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Second to Last	By : Prentice Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 8110 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor its characters and I do not make money from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Hog's Head Glory
- 2-Percy Weasley
- 1
- 2
Title: Second to Last
Author: Prentice
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: ADULT++
Warning: Anonymous sex and potentially unsafe sex practices.
Pairing: Multiple; each chapter contains a different character who will be on one side or the other of a gloryhole.
Author's Note: This was inspired by a Gloryhole prompt on the hpkinkmeme, which sadly seems to be dead. Please note that this is an ongoing fic that will never really be "finished" as each chapter is going to be about a different character either visiting a glory hole or "working" at it. Each chapter will be clearly labeled with which character(s) it'll be about just in case there's one you don't want to read. Feel free to request a character and/or pairing.
Summary: As far as secrets go, the second to last stall in the dingy and dimly lit gent’s room at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade could hardly, by anyone’s estimation, be called one.
As far as secrets go, the second to last stall in the dingy and dimly lit gent’s room at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade could hardly, by anyone’s estimation, be called one. Not in the traditional sense, in any case. After all, most of the fifth and sixth-year wizards at Hogwarts would reluctantly admit – if pressed – that they had learned about it well before their seventh year and had likewise shared it before then too.
Usually with their dormmates, who had either already heard it from one of their other friends or who had never heard it at all before and therefore needed to be told at least another half dozen times to truly believe it. Which wasn’t to say it was shared with everyone, of course. Fourth years and below were strictly forbidden from being told, lest they end up running their gob in front of the wrong sort of company and end up spoiling it for everyone.
Witches, too, were similarly excluded, if only because, as one wizard had rather emphatically pointed out years ago – well before said secret had become so widely shared amongst the male population of Hogwarts – that ‘it wouldn’t do them any good anyway, would it?’ and was subsequently used as the continued rationale for not sharing with any of their female year mates.
Thus, the secret had, by and large, stayed a secret for at least as long as it took for the next generation of fifth-and-sixth year wizards to learn about it. Or, in some cases, try it, as most upon learning of the secret found reason to visit the Hog’s Head at least once during their remaining school years and even beyond them, as none of them had ever really forgotten about it. And why should they, they’d often muse years later, it was as much a rite-of-passage as was riding their first broomstick or passing their seventh-year NEWTs.
Admittedly, it wasn’t the kind of rite-of-passage that they would necessarily share with just anyone. Their sons, perhaps. A few friends or coworkers, maybe. Possibly even their spouse too, depending on just what kind of witch or wizard they had shackled themselves to in the end but otherwise…
It wasn’t likely.
And that was perfectly fine by them.
This was especially true for the ones who still found a reason to frequent the establishment every now and again; the sawdust and sour-goat smell of the place always managing to somehow make them feel at once both delightfully virile and oddly nostalgic.
Sometimes it was admittedly more one than the other, as many of them couldn’t help but occasionally stop and reflect on their visit, but that was usually only if there was a queue.
Which had on occasion been known to happen. Mostly during the school year, when the fifth, sixth, and seventh years students were prowling around Hogsmeade, a steady stream of uniform-robed young wizards nervously hurrying in and out of Hog’s Head’s battered and rickety front door. Not that they were the only ones.
In fact, if anyone had bothered to pay attention – which they rarely did in view of the dodgy clientele that was frequently known to haunt the place – they would’ve noticed that there was a nearly constant flow of wizards of all ages and description going in-and-out the place almost year-round.
Whether this lack of attention was by design or by a craftily applied spell, no one really knew or in fact cared to find out since many of said wizards had very little desire for anyone to know or notice them. Be it by their wives, husbands, lovers, children, or, in some cases, political opponents. All or none of whom might’ve already known, depending on exactly where they went to school or who they’d shared confidences with over the years.
Regardless, most wizards had learned quickly that it was better to simply do their business and get on with it than risk the ire of the owner, Aberforth, or, worse, get caught in a queue. The former of which would invariably lead them to be kicked out the place and the latter of which would result in them having to wait, somewhat impatiently, until the second-to-last stall was unoccupied. Not an easy thing, considering there was no way of telling just how long that would be on any given day.
Sometimes, it was only a matter of minutes. Other times, it was decidedly longer. Not that many wizards begrudged their fellow wizard the time exactly – no one wanted to be rushed while having a good time, after all – but there were schedules to be adhered to, lunch breaks to be stuck to, and curfews to be followed.
Which wasn’t to mention the fact that the Hog’s Head loos honest-to-Merlin smelled. Not just of goats and sawdust, which permeated the air in the main areas of the inn and pub like a thick and pulpy soup, but also of body odor, stale piss, and something that could only vaguely be described as a ‘loo-smell’ that no one could ever really describe but immediately knew upon mentioning. Even with a liberally applied volley of cleaning charms and spells, it was hardly the place one wanted to linger.
Not unless one was in the second to last stall anyhow, and if one was…
Well, no wizard could exactly say the smelled improved in there, but at least they didn’t notice it as much. Or at all, depending on whoever it was occupying the very last and therefore most important stall in the gents. That no one knew – or quite possibly had ever known – just who it was occupying the stall was hardly surprising, since it, unlike the other stall, truly was a secret.
One that – despite some offhand speculation and locker room talk – somehow managed to stay a secret in every sense of the word.
Which was, again, as far as any wizard who visited the place was concerned, perfectly fine by them. Not just because it would avoid any potential awkwardness on their part, but also because most of them just didn’t want to know. It was easier for them that way.
Easier and much more exciting.
After all, they could imagine just about anyone being on the other side of that dingy and worn piece of carved wood that served as the divider between the two stalls. Be it a lover, a friend, a colleague, or even someone else far less likely. A Hogwart’s professor, perhaps; one of the stricter ones that the students often complained about, whose no-nonsense attitude belied the truly amazing cock-sucking skills they perfected almost daily in the darkest corner of the Hog’s Head’s gents.
Or maybe it was one of the students; a cock-hungry excitable young witch or wizard who sucked them down like they were starving and who probably touched themselves until they were wet and raw and sloppy with how good it felt.
Maybe it wasn’t even someone remotely related to Hogwarts.
Like one of those pureblood toffs, the ones who walked around with their nose in the air, pretty little pureblood wife or husband on their arm, so sure they were superior to everyone else when really, they got on their knees and sucked everyone down, spit and come dribbling down their chin at every opportunity.
Or maybe it was a mudblood, some dirty little cock-slut who licked and sucked and played with their balls, tongue flicking at their cock-slit, thirsty for every drop of come from their betters.
Perhaps it was…
Merlin, perhaps it was some famous or well-known wizard. A quidditch player maybe – or a politician. Some craggy faced old Wizengamot member who enjoyed serving the wizarding population in more than just the court room. Or maybe it was a junior member, a fresh-faced young thing who was high on their new position in the world and hungry for the touch of a wizard but afraid to jeopardize their standing.
It might even be an Auror, some highly-trained hit-wizard who was known for upholding the law but got off on the idea of breaking it, especially in some dank and dirty little out-of-the-way pub where no one would know they were the ones choking themselves on wizards’ cocks and moaning at how good it felt.
Or maybe it was…
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Second to Last