Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

WONKY CROSS	By : JanisJ Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 59358 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Thanks for all the reads, rates and reviews! I love them…. I really, REALLY do! And yes, we are finally at a turning point.

Hollibel, you are too smart! You keep getting all the things I’m foreshadowing for! I think you’ll be pleased by a certain conversation in this chapter (that was actually written before you reviewed). Great minds think alike :)

~O~

DOUBLE-VISION

Harry landed outside the gates of Hogwarts gulping for breath, frantic (and cursing the pain in his left pinkie where he’d Splinched off the nail). He wrung his hands in indecision; he couldn’t go to the Castle, they would look for him there and he couldn’t stand for them to come in with wands blazing and kick him with harsh words while he was down.

He needed to be alone. He needed to hide.

Grimmauld had been off-limits since the disaster with Yaxley, his childhood home in Godric’s Hollow was a national monument…. Checking into any of the various Wizarding inns he would be too easily ratted out to the press…. He had no clue as to where Perkins’ tent actually ended up…. He didn’t have any Muggle money….

He needed a drink (or twenty). He stumbled towards Aberforth’s as if he was already drunk, intent on getting as much booze as he could carry. He trudged into The Hogshead and robotically ordered a case of Firewhiskey from the last living Dumbledore.

“Cutting your Christmas shopping a bit late, eh, Potter?” the grizzled oldster asked conversationally in that gruff voice he had. Harry just nodded and the aged man bustled into the back storeroom for the box. The brunet gazed, unseeing at Abe’s most beloved goat and petted her head absent-mindedly; Missy just stared back with doleful eyes and continued chewing on her favourite washcloth.

Grateful for the bar-owner’s impeccable discretion for not prying, Harry left him twice what the twelve bottles cost and headed out. He’d decided on the Shrieking Shack. There really was nowhere else to go and he wasn’t in any shape to attempt Apparition again.

Upon entering, he by-passed the deep, dark stain on the floor next to the Whomping Willow tunnel where Snape had been slain with a shaky, shuddering sigh. With heavy foot-falls— and an even heavier heart— he went upstairs to the room in which he first spoke to Sirius and popped open the first bottle.

He miserably chugged through several swallows, appreciating the burn that took his mind off his woes for a few seconds. His imagination ran away with him as he envisioned what must be happening with his family and friends right about now:

Ron would be comforting Ginny and vowing to hex Harry the next second he saw him for hurting his sister. His former best mate would tell the whole family that Ginny’s husband was a brute and a degenerate that didn’t deserve her, effectively turning the whole clan against him in disgust.

(He drank half-way to the label.)

Hermione had probably already filled Charlie in, reducing his estimation of Harry to a pathetic pervert that was such a lame lover that his performance had his wife turning to someone else (turning away from men altogether, effectually shattering the beloved matriarch’s dream of grandchildren from her only daughter).

That hurt more than anything else— he had opened up to the dragon-handler about how unusual his life had been and now he would see that he really had become a damaged freak and want nothing more to do with him.

(He drank even more, draining most of the vessel.)

He’d already been numb from shock…. Then the cold…. And now the alcohol. It was working.

The pain was turning blurred around the edges…. The hurt, humiliation, ache of loss…. All dulled and blended together until it just felt like one long bad dream. It was dark, and then there was sometimes daylight filtering through the slats; it was either that or black to Harry’s dim awareness.

The only constant was the drink.

When he wasn’t passed out, he flew through fits of rage, firing Reducto’s and Periculum sparks at the already battered boards that trapped him like a cage (he held back from Incendio’s— no matter how upset he was, he had no desire to set the place aflame, creating his own pyre and be cremated alive). The bleak walls reminded him of a bigger version of the unfinished wood on the underside of the stairs in The Cupboard and he took out all his suppressed feelings of helpless impotence he’d ever suffered on his surroundings.

Or he manually kicked and punched the broken furniture and dusty floor-- that was satisfying too.

At other times he sat curled in a catatonic ball in the corner.

Or he paced and worried. It all depended on how drunk he was.

He had moments of near lucidity and coherence at times, though, like when he first awoke and his mind scrambled over what he was going to do. He entertained the most childish and outlandish options, such as Obliviating everyone, clearing their memories of the past seven months to before he was married— to the more realistic and practical, a plan to slip undetected into the Muggle world, where no one knew him….

