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“Arthur? Arthur, can you- ?” Molly Weasley turned away from the sink, the dirty dishes charmed clean, and found her husband palming one of the freshly-made sweet rolls from a basket on the table. “Arthur! You can't wait five minutes for everyone else, can you?”

 

“If I wait for the kids, I might not get one.”

 

He wasn't wrong.

 

“Oh for goodness sake.” She started gathering ingredients for a pie, wand already waving through the air, her movements a dance that she had performed countless times and Arthur always found himself mesmerized by it, by this amazing witch who had blessed him with so much more than herself. “Can you go check on Harry? See if he's up and ready for lunch? Poor thing was so exhausted when he came last night, I'm not surprised he slept the whole morning away.”

 

“Yes, Molly dear.” He snagged another roll on his way out of the kitchen. The little fluffy roll of goodness was gone by the time he reached the level with Ron's room. He knocked on the door. “Harry? Lunch is nearly ready, if you want some…Harry?” Met with silence, Arthur opened the door and found Harry standing near the spare bed he'd bunked in. That alone wasn't unusual, but what gave Arthur pause was that Harry was shirtless and apparently engrossed with his own belly, petting it, half-hunching in on himself to look at it more straight on, if upside down.

 

“What are you doing…?”Arthur trailed off, finally seeing what had Harry's attention.

 

It looked like….

 

But no, no that couldn't be possible, he had seen Harry not two months ago and there would had been signs, Harry would have been hard-pressed to conceal something as delicate as a pregnancy, but as Arthur came closer, could better see for himself the pale stretch marks etched on the teen's sides and belly, marks his own wife had with much greater complexity. He knew that - somehow - Harry had been pregnant.

 

Though perhaps….not recently?

 

Arthur frowned at the marks. The scars didn't look fresh at all, they were healed, faded, the skin tight as if nothing had ever grown beneath it. That was… troubling at best because that meant that Harry, not yet a man even now, had been pregnant sometime while still a child. “Harry….?”

 

Harry glanced up at him, confusion pinching his features. “What do you think did this?”

 

Arthur's frown deepened. “You…? You don't know how you got these marks…?”

 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “These…appeared.” He ran his fingers up and down his belly, staring at it, confused. “I think it has something to do with yesterday.”

 

“Yesterday?”

 

“I can’t remember much of what happened yesterday. It's like there's a…a gap before Dumbledore came to get me from the Dursleys. I can remember the night before that, but then nothing until Dumbledore came last night and then after that…” Harry frowned, thinking hard. “We went somewhere. Dumbledore wanted someone to come teach at Hogwarts and we went to talk to him. And then….I was here…” He trailed off, looking back up at Arthur. “Do you think….I mean, was there an attack? Is that why I can't remember? Did I get hit with a curse and maybe it did this?

 

Harry waved his hand at the scars, scars that Arthur knew could only mean one thing, and if Harry didn’t know how he’d come by them, then that meant…

 

He’d been Obliviated.

 

Outwardly, Arthur was calm, though confused. On the inside, he was torn between protecting Harry and being honest with him and that torn feeling was accompanied by a surge of panic. If Harry's pregnancy had been wiped from his memory, there had to be a reason and if Dumbledore knew - Dumbledore, who had arranged for Harry to come here last night - if Dumbledore had seen fit to make Harry forget, then it had to be for a very good reason, Arthur rationalized, trying to make sense of it all.

 

Then again, maybe - maybe - Arthur was wrong, he certainly could be wrong, he wasn't an expert in all magic; the darker, more arcane magics were beyond his education and who was to say this wasn't the work of a strange spell? And Harry certainly was the target of a great many Dark magic users.

 

Only…

 

Only Arthur was sure that no curse had done this to Harry. And if that was the case….

 

Should Arthur tell him?

 

“I'm….not sure,” he finally said. Not a lie, not really.

