Bamic Street High

Chapter 7: Hang 'Em High

As History was the last class of the day, the Bamics didn't have much time to dwell on their impeding punishment before it would be thrust upon them with the force of a randy Bradfield's sweaty, smegma-encrusted cock. They walked down to dinner gloomily, and were so miserable that they didn't even shudder when one of the school ghosts flew straight through them.

Their first dinner was certainly an experience. The magical ceiling reflected the overcast Scottish sky outside as they took their places at one of the four tables stretching the length of the great hall. The Bamics had just started to tuck into their blood soup (geddit bcuz they r gpffik) when they heard a strange rumbling coming from the distance. They looked at each other with confusion. Was it thunder?

Their confusion was increased by what happened next. As they heard this sound, the older students all dropped their spoons and began to pound on the tables in a constant rhythm. When they had done this, they began chanting...

"COOOOOOOOOME... ON COME ON, COME ON COME ON, COME ON COME ON..."

Nothing could have prepared them for what happened next. With an almighty crash, an enormous motorcycle crashed through the window behind the top table and landed on the Slyther... sorry, Tory table, before skidding to a halt at the end. The front wheel had smacked into Draco Cameron's bowl of soup, splashing it all over his big twattish face. Everyone laughed, even Mr West, who had been eyeing up one of the fifth-years who looked a bit like his Heather.

As bizarre as it was to have a motorbike crash through their dinner, the Bamics were even more taken aback by the man riding it. He had a huge head of bushy black hair that even gave Lucy's a run for its money, and big bulging eyes surrounded by oodles and oodles of eyeliner and eyeshadow. He looked a bit like Gerard Way's grandad.

His clothes were even stranger- at least, the little clothes that he was wearing. On either shoulder he had big black glittery shoulderpads that jutted out several feet from his body, and his throbbing member was wrapped in a tight rubber g-string. Oh, what a delight!

"Hey kids!" he yelled to the now ecstatic crowd of pupils. "D'you wanna be in my gang?"

"YEEEEEEEEEEAH!!!!!" they screamed back, so loud that it knocked the bike backwards and sent it crashing into Draco, pinning him to the floor. He cried for help through a mouthful of blood, but no one was listening; no one would have cared anyway. Even Gove and Johnson were enthralled by this emo OAP, and Gove managed a pitiful erection in delight.

"Now remember what I told you?" the old man asked.

"DON'T TELL MUMMY!" came the reply.

He grinned and walked the length of the Tory table before taking his place at the top table, thudding down into his seat between Professor Wire and Hagrid, who was also there for some reason.

"Thank yew, Professor Glitter, thank yew," said Mr West with a chortle. "'E always knows how to make an entrance, so 'e does."

The Bamics had joined in the fun with gusto, but once it was over their minds quickly turned back to their impeding detention. They tried to drag their dinner out as long as possible, but it just couldn't last forever. Soon it was time to march sullenly down to the dungeon and whatever Professor Anderson had in store for them.

They entered without knocking, but they soon wished they had after seeing the vision that faced them. All the desks had been pushed together, and Bradfield was lying on top of them- completely naked! Even worse, his ankles had been handcuffed behind his head, leaving his vile anus on full display. If you've ever seen an octopus' mouth then you'll have a good idea of what it looked like. His pathetic one-incher, meanwhile, was held in a clamp with several wires coming out of it, which delivered a great electric shock every few seconds. As they did so, a disgusting greenish-brown fluid gushed out of his back passage. Bradfield seemed to like it, though, since each time it happened he sang with delight: "We don't wantsh to getsh drunk... we only wantsh to get our genitalsh shocked..."

Thankfully, at that moment Professor Anderson appeared. He quickly threw a nearby sheet over Bradfield's prostrate form, but it was no use- the damage was done, and the Bamics would spend many years of therapy trying to erase that gruesome image from their minds.

"I see you have arrived, you idiotic fools," snapped Anderson. His hair was greasier than ever due to the Vaseline that he had combed through it. The Bamics didn't know it, but if they had arrived just a minute later, they would have walked in on that head buried where the sun don't shine.

"Usually," Anderson went on, relishing the fear which so clearly gripped the group, "my detentions have a distinctly... sexual nature." At this, Olivia couldn't help but give out a moan of delight. Anderson glared at her and she shut up, but continued to queef furiously for the rest of their detention.

"Unfortunately, though, the headmaster had decided that as this is your first day at Bamic Street School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you should be broken in gently, as it were."

"Am already broken in enuff fer anything ye've got fer me, sir," Olivia replied.

"Indeed. As it stands, the uteral prodder will not be required tonight," Anderson uttered as he gestured towards a sinister looking device in the corner. "Instead, you shall be digging some holes over by the Forbidden Forest. Quite what the headmaster intends to use these for, I haven't the slightest idea, but I am, in this case overruled. Follow me."

For the next two hours, the Bamics were engaged in back-breaking work with a set of shovels, all under the piercing gaze of Professor Anderson. It wasn't how they would have wanted to spend the last few hours of their first day at Bamic Street, but even as they sweated over the holes they were digging, they were still glad they had found each other.

Finally, their detention was over, and they trudged back to the Gryffindor common room together. On the way they got a fright as they heard some strange moaning and rattling of chains, but a passing prefect reassured them that was just Mr Savile training for his next marathon. They slept well that night, and it was lucky that they did- the next day held events that they could little have imagined...