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hp_bunintheovenTitle: The Return of Laughter
Author/Artist:
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/George Weasley
Prompt: #S1
Summary: Only a few months after the war, Harry and George fall into bed together. George is still mourning and he isn't ready for a relationship. Then Harry discovers he's pregnant.
Word Count: 4800
Rating: Explicit
Warnings/Contains: drunk sex, mourning, grief, angst with a happy ending, one night stand, mpreg, unplanned pregnancy, smut, dirty talk
Notes: Thank you for reading <3
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The night was too warm, and Harry was too drunk. And also too randy.
He was up in the air on his broom, playing a bit of Catch the Snitch with George. The dark sky looked like blue velvet. Diamonds twinkled just above their heads.
He was going easy on George. For several reasons:
It was only a few months after the war.
Everyone still left a seat for Fred even though he never showed up.
George had never played as Seeker. He was used to swatting at things with a Bludger.
And Harry had the biggest crush on him.
Which was mental. Terribly, terribly mental.
Only a few months ago, Harry hadn’t even realised he was gay. And now he wanted to shag Ginny’s brother. Ron’s brother.
And George was straight. Very straight. Harry had seen him pick up girls.
Harry tried not to think about any of this as he shot through the sky. They’d cast a Glowing Charm on the Snitch. It looked like a rather big firefly buzzing about.
(Not that Harry had ever seen a firefly buzzing about in person. They looked rather cool in films, though.)
“Oi! This whole Seeker business is turning out to be a bit of a chore!” called George.
Harry turned around on his broom. “Hush, you! No whinging!”
There was a flash of George’s teeth as he grinned. “Remind me again what I will get if I win?”
“We never talked about what you’d get!”
“Hmm.”
Harry pretended to roll his eyes, and then sped away on his broom. Behind him, George laughed and sped after him.
They played a bit of cat and mouse for several minutes. Harry got the distinct impression that George was only interested in him, not the Snitch. It made Harry shiver.
Harry leaned forward, urging his broom to go faster. The world was hazy at the corners. The alcohol was getting to him.
Then he spotted the Snitch. Finally. And it didn’t look like a firefly. Not anymore. It looked like a beacon. A miniature sun. And Harry was going to catch it. He was going to win. Even though he’d decided to go easy on George. Even though George needed a win. He did, he did—
Harry reached out, his fingers brushing the trembling orb, and something heavy barrelled right into him.
He yelped and fell off his broom. He was tumbling toward the hard ground, the hot air stinging his face, and still, he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.
The landing should have hurt. A lot. Maybe even knocked him out. Maybe even killed him. But magic saved him. George’ magic.
Harry landed on what felt like a bed made of clouds. His head jostled a bit, his eyes fluttering, and when his vision cleared, George loomed over him, looking worried.
“Shit,” George said. “That was a close one.”
The world was still spinning. Falling off his broom had only made the alcohol thicken in his blood. He felt how quickly his heart was beating.
Smiling drunkenly, Harry hooked his arms around George’s neck. He just gazed up at him fondly.
George’s eyes widened. His breath stuttered. “Harry—?”
Harry, not thinking, leaned up and kissed him. The working part of his brain expected to be shoved away, but George didn’t do that. He made a choked little noise and kissed him back. Hungrily.
God, Harry thought, arching up, letting his mouth be devoured.
George kissed him and kissed him. Then he sat up quickly and teared at Harry’s clothes. Harry let himself be undressed. It was too arousing to stop him, even though the end result was him lying virtually naked in the grass, his jeans and underpants tangled around one leg.
“Oh, Harry,” George whispered, staring down at him. He trembled as he smoothed a hot palm down his side. He sounded earnest, his words holding an edge of intensity, and there wasn’t a joke in sight.
Harry bit his lip. “Yes,” he whispered back, even though a question hadn’t been asked. “Yes, yes.”
George tore down his own trousers and underpants, and then he tried to mount him. Without lube.
Harry yelped and grabbed his hips. “Ah—”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m not used to doing this with blokes, I forgot—”
George cast a sloppy Lube Spell. Suddenly, Harry was very wet.
Then George entered him. Luckily, Harry was used to penetration. George wasn’t a small man.
Harry made a soft murmuring moan. He arched as he was filled up. Trembling, George panted in his ear.
“Oh Merlin,” he gasped, his breath so very hot.
Harry clung to him. “Please. Oh, please—”
George captured his lips in a drunken, desperate kiss. They both tasted of alcohol. They both were shuddering from the pleasure.
“Yes,” Harry whispered against his lips.
“Oh, Harry.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Fuck. Harry.”
George sounded absolutely taken. His eyes were lidded as he stared down at Harry. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
“Please,” Harry whispered, squirming. “Fuck me.”
George watched him closely as he began to move. The intensity of his expression was intimidating. He was used to George laughing and playing pranks, not watching for every little expression on his face with dark, aroused eyes.
He sped up a little, utterly spearing Harry open. “You like that?” he whispered roughly.
“Yes!”
He sped up even more, causing Harry to rock back in the grass. Harry got a hand between them to wank himself.
“More. Harder.”
So George buried his face against his throat and gave it to him. He pounded him. Harry bit down on his sweaty shirt so he didn’t shout.
As it turned out, George was a bit of a talker as he shagged. All his words came out in a hot rush.
“Oh, Harry, oh, fuck, oh Merlin. I can’t believe—Fuck. You’re so hot. This is so hot. Oh, fuck. Your arse. Your perfect arse. So fucking tight. Fuck. You’re loving this, aren’t you? Oh, Harry. Harry. You’re so fucking perfect. Gorgeous. Look at you taking me. Such a good lad. Always been so good. Let me dirty you up, let me, let me—”
“GEORGE!” Harry cried out, unable to quiet himself.
Luckily, they were a bit away from the Burrow.
“Harry, Harry, I’m going to come—I’m going to fill you up—”
“George,” he gasped, on the cusp as well.
Then George did come, trembling, gasping, and Harry felt his release deep inside. It was a hot pulsing feeling. It tipped Harry over the edge. He was being filled up.