 

Arthur reached out his hand without thought to touch, feeling the uneven arcs of scar tissue, going from smooth to bumpy and back again in mesmerizing splashes, all funneling in their own ways towards Harry's navel.

 

So beautiful…

 

Realizing what he was doing, Arthur yanked his hand away, as though scalded. What was the matter with him? he scolded himself, mildly horrified.

 

But Harry - young Harry, sweet Harry - caught back his hand. “You can touch them. I don't mind.” And he pulled Arthur's hand forward to rest firmly on his skin - had it been that warm before? - staring up at Arthur with wide green eyes, seemingly unaware of how close to inappropriate this was getting.

 

He looked so innocent and yet…

 

And yet, there was something about the way he held Arthur's hand captive to his skin, coaxing Arthur to touch, to pet those arcs of scars, something in the way he ducked his head a little and looked up at Arthur through his lashes that made Arthur wonder just how innocent Harry really was. If he didn’t know any better, Arthur would swear he was being seduced…

 

His thumb swiped back and forth almost without conscious thought - smooth-bumpy-smooth - the texture fascinating him. Well, it wasn't only fascination. It was also… arousing.  Watching Harry's eyes go heavy-lidded, the green deepening to near-black, Arthur knew he wasn't the only one affected.

 

“Do they hurt?” 

 

“No,” was Harry's hoarse reply, his voice almost a whisper in the small room.

 

“And this?” He grasped Harry's sides to frame his belly, slowly dragging his hands up and down, making the scars pull and stretch. It was a deliberately stepping from nearly inappropriate to fully being so, but Arthur was having trouble caring, not when it made Harry's breathing go all shaky and press into his hands, asking for more without asking.

 

Another headshake.

 

Carefully, Arthur knelt down, putting him about level with Harry's torso, allowing him a far less awkward view of the stretch marks than he'd had from his towering full height.

 

He took a shaky breath. This was madness, he knew, stupid, selfish madness, this boy - this boy - was here to be protected, to be kept safe from everyone who sought to do him harm. Arthur shouldn't be doing this, and what if someone saw?

 

Well, that he could fix.

 

It was a simple thing to spell the door closed, locking it and setting a privacy ward for good measure, all with silent flicks of his wand, all while chiding himself for not simply walking out that door as he ought. He hated himself for indulging in his weakness at a child's expense, at Harry's expense, no less. But he couldn't seem to find the strength to get off his knees. And Harry, sweet Harry, was staring down at Arthur with no trace of fear, no apprehension of any kind.

 

Arthur looked up into that face and saw trust. He looked into those dark green eyes, pupils blown wide, and saw want and it pushed away most of Arthur's misgivings and his urge to flee back to the kitchen, back to his loving, doting wife, the woman who had blessed him with so much and who had no idea that her husband was on his knees before a boy that was very nearly a son to them.

 

All because of the stretch marks.

 

Arthur returned his attention to the masterpiece before him, drawn to the scarred flesh like a moth to a flame. He was captivated by the thin, raised lines arcing from Harry's sides, from above and below his navel, all angled towards Harry's middle, telltale marks that life had sparked and grown, leaving the skin above it no choice but to stretch and stretch and stretch around it.

 

There was something almost pristine about Harry's stretch marks, something Molly's lacked. Her belly was a right mess of scars, not that he wanted her any less for it; in fact, sometimes it got Arthur so hot and bothered that his wife had carried his seed so many times, that her belly had grown taut with it. The grooves in her skin were as much his as they were hers, a sign that Arthur had been inside her, had left his mark upon her. He'd been lucky to find a wife so agreeable to carrying his seed. It had been pure chance that, time and again the baby had been a boy. Molly always said her heart had been set on having a girl - a simple way to explain her being pregnant nearly nonstop for roughly a decade - but Arthur was sure that a part of her, like him, got off on her being pregnant. But ever since they'd had Ginny, it had been nothing more than a fantasy that Arthur would enjoy every time he spilled within Molly, half-hoping another spark would take despite the spell cast by a St Mungo's healer that prevented such a thing from happening again.

