Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

WONKY CROSS	By : JanisJ Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 59363 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N: Thanks for all the reads, rates and reviews! I love them…. They make me very happy!

So, now you begin to see how I think Harry and Ginny ending up together is NOT cool…. (and premarital sex as a ‘test-drive’ is a good idea for all parties involved— Kudos to all those that have ‘saved themselves’ for ‘the one’ and it worked out, but real life rarely works out like that, especially for someone as unique as Harry!).

I’ll warn you now, it gets a bit worse for poor Harry— but then gets sooooo much better! (Sorry, Hollibel, you may need to invest in a helmet for the ‘head-bashing into a wall’ at Harry’s cluelessness in the next couple chapters, though for what I have planned, you can sell it on Ebay soon after that)

Thanks for reading. Hope you stick with me and enjoy the next bit of the story….

~O~

CLOUDY

“Ha—rry! HA!-rry!” Ginny was gulping and choking, hyperventilating. “I can’t—can’t—breathe!”

Harry and the others were terrified, looking to each other in helpless confusion. Luckily, The-Boy-Who-Lived snapped into survival and ‘saving people’ mode and ushered her straight back into the Floo they had just exited.

After they were spit unceremoniously back onto the hearth rug at The Burrow, Arthur rushed forward and took his gasping daughter to the sofa and Molly bustled off to make tea laced with Firewhiskey. “I was afraid this might happen….” the matronly woman murmured. Harry looked at her questioningly.

“Panic attack. She’s had reservations about going back to Hogwarts. I just thought she was exaggerating. She doesn’t talk about it much, but she had quite the terrible time there last year. She even refused to finish her schooling when the restorations were finished. I’m afraid I pushed her to just try while it was empty and quiet….”

Molly sounded so forlorn and guilty that Harry had to hug her; he felt confident that Arthur was competently comforting his new wife in the living room. He mumbled into her hair, “You did the right thing, we had to try.”

Why didn’t anyone mention this earlier? Everyone had led him to believe that once she came of age and after the wedding she would be coming to live and work with him at the Castle!

He knew she had problems with that time but was he so out of touch he didn’t realize what a toll it would take on her? (And was he really so self-absorbed that he would think her personal anguish was less than his, so that if he could overcome it, she should as well? How would he feel having to go to the Malfoy drawing room and cellar every day?)

It also made a lot more sense now that she had always made excuses not to come join them in the evenings, even when they were all going out for after-dinner drinks in Hogsmeade.

After sending word they were all right to the gang in Gryffindor tower, he spent the night just holding Ginny in her childhood bed. It felt good to be a solid anchor for her after her incapacitating fright-- just cradling her and offering warm comfort and combined, calm breath-- like Charlie had done for him after a nightmare.

And of course, not have the pressure of sexual performance hanging heavily over his head.

(Was it horrible that he wanted to get back to his friends and home the next night, once it was known Ginny was all right? He felt a desolate pang in his chest when he had the thought that he might not be able to go back.)

~O~

His first night back at the Castle was certainly not all he’d hoped it would be.

Firstly, he’d thought that once he and Ginny were married, she would come and be working by his side, sharing their first room as a happily married couple. So he was faced with sleeping alone in his bed once more and facing countless sex-less nights. (Though it was the overwhelming relief of getting back to business-as-usual and away from her that disturbed him the most, his gratefulness that he hadn’t been begged to give up his job to stay at The Burrow with her came in a close second.)

For another thing, during dinner, there was some bloke who was chatting up Charlie and obviously smitten with him— if the dazzling smiles and casual yet lingering touches were interpreted correctly.

Harry tried to tell himself that it was just disappointment because Neville and Luna had each other now, Ron and Hermione were obviously together, Lee and George had the business of the WWW store to discuss (they only worked in the morning with the crew, the afternoons were spent at the shop, and left Verity to close in the evenings). Even Dean had found a painter he’d taken a fancy to and flirted shamelessly with her throughout the meal.