Possibly rural Africa, where they didn’t know English-- he could negotiate somehow in a rudimentary sign language to work on a family’s crops in exchange for room and board. They had farms in Africa, didn’t they? Places that were neither jungle nor savannah?

He went so far as to think it through that he would have to leave the UK immediately after exchanging his money at Gringott’s, lest he be able to be traced (Hermione was very resourceful after all). He would Apparate then use Muggle means of transportation, pay for everything in cash….

But could he really leave everything behind? True, he had nothing but pain and humiliation here, but could he give up using magic? Any Wizarding place he settled, he could hide, but he would also be able to be found too easily….

He was haunted, stuck in fear and indecision-- so he remained holed up in the most haunted dwelling in Britain, lamenting how badly he’d cocked everything up. Any which way he looked at it, it was bad; he couldn’t come up with a workable solution.

(He snorted mirthlessly, remembering the odd analogy he’d made of the dump he took in the loo after the first night:

He’d stood for quite a while just staring at the crap after he pulled the chain and no flushing water happened, the plumbing obviously not working after years of un-use. It seemed to mock him and symbolize his life-- a stagnant steaming pile of shit, repulsive, worthless and going nowhere, nothing turning out right.

He didn’t know how long he contemplated that thought, but eventually scoffed at his maudlin mood and then Vanished his waste with a wave of his wand, wishing all the while that he could clean up the mess he’d made of his life just as easily.)

~O~

Harry came back to fuzzy consciousness with his head cradled in someone’s warm lap; he blinked muzzily in the dim twilight and heard Hermione sigh his name in a quiet voice while she ran her fingers through his hair.

“What’re y’doing here?” Why had she bothered to come find him? Why was she acting nice?

He swallowed thickly, realizing he was now about to face the fallout he’d been dreading (and winced, judging by the foul taste in his mouth he must have thrown up at some point while he was blacked out— in fact, a quick glance at the drying dribbles down his front confirmed it).

“We’ve been worried sick,” she murmured. “You’ve been missing for four days. We’ve been looking all over for you, fearing the worst.”

“Why? Ev’ry one hates me now,” he mumbled. “I should be gone. Can’t show my face…”

Hermione huffed, “Nobody hates you, Harry. On the contrary, we’re all very much concerned about you…. We love you.”

“Prob’ly not Ginny though,” Harry commented. He felt the body under his tense and the hand stroking his lank locks stopped.

“Well,” the witch started, then paused, trying to come up with the most diplomatic way to put it, “Not really, no. I don’t think anybody could treat someone they love the way she was being to you. She,” and now she took a deep breath and blew it out, clearly summoning extreme patience, “is behaving like a selfish, self-righteous…. child.”

Even through his hazy thought-processes, Harry could tell she wanted to use a much stronger word at the last there. It gave him a little hope, that maybe he still had at least his best girlfriend on his side (especially when her head-petting resumed).

“Did she turn ev’ryone ‘gainst me, then?” He was scared of the answer but he also needed to know what he was dealing with. Hermione seemed sympathetic enough-- she’d heard what Ginny had said-- but he knew his wife had a way of twisting words and manipulating things to suit her own purposes.

The witch snorted, “No one knows anything, except Ron, of course.” Harry made a noise of disbelief— how was that even possible?

“I rushed after him, to make sure he didn’t blow up at Ginny and make things worse-- you know how he shouts first, thinks later.” Both of them twitched their lips a little in tiny tight smiles. “God, I’ve never seen him so angry! I begged him not to say anything-- it was going to be awkward enough explaining your absence and get us through what was going to be a strained celebration in the first place. I made him see that spilling it all out would be really bad for everyone, especially you.”

Hang on! RON had been mad at HER? Not him?

“We only said that you two had had a row and you needed some space. Ginny just got snippy every time Molly pressed for details. She couldn’t exactly tell what happened without making it obvious that she was in the wrong. And she knew Ron would confront her if she left major details out.” Harry finally chanced a look at his best friend; she looked haggard but relieved to have found him.

She caught his questioning glance, “And yes, sleeping with someone other than your spouse is infidelity. I can’t believe she tried to make you think otherwise! What a piece of work! Had we known, we would have said something…. Especially after Molly took her in. I can’t believe—“

“You knew she was living there?!” Harry yelled (his loud tone jarred his auditory nerves and dehydrated brain, making it ache).

