

"Certainly," the waitress replied. "How would you like to pay?"

"Cash, I believe." Professor Mackafart looked questioningly at Freda, Samantha, Herniame and Peter. All of them nodded hastily. "Except for this gentleman here who apparently prefers to take the thirty minutes he owes."

"That's absolutely excellent," said the waitress, her eyes shining. "I was hoping he might. One of my colleagues will bring your bills in a moment. I can't wait to get started."

Walking unsteadily, and not entirely because of the Hell's Brew, Don was led away between the plump waitress and Madam Rosebuns.

"He can find us later," said Professor Mackafart. "We'll see if we can choose suitable spell crops for the rest of you while we wait."

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 37 - Spell Crops

The village shop selling spell crops was up a tiny alleyway off the main street. The door was locked.

"Stand well away from the door," Professor Mackafart told them, "Don't bunch together. Madam Lasheem will want to identify all of you before she lets any of us in."

Puzzled, the students did as they were told. After a few minutes there was a loud click and the door swung inwards.

"Professor Mackafart!" Madam Lasheem greeted her enthusiastically as they entered the shop. "It's not often we see you this time of year. Surely these aren't graduates?"

Professor Mackafart shook her head as the door clicked shut behind them. "No," she said. "This group are a little different. Chancellor Fumblebum wants them all to have spell crops, and we need to take a little more care than usual to make absolutely certain we have the most appropriate for each of them. There's one more to come, when Madam Rosebuns' girls have finished with him."

"I can understand needing a spell crop for young Peter here," said Madam Lasheem, "But why for the others? They're not at risk too, are they?"

It startled Peter to hear that Madam Lasheem already knew his name, and it startled him even more to hear her talking about him being 'at risk'.

"Possibly," replied Professor Mackafart a little vaguely. "We prefer not to take chances. Anyway, we're here mostly because they need spell crops so that they can take an active role in a rebuilding project as a punishment."

"Of course you are," said Madam Lasheem, and winked. "Spell crops are just what you need. Shall we go to the back of the shop and test some of them?"

"If you're sure you aren't expecting any more customers," agreed Professor Mackafart. "Although one of us should stay here to let Don in when he arrives."

"We'll know when he arrives," said Madam Lasheem confidently. "I've increased security since you were here last. If anyone walks up the alleyway I'll know immediately, and if anyone tried to get in without my approval then they'll get a bit of a shock. You're safer in here than in the Ministry itself, or in Fessewarts for that matter. A whole army of phylaxes couldn't get in unless I wanted them to!"

"That's what the Mad Mistress of Mooning thought!" Professor Mackafart reminded her.

"That was a very long time ago," Madam Lasheem retorted. "And she had her mind on other matters. I don't have those distractions. I gave them up long ago."

She led them all through the shop and to the back. They stopped in front of a wide window of thick glass, and a solid iron door at the side of it.

"Spell-proof," said Madam Lasheem proudly. "The test range is on the other side."

Peter peered through the glass. The room on the other side was like a long, narrow warehouse with a low ceiling made of solid stone, as were the walls and floor. Near the far end Peter could just make out a number of figures standing facing them.

"Who's that down there?" he asked.

Madam Lasheem laughed. "Only dummies," she told him. "Animated mannequins, if I choose to animate them. You should see them fight back when they're challenged to a duel. Do you want to go first?"

"Um... perhaps you could show me what I need to do," Peter said nervously.

Madam Lasheem opened the iron door and handed a spell crop to Peter.

"Don't expect it to be a great success immediately," she said. "This is only one of my test crops. It will give me some idea of what sort of crop will be right for you. The dummies will rush towards you, and your job is simply to stop them by using the spell crop. It's not complicated. "

"Is there a particular incantation I should use?" asked Peter.

"Use your instinct," said Madam Lasheem. "The less you know the better the test results will be. Just remember that this is a proper spell crop, not the harmless little sticks you may have seen at Fessewarts. Off you go."

She pushed Peter through the doorway and slammed it shut behind him.

