Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Crap! #2	By : blastendedskrewt Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32233 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Harry Potter's universe and make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Author’s Notes and Warnings:

Thanks for all the brave, kind souls that rated and reviewed! I appreciate them all!

I understand the content of this particular series isn’t easy to talk about or admit you read it, but it was great to see a glimpse of some of the reactions I’m pretty sure are going on out there in HP-cyber-scat-land (if the rising hit number reflects people actually making it through to the end of each chapter). Much love to the reviewer that commented that the “Babied!” chapter ‘really made them think’-- As a lowly fanfic writer, that’s the highest compliment I can think of! :)

Same warnings of squickiness apply!

)*(

Showered! (Boyfriends and Enemas)

Draco was really cute when his body was readying itself to take a crap, Harry decided. The untidy-haired brunet shook his head in bemusement as he watched the blond across their dining table. Was his boyfriend even aware that his inner physical state showed on his artistically chiseled aristocratic features? Sure, it was extremely subtle and true to Slytherin form, but did he know how the furrow between his finely arched brows infinitesimally deepened? Or how the corners of his mouth turned down a fraction, twitched and then his lips pursed into a thin line? And how his nostrils flared just a tiny bit?

Harry prided himself on his ability to read delicate nuances in facial musculature; he could sense the emotions that played out across the various unconsciously displayed configurations. He was adept at discovering what a person’s eyes couldn’t help but betray. A person’s body language, no matter how hidden or placid, broadcasted information to him as if they had screamed it under the influence of Veritaserum. He’d excelled in Auror training in that area, seeing things that others missed entirely.

He owed his adroitness to his past with the Dursleys and Dudley’s gang of bullies (mainly as a survival tactic, to be able to discern how much trouble he was in) and later, being the focus of the whole Wizarding world’s attention in general. He’d always had to carefully perceive, interpret and react to any minute shift in dynamics in his interactions with other people-- friends and enemies alike-- much like someone who studies animal behaviour would have to be non-verbally in tune with gauging another being’s thoughts, feelings and intentions in order to successfully navigate social interactions.

He smiled fondly at the blond’s next to last “tell” that heralded the imminence of his daily dump: The slender, pale fingers gripped his section of the Daily Prophet slightly harder, faintly kneading the pages in rhythmic flutters, and his other immaculately manicured hand went briefly and daintily to touch his waistline as his head dipped in an almost imperceptible incline to the left. The time was close. (Harry’s prick twitched and began to swell in his excitement.)

Normally, Harry wasn’t still around during the weekdays since he had to be on duty earlier than Draco (therefore, sadly, missing the grand finale to his lover’s morning routine). But on the weekends, they always shared a large and leisurely breakfast so Harry had a front row seat to observe his habits. They’d been living together for long enough now that Harry had been able to determine that it happened with astonishing regularity; the sequence of events never varied, but the length of time it took did.

Today was quicker than usual. Draco was only half way through his second cup of tea and hadn’t even started on the crossword puzzle when the culminating signal fell into place: The adorable split-second nose-scrunch! (Harry’s erection filled its final fraction.)

The newspaper was gently put down and Draco quietly rose from his seat, heading down the hall to the loo. In the instances which he needed to go ‘pinch a loaf’, he never failed to leave the room as unobtrusively as possible—and it was the only time he didn’t disclose his plans or motivations about his departure. Indeed, the absence of his demand for acknowledgment was most revealing of all.

This time, however, his graceful and mute exit was stealthily mirrored by a sneaky law enforcement agent that knew spells to ensure a silent pursuit. Harry told himself he was allowed impinge on Draco’s privacy with impunity right now and felt entirely entitled since last time they played the blond had seen to it that he’d obliterated Harry’s choice. Not that he was offended or angry about it now, but he was curious and aroused by what his boyfriend was about to release (as he himself had had to get up twice in the night to spew forth some nasty-assed shit).

Draco didn’t know Harry was so privy to his biological schedule and was therefore not expecting the warm, muscled torso to slip alongside him while he made to close and lock himself inside the bathroom. “Harry!” the startled blond jumped and accidently let out a squeaky fart in his surprise. “You--! I--!” he stuttered, doing a great impression of a goldfish, then found a thought to voice, “I-I’m busy!”

