Who's My Daddy?-Chp2

CHAPTER 2: FLASHBACKS

Harry winced and blinked as the light from the window streamed into the room, making its début entrance as another new day. It took him quite a while to figure out where he was and what he was doing here, but in the end, everything in his mind was sorted out.

He turned to his right and saw a small crib beside him. He sat up slightly and took a peek at his son who was sleeping peacefully in his cozy blanket without any worry in his mind. Harry couldn't help smiling as he continued to stare at this little child who was born just last night. He couldn't even believe he had the strength to do so. The more bizarre thing is, he couldn't believe that he actually rode the broom all the way to St. Mungo without falling off due to the pain or his body weight.

The only thing that still puzzled him was: Who could the person that had played part of letting this child come to being be?

Harry had to admit, he had never lived a decent life, not since the resurrection of the Dark Lord Voldemort. After that long discussion with Prof. Albus Dumbledore about Voldemort, Sirius' death, him not being able to look at Harry face to face and his horrendous life that he was doomed to endure, Harry was never the same again. He often skipped classes, revealed proudly of his interest about his 'interests' in boys by flirting with them publicly, disregarding the rules more than he used to and making his way to change his reputation from The Boy Who Lived to The Boy Who Reeked. He even stopped going back to the Dursleys despite the fact that living there was the only thing that would keep him alive and slightly away from Voldemort's harm, well, not that the Dursleys care, anywho. Suprisingly, no matter how infamous he made himself to be, he always got away with a light sentence from the teachers. Never came a day when he receives a note saying that he was suspended or even canned from school or something. Probably it was Dumbledore's way of making up to him, but Harry wouldn't bother to buy it anymore. And just recently, he had indulged himself into something gay wizards would never do, not even for money: gay prostitution. He would fan out ads into Hogsmeade and Honeydukes secretly regarding of his 'services', and at night, would sneak out of schools through the secret passageway using the Marauders' Map and stand at dark alleys waiting for his customers, bargaining them with high prices and let them have their way with his body.

He had a weird way of doing it though. Every time he reached a dark alley, he made sure that no one had seen him coming and then blindfolded himself with a dark cloth. He did this so as no one would recognize him and that he wouldn't have to know who his clients are to make the job easier. He even used a cloaking spell to hide his lightning bolt scar just to prove his point. Many who did 'business' with him called him The Blind Lover. But still, there are quite a small number of clients who still recognized him even without the scar. He worried at first, but as time passed, he didn't want to bother anymore. But he still hid the scar and kept the blindfold, out of habit.

He had entertained many clients throughout his last 3 years in Hogwarts. Some were vulgar and rude, some were horny and 'energetic', others were quite decent and even had the heart to ask him if they hurt him. Some were outrageous to a point where SM was concerned and that they demanded him to remove his blindfold so that they could see the eyes of The Blind Lover, but Harry, through countless experiences, was able to handle this predicament. A slight Disarming Spell and a lightning speed flees was all it took. His experiences in running away from danger don't come without use, you know.

But among all his clients, 6 of them made a rather big impression on him, although some of them only did it with him once. 4 of them, his senses told him, were adults. The first one felt naughty and playful, with a slight Scottish slang, yet hesitant, as if it was his first time. Probably it was. It was like he had the urge to jump onto him and play with whatever was laid before him, and yet he wasn't sure whether he was doing it the right way or the right thing or not. But the most interesting thing about him was his inevitable sense of curiosity. He could tell that this client had no idea what to do or where to start and that he was actually filled with questions about what his body was all about. He could see his client asking questions in his mind: What is his liking? Where is his sensitive side? What can I do to make him have the kick? What can I do to give myself a kick? How does it feel like honing him? What satisfies the both of us? Harry had to laugh inwardly dealing with this client. Since the time the client took his hand and led him to the bed he could tell that this client was one heck of a weenie. In the end, it was Harry himself who guided him to give him endless ecstatic pleasure till the break of dawn.

His second client was quite special. He was dark and mysterious, like you'll never figure out what's going with his mind. His touch was rather cold when he took it and let him lead them to the bed, like something you just took out from the fridge. He even spoke in perfect English. Harry felt like he was taking English classes altogether. Like his mind, the client's movements were also unpredictable. He could never guess what was coming up next. First minute he would be aggressive, like trying to pick and taunt him or something, then the next minute he was soft and gentle without losing the pride and darkness. And then soon the cycle repeated itself again. It was like working with someone who couldn't make up his mind over which suited him the best, like he wasn't sure what to do with Harry and himself. And yet, despite the dark, mysterious attitude, he had an aura of majesty, as if he had everything he need to counter anything that blows his way, like a cold statue that is more than just stone. And surprisingly, his cold touches soothed him rather than chill him to the bone. It was a queer night which he was engulfed by the starry, thick night itself.

The third one felt rather vain. It was down right to business and no nonsense, judging by the commanding way he spoke to him and the tug of his hand. He seemed like someone who calls the shots and was mighty proud of himself. He had an air of vanity and pride that made him look like an exclusive human being. He could tell that this client had blonde hair by the silky touch of his hand when they made out. He was rather bossy and strong and was the master throughout the whole process. He was in control and he wouldn't take no for an answer. His movements, his grasps, his grips, his kisses and his thrusts; they were all so demanding. He was forceful, like someone trying to shove a cat through a pet door but won't budge coz it's too fat. It seemed like this client had some issues. Harry wanted to cry out loud in tears but somehow, there was something about this client that made him hold them back. There's no way he was going to fall apart in front of him. It was wild and thunderous, like a small yacht battling against the raging sea and thunder. Needless to say, the ordeal left him bleeding and bruised, which was quite rare during his line of 'services'.

