One Good Turn...

“What have you got planned for today, then, Potty?” smarmed Dudley, as he pondered his reflection in the hallway mirror.

 Harry only half looked up from the tray of food he was in the process of taking to his room. He was hard pushed to stifle the chuckle at seeing his cousin trying to make himself look decent.

As always, Harry just wanted the summer to be over, to be back at Hogwarts, to see his friends again.

“One would think,” the young wizard had said to himself countless times that summer. “That saving his life would be worth a bit of a break.”

In truth, Dudley Dursley had been positively insufferable all holidays due to a new discovery he’d made during the school year: Girls. Girls.

Harry shuddered. Impossible to think of anyone who wasn’t Aunt Petunia-shaped able to see Dudders as desirable.

Mind you, he’d seen Dudley’s latest girlfriend. He couldn’t look at her without wanting to ‘neigh’.

“Mary and I are going to the pictures today,” he announced, smoothing down the collar on his garish red shirt. “And, after that we’re having pizza.”

Harry rolled his eyes. No need to ask where the money had come from, of course. He’d overheard his cousin borrow money from Aunt Petunia yesterday, and then again from Uncle Vernon this morning.

When Harry didn’t appear to be listening, indeed having walked passed without so much as a word, Dudley pinwheeled on the spot, and jabbed him in the back, almost sending Harry’s sandwiches across the hall. Harry stopped, jaw clenched, waiting for Dudley’s inevitable insult.

“I won’t bother asking next time. No point anyway,” he scoffed. “You’re probably spending the day in your room. Studying like a good little freak.”

Harry didn’t turn, just hissed through his teeth, “Rather that than watching a film made for kids half my age, but with twice the intellect, Dud. Bet you’re only taking Whatshername along so that she can explain the plot.”

Dudley, who hadn’t actually dared to get physical yet, stamped his foot, causing the mirror to rattle precariously on its hook.

“Muuuuum,” he brayed, but Harry had already cleared the stairs, and locked his door behind him.

There were books everywhere, great tottering stacks of them. NEWTS, he knew were two years away, but what else had he to do all summer except mope, and miss Sirius?

“I really think I’ve out done myself this birthday, Hedwig,” he muttered. “Plate of half stale sandwiches, packet of cut price crisps.”

He reached into his pocket, taking out a smallish lump of something wrapped in kitchen towel. “Even managed to sneak us a bit of that Double Chocolate cake that’s in the fridge. Bit squashed, but what else is new?”

He shrugged, placing the food tray on one of the lower reaching piles, and went over to open her cage. She hopped out, and fluttered to perch above, waiting for her share of the paltry party plate.

He reached up with a cheese and pickle offering, but the owl, instead of pecking Harry’s hand as he’d expected, screeched.

“Shhh,” cried Harry, already hearing Dudley thundering up the stairs to deliver an admonishment from Aunt Petunia. “Hed-” She was spitting at the window.

Harry left her to it, wandering over for a better look at the skies. There.

A speck, steadily growing as he watched. Now, he could see that it was another owl. Small and brown.

“Pig!” Harry cried. Outside, Dudley thumped the bedroom door, obviously taking it personally. Harry ignored him, hastening to unlatch the window.

The tiny owl fluttered right in, alighting at the plate of food, and held out his leg. Harry shook his head, smiling, and knelt to relieve the bird of his missive. Pigwidgeon looked at Harry expectantly, and Harry, too busy breaking the wax seal on his letter to eat, motioned to the sandwiches. Pig helped himself, whilst Hedwig ruffled her feathers, eyeballing the young bird disdainfully.

The neatness of the seal and precision of the quillmanship had already told him who had sent the letter.

“Must have borrowed him from Ginny, or something,” he muttered, unfolding the parchment.

Dear Harry,

Happy 16th Birthday, Harry!

I know it’s not much, and you aren’t likely to receive anything better from your Aunt and Uncle, but just wait until school starts.

We can go to Hogsmeade and you can pick out something really cool that you actually want, for a change. Ginny tells me that Fred and George are doing so well that they’ve opened a second shop there, so that should be loads of fun.

Oh, I can’t wait for the holidays to be over. You’ll probably have realised by now that I’ve seen Ron this summer, but...well, it’s not quite the same when you aren’t here.

Í think I like him, Harry. In fact, I almost know it.

So, yes, I’ve decided to ask him out when we get back to school. To give things a go, you know? That is, of course, as long as you have no objections.

Anyway, have to go. Mum’s calling me for dinner.

See you at school,

Hermione.

“Oh, great,” Harry seethed, refolding the letter. “Hermione and Ron. Together. Just perfect. Might as well stay here for all the notice they’ll be taking at school. Happy-bloody-birthday, Harry.” He stuffed it into his pocket, adding aloud,” Cheers, Hermione.”