"Hey!" exclaimed Peter, startled. "Aren't you coming in here?"

He was talking to himself. None of the others could hear him now that the door was shut, but Madam Lasheem was explaining to the others.

"When he panics," she said, "There's a fair chance the spell crop will focus his fear and panic through it. Anyone near him will be in danger, so that's why we isolate anyone new to spell crops when they use them for the first time. Don't be misled. I know that some of you may have had some unauthorised use of spell crops at Fessewarts, but as I said to Peter these crops are not at all the same. Peter's wizard power will be focused and magnified a thousand times. Until he learns proper control, it will be very dangerous for anyone near him."

"Why should he panic?" asked Herniame.

"Watch," said Madam Lasheem. "It will start in a moment."

Peter had given up trying to make himself heard, and he could see that it was impossible to open the iron door from the inside. He turned and looked down the long stone room, his spell crop in his hand.

It was only a few seconds before the figures at the far end started to move. First, just one of them began to walk steadily towards Peter. He turned and looked questioningly at Madam Lasheem who made it quite clear with a gesture of the crop she was holding that Peter should use his spell crop to stop the mannequin.

He pointed the crop directly at the featureless figure coming towards him and concentrated all the magical force he could muster into the single word: STOP.

A stream of red sparks erupted from the end of Peter's crop. They hit the mannequin dead centre with a vivid orange flash followed by a series of yellow flashes. The mannequin stopped.

Peter turned in triumph to look at Madam Lasheem, Professor Mackafart and the others through the window. At that moment the mannequin exploded. Peter ducked, and was showered in dust and fragments even though it must still have been at least fifty feet away from him.

"You see," Madam Lasheem told them, "That was quite unnecessary. He had no idea how much power he was using. Watch what happens next."

The other mannequins reacted immediately. It was as if they were furious at the loss of their colleague. Although their faces were featureless, they raised their arms in aggressive, angry gestures and started to run towards Peter.

He saw them coming, and stood upright with the spell crop raised and ready. A swift wave of the crop left and right with the crop brought two of the mannequins to a staggering halt, but still there were at least ten of them now rapidly approaching him.

Peter raised the spell crop again, attempting to cover all the remaining mannequins in a single wild swipe of the crop in front of him. Bursts of red fire flew in all directions, rebounding from the stone ceiling, from the walls, from the floor and ricocheting around the room. Some struck the iron door and the thick glass window, exploding like little fireworks in red and yellow showers of tiny sparks that twinkled and shimmered before fading into a grey dust.

Again and again Peter lashed at the air with the spell crop, and again and again fire flew around the room. None of it struck the mannequins, each of which ducked and dodged every time any of it came near them. The more frantic Peter's attempts became, the further from the mannequins the bursts of red fire ended up, and finally the mannequins reached him.

Herniame, Freda and Samantha had a clear view of what happened next, Peter and the mannequins being only a few feet in front of them, separated by the solid window.

The first of the mannequins leapt on Peter, knocking him to the ground. His spell crop flew from his grasp. The others closed around him, pulling his robes from him as Peter struggled helplessly.

"They're made of a substance called Seelthril," said Madam Lasheem calmly. "I don't suppose you students have come across it yet, but it's a very strong, smooth, shiny material that is virtually indestructible by any normal physical forces."

Professor Mackafart raised a finger at Herniame warningly. Herniame understood at once and said nothing.

"I'll go in and rescue him in a moment," continued Madam Lasheem. "I always find this rather interesting to watch. Seelthril has quite an erotic feel to it. Most people find it highly arousing, whether it's made into a garment for them to wear or whether someone else touches them when they're wearing it."

Herniame's face had turned pink. No one noticed. They were too busy watching Peter.

As Madam Lasheem had said, Seelthril was a highly arousing material for many people, even for those who would not in the normal way have had a fetish for such smooth, shiny material. Its effect on Peter, now naked and at the mercy of the mannequins, was obvious.