The nervous blond blushed beet-red when the smell of his vile flatulence permeated the room and Harry took a deep sniff; he feebly nudged the interloper towards the door. The Auror resisted and warded them both within. “You’re not ‘busy’ now… But you will be… soon,” he growled.

Draco thought that pronouncement sounded very ominous, as were the sensations of the Indian take-away from last evening burning in his bowels. And judging from the humid heat he felt scorch his anus from his tiny wisp of gas (which stunk very strongly and very badly for such a small amount), he knew that the entire load he was about to unleash was going to be quite unpleasant.

He needed his lover to leave… NOW! “Harry,” he began in a whining tone and begged with pleading eyes, “please!”

The floundering blond could tell his poo was roughly the consistency of a sticky paste and the process of expelling it would be long and arduous; not having the advantage of solidity for his muscles to push against or a loose watery-ness that would simply drain itself with ease, he had resigned himself to being in it for the long haul. (In fact, had he been alone in the house he would have brought the paper with him to help pass the time—but unfortunately he wasn’t alone today and the act of taking reading material to the toilet was far too crass and common for him to have anybody witness it, even Harry.)

“Now is not the time…” Draco stammered, “this is… going to be… rather revolting. And you need to go away,” he implored, not confident that Harry would comply but trying his luck anyway.

He was not at all heartened when he saw the mischievous glint in those green irises and the determination made obvious by the amused quirk of his plump lips. Suddenly, Harry’s presence seemed to fill the entire room as he snarled sexily, “Oh… I don’t know. I think it may be the perfect time.” Draco gave a desperate whimper when it became clear that his boyfriend had an agenda and would be unrelenting.

Damn it! He’d left his wand in the kitchen (he really needed to carry it at all times, especially after he’d ‘one-upped’ his lover during their last scat-based encounter!). And now he acutely realized that Harry was clutching his own holly-made “weapon” in his meaty, calloused palm while he was unarmed. The other masculine hand was brushing the hair from his forehead and then smoothed down his bloated side to roughly grasp one of his buttocks—intentionally or unintentionally, he wasn’t sure—effectively spreading his cheeks and threatening to pull open his hole, possibly letting slip something much more horrible than just gas.

“Baby…” he emphatically whined, but allowed himself to be steered to the bathtub in defeat none-the-less. It appeared that his boyfriend wanted to make this an “enema day” since this was where they played out that particular scenario (the only one they’d really experimented with, in re-creation of their first two times, before the episode of Harry’s constipation that started them on this path that brought out all their old rivalry).

He supposed he could deal with That. It was familiar and it would actually help him clean out his colon quite nicely. If That was what his beloved really desired, he’d grit his teeth and acquiesce.

But he just had to make sure and warn him. He glanced over his shoulder, “Are you sure about this? It’s not like usual. This is going to be well and truly repulsive, Babe.” Harry smiled with a sneer at his new nickname; Draco had sometimes been calling him ‘baby’ or ‘babe’ ever since the diaper-wearing weekend.

The brunet had been embarrassed by the moniker at first, but it had grown on him and now accepted that it conveyed his boyfriend’s protectiveness and love. (Although, he wasn’t so sure he liked hearing it in public. Hermione had given him a funny look last Wednesday when Draco said the term of endearment during their dinner get-together. It made him paranoid that she might suspect something, especially since it would be so like her to check Draco’s browsing history after he’d done that research on her computer about AB/DL-- and so like Draco to not know how to delete it.)

Harry stepped in over the edge of the tub after him, drew the curtain and whispered huskily in his ear, “I’m your ‘baby’, now am I? Calling me sweet things isn’t going to change my mind…” He was rewarded with a shiver up Draco’s spine as his hot breath caressed the sensitive lobe. “And the messier, the better…” he added, tonguing the ridges of the shell and making obscene licky-wet sounds that resounded loudly in the amplified acoustics of the tiled room.

The Healer shuddered as Harry began peeling away his robes and leaned into the mouth that was stimulating him into partial tumescence. The moist exhalations in his ear (all heat and smelling of bacon and coffee), coupled with the ache in his guts, caused his freshly-bared skin to break out in goose-bumps and the fine hairs on his arms and neck to rise.

His body went rigid when he had to hold back another fart and was about to remind Harry to do ‘Rhinal Anasentsia’ when he heard a chuckle and the spell cast. Safe now, he promptly burped out of his butt-hole. He reconciled his hesitance in his mind when he felt the hard length press against the back of his upper thigh (when had Harry gotten naked?) and realized the impending shituation was making his lover quite randy.