*******

The solidness of the slide as he lay on it was oddly comforting in the early afternoon. At least he was alone, he thought.

Harry sighed, carefully removing the weathered parchment from his pocket, hardly needing to look at it now in order to mull over the contents, but there was solidarity in that too.

The same thoughts played around in his head.

“She’s going to ruin everything."

“It’s just not fair, I’ll never get to see Ron once they start with the lovey-dovey stuff."

“And, what the fuck does she mean, ‘If I have no objections’?

Of course I have bloody objections. I damned well bloody object to having the two people I care most about in the world flit away on their own private little cloud made for two. ‘No room for you, Harry, mate.’, ‘Yes, Sorry, Harry, if you’d spoken up, it could have been you up here.’”

The prospect loomed ever closer, holidays being over but for a few measly days.

He snorted, “Thanks a flaming bunch, Hermione. Fat lotta good it’s gonna do me now.”

Thanks, Hermione? What, Ron’s automatically going to accept?

He sat up, on the edge of the metal slab, face in hands. “Of course, he’s going to say yes. Then, we’re-”

Object. Of course!

He was smiling suddenly, though his splayed fingers.

Trust Hermione to come up with the solution, and then disguise it.

Not object to them. Object to her.

*******

Moonlight shone through the netted window, casting an eerie shadow of Aunt Petunia’s yucca plant on the living room carpet.

Harry rocked back and forth on the edge of Uncle Vernon’s armchair. He couldn’t sleep. He’d thought about nothing else all day. Wired, he was, exhilarated, scared. He had to see Ron before school started. Tonight.

No, that wouldn’t do. Ron would be at the Burrow. Far too many potential interruptions.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. The thought had suddenly struck him that even though he wanted to, needed to see his friend, he had no idea how to tackle his problem. What was he going to say, “Ron, you’ve been a great friend, but I think you might make an even better fuck buddy.” Please.

No, no. Harry needed to test the water first. He was still a little raw with Hermione, so she was pretty much out of the question if she wanted to be alive when school started. And he did still want her around.

Someone closer to Ron might be better, anyway.

Bill. Charlie. Too...embarrassing.

Someone Harry was closer to would be wise, too. Molly and Arthur were definite no’s for obvious reasons. Which left Ginny, who was way too female.

And, the twins.

Yes.

They were perfect, not too much older, plus they knew a lot. They practically shared a room with Ron at home. They must be able to tell him something useful. Plus, and this was a big plus, in so far as keeping the whole thing secret if need be, they owed him.

He was pretty sure they would help. They were normally up for anything. Scenes of boyish tomfoolery in the Gryffindor changing rooms played in his head. Fred and George whispering together at the far end of the showers, lingering looks from some of the other players as they passed, not to mention the towel chases those two used to start, frequently. At the time, he’d not taken it for anything else, but it could have been. His dick tingled at thought of being naked with them once again.

“Nothing major,” he assured himself. “It’ll be like practice.”

Practice. Yes.

This was what he really wanted, the advice about Ron was secondary, since he was pretty confident that once he knew what he was doing, Ron would be, pardon the pun, hard pressed to not want him.

Harry, now that he was thinking about it, was fed up with heading into things blindfolded. Since he’d started at Hogwarts, everyone seemed to know something that he didn’t, and he resented the edge it gave them. He had never even heard of Hogwarts before Hagrid told him. And this time, it was his own sexual preferences that Hermione had over him. Well sod that. Screw being clueless when it came to facing Ron.

Knowledge, he knew, meant power.

He took out Hermione’s letter from the breast pocket of his pyjamas; it had a habit of going everywhere with him now. He squinted at it in the half-light. The twins have new premises in Hogsmeade, she said. He should go there, and wait for them.

******

Harry stood, gazing about in wonder, as he dusted his pyjamas off. He’d never been inside a closed shop at night, it was eerily silent. He tiptoed further into the room, gently picking up objects, and trying to figure out what they were. Bright coloured things in jars glistened on every shelf. On any other night, being alone in WWW Hogsmeade would have been heaven in itself, but, he had a higher purpose, made abundantly clear by the insistent bulge in his pants.

“Wonder when they’ll get in,” he muttered, intending to go upstairs, shower and jerk off his excitement.

He wound his way around Blaze Box displays, toward the back of the shop, hoping to find stairs there.

“Fuck!” The light was dazzling, too much too soon.

“Harry?”

“Fred.” Harry’s eyes widened in panic. They were here. They were here. He was- fuck, his head hurt. He stared as a beater’s bat floated past his ear, and into Fred’s hand.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“We live here, dummy. Of course, I could ask you the same thing.”

