Weasleys' Wizard Weekend
Friday, 8:06 pm
"If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"
Harry, who was currently sprawled out semi-comfortably on the ceiling of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes storage cupboard, cocked an inquisitive eyebrow down at his best friend.
"You must be tired, baby. 'Cause you've been running through my mind all day."
By way of response, Harry balled up a candy wrapper and chucked it down at the top of Ron's head. "What'd you eat, wanker?"
Ron looked up at him unhappily. "Your daddy must have been a thief," he explained, tossing a little cardboard box up high enough for Harry to catch it. "He stole the stars from the skies to put them in your eyes."
Harry snorted. "Saucy Sandies," he read aloud, amused. "Fire up your flirtatious nature, wow them with your wicked wit. Five guaranteed pick-up lines in every bite. Oh, very charming."
"If I could rearrange the alphabet," Ron agreed dejectedly, "I'd put 'u' and 'I' together."
"I hope these aren't your pick-up lines, mate. Because if they are, I have to tell you, it is a mystery how you manage to land so many dates--oomph!"
The charm from the Upside-Down Cake ended abruptly, cutting Harry off mid-insult as he dropped like a stone from the ceiling...right into Ron's lap. He lay there for moment, stunned and wheezing, attempting to catch his breath.
Ron eyed him balefully, rubbing the back of his head where Harry had knocked it into the wall on his way down. "When you fell from heaven," he asked, deadpan, "...Did it hurt?"
* * * *
Friday, 11:49 pm
"I still can't believe we're actually stuck in a cupboard," Ron said incredulously.
Harry, who considered himself something of a connoisseur of cupboards, felt this was unfair. "I've had worse," he pointed out reasonably. "This one's awfully big for a cupboard--has a bathroom and everything. It's almost more of a workroom, really--"
Ron buried his face in his hands. "Forget I said anything."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're not still wearing the Mood Swing Ring, are you?" he demanded, running his eyes over Ron's bare fingers. "That thing was a nightmare."
Ron glared at Harry from between his fingers, but couldn't exactly deny the truth of that statement. He'd spent a solid forty minutes alternating between hysterical laughter and fits of violent rage. Then he'd curled up in the corner in the fetal position for a quarter of an hour, weeping over Harry's neglected childhood.
They had both vowed to be a lot more careful which Wheezes they played with after that.
"Anyway," Harry continued, because he really felt he couldn't stress this point enough, "whose fault is it that we're stuck in here? Leave the wands on the counter, you said. Just to be safe, you said."
"I didn't hear you arguing about it, you berk. Remember last time we had our wands around this stuff? Those firecrackers nearly blew my arm off!"
"Right, and this worked out so much better," Harry retorted sarcastically. "Good thinking, mate!"
Ron glared half-heartedly. "Oh, just...sod off."
Harry grinned smugly at him until the Dancing Dumplings kicked in.
* * * *
Saturday, 10:22 am
"I miss the flat," said Ron morosely.
Harry, sitting next to him on the floor, huffed a sigh. "Yeah? Well, I miss my bits," he returned crankily.
Ron started sniggering all over again, to which Harry responded with an impressive glower and a two-fingered salute.
"Now, now, Miss Potter," Ron laughed. "That's not very ladylike."
"Fuck off," Harry said grumpily. "This is all your fault, anyway."
"My fault? You're the one that didn't read the label before you ate it," Ron defended, still chuckling. "See? Says right here: Hermaphro-Bites. See how the other half lives! Four fruity flavors to choose from--"
"--I've read the label, Ron," Harry gritted, interrupting Ron's increasingly-gleeful recitation.
Ron was unfazed. "--for a gender-bending good time!" he finished delightedly.
"You're an arsehole," Harry told him darkly.
Ron leered at him. "Come on, flash me--I wanna see 'em."
"I said no. When is this bloody charm going to wear off, anyway?"
"Just one little peek?"
Harry glared. "You see plenty of tits on a regular basis. You don't need to see mine."
"Lately, I've mostly been seeing cock," Ron pointed out, as if this was going to change Harry's mind. "Been a good long while since I've seen any tits at all."