"Oh dear," said Madam Lasheem. "I don't know why they always do that. I'm sure I never programmed it into their behaviour pattern."

While four of the mannequins held Peter's arms and legs, one had sat on his face and was squeezing his head between its Seelthril thighs. Another sat on the top of Peter's legs and had grasped his erection in its Seelthril hands, pressing it firmly to its Seelthril groin while it moved up and down repeatedly.

"I suppose I had better stop this before Peter suffocates," decided Madam Lasheem. She opened the door and waved her spell crop. The mannequins left Peter at once and retreated back towards the far end of the room. Peter sat up slowly.

"Shell we try again?" asked Madam Lasheem picking up the spell crop that had been thrown from Peter's grasp and handing him another one. "Put on your robes and try this crop. Remember: control the power you use, and remain calm. You should be able to stop them all before they are half way up the room, and without blasting them to pieces. Off you go."

Peter did rather better this time. None of the mannequins exploded when the fiery bolts from his spell crop hit them, but still he was unable to stop three of them reaching him. Ready for them, Peter ran. They chased him up and down the room as he dodged their outstretched Seelthril hands and sent ineffectual red blasts over his shoulder with his crop. It was all made rather more difficult as his robes decided that attention from the Seelthril was highly desirable, and insisted on rolling up to his waist as he ran.

"Still not right," announced Madam Lasheem as she opened the door and brought the mannequins to a halt. "I think just maybe we'll have to try something very special for you. I had a feeling we might need to."

"Right," gasped Peter, out of breath as a result of his exertions. "I suppose you're going to tell me I need to have a spell crop that's the brother of the one you made for He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon?"

"Eh?" said Madam Lasheem in surprise. "He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon? Of course not. That would just be silly. All we need is a spell crop that has been properly tuned to your particular magical powers, that's all."

It took five visits to Madam Lasheem's workshop on the other side of the shop followed by a series of further tests by Peter before Madam Lasheem was satisfied she had found the correct spell crop for him and tuned it to his personality.

Finding crops for the girls proved far less troublesome, although the mannequins caught Herniame on her first attempt. Much to her embarrassment, she found herself completely naked with a mannequin pressing its Seelthril fingers deeply between her legs at the precise moment that Don turned up.

"You were a long time," said Herniame to Don once she was properly dressed once more and equipped with a suitable spell crop. "You must have been two hours at least. I thought it was ten minutes for each pint of Hell's Brew you had?"

"I was a bit dizzy," muttered Don. "I'm not quite sure what happened. It's all a bit of a blur. I think someone persuaded me to have another drink. I didn't mean to. Honest."

"You're hopeless," Herniame told him, with a sniff of contempt. "It looks like your face is bruised too. You thoroughly deserve it!"

"I've got an awful headache," said Don miserably. "You could at least have a bit of sympathy."

"No chance," said Herniame, completely unsympathetic.

It took another two hours to choose a spell crop for Don, mainly because he seemed quite unable to use any spell crop for anything at all. Even when, after five completely failures, Madam Lasheem halted the mannequins in the middle of the room and told Don to use his crop on the static targets, little more than a splutter of tiny stars erupted from the end of Don's crop and flew only a few yards in front of him before falling to the floor.

"We have to be going," announced Professor Mackafart. "I don't want to be walking back in the dark."

"It's quite safe," Madam Lasheem told her. "The village is full of the Ministry's phylaxes. If there was anyone here who shouldn't be, they would have picked it up at once."

"Which is why you keep your door locked?" enquired the professor.

"You can't be too careful," said Madam Lasheem, "Particularly in my business. Can you imagine what would happen if the mischief-makers got hold of my stock here?"

"Exactly," said Professor Mackafart. "You can't be too careful. We need to be going."

Don was equipped with a spell crop that Madam Lasheet described as "middle-of-the-road" and "safe for the average wizard", and they departed as soon as Professor Mackafart had instructed them on how best to conceal the crops in their robes. She stressed the importance of keeping them secret and avoiding awkward questions about why such young wizards and witches were equipped with spell crops. Outside the shop it was, as Professor Mackafart had feared, already beginning to get dark.