They shuddered together as they both orgasmed. They were also clinging to one another.
Harry didn’t think he’d ever felt such bliss.
When it was all over, Harry was so relaxed that he fell asleep. It was the alcohol that made him so drowsy. Also the brilliant shag.
But when he woke up, he discovered that he was alone. Alone but his pants and jeans were pulled up. Even buttoned. And he was cleaned. Nearly squeaky clean.
George had taken care of him and then fled.
*
Over the next week, Harry tried not to be too desperate. Too eager. Too anything.
He lived near the Burrow, in a small cottage by a gurgling stream. It was very warm in his cottage. Too warm. Especially when he let himself remember.
He was still attempting to figure things out, so he didn’t have a job, and he spent his days lounging about, thinking and thinking. He had no plans to return to Hogwarts.
Usually, it was the war that was on his mind, but now he could think of nothing but George Weasley.
And George hadn’t contacted him. Hadn’t stopped by for a chat. (Or another brilliant shag.)
Harry was doing his best not to think the worst, but it was rather difficult. He’s avoiding me because he regrets what happened. We were both drinking. Stupid, stupid. He’s straight, isn’t he? Merlin!
Then another weekend arrived, and Harry sighed and Disapparated, headed to the Burrow. George wasn’t going to keep him away from the Weasleys. He loved them too much for that. Especially Molly. Who else was going to help her bake her treacle tarts!
Everyone at the Burrow was in a drowsy mood, their Cooling Charms working overtime. A heat wave had captured the countryside.
When Harry strode into the lounge, he noticed that several Weasley brothers were there, and of course, his gaze snagged on George first.
And George didn’t look at him. He didn’t even raise his head to give Harry one of his mischievous smiles. Nothing.
Stomach plummeting, Harry accepted a glass of chilled pumpkin juice from Molly, and joined Ron on the settee.
“Good to see you, mate,” Ron said, then yawned widely.
Harry took a sip of his drink, hoping to hide his turmoil. He felt George’s presence like a black hole. It meant to pull him closer and closer until he was gobbled up.
“Sorry I didn’t come around this week,” Ron said. “Work’s been a nightmare.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. The customers were batshite. And George was in a mood.” Ron whispered the last bit.
Harry bit his lip. “Why?” His voice was equally low.
Ron shrugged. “Dunno. Sometimes he just gets like that. I think it’s because of Fre—Well. You get the idea.”
“Yeah.”
Harry sneaked George a glance and found him frowning deeply at the floor.
Sighing, Harry dragged his gaze back to Ron. “Up for a bit of Chess?”
Ron brightened. “Of course!”
They played for a few hours, and Harry was able to block out George. Well, sort of. He raised his head only a few times to seek him out. Each time, he found George alone, not talking, not smiling, and looking miserable. It made Harry ache for him. It also made him worry.
I didn’t do that to him, did I? Was shagging me that bad?
After their rather long match, Harry stood and stretched, then took himself off to the toilet. When he returned, he found the lounge nearly empty. Except for George.
“Where did everyone go?” he asked, approaching carefully.
George looked his way. “Oh, Mum prepared a late lunch outside. You should join them. Everybody loves her chicken sandwiches.”
Harry hesitated. “You’re not hungry?”
“Nope.” George stood. “And, actually, I was just leaving.”
George tried to slip past Harry, but Harry grabbed his arm. He felt a tremor go through George at the contact.
“Hey,” Harry said quietly.
George gave him a bland smile. His eyes were dull. “Yes? What’s the matter?”
Harry released him, turning cold on the inside. “I dunno. I just thought we should talk. About. You know.”
George laughed, but it was an empty sound. “There’s nothing to talk about. Just a bit of fun.”
Harry went ice, ice cold. He was surprised he didn’t turn into an icicle. “Oh.”
“Yes,” George said, then walked toward the door. “See you around, Harry.”
He didn’t respond, unable to move. He just watched George walk away.
*
About a month slipped by. Late summer rains chased away the heat. Harry spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione. Well, mostly Ron. Hermione was very busy with research about house-elves.
The time didn’t make George’s rejection any easier. It also didn’t make the memories go away. Harry found that he ached for George now. The shag had been just that good. And he missed George’s smiles. His laughter.
George seemed rather distant with everyone. Ron even noticed. Molly especially noticed.
The family said he was mourning. Yes, yes. That made sense. Of course it did. Harry just wished he could help him. Comfort him.
I bet a shag would lift his spirits, even if it were only temporary, he found himself thinking.
His thoughts were more than a bit ridiculous, he knew, but he was pining. A lot.
Then, one day, Harry woke up not feeling so great. His stomach churned sickly. The thought of food made him gag.
He Floo’ed Hermione, which was his habit when anything went wrong in his life.
Her bobbing head frowned at him. “Go to St Mungo’s,” she said. “It could be Fire Belly Fever. Or Wizard’s Worm. Or—”
Harry held up his face. “I already died once this year; please don’t make me think it will happen again.”
She flushed. “Sorry. Just distracted.”
“With your research?”
“Yep!”
Harry grinned as they fell into a conversation about all the good she planned to do for house-elves.
Later that day, Harry took himself to St Mungo’s. It was a rather awkward experience. A little old witch fainted in the waiting room when she discovered Harry Potter had graced her with his presence. As he was examined, the healers touched him as if he were fragile. Very, very fragile.
After running some tests, surprise sneaked into their expressions.
“What’s the matter with me?” Harry asked, thinking the worst, thinking his illness had something to do with Voldemort.
“You’re pregnant,” said one of the healers.
Harry blinked. “What? But—but—How is that possible?”
They looked at him in confusion. “Well, you see, sir, pregnancy happens when semen is ejaculated—”
He held up his hand. “Stop, please. I don’t mean that. I mean, um, I’m a boy, aren’t I? A man. I don’t even have a womb!”
“You have one now; your magic made you one.” The healer’s tone was bright.
He just gaped. “But—but—”
“Male pregnancy is rather common amongst wizards, sir.”
“I had no idea.”