The fourth client, who wasn't exactly a client, was more animal than human, maybe even literally. He remembered standing at the dark alley waiting for a client that night. He thought he was approached by someone when, out of nowhere, he was suddenly snatched by someone else in the mid-air. He soon found himself being carried away as the stranger sounded like he was leaping from one roof to another. He was shocked beyond words. When the breezy rush and the gut-flopping stopped, he felt himself being thrown onto something that felt like hay. The next thing he knew, he was ferociously attacked by the stranger. He was scratched and snapped at, with heavy breathing followed and grunts like an animal that just escaped from a zoo. Harry had to keep his arms over his head to keep the scratches from his face. He had enough from the lightning bolt scar already. Just when he thought he was done for, there was a pause all of a sudden then the next second, he was suddenly grasped on the throat by something razor sharp, like an alligator's jaw. Surprisingly and mercifully, that grasp didn't kill him. Then he was aggressively hustled and bedraggled like there was no tomorrow. The pain was almost unbearable. When everything finally slowed its pace, he was lathered with something wet and slippery all over his stinging body followed by a jingling bag of coins and disappearing footsteps. Harry had to lie down for almost 2 weeks after the ordeal.

The fifth one made a slightly larger impression on him. He had a soothing voice when he asked if he was of service and he had a gentle, silky touch with an air of kindness. There was no hurry and no rush as he was led to the bed. Of all his clients, his touch was the softest and most soothing in the world. Silk or satin rubbed across his skin wouldn't be smoother than this. Not only that, his voice was almost gentle and fatherly, like a father soothing his son with the kindest words he hadn't heard for such a long, long time. His caresses and hugs, his kisses and fondling were like never he had ever experienced. In fact, he never felt this kind of feeling ever. Even as they carried on with their love-making throughout the night, he was showered with butterfly kisses and comforting words, making his job that night not like a job at all, a real night of real love-making on pillars of cotton and rose petals and whispers of sweet nothings. Because of this client, for the first time in all his night services, Harry James Potter actually cried.

The last one was probably the biggest impression that had ever set in his mind. There was only one word to describe him: evil. The night he came was a cold, snowy night. It's cold and hellishly freezing, but someone's got to do business. When he thought he was going freeze to death in this cold, his hand was finally taken. There was something dark and sinister—and cold—about this hand that touched him, but business is business. He let him lead him to the nearest bed where he could get warm, but this client led him to some place further than he had expected. In fact, he had the feeling that he was being taken there by flight, and I'm not saying he rode the broom with his client. It was just a flying sensation to a place where it got kind of colder and slightly wet and dripping. As soon as the flying sensation stopped and he was on the softness of a bed, he felt a click of some chain bands on his wrists and ankles. Harry sighed as he realized that it was one of those SM customers, but it was further from what he had expected. Once he was claimed, he was in for more than just the torture of SM. His body felt as if it was on fire, slithering slowly through his skin, his flesh and finally through his bones. He felt his whole body temperature soared to a level not even the scar can inflict on him. It climbed in torturing pace from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. He felt like as if he was hit with the combination of the Crucatius Spell and the Avada Kedavra Curse and all other kinds of torture spells and curses ever existed in DADA. He tried to break free from the chains and from the excruciating heat but it was all in vain. The cold, clammy touch on him by his client slowly became fiery hot, burning through his skin and into his veins. He could hear his heavy breathing but so far he hadn't heard his client utter a single word. Harry couldn't hold it back, no matter how he tried. He let out scream after scream, begging to be let go. He pleaded for him to stop torturing him, to let him off for free, but still not only the ordeal continued, but at a quicker and sharper pace. He didn't know how long it took—and he must have passed out somehow, but once the torture was over, he found himself lying on the bed of the Gryffindor boys' room with bruises and scorch marks everywhere—worse than what was inflicted on him by his third and fourth client—from head to toe. Not only that, he awoke with a horribly massive headache, three bags filled with Galleons for him to spend and a scorching feeling in his abdomen…

"Oh, Harry, you have some visitors to see you."

Winnie's voice broke him out of his flashbacks. Winnie, the sweet midwife who had helped him went through with the birth and helped him with the afterbirth as well. She even gave him some painkilling potion when the process of his female parts disappeared painfully away after the afterbirth was removed. He was grateful for her ever since.

"Who's here?" Harry asked.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure who they are, coz I've received word from another nurse that they're on their way upstairs here," Winnie admitted sheepishly. "All I know is that they're people from your school and they're asking for you. You might know them once you see them. Shall I bring them here?"

Harry thought for a moment, then smiled and said, "Sure, why not?"

Winnie made an OK sign before walking away. As soon as Harry heard her footsteps disappeared out of earshot, he got off the bed as quick as his sore body would allow and started dressing into his robes. He grabbed his broomstick which was placed inside the closet and fashioned a sling over his shoulder to cradle his baby in.

"Come, Little Cookie. We have to leave now."