Hermione cringed. “Yes…. But we thought you knew until we heard your reaction! There was never a time to really talk about it, I mean, who cared if Ginny had a friend over?” Harry relaxed a bit. “Ginny didn’t mention it to you at all? Well, I guess she wouldn’t necessarily want you to know she was living with her lover,” she mused, answering her own question. “But you said you knew about them, walked in on them…. When? How long have you known?”

“Hall’ween,” he croaked, eliciting a shocked gasp from Hermione.

“Harry!” she screeched in sympathetic anguish— he could feel her legs tense and start to get up, ready to go rush into Gryffindor action but then force themselves to stay at rest, successfully self-censoring her first instincts to go ‘kick ass’. “She’s off fooling around behind your back while she knew what you were going through in Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione was seething! She hissed through clenched teeth, “She got permission from Bill to use Shell Cottage to make the two of you dinner and comfort you!”

“She w’sangry that I didn’t want to go to the parties. And she knew that I was going back t’ the Castle to spend the night alone, not up f’rrr company. The only reason I ended up there was I’d forgotten my backpack and ran into Molly, who told me t’go there.” Hermione gave a whining sigh. “I din’t know it was more than that one time and she never explained, until we had tha’ fight.”

He struggled to sit up but wobbled a bit and she reached out to steady him. “Now I’m thinking that maybe she never stopped sinc’er sixth year…. Maybe b’fore, even.”

“Oh Harry,” she murmured and rested her head on his shoulder in unspoken sympathy. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Harry reached for the nearest bottle and got a few gulps in before she realized what he was doing and grabbed the glass out of his uncoordinated grasp.

“How’djoo find me?” he wondered aloud, and then burped wetly.

“You made the news,” she replied (bravely restraining herself from fanning the fetid cloud away from her wrinkled nose). Harry had a moment of panic until she started to explain.

“It appears,” she started-- and he could hear the amused smirk in her voice-- “the good townspeople of Hogsmeade have been reporting a recent resurgence of the spirits that haunt the Shrieking Shack. I don’t think anyone was too concerned about it, just mildly curious as to why now after so many years…. It must have been a slow day, the Prophet only reported on it this morning, buried on the back page as kind-of a joke piece.”

Harry grinned weakly; it felt good to find something funny again.

“It seems they noticed your target practice, never occurring to them the noise might be coming from a living, breathing tortured-soul squatting in the old landmark,” she remarked blandly, taking in the scorch marks on the walls, ceiling and floor; she idly kicked at a pile of singed splinters that rested next to her foot.

“Ron owes me a knut. When I finally got through the last page and I read it, I had a hunch…. I was right.”

And then Harry really did laugh a little. “He should know better than t’ bet you were wrong.”

“Yes, well, there’s something else I am completely correct about,” she stated in the firm manner she always used when she knew she’d meet with resistance but was determined to educate her reluctant audience anyway. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted know. “Ginny was also really wrong about what she said about sex.”

Now he knew he really didn’t want to hear this! Hermione appeared oblivious to his fidgeting and barreled ahead.

“What she was describing was a difference of preferences and styles. One isn’t right or wrong, you two are just incompatible in what you like and it was incredibly selfish of her to insist on her own way and not compromise and find ways to incorporate yours.” Harry squirmed in extreme discomfort over the topic. He covered his head with his arms, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

It was bad enough she and Ron had heard all the terrible things Ginny had said-- but did the girl he thought of as his sister have to talk so frankly about his sex-life?!

(Apparently she did.)

“What she described as ‘weird’ is actually very normal.” She ignored his squeamish groan. “In fact, most people like losing control and letting animal instincts take over,” she informed him in a matter-of-fact way, just as if she was lecturing on some Laws of Transfiguration. “Ron and I enjoy getting quite…. vigorous.”

“Hermy, stop!” he moaned, squealing deep in the back of this throat.

“Well, it’s true!” she snapped tersely. “I’m just trying to undo some of the stupid, misguided information she’s force-fed you! She’s been rather cruel to you and has brain-washed you into being ashamed for something perfectly natural! Love-making is about give and take and learning to please each other— and WANTING to! For example, I’m not wild about sucking on Ron’s balls, but I’m happy to do it because he loves it—“

“GAH!” Harry screamed, “SHUT UP!” He was able to get a few guzzles of Firewhiskey in before she batted the bottle out of his hands and it rolled away, spilling the last of its contents. He started crawling towards the door, desperate to leave that conversation behind.