"Oh, cry me a river--" Harry's sentence broke off abruptly, as the charm finally--finally!!--wore off, and he experienced the truly bizarre sensation of growing a cock out of literally nowhere. "Whoa."
"Damn." Ron sighed heavily. "I can't believe you really wouldn't show me. Bet you had nice tits."
Harry was so relieved to have all his parts present and accounted for that he didn't even bother to react to that beyond smacking the other boy smartly upside the head.
* * * *
Saturday, 3:53 pm
"Why don't you ever date?"
Harry glanced up from the box of Wheezes he was warily rummaging through in search of a reasonably benign food source. "What?"
Ron was digging through his own box across the room. "Well, it's just that you've never really dated anybody at all, have you? I just realized I don't even really know why."
"I dated," Harry objected indignantly. "I dated your own sister!"
Ron rolled his eyes. "For about a minute, more than two years ago," he pointed out. "Then after the war you suddenly announced you were gay, and proceeded never to date again. What's that all about?"
Harry blanched. Even if he wanted to answer that question--which he emphatically did not--he wouldn't know how. How did you explain to your best friend of nearly nine years that it was all his fault you were gay and single? That he'd hauled your arse up from certain watery death, rescued a sword, destroyed a Horcrux and all your delusions of straighthood at once, and then happily gone on his way with no comprehension of what he had done to you? That you might still have gotten past that eventually, if his own dating pool hadn't suddenly doubled after the abrupt end of his relationship with your other best friend, unexpectedly putting you back in the running and ensuring you could never let go of your foolish hopes? That you were still struggling to come to terms with the fact that even though he was willing to date everything else on the planet that breathed, he still had not the slightest interest in you?
You didn't, that's how.
"Guess I'm just waiting for the right person," Harry said lightly, and hastened to change the subject. "I was thinking about trying to break the door down."
Ron snorted, effectively distracted. "Harry, the gumdrops explode in this place. Do you really want to find out what happens to people attempting property damage?"
That was actually a fair point.
"Fine," Harry conceded with poor grace. "But when we finally get out of here, you're doing all the chores in the flat for a week. No, a month. And you're cooking breakfast for all your own dates. And you're dealing with the grocery shopping--
"Oh, shut up and go eat another Angel Food Cake," Ron muttered crabbily. "I liked you better when you were floating about preaching the virtues of love and world peace."
Harry felt perfectly justified in smacking Ron upside the head yet again.
* * * *
Saturday, 10:11 pm
"Do you have any...threes?"
"I cannot believe we are spending our Saturday night in a storage cupboard playing 'Go Fish.'"
"Yes, and whose fault is it that we're stuck in here? Not my fault, I can tell you that. So do you have the bloody threes or not?"
Harry glowered at Ron, who sounded just a little bit too gleeful for his tastes, before rolling up his sleeve and plunging his hand into the fishbowl. It took him nearly three minutes to successfully capture one of the transfigured goldfish, during which time the miniature piranhas had "nibbled" his fingers nearly to the bone.
Harry really sucked at Go Fish.
"I hate this stupid game," he muttered, watching irritably as the fish he'd gone to all that trouble for turned out to be the seven of hearts. "Stupid magic."
Ron frowned at him. "You were the one who was too afraid to try Hungry Hungry Hippos," he pointed out reasonably. "Do you have any fives?"
Harry had two fives, in point of fact.
"Go fish," he said unrepentantly.
* * * *
Sunday, 9:48 am
"Anniversary Memorial Display," Ron read aloud from the side of an enormous box. "Order of the Phoenix Victory Collection."
Harry glanced up from his own perusal of a box marked "Quidditch-Themed Pranks and Products," and made his way over.
Ron had managed to tug the box down onto the floor, and was peering curiously down into it. "What is all this stuff?"
The first thing Harry noticed was a smallish plastic snowglobe, inside of which stood a majestic stag, a snarling werewolf, a massive black dog, and a silver-pawed rat. He shook it gently, watching incredulously as the stag, wolf, and dog leapt into motion amidst a swirl of falling glitter--and violently fell upon the writhing rat in their midst. By the time the last of the glitter settled, the rat was scattered around the interior of the globe in tiny bloody pieces.