Harry had never really noticed it before, but it used to be him and Charlie who were paired off for conversation more often than not; now all his attention was taken up by some mindless drone sent by the Ministry to make bricks— the git was probably as thick as the stones he cut! Since when did the outside workers (besides Dean’s new love-interest, Alyson ‘something’) stay for dinner?! It hadn’t completely registered with him that there was suddenly a dating-pool at Hogwarts, having been thoroughly entertained with the animated chats and jokes with his roommate.

“Are you going back to spend the night at The Burrow, Harry?” Hermione made a valiant attempt to include him in some sort of conversation.

Harry barely heard her while angrily stabbing his cutlet with his fork, but answered (in a resigned sigh) in the affirmative, “Yeah, I suppose I ought to.” He didn’t really feel the strength for it though; being around Ginny was always so strained and draining. What he was really focused on was the way that man was hovering closer and nudging shoulders with Charlie.

Why was that prat still here?

Sure he’d seen some of the witches on the crew be coy and giggle, touching Charlie in suggestive ways that made it clear they were hoping to be asked out (and why wouldn’t they? The dragon-handler was dashing, charismatic and captivating)— but he had never left with any of them before! Harry watched with his stomach plummeting as the bloke whispered something in Charlie’s ear and they both grinned and waved to the others, making their way out into the Castle proper, calling out, “Don’t wait up!”

Now he really was alone! He always felt so apart from everyone and everything, even his two best friends (and especially his wife), but at that moment his lungs felt constricted and his throat grew tight and sore.

He watched the two go and something must have shown on his face, because Ron leaned toward him and said, “Roger. Took up with him once we got back from the wedding,” and made a ‘whatever’ type of face accompanied by a nonchalant shrug before he tucked into his dessert. “Seems decent enough, I guess.” Hermione studied the side of Harry’s paled face, but he didn’t notice it. He got up without finishing his food and went upstairs to their room.

It was comforting in its familiarity but he blanched when he looked at the bed that had been Charlie’s and saw that his duffle was packed and sitting on the floor next to it. Was he leaving?! The unbearable squeezing in his chest intensified and he collapsed on his own mattress; he curled into a fetal position hugging his knees in order to have something to hang on to.

He felt abandoned and misunderstood and too weird for anyone to stick around too close. Yeah, Ron and Hermione were still nearby, but separate and distant enough for him to feel a profound sense of loneliness…. He had plenty of people who wanted to be his friend for superficial reasons….

He had thought Charlie understood him, liked spending time with him, cared for him even…. The Trio would always be family, full of unconditional love, but he had come to regard his roommate as his best mate.

He must have dozed off, because he was awoken in the dark by a loud bang of the door bouncing back to pound against the wall. In the dim light silhouetting them in the hall, Harry saw a blurry outline of two bodies entwined, kissing, and then breaking reluctantly apart. “Shhhhh,” was intoned in an overly dramatic drunk stage-whisper. “You’ll wake the entire tower, Roger….” rumbled the husky voice of his former roommate.

“I— hush it! He’s back!” Charlie hissed, standing stock still in a strange stance-- half moving toward his place, half leaning toward going straight back out into the hall. “You have to go!” he finally decided and said, pushing the other towards the stairs, “He’s alone,” his urgent tone evident in his quiet voice. “I need to be here…. I’ll talk to you later!”

There was a huff of annoyance from brown-haired blob across the threshold and then silence as the door was shut. Charlie stumbled to his own bed, (stubbed his toe on the frame if the thump, stifled noises of pain and muttered curses were anything to go by) and quickly got under the covers. Some further rustling informed the brunet he was clumsily undressing and fighting his sheets and blanket at the same time.

Harry was confused. Why would he call off his date just for him? There were plenty of other places those two could have relocated to have a tryst…. And why was his bag packed and ready to go?

(He kind-of felt like an idiot when he asked the next morning and Charlie explained that he’d thought he’d be kicked out once the new married couple arrived back from their honeymoon and had his things ready to go at a moments’ notice-- because even though the first night had ended badly with her unable to stay, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t eventually make it work and he’d be out, looking for a new room.)