“Fine! Let’s go home, but I’ll just say one last thing: A lot of men like their nipples played with, some rather roughly, bitten even, and there is a lot of leeway when it comes to what is normal in human sexuality….” he could hear her following behind him down the hall— his interest was piqued for a second there…. So it wasn’t too freaky? And teeth…. Hmm….

Then he shook his head-- he couldn’t hear this from Hermione!— and immediately wished he hadn’t as it made him overly dizzy. He clutched the bannister that he’d just pulled himself up on, but had to sway on his unsteady feet, willing the spinning to stop. Before he could censor his tongue, he mumbled, “How do even know all that?”

“I—,” she started but was cut off by him answering his own question: “read a book.” They both chuckled a little.

He was saying, “Only you…” in a fuzzy warmth of fondness at the familiarity with his friend while she was busy in her usual indignant defense of ‘Several actually, and it’s the best way to learn things you haven’t heard of before!’ (He cringed but was secretly grateful she quietly told him she’d loan him a volume she thought would help clarify some things in private.)

The trip down the stairs was clumsy, to say the least.

(More than once Hermione considered levitating him, but to preserve his dignity and possibly sober up a bit through the exercise, she let him lean on her shoulder and hobble along beside her. She also debated over shooting a few Scourgify’s his way, but decided it might embarrass him and make him self-conscious and want to hide away even more, undoing all the progress she’d made so far.)

It soon became clear that she’d never get him back to the Tower on her own; she cast her Patronus to Charlie and Ron, the otter telling them she had Harry and to head down the main road to the Gates and help from wherever they met up. Harry barely heard Hermione uttering soft words of encouragement and navigation advice has they unsteadily traveled over the forest floor under the blackness of nightfall, the footing becoming a fraction more sure when they met the gravel path that lead to the Castle Gates.

After she had disarmed the wards enough to let them through, she said, “I get it that you are uncomfortable talking to me and Ron about this, but you need to talk to someone and get some perspective…. Charlie maybe? You know he would be fine with it…. He cares about you. He was beside himself while you were gone.”

“Mmph,” the inebriated man made a noncommittal noise, but figured it wasn’t too bad of an idea…. Although he had no clue as to how to begin that kind of conversation. (And as if Hermione’s uttering of his name had summoned him, he blanched when he saw the unmistakable outline of the man in question and his youngest brother’s taller, thinner silhouette looming up out of the darkness.)

Harry took a lurching step away, turning back the way they came as his Gryffindor courage abandoned him and he tried to flee. The figures started jogging forward and two sets of masculine hands relieved the petite witch’s burden that she’d been struggling to keep upright. Easily overpowered, his head weakly collided with Charlie’s chest and while he rested it there, he whined, “Why’re you herrrre? I’m disgusting….”

“Shhhh,” he felt the rumble under his cheek, “It’s nothing that a little soap and water can’t fix….” Harry didn’t notice the small non-verbal gestures, somber expressions and nods of confirmation pass between Ron and Hermione because his eyes were clamped shut in a childish attempt to make the situation not true-- But Charlie did, burning with even more curiosity; obviously they had previously and privately discussed certain speculations of what had been running through Harry’s mind during his absence.

Those two had been incredibly tight-lipped about what the problem was (during the time they had to endure at The Burrow) and he could tell they were beyond upset but trying to hold it in for the sake of the family and the holiday; he couldn’t help but sense the intense undercurrent of fire and ice directed at his sister (a reaction that seemed over the top for just a marital row), which made him afraid things were serious.

As soon as the festivities were over, the three of them returned to the Castle and began searching out places and information that would lead them to find their distraught friend. Hermione’s seething and short explanation of ‘Ginny has been emotionally and verbally abusing him’ (and refusing to divulge anything more) didn’t calm him in the least; it filled him with anger and sorrow. It was obvious they were worried about where he was and what he was doing to cope— and that made Charlie frantic as he fretted for Harry’s mental and physical safety.

Now that he was in his arms, he could be protected and cared for— he was in desperate need of a bath as his clothes and hair smelled something awful, a rather pungent combination of alcohol, stale piss, sweat and vomit. It broke his heart that Harry had been so desolate, that he looked so crumpled and defeated. Now he understood Ron and Hermione’s level of panicked concern.