Draco went to twist on the taps for the shower but his hands were batted away and firmly placed on the waterproof wall. Well, this was… different. He looked back in puzzlement.

“I want the only wetness I feel to come from you,” Harry purred seductively and traced a hand up and down along his lover’s crack. Draco squirmed a bit, both in anticipation of pleasure and at the terrible notion that without the running water continuously rinsing over them it would increase the level of dirtiness exponentially; he moaned when a lubed finger teased around his clenched sphincter. He hardened fully at the gentle touch but gasped in horror when he felt his ring breached and the probing digit dove straight into the manky muck up his bum.

The blond gave a full-bodied flinch that Harry could feel all the way to his clenched inner walls. Harry swirled his finger in the soft, doughy crap that filled his boyfriend’s passage—it felt like chunky peanut butter, he thought, a mélange of gummy goop interspersed with various clots and crumbs of tough, fibrous, half-masticated bits.

They both groaned-- one in humiliation, the other in libidinous awe. The lustful brunet thrust in and out a couple times, careful to tantalizingly brush his prostate, and then withdrew to replace it with his wand-tip. The blond braced himself for the usual ‘Augamenti’ that would now be filling his lower alimentary canal with water but was surprised by a new twist in the game yet again.

He wasn’t sure exactly what the muttered incantation was, but it suddenly became clear that his digestive tract was being pumped full of liquid AND AIR! “Harry!” he squealed as his knuckles whitened further, clutching the wall and scrabbling for purchase while his boyfriend inflated his innards with an influx of fluid and bubbles.

And it was so cold! It was one of the established rules of this game that the enema recipient had to hold it until the solution of water and whatever excrement present reached body temperature, therefore ensuring a decent combination of the two—and it would also appear more authentic, like real diarrhea to the enema administer. It was a point of pride for the spellee to be able to contain it until the last possible moment to ensure the speller’s pleasure (and his own).

But this time Harry had cast it downright icy! How was he supposed to hold it that long?! “Bloody hell, Potter!” he yelped and felt himself swell up like a balloon, the smooth muscles of his intestines recoiling and cringing from the frigid flood. When it reached his ileum he found his limit.

“Enough, enough!” the shocked blond cried as he pounded a fist on the tile. With the wand-induced liquid and vapor, plus the already large dump he was about to take, he was full to bursting with a putrid amalgam of disgusting matter. Draco felt a sheen of perspiration ooze out his pores. “What the fuck was that with the air?”

The Auror carefully slid his wand out and held a couple fingers over Draco’s anus. “Fake farts, Honey. To get the whole effect… You know how much I love it when you’re all loud and tooty.” He rubbed small circles over the tortured pucker that was quivering with effort to stay closed while his other hand soothed over his puffed, distended belly.

“Do you need to ‘putt-putt’, Darling?” he inquired lowly into Draco’s ear in a tone of mocking sweetness. Taking back some of his assertiveness he felt he’d lost when he’d been made to act like an infant, Harry reveled in his control over the present situation. For Draco, the overall pressure was mounting so being allowed to release some flatus before the rest heated up sounded wonderful. He fervently nodded his agreement.

“You have my permission,” the brunet magnanimously granted and Draco heaved a sigh of relief—which turned to a grumble of dismay at Harry’s next words-- “as long as no wetness escapes.”

Harry shot a cushioning charm on the porcelain beneath them and eased Draco down onto his elbows and knees, ass tipped upwards; the Healer was grateful as the position lessened the extreme urgency and partially neutralized the irresistible influence of gravity. He could feel the trapped air shifting. (It had the two of them panting-- for two very different reasons). The amorous Auror kissed and licked the taut tendons of Draco’s neck that were straining with his laudable attempt at keeping it all in as long as he could.

It wasn’t long until they both heard the unmistakable borborgymus rumbles of his colon’s contents as they churned-- fizzling and blending, spiraling through his body-- then a ‘bloop’ when several of the individual pockets of gas converged and merged into one large effervescent offering up against his oppressed opening.