 

Pregnancy.

 

Arthur groaned softly under his breath.

 

It had been so long since he’d let the fantasy take hold over him, stoke his ardor high. Seeing Harry's belly marked in such a way, it was heady - it brought Arthur's dark desires to the forefront of his mind, distracting him from rational thought, urging him to touch, urging him to take… 

 

Arthur's lips were against Harry's skin. One lingering kiss turned into another and another and another. His tongue darted out to lave across an arcing scar, his mouth opening wider to suckle, lightly, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave the beginnings of a bruise behind as Arthur trailed his mouth across Harry's belly.

 

Above him, Harry’s breathing quickened. A stifled moan. Soft pawing at Arthur’s shoulders, not to stop him, but for balance, like casting for a rock amidst a storm.

 

Gently, Arthur urged Harry back and his legs touched the side of the bed. Harry sat. Arthur urged him farther back still until Harry lay down, legs hanging off the bed.  Arthur pressed close between them and leaned over the boy. “Is this alright?” he breathed, his lips trailing across Harry’s belly once more, unable to stop touching the lovely marks.

 

Harry arched his body up against Arthur in a slow, languid roll, hands fisted in the bedclothes. “Yessss….”

 

Arthur pressed closer. He was right. This was no innocent thing under him. This young flesh had known another’s touch and now craved it. “What do you want?” he whispered. He was prepared to give a great deal if only Harry would continue to let him touch, but only if Harry wanted his touch. If Harry told him no, here and now, Arthur would leave, would beg for forgiveness and silence, of course, but he would leave. He would not harm the boy.

 

“Anything,” was Harry’s breathy reply, hooking his ankles around Arthur, dragging him closer, not that he could, no room was left between their hips. He rolled his hips up again, dragging his trapped cock against Arthur’s and Arthur rocked back, Harry’s legs spreading a little more.

 

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful thing…” He fumbled at his own belt, tugged his leaking cock out. He pressed the tip the Harry’s beautiful scars, smearing them with precum. Arthur groaned. He rocked his hips back and forth, sliding against Harry’s belly. It was such a thrilling tease…

 

He nearly came when Harry wrapped a hand around Arthur’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, urging him faster.” Merlin, you…you…”  Coming undone, Arthur grasped Harry by his sides, dug his hands firmly against his scars, feeling them bunch and pull beneath his finger. He imagined being buried inside Harry, feeling his warmth from within, coming within him and creating life with the gift of his seed. The fantasy paired with the reality under his hands, so sweet and willing, and it set Arthur off. He pulsed against Harry’s skin, his cum splattering up to Harry’s neck.

 

And Harry, such a sweet boy, he stroked Arthur through his shakes, even though he himself writhed and panted with unfulfilled need.

 

So beautiful…

 

“Come here, love. Let’s see to you now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hanging over the banister two floors up with Extendable Ears tucked into their ears was Fred and George.  They stared at each other, listening with shock and disbelief.

 

The throaty sounds and pleas were not what they thought they would hear when they lowered the Ears. The twins had been curious about Harry showing up so late at night. Maybe it had been Order business, Fred had argued. Or a Death Eater attack, thought George. So when they saw their father duck into ickle Ronnikin’s room where Harry was staying, they had lowered their trusty Extendable Ears-

 

And got an earful.

 

“So Dad is-”

 

“-sucking Harry off,” Fred finished. “Well, that’s unexpected.”

 

“What do you think we should do?” George personally had half a mind to march down to the kitchen at inform their lovely mother what her husband was up to. The other half of his mind was enthralled by the sounds Harry was making. His brain conjured an image of the scene and, surprisingly, he wasn’t as turned off by it as he probably should have been.

 

“Well, for one-” Whatever Fred was going to say was interrupted by the Extendable Ears.

