Important notes: PLEASE READ THESE FIRST:
In answer to the many reviews that have asked if this is going to be slash – best expressed by Spice of Life's delightful "Are you like, going to jump out at us and scream, 'SURPRISE!SLASH!' anytime now?" the answer is: (Un)fortunately, no, actually, this was just a slashy tangent that goes no further. I mean, Ron and Harry are twelve in this, so regardless of how the kids all turn out when they grow up, thinking about each other, or about girls, is about as far as they go - even in canon, it wasn't until, let's see, Book 4, that any of them came right out and admitted being attracted to somebody . However, you can imagine what you wish ;)
WARNING. This chapter will hint at TWINCEST. Yes, love between the twins. It's spoken of or implied, not described, but if this offends you, consider yourself forewarned.
Out of sight, out of mind. Ron turned back to Harry, breathing raspily and leaning against the wall. His friend raised his eyes to meet his. "I'm all right," he forced out, his voice thin and tight with pain. Ron opened the door to the room and jerked his head at Harry. Inside.
Ron closed and locked the door behind them to find Harry standing in the middle of the room, feet planted apart defiantly. "Lie down," he ordered peremptorily, in no mood for mock heroics.
Harry fixed him with a Look. "I'm fi…"
"And take your shirt off while you're about it."
Harry glared at him. "I'm not…"
"Want me to tell Mum?"
Harry glared harder. "Are you sure you haven't told the twins?"
Ron sighed, in exasperation. "No, you prat. If Fred had known he wouldn't have thumped you like that. I don't know what they were on about, but-I-expect-we'll-know-soon-enough-now-will-you-please-lie-down!" The last words rushed out of him in frustration and worry.
"Might as well." Harry gripped the hem of his T-shirt and made to peel it off. "Mmnh." Ron looked sharply at him as he took several deep breaths in preparation for the agonizing task of taking off his shirt.
"Oh, hang on a mo, you've got it caught in your mumblewumble…" Affecting a casual tone, Ron hooked his hands under the shirt and pulled it over Harry's head, holding it away from his back as he did so, noticing the way Harry huffed with relief as he lowered his arms. Something would have to be done, and soon. If Hermione hadn't written back by tomorrow…
"Thanks," Harry was breathing hard with the pain, and Ron took it as a good sign that he didn't ask what his shirt had been caught on, exactly. Stiffly, he laid himself face-down on the bed, and managed a grin. "Ron? Hate to tell you this, old chap, but your brothers are mental."
"Now maybe you'll believe me." Ron knelt beside him and grimaced. The imprint of Fred's hand was clearly visible on Harry's thin back, swollen, scarlet finger-marks overlaying the bruises. Everywhere the explosive slap had landed, it had broken blisters and cracked open scabs; Ron cursed to see the blood welling, mixing with the blister-fluid. He reached over to a drawer, opening it one-handed, and fished out a clean handkerchief. Gingerly, he started to pat the injuries dry, but the material had barely touched the inflamed skin when Harry flinched violently, stifling a cry. "Sorry," Ron said guiltily, alarmed. He placed one feather-light finger on the bruised areas, now glowing red from the slap, and snatched it away, shocked; the flesh was burning hot. He took a deep breath, considered going into the twins' room and pounding Fred, decided against it, and took out the jar of salve. Wasting no time, he scooped some of the cool cream into his fingers and spread it thickly over the hand-shaped imprint.
"Ah," Harry groaned with relief – at least Ron hoped it was relief. He went on applying the salve, not daring to rub it in or touch the inflamed flesh at all, just spreading a thick layer of it with the side of his hand as though he were icing a cake. "This is better than flying," Harry sighed. "That's amazing, Ron."
"We aim to please," Ron said, trying for lightness, and enjoyed hearing Harry's sighs of relief as his back became invisible beneath the coating of salve. He considered offering to help, but Harry was a touchy devil, so – "Take your pants down."
"Can't we skip it?"
"I can, but you can't," Ron snapped, "or shall I take 'em off for you?"
"Bossy git."
"Stubborn midget."
"Will you give the midget thing a rest?"
Ron grinned; the salve had obviously eased Harry's pain if he as able to joke like this. "I will if you take your pants off."
Harry unzipped Dudley's old jeans – rather unnecessary as they were only held up by the belt anyway – and pushed them and his pants down his hips. Halfway down, though, they snagged against one of the raised scabs on his bottom, peeling it halfway off, and he let out a little involuntary cry.
Losing his patience, Ron reached out and pulled Harry's clothes the rest of the way down. "Will you stop being a stubborn git and let me put this bloody cream on your arse? It made you feel better last night, didn't it?"
Harry huffed with annoyance. "No need to rub it in."
"Rub what in?" Ron asked mischievously, relieved that Harry had regained some of his feisty spirit.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron, either do it or let me go to sleep!"