One of the healers shook their head sadly. “And that is why they must bring sex education back to Hogwarts …”
He blushed deeply.
An hour later, he was back home in his cottage, his stomach still churning, his cupboard now filled with prescribed potions.
He was pacing his small lounge, sweating, wringing his hands. He needed to tell George about his pregnancy. Before the press got to it.
There had been too many people in the room, he thought, remembering the team of healers attending to him.
They had all seemed so eager to treat the Harry Potter.
Ugh.
He just hadn’t a clue how he would work up the courage to face George.
You can do this, he told himself. Just a few months ago, you defeated Voldemort. Telling George Weasley that you’re pregnant with his baby doesn’t even come close to that … Right?
*
The next day, Harry set out for George’s grand shop. He meant to surprise Ron with his favourite lunch (hamburgers and chips). And … he also meant to speak to George. In private.
The joke shop was bustling, even on a weekday. Harry, keeping his head lowered, squeezing around the crowds, located Ron behind the till.
Harry held up a greasy bag of food. “Have time for a bit of lunch?”
Ron looked as if he wanted to kiss Harry. “Yes!”
A few minutes later, they were stationed in the back of the shop, gobbling down their greasy burgers.
Ron sat at his rather messy desk. It was covered in shipment receipts and inventory lists.
“You look harassed, mate,” Harry said gently.
“I am!” Ron said through a bite of food. “The shop is always busy.”
“Are you still enjoying the work?”
Ron nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am. Rather so. Just don’t tell George.” He gave Harry a wink.
“Don’t tell me what?” George emerged from a door, coming in from presumably their experiment laboratory. He stiffened when he spotted Harry.
Harry raised a quivering hand. “Hi,” he said stupidly.
George blinked at him for a moment, then turned around and walked right back through the door.
“Um,” Ron said.
Harry stood, not thinking. He didn’t want to make a scene but he really needed to talk to George.
Harry started toward the door but Ron’s voice made him halt.
“Um, mate. Where are you going?”
“Sorry, I just need to talk to him … I’ll be right back …” Harry said this distantly, already reaching for the knob.
“Talk to who? My brother? Why?” Ron sounded very confused.
Harry, not really listening, went into the laboratory. It was magicked into a very large room with soaring ceilings and big, sunny windows. Cauldrons bubbled along the walls.
“Um. Hello?” Harry called.
No answer.
Harry walked and walked. There was a bit of noise coming from the back … as if someone was hammering a piece of metal …
Harry turned a corner and ran right into George. George tore off his goggles and set down the metal he’d been working with.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Harry said quickly.
“You shouldn't have come back here,” George said gruffly, not looking at him, his ears taking on a deep flush.
Harry closed the space between them. He stood right in front of George, not touching him but not letting him sneak away.
Finally, George raised his eyes to him. They were a beautiful blue and full of sadness. “You should leave.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Harry said, ignoring his own heartbreak.
George shook his head. “I’m rather busy. No time to talk. And—”
“You didn’t like it, did you?”
George stared at him. “What?”
“You didn’t like shagging me. You regret it. That’s why you’ve been hiding away—”
“I haven’t been hiding away.”
“Yes, you have. You’ve been distant. Ever since that night.”
George gulped visibly. His freckled face was taking on colour. Tremendous colour. Just like his ears. “I don’t want to talk about this, Harry.”
“And why not?”
“Because.”
Harry waited for a better explanation, not saying anything. He waited for entirely too long. “Well?”
Another shake of the head. Another visible gulp.
Harry threw his arms up. “Just say that you regret shagging me and I’ll leave!”
George now looked a bit angry. “I’m not going to say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not true.”
Harry heaved a big sigh of annoyance. “You’re not making a bit of sense.”
George straightened. “I didn’t ask you to come in here. And I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re being infuriating, you do realise?”
George gave him a dull look.
“Fine, I’ll leave,” Harry said, trying to maintain some dignity.
George didn’t react as he walked out. Ron was waiting for him, dumbfounded.
“What did you have to say to my brother?” Ron asked, frowning.
“Nothing, I reckon. I had something very important to say, but—Well. It turns out it’s best if he doesn’t know.”
Ron’s frown deepened. “That sounds bloody ominous.”
Sighing again, Harry scrubbed his face. “I’m not making sense, I know. None of this is really making sense. I should leave now, let you get back to work.” He paused, thinking. “But, um. Before I go. Will you help me do a bit of shopping?”
“Yes …” Ron said hesitantly.
*
Back at home, Harry spent more than a few hours pondering. Thinking. He wanted to do right by the baby he was now carrying. He wanted to be a good father. A steady father. One who made the right choices.
And the right choice was to tell George Weasley about his pregnancy. Even if the man was acting utterly loony.
Taking a deep breath, Harry wrote him an owl. It was short and straight to the point. Almost comically so.
G—
I’m pregnant.
—H
He sent off the owl, then went to take a shower. He hoped the hot water would help him relax.
Harry was getting dressed when someone pounded on his front door. His stomach gave a panicky lurch.
That must be him, Harry thought.
Drying his hair with a towel, he made his way to his door. On the other side stood George, very red in the face. His eyes were bulging.
“YOU’RE WHAT?”
Oh, now you want to talk, huh?
“Please come in,” Harry said, instead of being snarky.
George rushed inside. He paced Harry’s lounge, hands buried in his hair. “I fucked it all up,” he moaned, sounding as if he were in agony.
“You haven’t,” Harry said gently, keeping his distance.
George didn’t stop moving. “I knocked you up. You. Harry Potter! My brother’s best mate!”
“I don’t think it’s such a bad thing.”
“Of course it’s bad! What happened between us shouldn’t have happened! I was drunk. You were, too! I should have kept my hands off you, but I haven’t been myself, not since Fred—” He cut off.
Harry inched closer. “I’m mourning too, George. We all are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t build a happy family together.”
George shook his head, his feet hastening. He collided with Harry’s settee, but he just kept on moving. “Nobody’s fucked up like me. I don’t even laugh anymore. I think I’ve lost the ability. I’m not myself. How can I be myself without—without—”
“Oh, George,” Harry whispered, trying to find the words. “You will be yourself again. Just give it time. I feel myself healing, so—so I think you can, too.”