 

Daddy!” Harry cried out, his voice high and needy, drowning out the squeaking of the mattress. “Daddy, please! Aaahhhh!”

 

The Ears clearly relayed the wet, sucking sounds of the end of a successful blowjob.

 

“Am I the only one a little turned on by this?”

 

George looked over at his twin. “No…but what do we do? We just listened to Dad cheat on our mother.”

 

“Yes, George, I had realized that, thank you. I’m trying to think.” Fred groused. The erection he had from listening to just that was making it hard for him to decide. “I just wish we had more information.”

 

“Okay, so we march in there and demand to know what’s going on?” George yanked his Ear out and reeled it in, Fred doing the same. “If Dad doesn’t want us to know, I don’t think he’ll tell us. Might even Obliviate us.”

 

“Alright so we talk to Harry. Harry can’t use magic outside school yet-”

 

“We could play the guilt card-”

 

“And get him to spill what he knows,” Fred smirked.

 

“Alright. Operation Catamite is a go.”

Fred rolled his eyes.

 

“What? It works.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry startled awake, his cry smothered by a hand.

 

“Shhh!”

 

Harry squinted in the dark, barely able to make out two identical looking person-shapes. Fred and George. He went limp in his bed. “I nearly had a heart attack, what are you doing?” He whispered back.

 

“Fancied a chat,” one twin said. “Not the kind that should be overheard,” the other finished. In the dark, Harry couldn’t tell them apart. “C’mon, upstairs to ours.” Someone patted him on the leg, both creeping out as quietly as they’d snuck in.

 

Rolling his eyes, Harry followed, too awake to fall back to sleep now anyway.

 

In the twin’s room - soon to be their old one when the work on their flat/store was done - Fred smartly cast warding and silencing spells on the room while George conjured softly glowing balls of light to hover around the room, just enough to see by.

 

“So what’s this all about?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t every day the twins woke him for a powwow.

 

Fred and George mirrored him, arms crossing at the same time. Sometimes it was unsettling how in sync they were.

 

“What’s this thing with you Dad?” George didn’t beat around the bush. He moved around to Harry’s side, well-within his personal space, forcing him to have to turn his head to look at one twin or the other. Right now, though, Harry was staring at George, eyes wide with shock. “Don’t try to deny it. We saw him go into Ron’s room with you.”

 

“And heard you,” Fred added, helpfully pulling out an Ear, twirling it whimsically through the air.

 

Whatever lie Harry had been about to spew died in his throat at the sight of the Extendable Ear, knowing how accurate they were. “I-”

 

“Just to be clear, Harry. We’re not judging you-”

 

“Well, we are, but not with outright hate, understand?”

 

“We just want to know what’s going on. How it started, how long has this been going on, y’know, stuff like that.” Fred sounded bored, like he could care less, but there was an intensity to his eyes that belied his aloofness. He very much cared about what was going on. He was just trying to reserve his judgement for who he really should be pissed at, whichever way the cards fell.

 

“It- it was only one time,” Harry said weakly. “It just…happened, I don’t know-”

 

“Did he force you?” George was as calm and collected as his twin, though he felt anything but.

 

“No! I-” Harry flushed, looked away. He couldn’t meet their eyes, ashamed of himself. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault. Harry couldn’t let the twins think badly of their father, he had to tell the truth. “It was me.”

 

The twins blinked. “’What’ was you?” they asked together.

 

“I…wanted him,” Harry said in a small voice, still not looking at either of them, knowing that soon they wouldn’t want to be looking at him. So depraved… “He was being so nice and gentle and I…I wanted…”

 

George looked back at Fred. “Harry, love…”

 

“You get that you can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do, right?”

 

“Unless you use an Unforgiveable,” George amended, “and I think we’d know by now if you had-”

 

“-since the Ministry likes to keep tabs on your wand.” Fred smirked, eyeing Harry. “Looks like another wand of yours needs to be watched out for…”

 

“Gred!”