"Aren't we going to eat before we go back?" asked Don. "I'm absolutely starving."

"And just how are you going to pay for it, Mr Weenie?" asked Professor Mackafart. "I have no intention of spending the whole night here while you pay off your debts!"

"I suppose not," said Don miserably. "All right. Let's go. It's a long walk."

There was no sign of any Fessewarts students in the main street of the village as they made their way back towards the track leading to Fessewarts. Neither, as far as Peter could see when they passed The Firkin Seat and the small shops that lined the sides of the street, were there any students or anyone else in any of them.

"Where is everybody?" he asked. "Surely they haven't all gone back this early?"

"I have no idea," said Professor Mackafart, looking worried. "Something must have happened while we were in Madam Lasheem's. That's the trouble with her establishment. The security is so tight that you have no idea what is going on outside. Even a Witch Call would not reach you in there."

"What's a Witch Call?" asked Peter.

Herniame explained: "It's when there's danger about and the Ministry sends an immediate warning to every wizard and witch in the area. The history books say it hasn't been done for eighteen years, not since He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Sat-Upon was around. It can't be that."

"No," agreed Professor Mackafart. "It can't be that."

She did not seem to be too sure.

"Spell crops out," she said suddenly. "I don't like the feel of this."

[Susan Strict]

Chapter 38 - Witch Call


"Watch behind us, Peter," instructed Professor Mackafart. "Freda, watch the left, Samantha the right. Don and Herniame, up front with me. Stay close, all of you."

"What's going on, Professor?" asked Herniame.

"I'm not sure," said Professor Mackafart, looking nervously around them. "If there was something dangerous here then I would have expected to see the Ministry's phylaxes everywhere. At least twenty of them have been assigned to the village and twenty more for the area around Fessewarts. There's no one at all. We must hurry."

"Maybe," said Peter as he looked carefully all around behind them, his spell crop at the ready, "Something happened somewhere else and they all went to sort it out."

"Hurry," Professor Mackafart urged them again.

They saw no one as they left the village. The cottages at the sides of the track that led towards Fessewarts also appeared deserted; no lights visible in the windows, the doors shut, and those with shutters at the windows had them tightly closed. Even more bizarrely no smoke drifted from the chimneys, and that seemed particularly unusual at this time of year when the evenings quickly became cold.

Peter shivered. He felt cold already, although he knew very well that the robes he wore would keep him perfectly warm at temperatures far lower than it was at this moment. There was something cheerless and frightening about the countryside now, without the slightest glimmer of brightness from anywhere and the dark cottages and trees taking on a menacing appearance in the last gleam of daylight grey in the sky to the west.

"Can't we have some light, Professor?" he asked, his voice seeming unnaturally loud in the quietness. "The spell crops can work like torches, can't they?"

"They can," replied Professor Mackafart almost in a whisper. "I don't want to make us an easy target."

"An easy target for what?" demanded Herniame.

"For anything," the professor answered. "I'm not taking unnecessary chances. Keep moving."

It was a few minutes later when Peter's voice startled them all. "Professor! I think there's something moving in the trees behind us."

They all stopped, spell crops pointed towards the thicket of trees they had just passed at the side of the road. Professor Mackafart walked cautiously towards where Peter was pointing.

"There's nothing there."

"I'm sure I saw something."

"Definitely not. Perhaps it was a shadow, or maybe it was a tree moving. They do, you know."

"There's no breeze," Herniame pointed out. "Peter doesn't imagine things."

"You'll learn, Miss Grimwaite," said Professor Mackafart icily, "There are tree that do not require a breeze to make them move. I'm sure you have already been warned about the whipping willow."

Peter was far from sure that he was not imagining things. He knew all about the whipping willow in the grounds of Fessewarts as did they all, but he was quite sure it was not a tree moving that he had seen. It was far more likely that this had been his imagination.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said.