He finally stopped. He raised his gaze to Harry. Tears shone there. “I wouldn’t have shagged you if he’d still been alive. He would have stopped me. Set me right. Harry’s off-limits, he would have said. Think of Gin, think of Ron.”
Harry inched closer. “You were so happy that night, flying with me. You were smiling. Cracking jokes. Maybe even laughing. And I wanted you. I still want you.”
“You—you—what?”
Nodding, he drew even closer. “I had the biggest crush on you. Still do. That’s why I kissed you. It wasn’t because of the alcohol. It was because I like you. A lot.”
George blinked at him in shock. He gulped thickly before finding his words. “I had no idea.”
“Yes.” Harry gave him a gentle smile. “Now, please, will you have a seat? I’ll make us some tea.”
George slumped down onto the settee. He held his face, breathing hard. Harry hastened to his kitchen.
Harry made them tea, a little potion bottle on the counter. It was filled with a clear bubbly substance.
Back in his lounge, he set their tea things down. George still held his face.
“Here,” Harry said gently, offering him the warm cup.
George took it with trembling hands. He kept his gaze down as he sipped. “I still think you should be with someone better.”
“Well I don’t think that.”
“You are brilliant and I’m—Hahaha!”
Harry grinned. “You’re what?”
Confused, George swallowed and tried again. “I’m—HAHAHAHA!”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
George gasped and set down his cup. He held his throat. “You—you—HAHAHAHA!!”
Harry now laughed, too. His prank made him beam.
“You—Giggle Juice—HAHAHAAA—Damn you, Harry. HAHAAAA—My own product—”
“Yes, I bought some just today, after you threw me out of your shop.”
“I didn’t—!”
Harry still smiled. “That’s what it felt like.”
Groaning, George slumped forward and gave into his laughing fit. He laughed and laughed, and tears began to spill down his face.
Harry lowered to the floor between his legs. He ran his palms up and down his thighs soothingly. “You’re gorgeous, George. Especially when you laugh. And I want to have your baby. I do.”
“HAHAHAHA—You’re too good for—for—HAHAHAHA!!”
“No, George, I’m not. Don’t you want to be with me? I think you do. I remember what it was like between us that night … how good it was. Just think … It could always be like that …”
George continued to laugh, now clutching his stomach. He moaned between fits, tears dripping from the tip of his nose. It seemed as if he were releasing a lot of emotion.
Then Harry leaned in and opened his mouth to his clothed prick. It was soft but it gave an eager twitch at the contact.
“Harry,” George gasped, his hips bucking, his hands going to Harry’s head. “Oh, Harry, Harry—HAHAHAHA!!”
Laughing too, Harry sucked him through the fabric of his trousers. It was a treat to feel his fat prick thicken through the layers.
George moaned loudly. Then he choked and fell into another fit. Harry undid his trousers and eased everything down. Not hesitating, he took George into his mouth, sucking with relish.
“Oh, Merlin. Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh fuck.”
Harry wasn’t very experienced at sucking cock, but he was very enthusiastic. He sucked and sucked, bobbing his head a little, choking himself a little, as his hand worked a warm, flexing sac.
The Giggle Juice was wearing off, but slowly, and George started to moan and grunt more than laugh. The tears were drying on his face.
“I should be the one on my knees,” George whispered.
Harry released his very hard cock. He looked up at him with lidded eyes. “Will you fuck me? Like last time?”
“I don’t know if I deserve it …”
Harry raised up to kiss him. Thoroughly. George shuddered, probably at the taste of Harry’s mouth.
“Tell me you’ll be with me,” Harry whispered.
“Yes,” George said, equally as quiet. He was still shuddering.
“Be my boyfriend. The other father to my baby. Openly.”
“Yes, Harry, yes.”
He wiped away the last traces of tears. He kissed George softly. “You’re not too broken to be happy.”
This time, it was George who kissed Harry. And it was a deep kiss, with his arms wrapped around Harry, clinging to him.
A moment later, Harry found himself being dragged to his bedroom, where his cosy bed waited for them.
George shoved him down onto the quilt and crawled on top of him. He kissed him and kissed him, and Harry pulled at his clothes, wanting to feel his bare skin.
George got them undressed, hurriedly, knocking Harry’s glasses off in the process. Things turned blurry, but it didn’t matter, not when Harry felt George’s strong, hot body against his.
“I only feel like myself when I’m with you,” George whispered. “And—and it frightens me. Makes me feel guilty. I shouldn’t be happy, not yet, not yet—”
“Love, please. I need you, I need you—”
Moaning, George cast a Lube Spell, then entered Harry. The penetration was both perfect and too much. Harry clung to him, gasping.
George began to fuck him in slow, hard strokes. Harry arched and let his eyes roll back. The sensation was absolute bliss.
“I can’t believe you pranked me,” George growled.
Harry let out a hot chuckle. He smiled, even as George screwed into him deeper.
George went a bit faster, almost on his knees now. “Fuck, you take me so well. So fucking well. And I’m in your arse. Fuck, fuck …”
“PLEASE!”
Nodding as if in confirmation, George captured his lips in another kiss. He continued to kiss him as he really gave it to him. Their flesh smacked together.
“Please, please—Oh, God—”
George grunted as he thrust. “I can’t believe I put a baby in you. Me. But, fuck, I shouldn’t be surprised. Your arse is just that perfect—”
Harry cried out and arched. He came all over himself, squeezing around George tightly. He loved George’s dirty talk, he loved it, he loved it—
Crying out too, George emptied himself inside Harry. He kissed him as he did, shuddering all over, his thick prick throbbing so fucking deep.
“I love you,” Harry whispered, overcome. George groaned weakly and his hips snapped forward. The sweat was so very sticky between them. They had made such a mess.
It took them several minutes to calm down fully. George held Harry close, one hand on his stomach, the other caressing his hair, and they were unable to stop kissing.
George gave him a lazy, but bright smile. “I think it’s going to be okay.”
Harry grinned back. “I know it is.”