“Oh… fuck…” Draco moaned. The blond was trying to figure out exactly how he could pull off a fart without there being some sort of spray, aerosol mist or drip; he couldn’t guarantee total dryness. His lover prodded a couple fingertips around the wrinkled flesh, pushing him past endurance. He hesitantly relaxed his ring a small bit hoping for a clean breaking of wind.

A hushed susurrant whistle met their ears (and Harry’s hard-on twitched, feeling it whisper through his fingers). Draco found himself victorious at keeping the moisture in, as it was heavier and hot air rises, but had to quickly clamp down again in emergency as the bottom of the bubble turned slurpy and started to rattle; it was as much as he could let loose before the swirling swamp within threatened to emerge. He winced when Harry smeared a small amount of fluid around his ass-lips— the integrity of his hole had been compromised and it was all the fault of his own physical weakness!

Draco wondered if there was to be some sort of punishment meted out for his failure with an explicit rule. He was surprised to hear an ‘Accio’ instead of an objection to his slight mistake and assumed Harry was just summoning the butt-plug they used on each other to help contain the enema’s slurry until it reached 37 degrees. But he did not feel the firm plastic tip that he was expecting— instead, he was being wiped off with what felt like a wad of greased toilet tissue.

Odd… Nice, but unusual. And then it was pressed harder against his pucker and the paper was being fed into his body!

He had no choice but to accept it as his traitorous entrance/exit yielded and swallowed the thin, slick material. The outraged blond was about to hurl invectives and remonstrations until he realized that it was actually aiding him in his quest to hold in his crap. He was about to voice his thanks when another lubricated bundle was methodically stuffed inside by nimble fingers. This was new…

His rectum was vacillating between accepting and rejecting… and he couldn’t be harder! It was like a cork, but he knew that soon it would be soaked and become just more of the volume of waste that was demanding freedom. He felt himself being moved into a more vertical pose, on his feet and leaning against the wall, just a shade beyond a 90 degree angle. And he could tell that there was still a distinct coolness to the mixture, not having achieved body temperature yet.

He wasn’t sure if he could hold out long enough, even in this position—he was just so ready. Ready for evacuation-- not being penetrated by Harry’s shaft!

As the unmistakable sensation of a lubed, blunt cockhead sunk in, he screeched, “Potter!,” believing the last shreds of his dignity were stripped away in his all-too girly scream that echoed in the acoustics of the bathroom and were amplified to the blond’s auditory sense. He supposed he was thankful to have such a thick width bunging his bog hole, but at the same time he could feel the mass shifting and begging for release. The fluid had evidently saturated the temporary shield of the lumps of loo-roll and was threatening the edges around the contrastingly hot, throbbing intrusion. He remained hopeful that all the swill would be stoppered within and he could wait until the appropriate moment.

But he was wrong. At first, the strained grunts escaping his lover appeased his sense of vanity and narcissism at still being regarded as unbelievably sexy and that his lover was simply trying to hold back on climaxing within seconds of burying his boner in him. When the wheezed inquiry of, “Do you want help with that? Get you up to heat faster?” and his tacit submission was met with rushes of more than the couple cc’s of come he expected; he was inundated by much more of a volume of molten-hot, yet thinner liquid.

He squealed. Harry was forcing out urine—through an erection, and with great effort-- to mix with all the other matter in his insides! Draco thought he was going to burst. In fact, there was already a boiling seepage happening around Harry’s prick, dripping down their legs. He could feel every slip and slide of it not being diluted by water from the shower. It was sloppy and disgusting… and titillating!

Harry paused a moment and then began an excruciatingly slow and long retraction of his length. Draco felt the hardness act like the suction of a plunger—each millimeter seemed to draw and pull all the muck in its path along with it, compelling it downward. When the over-eager mushroomed-head popped out, there was a gush of sewage that flew free. The disintegrating plug of pulpy tissue blasted forth first, hitting the black pubes hovering behind him with a squelch; the sodden glob of papery fibers slithered down the crease of Harry’s sac and thigh, landing at the bottom of the tub with a dull thud that was drowned out by the rest of the sputtering exploding out his back side.

In a flood of gas and slime, his gut-gravy showered uncontrollably in a froth that drenched his lover’s crotch (and everything else that lay in its undeniable course). Unbeknownst to him, the brunet was clasping the base of his boner in order not to come the second he was first coated; he positioned his erection under the onslaught of Draco’s bowels, letting the hot mess rain sensuously all over him. All Draco knew was utter and ultimate relief!