~O~

They all fell back into the routine they’d established before the wedding, but the Pitch and Greenhouses were finished and they’d started trying to repair things indoors as the weather grew cooler.

Now, given a chance to work along-side Neville, Harry was impressed with his power and the obvious strength of his magic. (It made a lot more sense when the once-timid classmate explained it was due to his new wand, reminding Harry that the one he started out on-- and had been destroyed in the battle of The Department of Mysteries-- had been his dad’s; once his grandmother had been forced to let him get a wand that chose him, the difference in his competence level was astounding)

Harry was very proud of his old dorm-mate and thought that perhaps without that new-found confidence, The War could have very easily been lost; it made him glad to tell him so (and even more happy to see the pleased smile on the adult, angular face that used to be so round and chubby).

The camaraderie among the volunteers was still there, but somehow felt tense, at least to Harry. The brunet was acutely aware of the times that ‘The Git’ (Roger) hung around, and worse, took Charlie’s attention off of him and took him out to who-knew-where in the evenings (and the dragon-handler didn’t get in until all hours of the morning).

Harry was grateful for the times Charlie WAS still there like he used to, playing games in the evening by the fire and safely in bed, alone, with just Harry. He knew he was being selfish at keeping his roommate from pursuing a more serious relationship of his own, but as his marriage was less than ideal, he truly valued the company.

His thoughts wandered to the last several Saturday nights he went to The Burrow ahead of everyone else that would converge on the dwelling for Sunday dinner:

The first time he went, Molly had teasingly reminded them, “Don’t forget the ‘Silencio’s’, kids!”— and he couldn’t get it up thinking that her parents were in the room down the hall, knowing exactly what married couples were up to in their beds at night and had actually brought it up, mentioning it out loud. Ginny sighed in irritation when none of her feather-light touches could stir his arousal and had him “Gently!” press on her mound to bring her to completion.

After that weekend, they finally had the same kind of sex they had on their holiday that left him hard. He tried jerking off while she drifted into slumber, but she scolded him for jostling the bed and told him to finish off in the bathroom. By the time he got there, his arousal had died and he slunk back unsatisfied, listening in frustration to her sated snores. He found it really difficult to drift off to sleep when that rancid smell he detested kept wafting up from her sheets.

Another time, after she refused his request to take her from behind (apparently, being on her hands and knees reminded her too much of when she was bent over in the stocks and had her bottom on display— and he felt like a real asshole for suggesting it) Ginny rode him, but with her back turned to him.

He rather enjoyed that. He didn’t have to see her disapproving face as he twisted his nipples and plucked at the sparse chest-hair surrounding them. And he could gaze upon her smooth butt-cheeks. He was curious about— and oddly drawn to— the crack; by the time she was climaxing she allowed him to hesitantly run his finger along the top of the cleft.

The next week, she had her period (thank god!). Unfortunately though, she was restless and kicking around so much he got no restful sleep— which led to a nightmare one of the times he drifted off and the disruption annoyed her so much she sent him to Ron’s old room.

Finally, he recalled the last time they’d tried:

When he’d steered clear of her hints to put his head between her thighs (and remained thoroughly un-aroused by the thought of it), Ginny had spat in an incensed hiss, “There are spells for that!” She pointed her wand at his flaccid member, causing it to shoot so full of blood so quickly that it was painful (and not in the happy-fun way). She took her pleasure and collapsed soon after.

When he finally uttered in a strained voice, “I’m still hard” she took it to mean that he was done but still erect so cast a ‘Finite Encatatem’, effectively giving him a de-rection. And that was that.

He was soon making excuses not to go spend his Saturday nights there, and just showing up with all the rest for the Sunday gather. Ginny never questioned him about it; she seemed as fine as he was with that arrangement.

They gave each other perfunctory and obligatory kisses on cheeks and made inconsequential small talk when they were together, but it was clear that things weren’t going very well; there was no excitement or passion, they just kind-of numbly skated through the days. It was unspoken between the couple and the family never said anything about it.

