"And then," Lockhart said, "the three of us fucked for 7 hours straight."

Quirenius blinked. It was, admittedly, his first time in a gay bar (he had only just graduated from Hogwarts, after all, and even if there were gay bars in Hogsmeade, as the rumors said, students certainly weren't allowed there) but even so, he didn't think some of the things this Lockhart gent was saying were quite. Possible.

"Wonderful time we had, wonderful. And in the morning I just patted them on the heads and said, 'Boys, I'm awfully sorry, but I simply most move on. Now that I've slayed the Serpent of Sussex, there are other monsters awaiting death, other brave young men like yourselves in need of rescuing.' They took it hard, of course--no one ever likes to see me go--but in the end there was nothing for it. Not with vampires on the loose."

Quirenius smiled at that. He had read up on vampires, was absolutely *certain* he could slay them, was dying to meet one. "What did you do with the vampires, then?" he asked.

"Why, slept with them, of course. Oh, bartender, another Lesbos Island Snow, if you please. Simply marvelous in the sack, vampires. Nearly as good as I am, if I do say so myself." Lockhart smiled brilliantly. "And, er, what do you do?"

"I, um. Nothing, at the moment." Quirenius blushed. "Just graduated, you know. But some day, I want to teach at Hogwarts."

"Do you, dear boy? Wonderful, wonderful. It's good to set attainable goals, you know. I myself, of course, would never teach, but then, I'm always needed out in the field, you know. What do you plan on teaching?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Ahhhh, an intrepid young adventurer! I recognized your type immediately, Squirrel."

"Quirrell. Quirenius Quirrell."

"Just as I said. It is clear to me, young Squirrel, that you and I are of a kind."

"Are we?" Quirenius said. He was feeling decidedly less impressed with each repetition of "Squirrel" instead of his name.

"Oh yes. And that means there's only one thing for it." Lockhart drained his glass, carefully wiped the umbrella clean on his napkin, and pocketed it. "We must," he said, "have sex."

"Pardon me?"

"Sex," Lockhart said. Loudly. "You and me."

"I hardly think--"

"Now, now, my dear boy. I know, it's a bit intimidating for you, that someone as famous as *I* should lower myself, but really, a jaded and wise advisor is just what you need to help you on your quest."

"Um," Quirenius said.

"You don't want to die a virgin, my lad, do you?"

"Die?"

"No, we simply must fuck each other. At once, if possible."

"Get a room," the bartender said. He tossed Lockhart a key. "7 sickles, 3 knuts. And be out in an hour."

"Of course, of course," Lockhart said jovially, and passed him the money. "Come along, Beaver."

"Squirrel," Quirenius said as he was dragged upstairs. "I mean, *Quirrell*."

"Of course you do. Now, we must get you undressed." Lockhart waved his wand in an elaborate pattern. "Nudis!"

His robes turned violet with yellow snitches on them.

"A very tricky spell," Lockhart said. "Perhaps we'd better do this the Muggle way." He tackled Quirenius, pinning him to the bed, and started on his buttons.

"This is really--watch my leg--you don't--ow!--I never said--"

"You don't have to say anything, Badger. I can tell."

"Quirrell," Quirenius said.

"Yes, yes. Squirrel." Lockhart smiled, all of his teeth shining perfectly, and ducked his head.

"OW!" Quirenius bucked in surprise. "TEETH!"

"Sorry," came the muffled response.

From there it was all downhill.

A knee in his groin, a lubrication spell that drenched him in oil, noses bumping... it was a thoroughly forgettable experience. *Not* what he'd had in mind that night at all.

* * *

When he left in the morning (after paying a disgruntled bartender), Quirenius was certain something had happened--his body ached, and he didn't *think* he'd planned on spending the night at the bar, and when had his robes developed that particular (for lack of a better word) pattern? He was *certain* something had happened the night before. He just couldn't remember *what*.

He'd have to develop a better head for drinking if he wanted to ever get laid.