They sighed happily and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Author/Artist:
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/George Weasley
Prompt: #S1
Summary: Only a few months after the war, Harry and George fall into bed together. George is still mourning and he isn't ready for a relationship. Then Harry discovers he's pregnant.
Word Count: 4800
Rating: Explicit
Warnings/Contains: drunk sex, mourning, grief, angst with a happy ending, one night stand, mpreg, unplanned pregnancy, smut, dirty talk
Notes: Thank you for reading <3
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The night was too warm, and Harry was too drunk. And also too randy.
He was up in the air on his broom, playing a bit of Catch the Snitch with George. The dark sky looked like blue velvet. Diamonds twinkled just above their heads.
He was going easy on George. For several reasons:
It was only a few months after the war.
Everyone still left a seat for Fred even though he never showed up.
George had never played as Seeker. He was used to swatting at things with a Bludger.
And Harry had the biggest crush on him.
Which was mental. Terribly, terribly mental.
Only a few months ago, Harry hadn’t even realised he was gay. And now he wanted to shag Ginny’s brother. Ron’s brother.
And George was straight. Very straight. Harry had seen him pick up girls.
Harry tried not to think about any of this as he shot through the sky. They’d cast a Glowing Charm on the Snitch. It looked like a rather big firefly buzzing about.
(Not that Harry had ever seen a firefly buzzing about in person. They looked rather cool in films, though.)
“Oi! This whole Seeker business is turning out to be a bit of a chore!” called George.
Harry turned around on his broom. “Hush, you! No whinging!”
There was a flash of George’s teeth as he grinned. “Remind me again what I will get if I win?”
“We never talked about what you’d get!”
“Hmm.”
Harry pretended to roll his eyes, and then sped away on his broom. Behind him, George laughed and sped after him.
They played a bit of cat and mouse for several minutes. Harry got the distinct impression that George was only interested in him, not the Snitch. It made Harry shiver.
Harry leaned forward, urging his broom to go faster. The world was hazy at the corners. The alcohol was getting to him.
Then he spotted the Snitch. Finally. And it didn’t look like a firefly. Not anymore. It looked like a beacon. A miniature sun. And Harry was going to catch it. He was going to win. Even though he’d decided to go easy on George. Even though George needed a win. He did, he did—
Harry reached out, his fingers brushing the trembling orb, and something heavy barrelled right into him.
He yelped and fell off his broom. He was tumbling toward the hard ground, the hot air stinging his face, and still, he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.
The landing should have hurt. A lot. Maybe even knocked him out. Maybe even killed him. But magic saved him. George’ magic.
Harry landed on what felt like a bed made of clouds. His head jostled a bit, his eyes fluttering, and when his vision cleared, George loomed over him, looking worried.
“Shit,” George said. “That was a close one.”
The world was still spinning. Falling off his broom had only made the alcohol thicken in his blood. He felt how quickly his heart was beating.
Smiling drunkenly, Harry hooked his arms around George’s neck. He just gazed up at him fondly.
George’s eyes widened. His breath stuttered. “Harry—?”
Harry, not thinking, leaned up and kissed him. The working part of his brain expected to be shoved away, but George didn’t do that. He made a choked little noise and kissed him back. Hungrily.
God, Harry thought, arching up, letting his mouth be devoured.
George kissed him and kissed him. Then he sat up quickly and teared at Harry’s clothes. Harry let himself be undressed. It was too arousing to stop him, even though the end result was him lying virtually naked in the grass, his jeans and underpants tangled around one leg.
“Oh, Harry,” George whispered, staring down at him. He trembled as he smoothed a hot palm down his side. He sounded earnest, his words holding an edge of intensity, and there wasn’t a joke in sight.
Harry bit his lip. “Yes,” he whispered back, even though a question hadn’t been asked. “Yes, yes.”
George tore down his own trousers and underpants, and then he tried to mount him. Without lube.
Harry yelped and grabbed his hips. “Ah—”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m not used to doing this with blokes, I forgot—”
George cast a sloppy Lube Spell. Suddenly, Harry was very wet.
Then George entered him. Luckily, Harry was used to penetration. George wasn’t a small man.
Harry made a soft murmuring moan. He arched as he was filled up. Trembling, George panted in his ear.
“Oh Merlin,” he gasped, his breath so very hot.
Harry clung to him. “Please. Oh, please—”
George captured his lips in a drunken, desperate kiss. They both tasted of alcohol. They both were shuddering from the pleasure.
“Yes,” Harry whispered against his lips.
“Oh, Harry.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Fuck. Harry.”
George sounded absolutely taken. His eyes were lidded as he stared down at Harry. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
“Please,” Harry whispered, squirming. “Fuck me.”
George watched him closely as he began to move. The intensity of his expression was intimidating. He was used to George laughing and playing pranks, not watching for every little expression on his face with dark, aroused eyes.
He sped up a little, utterly spearing Harry open. “You like that?” he whispered roughly.
“Yes!”
He sped up even more, causing Harry to rock back in the grass. Harry got a hand between them to wank himself.
“More. Harder.”
So George buried his face against his throat and gave it to him. He pounded him. Harry bit down on his sweaty shirt so he didn’t shout.
As it turned out, George was a bit of a talker as he shagged. All his words came out in a hot rush.
“Oh, Harry, oh, fuck, oh Merlin. I can’t believe—Fuck. You’re so hot. This is so hot. Oh, fuck. Your arse. Your perfect arse. So fucking tight. Fuck. You’re loving this, aren’t you? Oh, Harry. Harry. You’re so fucking perfect. Gorgeous. Look at you taking me. Such a good lad. Always been so good. Let me dirty you up, let me, let me—”
“GEORGE!” Harry cried out, unable to quiet himself.
Luckily, they were a bit away from the Burrow.
“Harry, Harry, I’m going to come—I’m going to fill you up—”
“George,” he gasped, on the cusp as well.
Then George did come, trembling, gasping, and Harry felt his release deep inside. It was a hot pulsing feeling. It tipped Harry over the edge. He was being filled up.