They both moaned—one with the satisfaction of sating the all-consuming pressure in his innards, the other at holding back his impending orgasm. Harry reveled in the blond’s loss of control and marveled in the ricocheted splatters, the sickly shrapnel bouncing off his body-- the drips he found on the walls and shower curtain, higher and more wide-spread than he thought naturally possible filled him with amazement.

And it was still coming. In agonizingly arousing convulsions, the Healer was pushing out pulse after pulse of squidgy sludge all over his groin. Harry wiggled his feet, mushing the silt in between his toes and rubbed reverent touches all over Draco’s body. He plowed back inside that twitching channel when the torrent was close to abating and screamed brokenly, “Oh god! I can’t… I have to… Come Draco! Now!” and ejaculated with a hoarse shout that dissolved into whimpers. Draco bore down with all his might and painted the tiles before him with opalescent streaks.

They wilted, knees no longer supporting their weight and Harry gripped Draco to his chest as he reclined against the back of the cushioned porcelain tub. Their combined ragged breaths sounded loud in the confines of their bath and shower stall. Harry turned on the spigots and they relished the warm water running over them. It took quite some time until they were both coherent.

Draco found his voice first. “I understand the pissing in me as revenge for last time, weird sensation that. And the stuffing—that was unexpected, but oddly erotic, but what was the deal with the air? What spell was that?”

“I told you-- I wanted you to be super-pressurized and gassy,” Harry replied, affectionately hugging and squishing his boyfriend’s stomach. He was rewarded with a wet, gurgling fart that left a faint trail of brown between those alabaster legs, decorated with pretty platinum-blond hairs Harry adored so much. He watched the stain drifting towards the drain in enraptured fascination over his lover’s shoulder. They both groaned. The brunet squeezed again and was delighted with the sharp staccato of another few, yet drier pops (but still accompanied by some amber-tinted ass-jelly). “I love the noises your devilish little derriere makes… Tootsie.”

The blond flailed wildly, narrowly missing bashing Harry’s nose in with his skull. Harry laughed at his boyfriend’s indignation, “Shut up, you call me ‘Baby’!”

“But… but… but…‘Baby’ is cute!” the ruffled Healer defended.

“And my ‘baby’s’ butt is cute, especially when it’s tooting.” Harry recriminated as if that settled the matter. Draco huffed, sincerely hoping ‘Tootsie’ (or any and all variants of ‘toot’) wouldn’t be a permanent new pet-name. “Anyway,” the Auror continued, “the spell was one I learned from Ollivander fourth year, at the ‘Weighing of the Wands’ ceremony before the Tri-wizard Tournament. And isn’t it carbon dioxide, not air that makes the carbonation in champagne?”

“Champagne?!” Draco screeched, completely appalled, (this time succeeding in clocking Harry squarely in the chin with the reflexive jerking of the back of his head). “You wasted perfectly good champagne by pumping it into my colon to mix with my shit?! Are you mad? Blasphemy!”

“Oh, come on. It was wand-conjured! How good could it be?” Harry asked, rubbing his jaw. “Besides, it was me that produced it and don’t I-- as you are so fond of pointing out-- ‘have a distinct lack of sophistication’?” Then, he half-pouted, “Besides, we’re celebrating today.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow, “I thought we were going out to dinner with Ron and Hermione this evening to applaud your Orders of Merlin.”

“Well, I wanted us to have our own, special party first.” The brunet purred and groped under Draco’s leg to rub his ring, reminding him of what they just did.

“I hate to be a ‘party-pooper’,” Draco replied—and with a grunt, the remaining slimy residue of the sparkling wine, crap, piss and semen that had descended and collected in his rectum was forced onto his lovers hand -- “but I think that’s the last of it.” He moved to stand and helped Harry up as well. “Let’s get clean.”

They lovingly, soothingly caressed and gently scrubbed each other’s skin until they were both thoroughly massaged in suds and immaculate, smelling of their favourite soap. Then the tender touches became more intense with renewed passion. They made love again—this time languidly, sweetly and profoundly, just like normal people do (and the slow, sensuous way they tended to do during the week). And then washed again to ready themselves for the day.