Fred grinned.

He sat down on the bottom step, and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to control his breathing.

“I was,” Harry floundered. “I was...I wanted to see you and George.”

He raised his face, looking Harry inescapably in the eye. “Yes?”

Harry rubbed the back of his head; he could feel a bump there already.

“Yeah, sorry about that, Harry, mate. Thought you were a spy. George sent me down to take you out. Come upstairs, and we’ll take care of that lump of yours.”

Harry thought he saw a wicked expression pass over Fred’s features, but then it was gone, and Fred was gathering up his robe, beckoning for Harry to follow. The sudden lighting, his eyes not adjusting correctly, and the whack that the club had dealt him, that’s all that was, Harry affirmed. He took a deep breath.

“How’d you get in, anyway?” Fred called over his shoulder, on hearing Harry’s footfalls behind him.

“Floo Network,” he explained, trying to look at anything but Fred’s butt writhing beneath the downy material.

“Ah. You’re lucky,” Fred went on. “We were only put on the Network a couple of days ago.”

“Dunno how lucky I’m going to be when the Dursleys see the living room tomorrow.”

Fred may have laughed, but the sound was drowned out by another voice.

“You’re s’posed to whack ‘em, not chat to ‘em, Fred.”

“S’all right, bruv. It’s Harry.”

“Ooooh,” George beamed, as Harry rounded the corner at the top of the stairway. “Heya Harry!”

George was sitting on a couch in the middle of the main room, in front of a table which was buried underneath various ingredients and apparatus. He appeared to be in the middle of counting. He was wearing pretty much the same as his brother, a deep red, velvety bathrobe with and ornate gold letter woven into the breast pocket. A ‘G’, of course. It was looser around his waist though, causing the neckline to plunge that little bit steeper. Harry gaped, his earlier memories of the changing rooms clearly not doing justice to the now quite strapping form of George Weasley.

“Don’t mind this,” he said, waving his wand at the mess on the table. It floated to an out of sight corner of the room, and he motioned for Harry to sit in the chair opposite, propping his feet on the table with a thud.

“What brings you here?” he asked, stretching his arms behind his head, reclining. The folds of the robe slipped further up his legs. Fred jumped over the table, and bounced into the space next to George.

“And, dressed so formally, too?” He winked.

Harry gulped, but neither of them seemed to notice. Or if they did, had the graciousness to pretend they hadn’t.

“Well. It’s about Ron,” he began.

Fred sat forward in his seat, elbow on knees, effectively allowing Harry full view of his own manly chest. “Go on,” he urged, a little eagerly for Harry’s comfort.

“I- That is, we...” he chewed a fingernail nervously, his eyes silently pleading for them to help him.

“Harry, mate,” said George. “Nothing you say will go beyond these four walls. Imperturbable, aren’t they?”

Fred nodded, hurriedly.

“Well, okay,” said Harry, biting the proverbial bullet. “I trust you guys not to tell.”

The stunning smiles aimed at him from both sides had the effect of a Double Disarm. He’d have told them anything, agreed to, well, anything.

“I got an owl from Hermione.” The twins’ eyes flickered towards each other, in a sort of non-verbal communication that Harry wasn’t meant to understand. He shrugged it off, and went hurriedly on. “She said that she wanted to ask Ron out, and I got really angry about it, because I don’t want them to go out. It was like she was checking whether it was ok, but it isn’t. I don’t want Hermione to go out with Ron, because I want to go out with Ron.”

He paused, breathless. He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for it. The laughter that was inevitably about to ensue. Any second now.

But it didn’t come.

Harry opened one eye. They were looking at each other again, wide eyed and each wearing the same jackpot grin. They’re stunned stupid, he thought to himself.

Harry cleared his throat, and Fred, at least snapped out of his stupor, while George continued to gape, moonfaced, at the wall.

“Sorry, Harry,” said Fred. “You were saying?”

“I need your help. I’ve never...done anything like that before. Asked Ron out, I mean. I mean, of course I’ve never asked Ron out before. What I really mean is that I don’t want to screw it up. I don’t want to be the bumbling mass that I am now. I want him to say yes. I mean, I want him to want to say yes. To give him a reason to say yes.”

George, who was back from Lala Land, leaned forward to join his brother, cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered, “I don’t think you’ve got much to worry about there, Harry, lad.”

“I don’t?” Harry straighten up, confused.

“Naw,” said George, returning to his usual volumes. “You’re well desirable, you are.”

Harry blinked. “I am?”

“Yeah. Fred’s fancied you for ages. Haven’t you, Fred?”

Harry looked quickly at Fred, who was now lounging with his legs over the arm of the sofa, gown barely covering all that it need do. He looked at Harry, and nodded, blinking slowly as if to drink in the moment.