 

Forge,” Fred countered mockingly. “What? He thinks he can seduce anyone he wants into bed regardless of what they want. For the record,” he said to Harry, “you might have been willing, but Dad didn’t have to fuck you.”

 

George groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Did you have to say it.”

 

“Not really, no. On the other hand…” Fred sauntered forward, stroking his chin as he looked Harry up and down. “Maybe Harry can seduce anyone he wants.”

 

Harry blinked. He’d gone from feeling very ashamed to very ashamed and confused. It didn’t exactly prepare him for the change in Fred’s demeanor.  

 

George scoffed. “Now, Fred, Harry would have to have some kind of creature taint in his blood. You aren’t about to insult his parents, are you?”

 

“Now, George, I’m merely stating that for me to believe that our father isn’t some kind of sex pervert waiting to lech on stray specky brunettes when the opportunity arises, I would need some convincing. Some proof that dear Harry here is such a seductive little minx that he can woo anyone, our good selves, even-”

 

“-because we wouldn’t dare to besmirch one hair on such an innocent looking head on our own power, would we Fred?”

 

“Of course not, George.”

 

“And if I can?” Harry wasn’t stupid. Even in the bad lighting, he could see the heat in Fred’s eyes, had noticed the occasional appreciative glance from George (especially today, though now Harry knew why). The twins wanted him. Why they were playing this silly cat and mouse game, was anyone’s guess, if they wanted him all they had to do was ask. “If I can seduce you? What then?”

 

“Hmm…” George moved back to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “Well, we would be forced to retract our claim that Dad has a fetish anything more than our lovely redheaded mother.” He nodded sagely.

 

“So I suppose…I should start, then?” Harry waited for the twins’ nod before stepped back a pace, putting more room between them and him. Maybe there was something to this pseudo-roleplaying thing? He’d never quite gotten it when Uncle Vernon’s ‘friends’ did it. It had felt weird, like playing pretend - such a kiddie thing to do when Harry was trying to do something adult-ish, like sucking their cock.

 

He slid his nightshirt over his head, wiggled his too-big pajama bottoms to the floor. It was only when he was standing before the twins in all his naked glory that he noticed their pointed stares.

 

“Harry, love-”

 

“-what gave you those,” Fred finished. He pointed at Harry’s midriff.

 

Confused, Harry, looked down at himself, not understanding until he saw the scars again. He still wasn’t used to them. “Oh, erm, I’m not really sure.” It was such a lame answer. Even the twins didn’t seem to believe him. “Really, I don’t know. I didn’t have them yesterday, but when I woke up this morning, they were there.” Harry stroked his scarred belly. “I asked your Dad about them. He said he didn’t know what they were from, but…but he seemed to really like them.” Harry looked up at them, head ducked coquettishly. “Do you want to touch them?”

 

George stepped forward, letting his hand trace Harry’s scarred side. “ They are pretty to look at, whatever they are. Do they hurt?” He asked, purposefully echoing what they’d heard through the Ears.

 

“No,” Harry breathed.

 

“And this?” Fred stepped around Harry, drawing Harry back against his chest. He raked his fingernails down the flat of Harry’s belly, hard enough to draw red marks, but not enough to hurt. It was a more of a tease.

 

As before, Harry nodded, unable to get any words past the lump in his throat. He was getting hard fast. Fred already was, Harry could feel the firm line of his erection digging into his back.

 

George shifted to stand right in front of Harry, pressing just as close as Fred. He was a worse tease, as Harry’s bare cock brushed against his clothing. Harry fought to keep his hips still. “Fred, you might be onto something. I’m having trouble keeping my hands to myself.” He thumbed Harry’s nipples, rubbing and pinching them until Harry cried out, his hips juttering forward. Harry’s cock rubbed against soft cotton, smearing precum.

 

“Y’know, George,” Fred’s hands gripped Harry’s hips as he ground his cock shamelessly into Harry from behind, mouthing at Harry’s ear. “I’m having the same problem. What you reckon we should do?”