"Since you asked so nicely," Ron smiled, pleased to have his friend back. Although, he mused, the effect was only temporary, relieving pain more than healing as such. Gritting his teeth, he lifted up the peeled-off scab and slipped the salve into the gaping wound underneath; he snatched his hand away as Harry cried out in earnest, a raw sound of pain that broke Ron's heart. "Oh bollocks, Harry, did I hurt you?"
"No, I always scream like this to pass the time," Harry's snarky tone was laced with pain, and Ron barked with laughter, and touched Harry's head as he went on, his voice getting stronger as the pain receded. "'Course it hurts, you thickhead. I know you want to get it in there, but there's no need to amputate my bum!"
Ron stroked Harry's hair absently. "Ampertaste?"
"Amputate," Harry sighed. "Muggle thing. Means cut off."
"Muggles cut off bits of you?" Ron gasped in horror.
"Only when they're – um," Harry searched for an appropriate description, "really diseased and might poison your body if you didn't."
Ron mulled this over. "Well, in that case," he opined, "we could always ampertaste your arse. Save everyone a lot of trouble, it wouldn't hurt any more…"
Harry smiled, playing along. "Now that would make an interesting trophy on somebody's wall."
"Not really, too bony," Ron played along.
"Yours isn't that much fatter, superior git."
"Oi, watch who you're insulting! Your arse is in my hands."
Harry yawned, looking as if he was trying to stay awake. "Right, well, could you finish up already, I've been patiently waiting for you to shut your trap!"
Ron grinned and scooped out another handful of salve – the jar must be bottomless, he thought, he wondered where his Mum had ever been able to afford a bottomless jar – but stopped dead at the flicker of fear in Harry's eyes. "What is it?" he asked gently.
Harry looked at the sheets, refusing to meet Ron's gaze. "Nothing, 's all right," he snapped. "My favourite thing in the world, it is, to just lie here like a sack of flour."
Ron didn't even think of taking the bait, saying softly, "It hurts when I do that, doesn't it?"
"No," Harry said vehemently, "it feels wonderful. It's just…"
"I won't hurt you this time, I promise."
"You didn't hurt me, you just…"
"Harry," Ron sighed, "of course it hurts." He bit back the rest of his sentence: How do you think I feel seeing you in pain, not showing it, knowing I can't help you… "I'll be gentle this time. Sorry I hurt you before."
"You didn't…"
"Yeah, yeah." Ron spread the salve over Harry's scabbed thighs first, and was rewarded with an 'Ah!' of relief from his friend. "See?" he said. He was very slow this time, murmuring gently, "Ssh, 's all right, tell me if I hurt you," hearing nothing but Oh's and Ah's of relief. He salved Harry's buttocks and thighs thoroughly, noting with dismay that sitting down was making the scabs split and then heal with yet more raised crusts, which he knew would be murder to sit on. On his third handful, Harry was fast asleep, breathing evenly.
Fred had barely gotten into the room when he pulled out a matchbox containing a tiny beetle. It sniffed the air delightedly, and crawled out onto his hand, reveling in its newfound freedom. "Time for our bug, don't you think, Forge?"
"Oh, definitely, Gred."
George opened his window and let the tiny beetle out onto the ledge, watching it scamper along the sill to Ron's room, trailing a miniscule thread behind it. As George payed out the thread, Fred connected the end to a cone formed out of cardboard. "Good thing they left the window open," his twin mused as the beetle made its way to the sill and settled there. George shook the rolled-up paper once and tinny voices echoed through the cone.
"Lie down."
"Ooh, that's our Ron! Listen to him giving orders in the bedroom."
"Shut up, George, I want to listen!"
"And take your shirt off while you're about it."
Fred looked uncomfortable. "I don't remember being this bossy at our age."
"You may not remember it, but I do."
"They're only twelve, for Merlin's sake!"
"Are you sure you haven't told the twins?"
"No, you prat…""Right, as if we needed telling."
"They were so bloody obvious with Ron making sheep's eyes at Harry at dinner, like he'd explode or something if Ron wasn't there to take care of him."
"Yeah. How come you never look at me like that?"
"That's different."
"Oh, yes, how is it different?"
"Shut up and listen."
"…Mmnh..." Harry moaned.
George looked uncomfortable. "Are you sure we ought to be listening to this?"
"Shut up."
"Oh, hang on a mo, you've got it caught in your mumblewumble…" came Ron's voice.George began to blush, but grinned gamely. "We've got to work on getting a picture for that thing."
"Thanks," came Harry's voice, followed by heavy breathing. Then they heard the bed creaking.
"No thanks," Fred snapped. "Do you really want to see your little brother engaged in acts of perversion?"
"Well, I watch my twin brother doing 'em every night."
"That's different, you're doing 'em with me."
"Your point?"
"Shut up and listen."
"Mmm," came a groan from Harry.
"Ron does seem to be taking the initiative here, doesn't he?"
"This is better than flying," came Harry's tinny sigh. "That's amazing, Ron."
Both faces were crimson now.
"We aim to please," came Ron's voice, and then nothing but Harry's sighs.