They were doing this on purpose, he was sure, they had to be.

They had sent the owl, not Hermione. They were teasing him.

“Oh, just stop it, you two.” He stood up, turning to leave.

“No, Harry, it’s true.”

“Yeah, him and Ginny were like two old women once they got going,” George laughed. “Course, we all know she went off you, leaving poor ol’ Fred alone with his-”

“Fantasies.” Fred sprang up, throwing a stern look at his twin, and jumped back over the table to place a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s ok,” he said, steering the boy back to his chair. “Don’t be embarrassed, Harry. We’d like to help you.”

Harry sighed, admitting defeat. It wasn’t like he could just turn off the feelings they’d awoken. It was the least they could do to make sure he didn’t look like a prat because of them.

He sat on the edge of the seat, again, looking George full in the face. “Okay, then. Help me.”

“First, off, we need to see what we’re working with. Fred.” He snapped his fingers.

The seat of Harry’s chair gave way unexpectedly, as Fred leapt into the space behind him. He tried to turn, but arms, muscular and naked, snaked over his shoulders, reaching down they began to unbutton his night shirt.

“Just enjoy, Harry,” a husky voice breathed into his ear. “I know I’m gonna...”

Harry had frozen, helpless as Fred’s legs snaked around his hips, feet teasing at his inner thighs. He slowly peeled Harry’s shirt from his shoulders, George taking in the scene with hungry eyes.

“Not bad. Could be better though.” He grinned, knowingly, and stepped over the coffee table to sit in front of the restrained boy, who shuddered a little at the attentions of Fred’s covetous tongue.

George reached out, warm hands on his leg, stretching at the flannel fabric, before gathering greedy handfuls of it either side of the rising mound in Harry’s pants.

He was riveted to his seat, caught by Fred’s desire to kiss, stroke, every inch of flesh granted from behind, and the blazing eyes that were even now burrowing into his soul.

George made a flourishing gesture, with the air of a muggle magician attempting to remove a table cloth without toppling the glasses. And, just like that, Harry was sitting, pyjamas around his ankles, and at the complete mercy of his best friend’s brothers.

“It’s all for Ron.” The words echoed around his head, a mantra against his own insecurities.

 Fred’s teeth teased at his ear, as he peered over to look at Harry’s rigid cock, as his twin moved in, gaping mouth moist with anticipation.

Unkempt hair fell onto Fred’s exposed shoulder, Harry succumbing to the other’s voracious hunger.

“Oh, God.” His eyes rolled in his head, a delightful spasm jerking him forward. George had definitely done this before. Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, placing his hands on the bobbing red head wrapped around his aching erection, gently urging it to take him deeper. Behind him, Fred was trembling too. He cast his eyes sideways, almost crying out to see that Fred was stood up on the seat, watching his sibling’s performance and its effect on their student.

Harry gulped. It was too much; the gripping hand working Fred’s hard thick cock and George practically devouring his own.

“All for Ron,” his brain screamed out, as he erupted into the ravenous mouth.

He wanted to relax, to melt, only a lapping tongue danced, insatiably, at his weeping eye.

“Lessons not over, Harry,” Fred purred, giving him a prod.

George was inching backwards, reclining over the gap between the settee and the table. He tore at his bathrobe, throwing it open to reveal a third swollen member.

“Go on, Harry,” Fred urged, driving him insistently forward.

 “For Ron,” his mind pleaded, as he knelt on the table preparing to make good on his returns.

 He touched it lightly, feeling the spark through his finger, as George jolted, writhing beneath him. He stared at it, so much more impressive than his own.

 How would it taste? He licked his lips.

His cravings getting the better of him, he lunged, taking the whole of the rocklike appendage deep into his throat.

 He sucked, licking, trying to imitate George’s movements, when- He stopped.

Fred had taken him by the hips, and had begun to gyrate behind him. He teased at Harry’s puckering hole, nudging at it.

Harry almost clenched his jaw, but for a panicked lurch from George. 

 Seizing the moment of relief, Fred thrust forward, jamming his entire cock into Harry’s arse. Harry screamed long and hard, muffled around George, who promptly came, forcing him to swallow the saline substance.

George stroked Harry’s hair, whilst Fred continued to pummel from behind, until, mercifully, he was done. He pulled out, and released himself over Harry’s back and butt cheeks.

He closed his eyes, the pain replaced by warm comforting drips, soothing.

“How was that, bruv?” George asked, and Harry opened his eyes.

He wasn’t even looking at Fred, this time, but had his head half turned to look as best he could over the back of the sofa.

Harry’s eyes snapped up.

 “That was bloody brilliant.”

 “Ron.”