 

“Fuck him senseless, I say,” George breathed against Harry’s lips. Then he was kissing Harry and Harry thought that, if the goal was to make him senseless, then they didn’t need to fuck him because George already had him dizzy with want, his tongue stealing in to twine with Harry’s while Fred nibbled and sucked, raising hickeys as he moved down Harry’s neck.

 

Harry was awash with sensation. Sandwiched between two lithe bodies, he scarcely knew what to do, who to touch. His hands were fisted in George’s nightshirt, keeping him close, because he was unable to do much more than rock his hips forward against one brother, back against the other, whining when George nipped at his lip and pulled away.

 

“Well if we’re going to be fucking, we should probably retreat to the bed.”

 

“Sensible,” Fred agreed, even though he was one layer of clothing away from fucking Harry already. “Can’t do all of the work for you, now can we?”

 

“But we can’t all fit on one bed,” Harry said. The twins were getting taller by the day, it seemed, and filling out nicely at that. Add one scrawny teen to the mix and things would get tricky.

 

“Awe, bless him George.”

 

“I know. Just think. Someday, little Harry here will be a big boy and be able to do magic outside of school all on his own!” Fred cackled. Harry shoved at him, only slightly peeved. Fred made up for it by dragging Harry into kiss that was more teeth than lips or tongue, not that Harry mind. Or notice that Fred had backed him up to the bed, which was actually both their beds joined together by George with a bit of transfiguration.

 

Fred ended the kiss with a lurid wet pop. “On the bed, love.” He winked, pushing Harry back to sprawl on the squeaky mattress.

 

Harry growled, propping himself up on his elbows. “Were either of you actually planning on fucking me or are you just going to stand about? You can’t get me off with sarcastic quips.”

 

The twins looked at each other with exaggerated indignation.

 

“Needy and mouthy. Our Harry is a pushy little bottom, isn’t he?”

 

“Oh, I think he’s the one who’s all talk, brother dear. Let’s get a cock in him. Maybe that will shut him up.”

 

“And if that doesn’t work, we’ll put a cock in that too.”

 

They pounced on the bed, quickly pinning Harry down, who gave a show of resisting before giving in and rutting against Fred’s hip, drawn into another kiss by George.

 

“Probably should have undressed before getting on the bed,” Fred pointed out in between showering Harry’s neck with more red marks.

 

George twisted one of Harry’s nipples hard enough to make Harry break the kiss, throwing his back against the bed, mouth open in a soundless moan. “I was under the impression that Harry needed cock now.”

 

“Can’t do that wearing clothes George.”

 

“Then spell them off.”

 

You spell them off. The last time I tried that you bitched for ages when your trousers never reappeared.”

 

“Because those were my best pair.”

 

“Why would you spell your brother’s clothes off?” Harry blinked up at them.

 

The twins gave each other a look.

 

“Well, Harry-”

 

“-the thing is-”

 

They paused, mostly for effect, in Harry’s opinion. Any other opinions Harry might have had went out the window when George took Fred by the chin, gently turning his brother’s head to meet in a slow, meltingly hot kiss that curled Harry’s toes just watching it. “…oh…” was all he said because he was having trouble remembering how words worked.

 

Fred pulled back, gazing at his twin lovingly. “Yes, oh. After years of searching, I finally decided I was the one- ow!” he giggled, shoving away the pillow George was trying to bean him with.

 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” George rolled his eyes.

 

“You’re lucky I like my own face so much.”

 

“That too.”

 

Harry flushed. He felt a little…out of place. Fred and George were into each other, loved each other, were in love with each other. Even though he was naked and practically sandwiched between them, Harry didn’t know where he fit into this. He was used to being the center of attention, if only because he was the one was being fucked. But this, this was actual love the twins had and, for the first time, Harry felt…spoiled. Like some dirty rotten thing that had climbed into bed with them that belonged more in the trash that here in some spontaneous tryst. And all because they’d caught Harry with their father, a good man with an amazing wife that Harry had conned him into cheating on.