They shuddered together as they both orgasmed. They were also clinging to one another.
Harry didn’t think he’d ever felt such bliss.
When it was all over, Harry was so relaxed that he fell asleep. It was the alcohol that made him so drowsy. Also the brilliant shag.
But when he woke up, he discovered that he was alone. Alone but his pants and jeans were pulled up. Even buttoned. And he was cleaned. Nearly squeaky clean.
George had taken care of him and then fled.
Over the next week, Harry tried not to be too desperate. Too eager. Too anything.
He lived near the Burrow, in a small cottage by a gurgling stream. It was very warm in his cottage. Too warm. Especially when he let himself remember.
He was still attempting to figure things out, so he didn’t have a job, and he spent his days lounging about, thinking and thinking. He had no plans to return to Hogwarts.
Usually, it was the war that was on his mind, but now he could think of nothing but George Weasley.
And George hadn’t contacted him. Hadn’t stopped by for a chat. (Or another brilliant shag.)
Harry was doing his best not to think the worst, but it was rather difficult. He’s avoiding me because he regrets what happened. We were both drinking. Stupid, stupid. He’s straight, isn’t he? Merlin!
Then another weekend arrived, and Harry sighed and Disapparated, headed to the Burrow. George wasn’t going to keep him away from the Weasleys. He loved them too much for that. Especially Molly. Who else was going to help her bake her treacle tarts!
Everyone at the Burrow was in a drowsy mood, their Cooling Charms working overtime. A heat wave had captured the countryside.
When Harry strode into the lounge, he noticed that several Weasley brothers were there, and of course, his gaze snagged on George first.
And George didn’t look at him. He didn’t even raise his head to give Harry one of his mischievous smiles. Nothing.
Stomach plummeting, Harry accepted a glass of chilled pumpkin juice from Molly, and joined Ron on the settee.
“Good to see you, mate,” Ron said, then yawned widely.
Harry took a sip of his drink, hoping to hide his turmoil. He felt George’s presence like a black hole. It meant to pull him closer and closer until he was gobbled up.
“Sorry I didn’t come around this week,” Ron said. “Work’s been a nightmare.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. The customers were batshite. And George was in a mood.” Ron whispered the last bit.
Harry bit his lip. “Why?” His voice was equally low.
Ron shrugged. “Dunno. Sometimes he just gets like that. I think it’s because of Fre—Well. You get the idea.”
“Yeah.”
Harry sneaked George a glance and found him frowning deeply at the floor.
Sighing, Harry dragged his gaze back to Ron. “Up for a bit of Chess?”
Ron brightened. “Of course!”
They played for a few hours, and Harry was able to block out George. Well, sort of. He raised his head only a few times to seek him out. Each time, he found George alone, not talking, not smiling, and looking miserable. It made Harry ache for him. It also made him worry.
I didn’t do that to him, did I? Was shagging me that bad?
After their rather long match, Harry stood and stretched, then took himself off to the toilet. When he returned, he found the lounge nearly empty. Except for George.
“Where did everyone go?” he asked, approaching carefully.
George looked his way. “Oh, Mum prepared a late lunch outside. You should join them. Everybody loves her chicken sandwiches.”
Harry hesitated. “You’re not hungry?”
“Nope.” George stood. “And, actually, I was just leaving.”
George tried to slip past Harry, but Harry grabbed his arm. He felt a tremor go through George at the contact.
“Hey,” Harry said quietly.
George gave him a bland smile. His eyes were dull. “Yes? What’s the matter?”
Harry released him, turning cold on the inside. “I dunno. I just thought we should talk. About. You know.”
George laughed, but it was an empty sound. “There’s nothing to talk about. Just a bit of fun.”
Harry went ice, ice cold. He was surprised he didn’t turn into an icicle. “Oh.”
“Yes,” George said, then walked toward the door. “See you around, Harry.”
He didn’t respond, unable to move. He just watched George walk away.
About a month slipped by. Late summer rains chased away the heat. Harry spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione. Well, mostly Ron. Hermione was very busy with research about house-elves.
The time didn’t make George’s rejection any easier. It also didn’t make the memories go away. Harry found that he ached for George now. The shag had been just that good. And he missed George’s smiles. His laughter.
George seemed rather distant with everyone. Ron even noticed. Molly especially noticed.
The family said he was mourning. Yes, yes. That made sense. Of course it did. Harry just wished he could help him. Comfort him.
I bet a shag would lift his spirits, even if it were only temporary, he found himself thinking.
His thoughts were more than a bit ridiculous, he knew, but he was pining. A lot.
Then, one day, Harry woke up not feeling so great. His stomach churned sickly. The thought of food made him gag.
He Floo’ed Hermione, which was his habit when anything went wrong in his life.
Her bobbing head frowned at him. “Go to St Mungo’s,” she said. “It could be Fire Belly Fever. Or Wizard’s Worm. Or—”
Harry held up his face. “I already died once this year; please don’t make me think it will happen again.”
She flushed. “Sorry. Just distracted.”
“With your research?”
“Yep!”
Harry grinned as they fell into a conversation about all the good she planned to do for house-elves.
Later that day, Harry took himself to St Mungo’s. It was a rather awkward experience. A little old witch fainted in the waiting room when she discovered Harry Potter had graced her with his presence. As he was examined, the healers touched him as if he were fragile. Very, very fragile.
After running some tests, surprise sneaked into their expressions.
“What’s the matter with me?” Harry asked, thinking the worst, thinking his illness had something to do with Voldemort.
“You’re pregnant,” said one of the healers.
Harry blinked. “What? But—but—How is that possible?”
They looked at him in confusion. “Well, you see, sir, pregnancy happens when semen is ejaculated—”
He held up his hand. “Stop, please. I don’t mean that. I mean, um, I’m a boy, aren’t I? A man. I don’t even have a womb!”
“You have one now; your magic made you one.” The healer’s tone was bright.
He just gaped. “But—but—”
“Male pregnancy is rather common amongst wizards, sir.”
“I had no idea.”
One of the healers shook their head sadly. “And that is why they must bring sex education back to Hogwarts …”
He blushed deeply.