_)*(_

Draco ushered their friends in out of the rain and gentlemanly helped Hermione off with her cloak and hung it on the pegs by the back door. Shaking the water droplets out of his hair like a rambunctious Jack Russell Terrier, Ron triumphantly held up the soggy paper bag he clutched in his fist. “A toast before we head to the restaurant! I brought the bubbly—still ice-cold and ready to go! Let’s party!”

The blond blanched slightly but gracefully accepted the bottle (and successfully quashed the urge to roll his eyes in distaste at the hopelessly plebian and cheap label). Harry was having no such luck in hiding his emotions at his partner’s words and had to suddenly turn away; using the pretext of going to the cupboard to retrieve glasses to hide his face, he stumbled across the kitchen. The blond stiffened when he saw his lover’s shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

“Yes, I believe congratulations are in order for the dynamic duo,” Hermione fawned with big, vapid doe-eyes at her husband, oblivious to the reactions of the Healer and her best friend. “Oooo,” she gushed, “I’m going to enjoy this! I can’t even remember the last time I had champagne. Can you?” she asked the group at large, finally including the other couple in her sphere of attention.

Draco paled further as a small ‘meep’ sound squeaked from where Harry was gathering the crystal flutes; they were dangerously clinking together while he was trying to stifle his laughter. The tense blond’s grip tightened on the neck of the bottle-- he drew in one long breath through flared nostrils and reigned in his patience. Hermione looked sharply at her best friend, a bit confused by his behaviour and her eyes narrowed at the Healer’s subtly scowling countenance masked by politeness.

After firing one last glare at the quaking form of his boyfriend, Draco shunted aside his own tumultuous reaction and betrayed nothing; he affected the calmness of a consummate host and summoned the tray and set it on the table. Ron finished hanging up his traveling robe and turned to the blond. “Come now, Malfoy,” the boisterous redhead exclaimed, giving him a gauche clap on the shoulder. “Pop open the cork on that bad-boy and let it flow! I’m in the mood to celebrate!”

“Bah-HA-HA-HA!” burst out of the brunet; he sagged as his knees buckled. The stunned onlookers watched as he dropped to the floor in paroxysms of unrestrained guffaws, holding his sides and continued on in manic hysterics. Under Draco’s dismayed, yet cool gaze and tight mask of aloofness, Harry rolled on the floor rumpling his dress robes like a child.

Hermione suspiciously perused the scene with a shrewd eye-- first regarding Harry and then studied Draco—speculatively piecing together clues. The Healer could see the wheels and cogs falling into place. He was quite confident she would never in a million years guess the true extent of their sordid, salacious secrets but she was clever enough to figure out from the current atmosphere in the room that they had recently done something having to do with sex and champagne.

Ron looked perplexed and clueless and appealed to the blond questioningly, “Why is Harr--?” he started only to be cut off by a small kick in the foot by his wife. He completely missed the warning head-shake that accompanied it (in which the bright witch was trying to convey a ‘don’t ask, you don’t want to know’ message to her thick husband) and blundered on, “He’s mental! Has he already had some today?”

Harry gave another uncontrollable hoot and howl.

“Ah… yes, Ronald,” Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably and busied his hands by un-stoppering the bottle (sorely tempted to aim and shoot the cork at Harry). He summoned all his elitist Pure Blood poise-- bred and bullied into him since birth-- and ignored the giggling, jovially jiggling man on the lino. Unflappably acting for all the world that nothing was amiss, he poured out four measured portions and admitted dryly, “We did, in fact, both partake in a touch of champagne earlier.”

)*(

That’s it for that one—Hope you enjoyed it!

Disclaimer: I don’t know if champagne is safe to do in a full-on, held-in enema situation. I’ve never heard of it before (I just wanted a way for Draco to be ‘tooty’—ha-ha) but it occurred to me later that alcohol might/ would probably be absorbed into the bloodstream through the epithelial lining of intestines just as it would in a stomach. I think given the short amount of time Draco holds it, the small volume he’s injected with and the fact it’s diluted with “food” he wouldn’t get all that inebriated or poisoned. But, I can’t condone it since I don’t know if it would be dangerous or not. Muggles probably shouldn’t experiment with that particular liquid… or at least, I don’t want to be held accountable for implanting That squicky idea and setting it in motion in case it’s not all right.

*end ‘responsible’ rant*

~~ A few more to go, a couple bits more to come! ;P
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Crap! #2