"Oh my god," Harry breathed, with equal parts horror and awe. "That's...hideous."
Ron's attention wandered back to the box. "This surprises you?" he inquired dryly. "Really?"
Harry would have responded, but Ron's sudden burst of loud laughter distracted him.
"Look at this!" Ron exclaimed, gleeful. To Harry's dismay, he was clutching a little doll topped with a full head of untidy black hair, round wire-framed glasses, and a tiny red zigzag on its forehead. "It's a Harry Potter Action Figure!"
"...No," Harry objected weakly. "Please, no."
Ron tugged the string protruding from its back, cackling delightedly when a fairly close approximation of Harry's own voice came out.
"Expelliarmus!" shouted the little toy.
He went back to digging through the box, ignoring Ron's hysterics at some of the other 'popular quotes' being emitted by the little Harry-doll ("Want to play with my Death-Stick?"), and discovered that he was not the only one with a doll dedicated in his honor. Indeed, there was an entire "War-Heroes Action Figure Collection."
There was a miniature Dumbledore ("Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!"), a tiny Hermione ("The charmed ceiling in the Great Hall was created by Rowena Ravenclaw when she was only 26 years old! Hogwarts: A History, page 271."), and Harry's personal favorite--a hilarious little Ron that did nothing but repeat the phrase "Bloody hell" in various different intonations of shock, rage, and incredulity. ("Bloody hell!" "BLOODY HELL!" "Bloody hell!")
"This is completely surreal," Harry observed, eyeing something called a 'Mad-Eye Surprise' with some suspicion. "I never thought I'd see the day when the bloodiest war in almost a century was turned into some kind of joke display--"
Across from him, Ron burst into flames, dissolved into a pile of ash, and then suddenly reappeared, looking startled.
"Sorry." Ron scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Phoenix pasty. Had to know. Go back to what you were saying."
* * * *
Sunday, 8:17 pm
"What've you got there?"
Harry clutched the candy necklace a little tighter, holding it defensively in front of his chest. "Nothing."
Ron frowned, peering at Harry's fist. "Doesn't look like nothing," he pointed out reasonably. "What does it do?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "It's a candy necklace," he said shortly.
Ron's eyes narrowed right back. "But what does it do?"
"Nothing!" Harry burst out, disgusted at how fast he caved under the slightest pressure. Perhaps Auror was not the career for him after all. "It does nothing! It's the only unadulterated food in this entire bloody place, and I found it, so it's mine! Back off!"
"Unadulterated--" Ron's eyes widened. "You mean it's just...food? No bat wings or Sticking Charms or rhyming or explosions? You can just--eat it? Like real food?"
Harry eyed him suspiciously for a long moment, then yanked the stretchy necklace over his head and settled it safely around his neck. "I dunno about real food," he admitted. "It's just candy bits on a string, not a seven-course meal. And it's mine," he warned again, seeing the look in Ron's eyes turn speculative.
"Just give me a couple bites, then," Ron wheedled. "Just so I can remember what it's like to eat something that doesn't turn me into a monkey."
"No," Harry returned. "Besides, there's plenty of food that won't turn you into a monkey. We never did try the Devil's Food cakes, I bet that'd be funny--"
His sentence broke off abruptly as Ron lunged, making a grab for the necklace and missing entirely.
"Very smooth," snorted Harry, backing out of reach. "Don't be an idiot--find your own damned food--"
Ron lunged again, this time flinging himself bodily at Harry, who was caught completely off-guard. "Oi! What d'you think you're doing?"
"Don't be so greedy!" Ron teased, narrowly dodging a flying fist as he attempted to pin Harry in place.
"--Oof! Get off, you big--"
Ron managed to wrestle Harry to the ground, landing on top of him with enough force to knock the wind out of him.
"If you'd...just...share, dammit--" Ron wheezed, breathless with laughter as Harry continued attempting to fight him off. "--hold still, you wiry bastard--"
Harry was laughing too hard to accomplish much, but kept struggling out of sheer defiance.