An hour later, he was back home in his cottage, his stomach still churning, his cupboard now filled with prescribed potions.
He was pacing his small lounge, sweating, wringing his hands. He needed to tell George about his pregnancy. Before the press got to it.
There had been too many people in the room, he thought, remembering the team of healers attending to him.
They had all seemed so eager to treat the Harry Potter.
Ugh.
He just hadn’t a clue how he would work up the courage to face George.
You can do this, he told himself. Just a few months ago, you defeated Voldemort. Telling George Weasley that you’re pregnant with his baby doesn’t even come close to that … Right?
The next day, Harry set out for George’s grand shop. He meant to surprise Ron with his favourite lunch (hamburgers and chips). And … he also meant to speak to George. In private.
The joke shop was bustling, even on a weekday. Harry, keeping his head lowered, squeezing around the crowds, located Ron behind the till.
Harry held up a greasy bag of food. “Have time for a bit of lunch?”
Ron looked as if he wanted to kiss Harry. “Yes!”
A few minutes later, they were stationed in the back of the shop, gobbling down their greasy burgers.
Ron sat at his rather messy desk. It was covered in shipment receipts and inventory lists.
“You look harassed, mate,” Harry said gently.
“I am!” Ron said through a bite of food. “The shop is always busy.”
“Are you still enjoying the work?”
Ron nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am. Rather so. Just don’t tell George.” He gave Harry a wink.
“Don’t tell me what?” George emerged from a door, coming in from presumably their experiment laboratory. He stiffened when he spotted Harry.
Harry raised a quivering hand. “Hi,” he said stupidly.
George blinked at him for a moment, then turned around and walked right back through the door.
“Um,” Ron said.
Harry stood, not thinking. He didn’t want to make a scene but he really needed to talk to George.
Harry started toward the door but Ron’s voice made him halt.
“Um, mate. Where are you going?”
“Sorry, I just need to talk to him … I’ll be right back …” Harry said this distantly, already reaching for the knob.
“Talk to who? My brother? Why?” Ron sounded very confused.
Harry, not really listening, went into the laboratory. It was magicked into a very large room with soaring ceilings and big, sunny windows. Cauldrons bubbled along the walls.
“Um. Hello?” Harry called.
No answer.
Harry walked and walked. There was a bit of noise coming from the back … as if someone was hammering a piece of metal …
Harry turned a corner and ran right into George. George tore off his goggles and set down the metal he’d been working with.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Harry said quickly.
“You shouldn't have come back here,” George said gruffly, not looking at him, his ears taking on a deep flush.
Harry closed the space between them. He stood right in front of George, not touching him but not letting him sneak away.
Finally, George raised his eyes to him. They were a beautiful blue and full of sadness. “You should leave.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Harry said, ignoring his own heartbreak.
George shook his head. “I’m rather busy. No time to talk. And—”
“You didn’t like it, did you?”
George stared at him. “What?”
“You didn’t like shagging me. You regret it. That’s why you’ve been hiding away—”
“I haven’t been hiding away.”
“Yes, you have. You’ve been distant. Ever since that night.”
George gulped visibly. His freckled face was taking on colour. Tremendous colour. Just like his ears. “I don’t want to talk about this, Harry.”
“And why not?”
“Because.”
Harry waited for a better explanation, not saying anything. He waited for entirely too long. “Well?”
Another shake of the head. Another visible gulp.
Harry threw his arms up. “Just say that you regret shagging me and I’ll leave!”
George now looked a bit angry. “I’m not going to say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not true.”
Harry heaved a big sigh of annoyance. “You’re not making a bit of sense.”
George straightened. “I didn’t ask you to come in here. And I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re being infuriating, you do realise?”
George gave him a dull look.
“Fine, I’ll leave,” Harry said, trying to maintain some dignity.
George didn’t react as he walked out. Ron was waiting for him, dumbfounded.
“What did you have to say to my brother?” Ron asked, frowning.
“Nothing, I reckon. I had something very important to say, but—Well. It turns out it’s best if he doesn’t know.”
Ron’s frown deepened. “That sounds bloody ominous.”
Sighing again, Harry scrubbed his face. “I’m not making sense, I know. None of this is really making sense. I should leave now, let you get back to work.” He paused, thinking. “But, um. Before I go. Will you help me do a bit of shopping?”
“Yes …” Ron said hesitantly.
Back at home, Harry spent more than a few hours pondering. Thinking. He wanted to do right by the baby he was now carrying. He wanted to be a good father. A steady father. One who made the right choices.
And the right choice was to tell George Weasley about his pregnancy. Even if the man was acting utterly loony.
Taking a deep breath, Harry wrote him an owl. It was short and straight to the point. Almost comically so.
G—
I’m pregnant.
—H
He sent off the owl, then went to take a shower. He hoped the hot water would help him relax.
Harry was getting dressed when someone pounded on his front door. His stomach gave a panicky lurch.
That must be him, Harry thought.
Drying his hair with a towel, he made his way to his door. On the other side stood George, very red in the face. His eyes were bulging.
“YOU’RE WHAT?”
Oh, now you want to talk, huh?
“Please come in,” Harry said, instead of being snarky.
George rushed inside. He paced Harry’s lounge, hands buried in his hair. “I fucked it all up,” he moaned, sounding as if he were in agony.
“You haven’t,” Harry said gently, keeping his distance.
George didn’t stop moving. “I knocked you up. You. Harry Potter! My brother’s best mate!”
“I don’t think it’s such a bad thing.”
“Of course it’s bad! What happened between us shouldn’t have happened! I was drunk. You were, too! I should have kept my hands off you, but I haven’t been myself, not since Fred—” He cut off.
Harry inched closer. “I’m mourning too, George. We all are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t build a happy family together.”
George shook his head, his feet hastening. He collided with Harry’s settee, but he just kept on moving. “Nobody’s fucked up like me. I don’t even laugh anymore. I think I’ve lost the ability. I’m not myself. How can I be myself without—without—”
“Oh, George,” Harry whispered, trying to find the words. “You will be yourself again. Just give it time. I feel myself healing, so—so I think you can, too.”