~O~

The Ministry sent invitations to the Trio for their annual Halloween ball— but none of them had any interest in it, much to Ginny’s displeasure. Hogwarts was having a party for ‘All Hallows Eve’ (those few in the know who’d been privy to the driving force behind the events of the wars Voldemort had waged, the irony was not lost); the Great Hall, which Minerva had finally finished on her own, was decked out for all the volunteers, invited workers and their families and staff. The Burrow was having its own gathering.

Harry hadn’t wanted to attend any of them and had opted to go to the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow, now that he knew where it was; he supposed this was a kind of “closure” type thing Hermione kept talking about. He had been mulling it over for weeks, and honestly, been putting off telling Ginny due to what he suspected her reaction might be seeing as she had been trying to talk him into going the government’s gala ever since they first heard about it (despite all his consistent refusals).

When he first informed Ginny of his plan that morning, she pouted. “Why don’t you want to go to the parties? I bought a new dress!” (Really? She had to ask?) Harry could only stare at her, stunned, feeling like they were complete strangers.

“It’s our first Halloween as a married couple,” she whined. “We have to go! At the very least, we should be here with the family!” Harry explained his reasons in a calm, quiet voice. “Fine!” she stomped her foot (in what Harry thought was a very childish manner) and shot over her shoulder a sarcastic, “Have fun!”

Harry was left with a feeling of being misunderstood and that he had disappointed someone by not living up to their expectations (AGAIN!)—and he hated that sensation. He was used to it from the public who thought they knew him, knew the image of him, but he had hoped for more from his wife.

While he was grateful he would be alone after that somewhat callous exchange, he had actually been kind-of hoping that if he’d accepted her offer for company maybe this might be a bonding moment that would help strengthen their marriage. But she hadn’t asked if he wanted her to come along— he had the feeling it never even crossed her mind.

But wasn’t that the type of thing spouses did with and for each other?

He didn’t know for certain.

Would his Aunt and Uncle have done something they didn’t necessarily want to do— or forego something more pleasant-- just to be there for the other? He wasn’t sure, though it seemed like something Molly and Arthur would do.

Hermione would indulge Ron in things that made him content even if she didn’t completely think they were great, like feign interest in the Quidditch World Cup even though he knew she was only in it for the ‘cultural experience’. And he knew for a fact Ron changed his usual behavior (and wants and needs) to suit his girlfriend’s ideas— making an effort to chew with his mouth closed came to mind.

But all of them seemed happy to, like their partner’s happiness was the most important thing.

Again, he had not seen Ginny the rest of the day…

When he broke the news to his best friends, Hermione immediately picked up on the implications and worriedly asked, “Do you want us to come along? You know, for support?”

“What does he need suppor—oof!” Ron had started to question before he caught Hermione’s elbow to his gut. With a sharp look from his girlfriend and the time to think about it, he realized and nodded to her, and then earnestly to him.

Harry just shook his head. “Thanks for that guys, I appreciate it…. but I think I need to do this on my own.”

“Ok, Harry, if you’re sure….” Hermione smoothed her hand down his arm, “Come to the party afterwards? It’s just family here…” she suggested, knowing that there was no way in Hell he’d be up for the larger gathering at the school after visiting his parents’ graves and contemplating his confusing history— not to mention the fact of what went down the first time they visited the hallowed place on Christmas Eve!

Harry just shook his head and she nodded in understanding. He murmured, “I’ll be fine. You guys have a good time. I’ll just head back to the Tower afterwards and see you tomorrow,” as he hugged them, (briefly wondering where Charlie had disappeared to) and then Disapparated.

After spending time by his parents’ headstones under his Invisibility Cloak and Warming Charms had to be repeated several times (and the few odd times he had to duck off to the side when people he didn’t know came by and stood solemnly at the site), he decided he’d had enough.

Finding the most secluded place to Disapparate, he cursed under his breath as he realized he’d left his overnight bag at The Burrow. He’d have to nip back there to grab it before Flooing into the Common Room. Fuck!