"--Ha!" Ron crowed triumphantly, finally managing to restrain both of Harry's flailing hands with his own and pinning them to the stone above his head. He wriggled into a partial sitting position, settling his weight against Harry's thighs to keep him from being able to kick. "Gotcha!"
Harry was unimpressed. "Only because you're fourteen feet tall," he retorted. "And anyway, you haven't got any arms left, so all this did you no good."
Momentarily stymied, Ron continued to hold him in place while he attempted to formulate a plan. After a moment, his face brightened, and he grinned wickedly down at Harry.
"What?" Harry asked suspiciously.
Ron smirked. "I don't need to take it," he pointed out smugly. "I just want to eat it."
Before Harry could even begin to comprehend what he meant by that, Ron dropped until his body lay flush along Harry's, and pressed his open mouth against Harry's throat.
Harry froze, shock skidding through him like hot sparks.
There was a faint scrape of teeth against the sensitive skin of his neck--the tip of a hot tongue sliding beneath the string of candy rings--the brush of warm lips just below his jaw.
And suddenly, this wasn't funny anymore.
Even as Ron crunched playfully down on the candy he'd managed to get into his mouth, Harry's body was reacting against his will. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, and he didn't think he'd ever been this hard, this fast.
There was no way Ron wouldn't notice.
"Ron--" he started to say, sheer panic driving the word out through suddenly-parched lips, but Ron chose that moment to shift atop him, and then there was no more time for warnings or escapes or whatever else he might have said.
It was Ron's turn to freeze.
For a long, painfully tense moment, nobody moved. Ron's face remained buried in Harry's neck, his mouth halfway open against Harry's skin. Harry, still pinned beneath Ron's bigger body, could do nothing but pray for the world to end quickly, to spare him this humiliation.
And then Ron moved again.
It was a slow, deliberate movement of his hips, almost as if he was testing the conclusions he had reached the first time around. Even in the midst of his distress, Harry's breath caught again at the friction.
"God, Ron--I'm sorry--let me up--I'm so sorry--" he babbled miserably, his face burning and his body trembling with the strain of holding himself so painfully, carefully still.
Very, very slowly, Ron lifted his head from Harry's throat to stare down at his face. His eyes were wide and unreadable and endlessly blue; his lips were parted slightly and dusted with the chalky residue of stolen candy. Harry wanted to lick it off so badly it was making him dizzy.
His thoughts whirled. God, this was crazy and so stupid, they'd been locked in this closet too long and he was losing his mind, that was all--and oh, god, Ron was staring at his mouth--and this was all so very, very bad, he didn't want to be one of Ron's conquests, or maybe he'd never wanted anything else in his whole life--and then, incredibly, Ron's lips closed over his and Harry's thoughts spun away entirely.
The kiss was awkward at first--tentative and unfamiliar, slow and inquisitive--but rapidly gained in heat and intensity. Ron was still pinning Harry's hands to the floor, and his fingers were starting to go to sleep; the stone floor was cold where it seeped through his clothes, hard and unforgiving against his spine.
Harry didn't care about any of that. He was lost in the magic of exploration and all the brilliant new things there were to learn--the exact tastes of lips and neck and ears, the fascinating textures of tongue and teeth, the smells of skin and sweat and moist, shared breaths. It was brilliant and embarrassing and heady and insane.
It was Ron.
And--oh--there was grinding.
Hard and hot through layers of cloth that were somehow simultaneously no barrier at all and far, far too thick. Harry was making these stunned, breathless little groans with every push of his hips, which he was distantly aware should probably be mortifying, but he was far more interested in the way Ron's breath was whistling in and out in harsh, desperate puffs.
He was going to come.
The realization sliced through the haze of sensation in his mind with startling clarity, and Harry had a moment of abject panic.
No matter how insane this was, he wasn't ready for it be over. Tomorrow, when they got out of this thrice-damned cupboard, Ron would go back to his seemingly-endless string of lovers--none of whom, Harry would bet his vault, had ever come in their pants like a schoolboy from a quick rut on the floor--and Harry couldn't bear to think of this moment becoming just another one of Ron's funny sex stories to be laughed about at parties.