 

He didn’t often cry (the Dursleys had taught him it didn’t help), but now he found himself in near tears because he didn’t deserve to see this, to be here, in this bed, in this house.

 

“Hey…” George cupped the side of his face, smoothing a tear Harry hadn’t realized had fallen. “What’s wrong, love?”

 

“I-” His breath hitched in his throat. Harry held a hand over his mouth, trying to stop the misery fighting to claw its way out of his chest. If it got out, he would scream and cry and Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to stop. Instead of using words, he shook his head violently, tried to climb out of the bed, only the twins wouldn’t let him, easily pining him between them.

 

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

 

“Just tell us, we promise not to make a big deal, no matter what.”

 

They lay there for minutes that felt like hours, petting him and kissing away his tears until Harry couldn’t stand it anymore.

 

“Why?”

 

Warily, Fred eyed his brother, assuming Harry meant their…unusual relationship. “Gonna have to elaborate, darling.”

 

“Wh- Why did you bring me here? How can you even touch me after I…after I…” The tears he’d been holding back came in full force and though Harry did his best to keep quiet, the force of containing his sobs wracked his body and he shook hard between the twins, held safe in their arms and yet feeling all the worse for it.

 

Stupid whore, he thought to himself, angry for his lack of control in so many ways.

 

“Now, hang on, alright,” Fred hushed him. “Okay, so full disclosure? We were…understandably confused,” he settled on after a moment, “when we listened to, well, you and Dad-”

 

“-but really we worried that you were being taken advantage of. Cuz no one deserves that, right? But you seemed to make it clear that you weren’t forced into anything-”

 

“-and as you can tell,” Fred nodded at his brother, “we’re not exactly the poster boys for what society thinks of as a ‘healthy, normal relationship’,” he joked, though his tone fell flat because they had to hide their ‘illicit’ love from not only the world, but their own family. They could never get married or flaunt their happiness in public for one simple reason: they wore the same face. “We’re not mad that you tumbled our Dad. That was…mostly bluster to get you into bed.”

 

“Because we found it pretty hot, to be honest. And we got to talking about it and about you and we figured we would…try to go for it…See if you maybe wanted to have a tumble with us.” George shrugged, looking as honest and open as Harry had ever seen him. “Which you seemed to be into? Until something…set you off…?”

 

“Mind telling us what that was?”

 

Harry lay between them, hands still covering his face. ‘Better’ wasn’t what he would use to describe himself. Calmer, yes. Knowing that Fred and George didn’t hate him was a relief, and he got that they wanted to have sex with him, but he was still confused.

 

Cautiously, he lowered his hands, ready to hide behind them at a moment’s notice if he felt the urge to blubber like an infant again. “I guess…I guess I don’t get why you chose me for, for a ‘tumble’. I mean, what you have is amazing and beautiful and I just, I don’t…” he trailed off, not knowing how to put into words how unworthy, how worthless he felt in their arms when they saw the world in each other’s eyes.

 

“Well, you’re a sexy little minx, if that helps,” Fred said.

 

“And as sex-related extravaganzas go, that really is helpful.”

 

“So…like a one-time kinda thing?” Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted a yes or no answer.

 

George sighed. “Told you we should have just talked about it with him. Gone and confused the poor thing, we have.”

 

“To be fair, that plan was working fantastically, thank you. We just tripped before we couple properly mount the broom.”

 

“The broom being you, obviously,” George clarified. Harry giggled a little despite the emotions roiling within him.

 

“But anyway,” Fred continued. “Laying this all out plainly: me and George are committed. This is us and this is what we want - each other. As long as understandings are in place, we have no qualms about bringing playmates into our bed from time to time, just so long as they understand that the sex doesn’t change the status quo. At the end of the day, me and George are it, not that we want to hurt anyone’s feelings-”

 

“-oh, yeah, jumping Harry’s bones without this conversation was going to be way less confusing for him.”