"Not at all, Mr Petter," said Professor Mackafart graciously. "Better safe than really sorry. Let us move on. Perhaps Rock can tell us what's happening. We must be very near him now."

"There's something in front of us," interrupted Herniame.

Professor Mackafart turned in exasperation. "I can't see anything," she said. "Another shadow."

"No," Herniame insisted, "There's something on the track in front of us. It's coming towards us. I'm absolutely certain."

Everyone looked. "I can see something too," said Samantha. "I think there's someone coming down the track."

"Spell crops away," ordered Professor Mackafart urgently. "But keep them where you can bring them out in a hurry. Keep quiet. If you have to speak then follow my lead."

"Professor Mackafart? What are you doing out with those students this time of the evening?"

Peter recognised the voice at once.

"Professor Scrape." Clearly Professor Mackafart recognised it too. There was a note of relief in her voice.

"Indeed. Are you lost?"

"Of course we're not lost. We were in the village on an errand for the Chancellor. It seems that everyone else has decided to go into hiding."

Professor Scrape walked calmly up to them. "Really, Windy," he said in a tone of a schoolmaster scolding a naughty pupil. "You should be more careful. If you were paying attention to what was happening around you then you would know that the phylaxes have imposed a curfew. It is now an offence to be out of doors after six pm within twenty miles of Fessewarts until further notice from the Ministry."

"But why?" asked Professor Mackafart.

"Did you not hear the Witch Call earlier?" asked Professor Scrape. "There was an attack on a group of students on their way back from the village. The phylaxes are chasing the perpetrators. I doubt whether they will catch them."

"Who was attacked? Was anyone hurt?"

"I think not," said Professor Scrape. "Three girls are being treated in the hospital. I understand that Madam Seleet is not overly concerned about them. I shall escort you back to Fessewarts."

"That will not be necessary, Professor Scrape," said Professor Mackafart a little stiffly. "We can manage perfectly well."

"Even so," replied Professor Scrape. "We wouldn't want anything unpleasant to happen to young Mr Petter, now would we? The Chancellor would be displeased."

At Professor Scrape's insistence, Professor Mackafart allowed him to return to the university with them. They passed the talking stone, but Professor Mackafart ignored it and the stone said nothing. Peter wondered whether Professor Scrape knew about the stone, and if there was any particular reason that Professor Mackafart did not want him to know.

Fessewarts chambers and passages were buzzing with activity when they arrived back. More than half of the students were away for half term, but all the staff were there as usual. The normal evening activities had been put to one side, and under the supervision of Chancellor Fumblebum and the professors the older post-graduates had organised regular patrols of the areas usually frequented by the students.

"This is ridiculous," muttered Professor Mackafart as she left Peter, Don, Herniame, Freda and Samantha by the painting of the Fat Facesitter. "Fessewarts is impregnable. There's no risk to anyone in here."

"What do you suppose Scrape was doing half way to the village?" Herniame asked Peter after the Fat Facesitter had let them into the Grindonner common room.

"I have no idea," said Peter. "And I really don't care."

"All right. No need to be like that," replied Herniame.

Peter did not answer. He was tired, and his mood had not been improved by the insistence of the Fat Facesitter that both Freda and Samantha sat on him for ten minutes.

"Shall we join one of the patrols?" asked Don. "Freda and Samantha have already gone out on one."

"You go if you want," Peter told him. "I'm staying here. You heard Mackafart. It's a waste of time."

He slumped into one of the armchairs, trying to decide whether to go straight to bed or to wait until after dinner. Hunger won, but he had an hour to wait. He did not want to go to sleep before he had eaten, and although he did not particularly feel like talking to anyone even that was not an option. Everyone had gone out on 'patrol'.

Feeling as though he was behaving rather uncharacteristically, more like Herniame than his own natural behaviour, Peter went to the bookcase at the side of the common room to find something to read. The choice was limited. Fessewarts library, of course, had thousands of books covering every subject, wizarding and non-wizarding, that anyone could possibly desire. Here, however, there were only perhaps a hundred books, and most of those were paperback novels that students had brought with them.