He needed this to be something that Ron would remember forever--because he knew he would never forget it.
Sudden, reckless courage gave him strength, and he shoved upward with his whole body in one swift movement, managing to dislodge Ron enough to roll them over on the floor. Ron had barely a moment to look startled and bemused before Harry was tearing at the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers and crushing their mouths back together again.
"Wanna touch you," he muttered nonsensically into Ron's mouth, flattening his palm against the flushed, heated skin he'd uncovered.
Ron's head fell back against the floor, his breath catching in his throat. "God--Harry--"
"Touch me." Harry was breathing heavily. "Touch me, too."
He was rushing, desperate, trying to stay a step ahead, not wanting to give Ron time to think about what they were doing. Time to realize he didn't really want him. Had never wanted him.
God, what was he doing?
It didn't matter--nothing mattered but the way Ron tasted, the hot slide of smooth skin giving way to rough denim under his hands, the catch and release of Ron's breath as the zip of his jeans fell open and released the pressure against his cock.
Ron was wrestling to divest Harry of his own clothes; he didn't notice until he felt the insistent tug of fabric beneath his arms. He tore his hands away from Ron's body long enough to allow his T-shirt to be pulled up over his head, then immediately resumed his chosen task, yanking Ron's jeans down his legs and off over his feet.
He hesitated only a moment before yanking the boxers off, too.
And then Ron was naked and panting before him, looking a bit stunned but certainly not complaining, and Harry had seen him naked a thousand times before, but he had never in his life seen anything half as hot as this.
Because this was Ron naked...for him.
Ron's cock was long and hard, and fit perfectly into his hand. Harry was mesmerized by the sight, and could have lost himself forever in the rhythmic up-and-down slide of his own fingers on Ron's flesh, but Ron had other ideas.
"Off," he growled, tugging sharply at Harry's own jeans where he was sitting up across Ron's thighs. When Harry didn't immediately recognize the problem and set about fixing it, Ron reached up and gripped him by the back of the neck, pulling their bodies flush together in a hard, hot kiss, and rolled them back over until he was on top.
In a matter of seconds, Harry found himself breathless and naked and perilously close to whimpering with shock and arousal.
And then Ron's body covered his, and there were miles and miles of bare flesh, and an oh-so-familiar voice gone rough and hoarse with lust chanting his name in his ear, and everything blurred into heat and sensation.
The feel of a hot, wet mouth closing around his cock was all it took to send Harry hurtling helplessly over the edge, arching his back up from the floor with a low, inarticulate wail.
"Fuck," muttered Ron feverishly, and before Harry had even regained his breath the other boy was rising up to kneel over him, fisting himself roughly once--twice--and then he was coming, too, in a warm rush across Harry's stomach and hip.
"Fuck," Harry agreed weakly, after a long silent moment.
Ron huffed a laugh and collapsed, naked and out of breath, on his back next to Harry.
* * * *
Monday, 7:53 am
"He should definitely be in today," Ron announced, tugging his jeans back up over long bare legs. "Tomorrow's the Anniversary, and the Grand Reopening. He'll need to set up the displays and stuff."
"Mmm," agreed Harry noncommittally. He was no longer nearly as excited by the prospect of leaving this cupboard as he had been.
Last night had been the most wonderful night of his life. Harry had worried himself nearly sick, in the moments after that first mind-blowing experience, wondering how he was going to explain this momentary insanity to his best friend. He'd waited, tense and nauseous, for the inevitable questions...but the questions had never materialized.
Ron had just laid there next to him while they caught their breath, and then, after a few minutes of companionable silence, had turned a wicked grin in Harry's direction.
"Guess what I saw earlier?" he'd asked cheerfully.
Harry had eyed him a bit dubiously, but Ron was already up and rummaging through one of the boxes, still comfortably nude and appearing to be in no hurry to change that. A glance at the side of the box revealed a label that read "Wheezes Adult Line," and beneath it in smaller letters, "Products sold behind Age Line only."
Before Harry could even process this information, Ron had returned with a mischievous smile and a small tube, which he tossed to Harry to read.