Whatever had happened had been really, REALLY bad! Of that much he was sure. (And the married couple hadn’t simply said some insensitive things in the heat of an argument.)

“No, you’re not disgusting,” Ron said in a soothing voice that surprised Charlie-- he expected some juvenile jokes about his best friend being so stinky, not this new, mature attitude and careful consideration for Harry’s fragile emotional state. The brothers figured out how to entwine their arms and hoist Harry up between their two sturdy, steady frames; Harry was wiggling around like a wet noodle, his limbs thoroughly unresponsive to any attempt he made at coherent, coordinated movement.

“Ginny was bang out of order, Mate!” Ron burst out, suddenly furious. (Ah, there was the famous Weasley temper flaring.) “She’s lucky our Hermy is so persuasive or you’d be a widower right now-- sister or not,” he growled, not a hint of kidding in his tone.

Charlie stared in gob-smacked awe.

“I trust my genius girlfriend set you straight. Ginny thinks she knows everything but she doesn’t know shit! We’re standing by you with whatever you decide…. but in my opinion, you should divorce her. She’s not right for you.” There was a grim finality to his last assessment.

Harry’s knees buckled and they all three staggered as they regained their balance. The drunken man was floored by their support, both physical and emotional; Charlie tripped in his surprise that they thought such drastic consequences were in order (and felt a little guilt at the hope that bloomed in his chest).

“Take some days to think things through, sober.” Hermione called over her shoulder; she was bustling on ahead of them (quite possibly to keep upwind of the acrid odor), rubbing and stretching her sore rotator cuff she’d strained from keeping Harry propped up.

“You know,” she continued, “if Molly hadn’t have prevented you, all this could have been discovered beforehand. And you wouldn’t have felt you needed to rush into things. You two weren’t the same people after the last year and everyone is STILL adjusting…. You could have called off the engagement or avoided proposing to her all together.”

Charlie remained quiet and on high alert, just trying to piece together clues from what was and wasn’t being said. (His mother had ‘prevented’ them from having premarital sex! Something was wrong about them having SEX! THAT must be why Harry had stopped spending nights at The Burrow! What WAS it?!) He focused then on Harry, trying to read him, but his dirty, greasy mane was obscuring his view of his face as his head lolled forward.

“Yeah, Mate—,” Ron started but everyone was surprised when Harry spoke up for the first time since his initial statement of self-deprecation.

“Didn’t.”

“What?” Hermione queried while they were just about to the door of the Entrance Hall.

“Din’t ask,” Harry mumbled.

Ron’s face screwed up in confusion, “Isn’t that a bit non-traditional?” (“Progressive, Ronald,” Hermione interjected under her breath). “Yeah, progressive…. Even for her. I mean, I know she’s pushy and wants what she wants when she wants it…. Is that it, then? You didn’t think you could say no?”

“Yeah…. No…. Didn’t ask….”

“What are you on about?” Ron wheezed as they reached the top of the steps and Harry’s body was practically dead weight on the Weasley brother’s shoulders; the brunet was losing energy and was being more dragged than walked at this point.

“No one asked…. Jis’ happened.”

“WHAT?!” Hermione screeched as horrible and wailing as a Banshee, whirling around to stop and face him. The two men carrying their comrade faltered at different times (Charlie first, Ron a split-second later) so the jellied-legs of the brunet gave way and his forward momentum and inertia pitched him forward, almost knocking down the woman.

Charlie flailed forward with his Seeker reflexes and caught him around the waist before the collision could do much damage. “How the HELL does a marriage ‘just happen’?” he growled, asking the question everyone wanted to know.

The slight body hanging in the crook of his elbow went slack, like a rag-doll. “They planned it,” came the tremulous reply. Green blood-shot eyes closed against the shock and accusation he perceived there…. “Made everyone happy….”

“Harry,” Hermione whimpered as if she were in pain, “You only did it so other people would be happy?” At his clumsy nod, she almost sobbed and then stomped her foot, “You have to stop doing that! What about you! And where the Hell did the ring come from?!”

“Molly’zzz mother…. Heirloom. One day-- there it was!”

Hermione gasped again, her hands covering her mouth before she ventured to rest them on his slumped shoulders and then prying his heavy head up so his eyes met hers. “No one proposed and you didn’t put a ring on her finger?” Charlie and Ron could both hear she was controlling herself to sound cool and collected, but was barely restraining an incredible fury (only Ron knowing fully what level of trouble was brewing).