Peter looked briefly at several of the paperbacks and discarded them. The stories looked far less exciting than the reality he had experienced so far at Fessewarts, and had little appeal for him. There was just one serious book on the shelves, The History of Fessewarts (Vol. 1). Not overly filled with enthusiasm, Peter took it down, sat in the chair, and started to read. The first few chapters were concerned mostly with the Mad Mistress of Mooning who had originally built the castle of Fessewarts.

Merry Mooning, read Peter, startled already, was always considered an odd child by her parents and by everyone who met her. There is some conflict in the historical records, but there can be little doubt that Merry Mooning discovered both her powers and her desires at a very early age. By the time she was eighteen there was little doubt in her mind of her own particular sexuality and of her overriding determination to achieve her aims at any cost. Her upbringing in the depths of the Mooning Hills had given her little contact with other members of society, a society that was in those days far more male dominated than we have today. This lack of experience, however, did not deter the young Miss Mooning. Years spent in the hills that we now know are the nucleus of the elemental shafts of power and from where the lines of force radiate throughout our world, had given her an understanding of the primordial magic as deep and possibly deeper than anyone before or since. Thus armed, she set out to build a base from which she could start to satisfy her desires that were both sexual and dominant and which, to some extent at least, still form the basis of our society today.
Merry Mooning located a particular point of power in what is now the village of Asfixi-by-Mooning. From here, apparently alone and unaided, she mined deeply into the rock to extract the raw material she needed. Out of this she made the first of her spell crops, basing the design on a simple riding crop that, being a keen rider herself, she saw as an expression of non-magical female power and representing control of a weaker creature over a far stronger one. This source of raw material still remains the best supply for spell crop construction known to the world, and the crops of the greatest witches and wizards have always been made in the workshops that have more recently been built over the entrance to Merry Mooning's original mineshaft.
Such was the power that Merry Mooning harnessed, she was able to start construction of Fessewarts Castle out of the elemental rock forming the Mooning Hills. The lake that now lies at the side of Fessewarts University is all that remains of her quarrying, filled with water over the centuries as the natural catchment for the rainfall on the hills, but whether or not this was her intention is not known.
By using elemental rock such as this, Merry Mooning was able to build defences into her castle that effectively prevented, and still prevent, any attack by the known forms of magic. She forgot, as will be described in later chapters, that this did not entirely protect inhabitants of the castle from intruders who could gain entry by purely physical means.
It was, and still is, impossible to materialise or to dematerialise within the walls of Fessewarts. It was, and still is, impossible to damage or to destroy any of the original stones that today form the central structure of the buildings and the four Houses of the University.

Peter stopped. He read the last paragraph again, and then a third time to make sure he had read it properly. It is impossible to damage or destroy the stones that form the four Houses of the University.

Perhaps the book was wrong. Perhaps there was more to it, and perhaps there would be more information further on in the book. It could not be correct, because the wall of the Scratchenclaw dormitory had been comprehensively destroyed, and that, quite simply, was why Peter and the others were being punished this week.

Peter continued reading, anxious to know more. It was only when the common room started to become noisy as it filled with boisterous students that he realised he had missed dinner. Miserably, he went to bed.

The nightmares started not long after Peter fell asleep. Right from the beginning he was terrified without knowing the cause of his fear, a desperate urge to fight against everything and everyone around him, and a hatred without reason. He wanted to scream, but most frightening of all he wanted to kill.

"Peter."

The voice was gentle, and it reached into his nightmare as if to call him back.

"Peter."

It was louder this time, pulling him from the nightmare into the dark Grindonner dormitory.

"Peter!"

"Quiet! You'll wake everyone."

"No I won't," Merry said without lowering her voice at all. "I used an incantation. None of them will wake up until morning."

She slid into his bed beside him, her warm, naked body soft against him.

"You can sleep now," she said as she cuddled up to him. "Nothing can hurt you now that I'm here."