"From the makers of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," Harry had read aloud obediently, "Comes a collaborative effort sure to spice up your love life. Introducing Weasley-Botts' Every Flavor Lube--"
Harry had broken off, eyes widening in shock and shooting up to meet Ron's laughing gaze.
"Every-flavor arsehole," Ron had said solemnly, his eyes shining with wicked merriment. "The way I see it, we've got at least ten hours before anybody should show up to rescue us...."
Harry had made a strangled sound of agreement, and given himself up without regret to the most amazing night of his life.
And now it was over.
Reality was waiting for them outside the cupboard door, in the form of a two-bedroom flat where Ron's lover-of-the-month had almost certainly left a stack of angry messages, and where Harry's own lonely bed was as cold and empty as it ever was, and where life was bound to go right on as usual.
Harry wouldn't mind another day or two in the cupboard, really.
"Be nice to take an actual shower," Ron observed, sniffing cautiously at his armpit before tugging on his shirt. "Frankly, we're both a bit manky by now."
Harry worked to achieve his normal tone of longsuffering complaint. "I get to go first," he announced, as imperiously as he was able. "Since--you may recall--I didn't get us stuck in here--"
Ron grinned at him, stepping up very close until Harry lost his breath and found himself trapped between the wall and his friend's big body.
"You've still got a lot to learn, mate," Ron pointed out huskily, leaning forward to nip lightly at Harry's ear with his teeth. "Showers are more fun when you share."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath, shivering helplessly beneath the onslaught of words and teeth. "Y-you mean...even a-after we're home?" he managed, his voice thready and weak.
Ron stilled, then stepped back away from him, frowning uncertainly. "Was this...supposed to be a one-off, then?" he asked, doubt shadowing his eyes for the first time since this had all started.
"Ron...I..." Harry had no idea what to say.
"Because--you said," Ron continued slowly, the doubt beginning to give way to something almost wounded. "You said you were waiting for the right person, and then--I thought, when you--with me, that it meant--but..."
If he could have, Harry would have responded to this with something incredibly smooth and decisive. Instead, what came out was a faint, disbelieving stammer. "Y-you'd actually...want me?"
"What?" Ron seemed genuinely bewildered. "Why on earth wouldn't I want you?"
"You never wanted me!"
The words burst out without Harry's conscious volition, and then just hung there between them for what felt like the longest time. Harry could do nothing but watch, torn between hope and horror, as comprehension slowly dawned on Ron's face.
"It was me," he whispered. "All this time, you were waiting--for me?"
Harry couldn't have formed a response if he'd wanted to. He could barely remember to breathe.
"I didn't know," Ron continued softly, "It would never have occurred to me even for a moment that I could have you. You...didn't seem to want anybody--"
"I want you," Harry blurted in spite of himself.
A slow grin was spreading across Ron's face, lighting up his features one by one like a miniature sunrise.
"You have me," he said, in a voice that was buoyant and strangely gentle all at once. "You idiot."
The bell over the outer shop door started jingling at that moment, interrupting anything Harry may have said--or done--by way of response. Ron glanced at the cupboard door, then brushed a swift, light kiss over Harry's mouth.
"We will continue this discussion at home," he vowed, and Harry thought he'd never heard anything so perfect in his life.
George opened the cupboard door, frowning curiously down at the pair of wands he'd picked up from the counter, and Harry almost laughed out loud at the startled squeak he let out when he saw them.
"Thanks, bro," Ron said casually, grabbing both wands in one hand and Harry's arm in the other. "Good luck at the opening. We'll pop by and see how it's going. Gotta go!"
Before George could fully process the cupboard littered with candy wrappers, games, and toys--much less his decimated stock--Ron Disapparated them both away from the shop and into their own living room.
"He's going to be pissed," he announced cheerfully to Harry, handing him his wand and grinning brightly. "Plus I totally stole the lube. So. How about that shower?"
Harry stared at his best-friend-turned-lover, speechless under a sudden crashing wave of affection and wonder and growing lust. He couldn't believe everything had changed so suddenly, literally overnight--but he wasn't complaining.
He could feel the goofy grin spreading across his face as he glowed helplessly up at Ron.
"Lead the way."