He finally stopped. He raised his gaze to Harry. Tears shone there. “I wouldn’t have shagged you if he’d still been alive. He would have stopped me. Set me right. Harry’s off-limits, he would have said. Think of Gin, think of Ron.”
Harry inched closer. “You were so happy that night, flying with me. You were smiling. Cracking jokes. Maybe even laughing. And I wanted you. I still want you.”
“You—you—what?”
Nodding, he drew even closer. “I had the biggest crush on you. Still do. That’s why I kissed you. It wasn’t because of the alcohol. It was because I like you. A lot.”
George blinked at him in shock. He gulped thickly before finding his words. “I had no idea.”
“Yes.” Harry gave him a gentle smile. “Now, please, will you have a seat? I’ll make us some tea.”
George slumped down onto the settee. He held his face, breathing hard. Harry hastened to his kitchen.
Harry made them tea, a little potion bottle on the counter. It was filled with a clear bubbly substance.
Back in his lounge, he set their tea things down. George still held his face.
“Here,” Harry said gently, offering him the warm cup.
George took it with trembling hands. He kept his gaze down as he sipped. “I still think you should be with someone better.”
“Well I don’t think that.”
“You are brilliant and I’m—Hahaha!”
Harry grinned. “You’re what?”
Confused, George swallowed and tried again. “I’m—HAHAHAHA!”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
George gasped and set down his cup. He held his throat. “You—you—HAHAHAHA!!”
Harry now laughed, too. His prank made him beam.
“You—Giggle Juice—HAHAHAAA—Damn you, Harry. HAHAAAA—My own product—”
“Yes, I bought some just today, after you threw me out of your shop.”
“I didn’t—!”
Harry still smiled. “That’s what it felt like.”
Groaning, George slumped forward and gave into his laughing fit. He laughed and laughed, and tears began to spill down his face.
Harry lowered to the floor between his legs. He ran his palms up and down his thighs soothingly. “You’re gorgeous, George. Especially when you laugh. And I want to have your baby. I do.”
“HAHAHAHA—You’re too good for—for—HAHAHAHA!!”
“No, George, I’m not. Don’t you want to be with me? I think you do. I remember what it was like between us that night … how good it was. Just think … It could always be like that …”
George continued to laugh, now clutching his stomach. He moaned between fits, tears dripping from the tip of his nose. It seemed as if he were releasing a lot of emotion.
Then Harry leaned in and opened his mouth to his clothed prick. It was soft but it gave an eager twitch at the contact.
“Harry,” George gasped, his hips bucking, his hands going to Harry’s head. “Oh, Harry, Harry—HAHAHAHA!!”
Laughing too, Harry sucked him through the fabric of his trousers. It was a treat to feel his fat prick thicken through the layers.
George moaned loudly. Then he choked and fell into another fit. Harry undid his trousers and eased everything down. Not hesitating, he took George into his mouth, sucking with relish.
“Oh, Merlin. Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh fuck.”
Harry wasn’t very experienced at sucking cock, but he was very enthusiastic. He sucked and sucked, bobbing his head a little, choking himself a little, as his hand worked a warm, flexing sac.
The Giggle Juice was wearing off, but slowly, and George started to moan and grunt more than laugh. The tears were drying on his face.
“I should be the one on my knees,” George whispered.
Harry released his very hard cock. He looked up at him with lidded eyes. “Will you fuck me? Like last time?”
“I don’t know if I deserve it …”
Harry raised up to kiss him. Thoroughly. George shuddered, probably at the taste of Harry’s mouth.
“Tell me you’ll be with me,” Harry whispered.
“Yes,” George said, equally as quiet. He was still shuddering.
“Be my boyfriend. The other father to my baby. Openly.”
“Yes, Harry, yes.”
He wiped away the last traces of tears. He kissed George softly. “You’re not too broken to be happy.”
This time, it was George who kissed Harry. And it was a deep kiss, with his arms wrapped around Harry, clinging to him.
A moment later, Harry found himself being dragged to his bedroom, where his cosy bed waited for them.
George shoved him down onto the quilt and crawled on top of him. He kissed him and kissed him, and Harry pulled at his clothes, wanting to feel his bare skin.
George got them undressed, hurriedly, knocking Harry’s glasses off in the process. Things turned blurry, but it didn’t matter, not when Harry felt George’s strong, hot body against his.
“I only feel like myself when I’m with you,” George whispered. “And—and it frightens me. Makes me feel guilty. I shouldn’t be happy, not yet, not yet—”
“Love, please. I need you, I need you—”
Moaning, George cast a Lube Spell, then entered Harry. The penetration was both perfect and too much. Harry clung to him, gasping.
George began to fuck him in slow, hard strokes. Harry arched and let his eyes roll back. The sensation was absolute bliss.
“I can’t believe you pranked me,” George growled.
Harry let out a hot chuckle. He smiled, even as George screwed into him deeper.
George went a bit faster, almost on his knees now. “Fuck, you take me so well. So fucking well. And I’m in your arse. Fuck, fuck …”
“PLEASE!”
Nodding as if in confirmation, George captured his lips in another kiss. He continued to kiss him as he really gave it to him. Their flesh smacked together.
“Please, please—Oh, God—”
George grunted as he thrust. “I can’t believe I put a baby in you. Me. But, fuck, I shouldn’t be surprised. Your arse is just that perfect—”
Harry cried out and arched. He came all over himself, squeezing around George tightly. He loved George’s dirty talk, he loved it, he loved it—
Crying out too, George emptied himself inside Harry. He kissed him as he did, shuddering all over, his thick prick throbbing so fucking deep.
“I love you,” Harry whispered, overcome. George groaned weakly and his hips snapped forward. The sweat was so very sticky between them. They had made such a mess.
It took them several minutes to calm down fully. George held Harry close, one hand on his stomach, the other caressing his hair, and they were unable to stop kissing.
George gave him a lazy, but bright smile. “I think it’s going to be okay.”
Harry grinned back. “I know it is.”
They sighed happily and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