At Harry’s wobbly nod in the affirmative again had her breathing deeply through her nose and had her giving the Weasley men both a pointed, stern look that brooked no argument. She forcefully pulled open the doors of the Castle. “You should all go up, bathe and put on clean clothes while I go get us something to eat. Harry really needs to get warm and rested after being out in the elements for the past while.”

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would be revisiting the topic but be hexed thoroughly if any one of them denied her will right now to leave it be until she deemed it appropriate….

And they all conceded. Her course of action was best; they were all determined to hash it out and get things settled at a later, better time, when Harry was clean, comfortable and cozy.

~O~

After watching Hermione leave down towards the kitchens, magic crackling off her in waves that made her hair frizz out even more than usual, they turned to begin the second half of their awkward six-legged hike. Navigating the staircases (which were thankfully at a stand-still due to the castle’s depleted magic— yet unhelpfully stopped in such a position that it made the trek up to the Tower even longer) was brutal, and resulted in many newly-forming bruises on elbows, toes, shins and hips for all those involved.

The Weasley brothers maneuvered their floppy friend into the bathroom where he insisted that he could take it from there. Charlie was skeptical but left him to preserve some of his independence and pride; he told his sibling to go grab his own shower and fresh pajamas-- both of them had gotten rather ripe as Harry’s messiness had permeated their clothes. Charlie had just shed his boots and shirt when a loud thud came from behind the closed door.

“Fuck!” he swore, quickly waving off a very relieved-looking Ron into the hall as he informed him he could handle it and tore into the loo to find Harry’s ankles (with pants around them) sticking out of the shower stall. Obviously, he’d lost his balance while trying to get undressed with his shoes still on. The worried redhead scrabbled frantic fingers over Harry’s scalp and noted a big goose-egg blooming on the back, but besides his general wooziness, Harry seemed more or less ok.

“Ow,” he groaned. Looking up at Charlie as he struggled to sit, he whined, “I fell.”

Charlie just smiled at him with affection and helped him upright and sat down next to him, keeping his arm around his bare shoulders. “Shhh, I’ve got you. Let’s just take your shoes and socks off and get you scrubbed.”

Harry gave a small whimper of protest but didn’t put up any sort of fight while his filthy footwear was pulled off, cringing at the thought that this man with such a big heart was getting a snout-full of four days-worth of foul sweaty funk and stink. His manky jeans and pants followed and he was acutely aware he was completely naked in front of his roommate but was still buzzed enough not to care too much (Charlie’s ease and comfort with nudity seemed to seep into him).

When the more coordinated of the two twisted the taps on and the water started splatting him on the head, he tried to stand, but behind him, Charlie gently held him down. “Let’s just stay here,” he explained in a soft voice, “There’s too much gravity up there. We’re more stable this way.” That actually made a lot of sense to Harry, who was tired of being so unsteady when he stood. He nodded and let rivulets of hot water dribble through his hair and down his body.

It was Heavenly.

The heat relaxed his sore muscles and started to wash away the grease and grime. Then shampoo was slowly being massaged into his hair; for some reason, it felt really sensual and there was a slight twinge and tingle in his penis. He brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around his legs to hide what was starting to happen with his groin.

Charlie’s strong, thick fingers continued weaving and curling in the bubbles but were careful to avoid the painful lump he’d just given himself. Harry found himself musing that that was extremely considerate, as was the help with the much-needed thorough bathing he was receiving. He truly appreciated the assistance because he highly doubted he could do a decent job of it on his own right now.

“Tha’sooo nice, Char….” He purred with his head thrown back, as nails scratched his scalp, tugging and wringing, rinsing away the suds from his now-clean tresses. He relished the tactile stimulation; he couldn’t recall any time in his life when he had been touched and cared for so tenderly. He felt incredibly close to Charlie just then. “Don’t deserve it. You’re too good for-to me…. n’be my friend.”

The thoughts made a lot more sense in his drunken head than the words actually coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t think straight as a bar of soap was smoothing under his arms-- and for some odd reason, his three-quarters-hard prick shot entirely full of blood when Charlie’s slick digits dug into his pits, wiggling through the hair there. He had to hide his flushed face (and heavy breathing) against his knees.

The older man didn’t feel like such a great mate right then.