The crack of him arriving by the chicken coop wasn’t noticed over the raucous revelers in the living room and Harry was thankful as he snuck up the staircase to gather his belongings. It was when he got back down that he ran into interference-- In the form of Molly, bustling back into the kitchen to fetch more nibbles and drinks.

“Oh Harry!” she exclaimed, over-dramatically clutching a hand to her ample bosom, the color on her cheeks rouged from strong libation, “I didn’t expect to see you here! How is the romantic dinner coming along?” She smiled like she knew a big secret. Then she shrewdly eyed the rucksack in his hands and the clueless look on his face.

“Don’t tell me my daft daughter forgot to Patronus you! Bill and Fleur offered their home for you to have an intimate night away from all this hustle and bustle! They are staying the night so you two can have some alone time…. Lord knows you kids need it! And those two could use an excuse to cut loose and just relax and get a good rest, having someone else take care of the kids!”

The merry matriarch chuckled in good-nature, “Heh-heh-heh! Well, Ginev must have been fussing over the meal and lost track of the time you’d spend in Godric’s Hollow!” She shook her head in fond exasperation as she gathered the treats for the party in the next room. She levitated the tray and told him, “Don’t worry, just pop over to Shell Cottage, dear. It will be one last thing for her to trouble herself over.”

Harry, still confused at the cryptic plans, decided he’d have to at least make an appearance, maybe eat a bit of dinner and then beg off, saying he was too tired to be good company. He breathed a heavy, resigned sigh and Floo’d to the beach-side home that had played host to their pitiful attempt at a honeymoon.

It was quiet. And dark. Not a candle on in the house. He made his way by sense memory to the kitchen and breakfast nook.

Odd. There was a cooking project underway, but obviously under stasis; a cloud of steam stilled over a pasta pot, a skillet of simmering shrimp and sauce on another burner halted mid-bubble…. two glasses of red wine, one beside the stove, the other on the table.

Harry frowned. He was allergic to shellfish. And he did not like red wine (ever since the incident that was inexorably associated with throwing up after attempting to give Ginny oral sex). She knew that. And yet here was some romantic get-away planned for the two of them?

It didn’t add up….

It was then that he noticed there were shoes under the slightly out-turned chair…. And he made his way into the hall, nose wrinkling slightly at the thought that he was meant to go find his wife in the bedroom, awaiting him in what she thought was a sexy pose. There were articles of clothing littering the stairs….

And it soon became apparent as he followed the trail, that there were many more pieces than one person would wear.

With a churning in his stomach, he reached the top of the stairs. When he saw two bras on the runner rug outside the master suite, he knew (even before he crossed the threshold and that fetid female smell assaulted him, doubled in nauseating force).

He gazed, unblinking at the baffling tableau before him.

There was Ginny.

And a girl he sort-of recognized…. She had been in his wife’s year at Hogwarts— and when her head turned a bit more, leaning into the heated kiss they were sharing, he noted she had made it onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team his sixth year…

‘Robins’, he came up with through the haze in his mind…. A Chaser, skilled at dodging Bludgers if he recalled correctly…. He wasn’t too sure what her first name was (he’d been rather preoccupied and not too focused on the game that year) Desiree? Desdemona?

Whatever. It didn’t matter.

It was a shock, yes, but it wasn’t the roving hands and soft sighs that registered with him as betrayal— it was his own reaction that he didn’t really care.

He watched as the slender, delicate hands smoothed over curvy, creamy flesh, until the other girl’s eyes opened slightly and squealed a muffled squeak of surprise into Ginny’s mouth, pushing on her shoulders.

The redhead whipped around towards the door. (To her credit, she recovered quickly.)

“Oh, Harry, there you are!” her voice thickened with lust and husky, but scrambling in its simpering insincerity. “You made it in time for your gift…. Come join us!” Her tone cut across the silence in a sickly parody of seduction; her darting, flickering eyes made it obvious his presence was not part of the plan at all, but a clever cover (especially if the mortification and spectacular scowl gracing her lover’s features were any indication).