 

“Shut it, George.”

 

“Just saying. But what my beloved is trying to angle towards is that, though that we might want to sex you up and of course we certainly care about you-”

 

“-you’re like family,” Fred butted in, leering at Harry. “And you know how me and George treat family.”

 

“Perv,” Harry giggled, slapping at Fred with the pillow George had knocked him with earlier, giggling harder at the mock-puppy eyes Fred gave him in return.

 

“-at the end of the day, I’m with Fred and he’s with me,” George finished, looking very put upon by their antics.

 

“Did you- I mean, were you asking if we were, like, bringing you into the relationship?” Fred asked, hesitant. He wasn’t quite sure what had upset Harry so badly. They had seen Harry go through some really bad shite and never had they seen the kid cry, but one kiss between the twins and Harry had gone off the deep end. That kind of agony…didn’t spring up out of nowhere.

 

The laughter left Harry’s face. He stared at pillow in his hands.

 

A lot of what Harry had gone through this summer was messed up, he knew that. That didn’t change how he reacted to it, how being called bad names and treated as less than human, as something to be used, made him throb with want, made Harry do all manner of filthy weird, freakish things because - somehow - being made to feel bad inexplicably made him feel good.

 

He could tell the twins. Of all people, they might be able to understand. Ron and Hermione certainly wouldn’t.

 

He took a deep breath. “I’m a slut,” he said letting out the words in an exhale.

 

The twins blinked in confusion.

 

“I mean,” Harry tried again, “I…I like being used. Being treated…badly.”

 

Fred and George looked at each other. “Okay, yeah. Everyone has their, ah, kink. You get off on…being a fucktoy?” he asked, making sure he understood.

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Is that what made you upset earlier? How we were treating you-?”

 

“NO! No, I just…I just don’t understand...I don’t get how you two could, y’know…would want someone who likes what I like,” Harry said, sounding so small and pathetic by the end of it that he wished he’d just made up some crap excuse and bolted from the room. This was humiliating in a non-sexy way. He felt so open and naked (ignoring the fact that he literally was naked). “I’m dirty.”

 

“Alright, rule number one,” George held up his index finger, counting. “You don’t ever get to refer to yourself that way ever ever ever and I will take you over my knee and spank you black and blue if I ever hear you do so again.”

 

Horrified, Harry felt his cock twitch at the idea.

 

Fred noticed his reaction. He let out a low whistle. “Wow, you weren’t kidding, were you?” He looked at George. “No need to be gentle with this one,” he grinned.

 

George licked his lips and hummed, staring at Harry’s exposed cock. “Too right.” He shook himself. “Anyway. Rule number two: Everyone has weird shite they like in bed. That shite does not define who you are or your self-worth. No one else has the right to make you feel like shite for the said shite that you like, got it? Nor will you let them make you feel like shite for the shite that you like when it isn’t even their shite to begin with. Got it?”

 

“I…think so?”

 

“Number two is very important, Harry. Seriously, you could get wet from licking the boots of Slytherins while wearing a frilly pink robe and weighted nipple clamps and, if that’s what gets you off then that’s your thing and fuck what anyone else thinks,” George said, gesticulating wildly to get his point across.

 

Which he did. “I’m a slut.” Harry said to the ceiling. “And I like it.”

 

“See now? By George, I think he’s got it.”

 

“Har har,” Fred said deadpan.

 

“I’m a slut,” Harry said, wonderingly. He’d been looking at it wrong. He’d been trying to put himself down for what got him off. So what if what he liked wasn’t normal? He was Harry bloody Potter, normal had no fucking place in his life, full stop.

 

“I’m a slut!” he said loudly into the room, a wide smile lighting his face.

 

And with that, he threw himself at the twins and set about proving just how okay he was with his slutty self.