He felt more than a bit lecherous as his thoughts and feelings had turned libidinous from having his hands all over Harry; right from the first peek at his bare body— then pliant under his ministrations-- this shower had made him hornier than Hell! It was supposed to be about taking care of him, period. Not some excuse to feel up the bloke he’d taken a fancy to (and was still married)!

But it wasn’t as if he could help his physical responses to caressing a gorgeous body….

“Shhh,” he whispered in his ear as he softly smoothed lather across the brunet’s back. “You deserve every kindness in the world,” he murmured, hoping Harry didn’t notice the husky undertones of lust in his voice. Carefully keeping the bulge at his crotch from making contact, he leaned forward to slide soap over Harry’s arms that were still hugging his own legs; he slipped his fingers among the other man’s digits, making sure to clean completely in between them. “You’re the best man I know….”

He slightly shifted the ball that Harry had bound his body into, so he could get at his feet. Working the lather reverently over his heels and arches, tickling between toes, he massaged as he cleaned, hoping to impart some pleasure to the man that had been through so much in his life (and just experienced yet another difficult time). Charlie found himself holding his breath, only to have it hitch when he elicited quiet whimpers, moans and audible strangled swallows from Harry as he rubbed; every soft sigh and breathy groan reminded him of how he imagined him to sound like in the throes of passion.

Oh, how he longed be the one to wring them out of those sinful, pouty lips as he brought the man sexual pleasure!

He briefly roamed those firm, perfectly toned calves and thighs (the parts he could reach anyway since Harry was still grasping his legs, perhaps even tighter than before). Although he would have delighted in catching a glimpse of Harry’s package, he found it adorable that he was so modest and shy as to keep it so carefully covered. (At least he hoped it was just that reason— he would hate it if he was only hiding the view because he was uncomfortable with having a bisexual man checking him out!)

Once the last of the suds slid down the drain, rinsed away by the shower raining down on them, Charlie pressed the bar of soap into Harry’s right hand; he was fairly sure he’d want to take care of his privates by himself and not have another man fiddling around with his bits— no matter how willing Charlie was and wished to.

Harry’s mind was swirling-- already dizzy to begin with-- trying to process how wonderful and intimate the two of them together like this was; every sense in his skin was heightened and his cock and balls were practically vibrating with the need to explode! He couldn’t really analyze his bodily reactions beyond marveling at how great it felt.

That was, until, he realized his front area had yet to cleansed and there was no way he could hide the fact he had a tremendous tumescence from being bathed by Charlie. When he noticed the soap being nudged at his white-knuckles, he realized the man was basically telling him he wasn’t going to continue there. He was relieved his state of arousal wouldn’t be noticed and grabbed the bar, turning to the back of the shower.

So why was he feeling disappointed? The conclusion was that he was, quite simply and utterly, unattractive to everyone.

Charlie was grimacing with the effort it took to hold back from launching himself at the brunet; his erection twitched uncomfortably in his heavy, soaked denims as he watched Harry’s knees fall apart and one of his hands moved to his chest, the other between his legs. He stared transfixed for several long moments at the top of the cutest butt-crack he’d ever seen. Shaking his head, he took the opportunity while Harry was occupied to rid himself of his soggy clothes and give his body a quick wash.

The redhead was almost positive the steam was playing tricks on his eyes, those biceps and elbows looked suspiciously rhythmic and repetitive; he had to turn in the opposite direction, trying to get his heaving lungs under control. Just the thought of Harry possibly playing himself in front of him plagued his fevered brain to no end.

There was nothing for it— he pumped his prick, once, twice— and shot pulse after pulse of his load all over the tile in front of him (fortunately, he was successful and muffling the shout that threatened to escape his throat). He slumped under the spray, satisfied of the tension he had been battling. Coming down from his high, the feeling that he was a pervert-- masturbating right next to a very troubled teen-- crept in and he started mentally beating himself up over his lewd behaviour.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, quickly noting Charlie wasn’t looking at him, so he took the chance and squeezed his throbbing boner. All he really thought was that it would be too mortifying to reveal he was hard from an innocent bathing by the big man, when the shower was soon to be over and Charlie would see; it was best to get rid of it while he wasn’t aware.

One tug to his testicles and Harry was ejaculating with a huge force; through the blood buzzing in his ears and the euphoria in every nerve-ending, he didn’t notice that he’d let out a hoarse grunt during his climax.