His wife held out a beckoning arm to him, “I thought we could spice things up…. And as it’s every man’s dream to have a threesome with two beautiful women….”

She actually looked confused when Harry shook his head and turned away. (Why the HELL would he ever want to have to please TWO women when he could barely manage ONE?!) He missed Ginny’s shrug and return to her previous activities as he descended the steps.

Harry went back to the kitchen, suddenly famished after all his emotional turmoil of the day and having not had much of an appetite lately. He rummaged in the ice-box for ingredients to make himself a sandwich. He ate slowly, not bothering to turn on any lights, waiting for Ginny to come down and talk to him.

He mused over his bites that his life always brought big changes at Halloween; his first was most likely the night he was conceived, seeing as how he was born nine months later to the day…. At the age of one year and three months, he became The-Boy-Who-Lived. When he was eleven, he’d cemented into place his life-long friendship with Hermione…

He didn’t realize until he had finished the last swallow of his meager meal and was staring at his empty plate that his wife still hadn’t sought him out. So, he gathered his rucksack and Floo’d to the Common Room and headed on up to bed. He’d think about it in the morning…. But for now, he just found he didn’t really care.

(It wasn’t until much, much later he thought maybe that indifference should be most telling of all. Well, that and the fact that he was more concerned over how Charlie never made it back to the room that night, wondering where he was and who he was with.)

~O~

Harry’s friends noticed he’d become quiet and withdrawn in the days that followed after his visit to his parents’ graves but attributed it to the gravity of the emotional toll it must have took. The sullen brunet found himself wandering alone through the Castle while everyone else paired off in their free time, even avoiding Hagrid’s now that he was busy courting Madame Maxime.

There were several places he avoided, of course…. The corridor around the Room of Requirement, the Great Hall…. The Astronomy Tower.

In addition to the bad memories he associated with the place of Dumbledore’s demise, it also seemed to be a favourite place for Charlie to end his dates with ‘The Git’. Harry figured he was recreating some of his happy, typical teen times he’d had while at school— something that constantly reminded Harry of all he’d missed out on.

These were the bitter thoughts that swirled in his mind as he watched his Map, sitting in their room at night, on his own until Charlie snuck back in (and Harry pretended to be asleep). He told himself he monitored the enchanted parchment, torturing himself further as he watched the overlapping dots of his friends dancing against each other or lying static and still, that he was doing it to make sure they were all otherwise occupied and wouldn’t interrupt his solo experiments of self-love.

He felt a little pathetic about it (preferring to toss-off rather than being with his real, live partner) but it still felt really good— he’d gotten rather adept at giving himself pleasure and the release was always a relief. He figured it was a good a hobby as any….

Tonight, he grew hard as he watched the couples on the Map; his prick seemed to know he had plenty of privacy and that he could definitely finish before Charlie got back (even if he started the walk back down from the Tower right then). But he wasn’t leaving just yet.

And Harry found himself entranced, mesmerized by the little ink spots-- with the names ‘Charles Weasley’ and ‘Roger Fields’ bobbing beside them-- slowly rocking against each other in a provocative, primal rhythm.

He was practically hypnotized and moving his hand over his erection, even if he started it knowing that they were having sex. When the jostling sped up he matched their quickened tempo. Too soon, the punishing pace turned erratic and Harry was jerking his fist in clumsy— bordering on violent-- uncontrolled strokes; the little symbols of the lovers on paper stilled as spurts of semen coated Harry’s hairy knuckles.

The brunet didn’t think too much about how he’d kept his eyes trained on the parchment this time while he touched himself and was cleaned and feigning slumber by the time his redheaded roommate reemerged.

He wasn’t sure what made him do it— and he wasn’t proud of it— but he faked a bad dream a bit later that night…. Just to feel that closeness and comfort of Charlie’s strong embrace. It was peaceful. It made him feel, in a small shallow way, less alone.