Fred and George exchanged awed glances. "Never would have thought it of him."
"I wonder what he's doing to him."
"I can give you a few suggestions," Fred whispered into George's ear.
"Shut up," George wasn't sure whether his heart was pounding with arousal or embarrassment, "what I want to know is, where did he pick that up?"
"Our Ron must be pretty good, though, to make Harry sound like that," Fred mused, just as their younger brother's voice came through, strong and assertive:
"Take your pants down."
Fred squawked. George grinned.
"Can't we skip it?""Oh, Harry, holding out on our little…"
"I can, but you can't," came Ron's testy voice, "or shall I take 'em off for you?"
"Ooh, Harry likes it rough, does he? And Ron's no slouch either," George smiled. Fred was turning green and murmuring something about little brother sex being just wrong.
"Bossy git."
"Stubborn midget."
"Will you give the midget thing a rest?"
"I will if you take your pants off."
"Oh, he is a bossy git."
"I can't believe Ron had it in him."
Then came the sound of a Muggle zip being opened, and then fumbling noises. The twins exchanged glances and looked hurriedly away, their faces crimson.
Ron's next words stunned them.
"Will you stop being a stubborn git and let me put this bloody cream on your arse? It made you feel better last night, didn't it?"
"Bloody hell!" the twins exclaimed simultaneously, then looked at each other and spoke at once.
"Should they be doing that at his age?"
"I don't care how precocious he is, we never did that at twelve!"
"Harry's even younger than he is, that shouldn't be allowed…"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron, either do it or let me go to sleep!"
"Since you asked so nicely."
Fred looked at George doubtfully. "Should we tell Mum?"
George just looked at him.
"Okay, okay, that's stupid, but it's just… wrong, I don't think they should, I don't think Ron should…"
"What's your problem? Harry's enjoying it, isn't he?"
Just then, Harry's tinny scream came through the cone, followed by Ron's voice, full of love and concern. "Oh bollocks, Harry, did I hurt you?"
"No, I always scream like this to pass the time."
"See, what did I tell you? They're too young, Ron's hurting him…"
Harry's voice came through again, sounding stronger. "'Course it hurts, you thickhead. I know you want to get it in there…"
Any further thing Harry might have said was drowned out by Fred and George's high-pitched shrieks.
"Oh my Goodness!"
"Listen to him talk! 'Get it in there' – ugh! He's corrupting our Ron!"
"Well, yeah, but our Ron's giving it to him up the bum!"
"NOOOO!" Fred shrieked like a girl. "Is that any way for him to behave after how we raised him?"
"Um, Fred."
"Yes, George?"
"How did we raise him?"
"Um, to be a clean-living, upstanding pillar of the commu—" At George's shake of the head, Fred stopped and continued hesitantly, "Um, to follow in our footsteps?"
"Right, which entails?"
"Um, pranking?"
"And?"
"Um, being a rebel?"
"And?"
"Not following the rules?"
"And, Gred?"
"…Engaging in unmentionable activities every night?" Fred mumbled sheepishly.
"Got it in one!" George exclaimed triumphantly, interrupted by Ron's voice:
"…Your arse is in my hands."
His head dropped into his hands. "Growing up awfully fast these days, aren't they, Gred?"
Harry's voice came through. "Right, well, could you finish up already, I've been patiently waiting for you to shut your trap!"
Fred shook his head dispiritedly. "Indeed they are, Forge, indeed they are."
"I don't want to know, I don't want to know…" George was mumbling.
Their heads came up at their younger brother's voice. "What is it?" Ron was asking. The gentleness, the concern in his voice made them both fall silent.
Harry's voice, obviously hiding pain. "Nothing, 's all right... My favourite thing in the world, it is, to just lie here like a sack of flour."
Fred and George exchanged glances. Despite Harry's sardonic tone, there was no denying the tenderness in the exchange; it was hard to stay outraged in the face of that.
"It hurts when I do that, doesn't it?" Ron's voice, still glowing with affection."No," Harry again, still in some discomfort, "it feels wonderful..."
Fred and George exchanged a glance of brotherly pride in Ron's virility, before the emotion in his voice swept over them again. "I won't hurt you this time, I promise." He had never sounded so affectionate, so full of tenderness.
"You didn't hurt me, you just…"
"Harry," Ron sighed, "of course it hurts. I'll be gentle this time, I'm sorry I hurt you before." The apology was so heartfelt, so full of genuine regret at causing pain… George looked into Fred's face, seeing his own feelings mirrored there;a love he had only ever thought could be shared between – between two halves of a whole.
Ron was still speaking in that unfamiliar, tender, caring tone. "Ssh, 's all right, tell me if I hurt you," and then there was nothing but Harry's cries of arousal.
It was Fred who finally snapped out of it to yank the thread out of the cone.
"Think we've heard enough, haven't we, Gred?"
"Oh yes, Forge," was the last thing said in the room before they fell upon each other with a ferocious need that surprised even them.