At the sudden vocalization that could have either signaled exquisite pleasure or painful torture, Charlie spun to check on his charge. The brunet’s cheek was smushed up against the wall and he was panting, with eyes tightly closed. Charlie was about to ask if he was all right when Harry’s hand reached out behind him and was patting in a puddle near the drain (presumably to wash it off). The shocked redhead silently stepped to the side of the spray, allowing Harry to get the force of the shower to splatter him.

Had he really just done what he didn’t dare let himself believe?!

It soon became obvious he had!

When Harry turned back towards the shower-head, leaning heavily against the wall with eyes still closed— although relaxed now— he was able to properly rinse the last of the white foam from his jet-black pubes. Charlie couldn’t tear his stare away as Harry lazily wiped at his flaccid genitals.

He couldn’t be absolutely certain what all the froth consisted of until Harry performed the universal gesture of the final finish: the deliberate squeezing of the spongy shaft from base to tip forcing the last globs of ejaculate from the urethra, the little shake at the head and then the thumb swiping to dislodge the spooj-drip from the slit.

Charlie left the stall silently to get dressed and give himself time to calm his jitters; he was half-way hard again from that erotic display (that he promised would replay later in his fantasies over and over with abandon) but he had to keep his cool for now. Harry had clearly still thought he wasn’t being observed, that much he knew— the bashful bloke would never have been so uninhibited if he’d known.

He brought back Harry’s fuzzy flannel pants and a Weasley jumper and helped the limp, boneless man get dried off and into his cozy sleep-clothes. When he gently carried him to his bed, he noticed a steaming bowl of chicken-noodle soup, a glass of ice-water, a cup of milk, a hangover potion and some Dreamless Sleep on the side table.

Charlie smiled, his estimation of Hermione rising even further. “Come on now, time to tuck in,” he told the exhausted man slumped into his pillows. Harry whimpered a noise of disgust and nausea. “Ah, ah,” the caregiver admonished, “You need a little something.” He held the mug to Harry’s barely-responsive lips and urged him to take a sip.

The brunet felt pathetic at being babied, but once the cool liquid slid down his throat and settled on his burned stomach-lining, he eagerly took more. “Easy now, not too fast,” Charlie crooned; he had some experience with this and while the initial coating the milk made on alcohol-abused tissue, it had to be taken slow or risk vomiting-- especially after a four-day bender with no solid food!

After letting him adjust, he pulled Harry’s torso up a bit and eased in behind him, letting the young man’s back rest on chest. He brought the bowl to Harry’s lap and spooned him the soup. He didn’t know if it was completely necessary, if Harry could have handled feeding himself, but he needed fluids and nutrients, and Charlie wanted to make sure he got the sustenance of some salt, carbs and protein before he passed out.

(Plus, he wanted to-- it was so nice to be able to take care of him!)

The potions were downed (after a feeble protest) in a pre-emptive strike at what promised to be a rough night and even rougher morning of dehydration and withdrawal-- and chased with a square of chocolate Charlie summoned from his nightstand. He lay them both down, Harry’s head cradled in the crook of his neck. It felt so right to hold him.

Harry clung to him as the lights were extinguished; a tiny plaintive voice reached his ears, “Thanks, Char…. Will you stay with me?”

“Of course,” he reassured him, “I’m not going anywhere.” Charlie wanted to add ‘ever again’ but had to stop himself. It wasn’t his place to claim a permanent spot in his bed; the young man was still married after all.

Then he got that guilty swoop of glee again at Ron’s words of encouraging a divorce and then frowned in consternation at what had happened had been so horrible to warrant that course of action. He mentally shrugged-- he’d most likely find out tomorrow (and dreaded it, knowing it would break his heart, learning what had hurt Harry so).

“I’ll always be here for you if you need me,” he murmured into the scruffy black hairline under his chin and rather brashly pressed his lips to his temple.

Harry snuggled deeper against him and sighed in contentment as he started to fall asleep. Charlie was pretty sure it was just wishful thinking on his part that the relaxed breath exhaling with ease sounded like he’d said, ‘love you’-- but in the dark he could pretend that he did.

~O~

A/N: Hope you liked that one and come back for the next go— we’re getting closer to the good stuff! Charlie and Harry are going to have a BIG talk…. (among other things!)
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WONKY CROSS