~O~

At the beginning of December and the year was drawing to a close, Hermione was nagging for everyone to get their Christmas shopping done early— and most of them ignoring her. Harry didn’t have to worry about it since Ginny had told him last time they spoke that she had all his gifts for the family covered. Harry was shocked when Ron pulled him aside to ask him what they should plan for Charlie’s birthday on the twelfth.

That was only two days away! He hadn’t known! He hadn’t gotten him anything!

Ron laughed at his best mate’s panicked expression; “We don’t get gifts— we plan a surprise party…. Or a prank!” he explained with a wink. “So, what should we do? George has some products lined up but said they’d be funnier if we did them in public.”

Harry shook his head. Where could they really go? Hogsmeade was the only safe place to go; and then immediately felt guilty that it was him holding every one back from celebrating properly. He hadn’t noticed Ron had been continuing his thoughts out loud.

“—but The Three Broomsticks will be fuller and have more uptight people to shock. The lot at Aberforth’s wouldn’t care if Char suddenly popped into a dress and was uncontrollably singing Celestina tunes at the top of his voice.” Ron went on but he didn’t really hear him.

Harry’s mind was scrambling— he’d been having enough trouble deciding what he wanted to give the man for Christmas! (he wanted to give his closest friends something meaningful from him, not just what his wife thought was fun to buy). Charlie had given him a gorgeous green shirt for his birthday and the redhead’s smile sparkled every time he wore it, telling him it really beautifully brought out the colour of his eyes.

And his quest for the perfect present didn’t get any easier over the next several hours. He didn’t want to only play a humiliating joke on Charlie (yes, he would enjoy whatever the Weasley brothers came up with, as long as it wasn’t too mean)— he wanted to give him something special.

The answer came to him the morning of Charlie’s birthday.

Harry had risen early and fetched the birthday-boy’s favourites for breakfast and then just stood there staring, tray in hand, at the man’s muscular chest and arms adorned with tattoos. There was one in particular over his left nipple of a spikey-looking dragon; it was surly and sinewy while it writhed and curled as the redhead breathed. It reminded him of his little moving-model of the Horntail he’d drawn from the purple silk sack in fourth year.

He rushed to his trunk, frantically flinging objects out as silently as he could. HA! He found it, wound around an old quill. The excited brunet extracted it and placed it next to a couple of the dishes. Suddenly a little nervous, he arranged and rearranged the bud-vase that held the two roses, one red and one gold, he’d selected (and then worried that they were a little over the top-- and possibly too girly).

His fussing must have roused the redhead because he was pulled back into the present when he heard the rustling of blankets and a lion-worthy yawn. The handsome face he’d come to cherish broke out into a wide grin— and he couldn’t help his own. He set the tray on his lap and sat on the end of the bed between his feet.

“Happy birthday,” Harry breathed, pleased to have made the man a pleasant surprise. The brunet watched in rapt attention as the Charlie’s open expression turned from simply glad, to shocked, to reverent. He’d spied the dragon-doll, now awake and currently trampling one of the soft yolks of his sunny-side-up eggs.

“Harry,” he said, unable to take his eyes off the little reptile replica. “Is that--?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Do you like her? I think she’s perfect for you.”

“I can’t take your trinket from the Tournament!” he exclaimed in awe.

“I want you to. She’s going to ruin all the Golden Eggs if you don’t take her,” he teased. He was so full of pride and emotion from seeing the genuine glee in the other man’s eyes!

Eventually, Charlie relented, accepted the gift and hugged Harry; he then gingerly picked her up licked the feet free of runny yolk and placed it on his broad shoulder, where it promptly fell asleep against his neck. Charlie promised he’d cherish this little Athena (that was the actual dragon’s name) always.

Together, they picked at the food (the redhead both encouraged at the darkening of Harry’s eyes that lingered over the agility of his tongue and the desire he saw cemented in those flimsy pajama-pants, thrilled that his own reaction was hidden under the wood of the tray). Both laughed when Charlie took the flowers and put one behind each ear. Harry was indescribably happy about it all, not understanding why, but it was so comfortable and carefree.

He chalked it up to part of his ‘saving people’ thing was also a ‘making others happy’ thing.
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