I Disclaim ownership of Harry Potter.
Pickled Brains: All right! New chapter for y'all! I'm hyper to hear so many people are having fun with this fic! I always say there's too much depressing shit in the fandom, so it makes me giddy to know that y'all like all the nonsense I write!
-o
Chapter Seven:
The Trunk
-o
There are a great many things Harry Potter was used to, and a great many others that had been ingrained into him and his behavior. One of these habits however, was one he'd acquired during his early years at the Dursley's and it manifested in two ways, as far as he was aware.
The habit in itself is simple enough; Harry was a silent sleeper. Apart from nightmares and Voldemort-induced visions (which were relatively new occurrences, now that he thought about it), it has remained that way even after so many years away from his relative's gracious care (Oh, and you can just feel the sarcasm in that one, eh?). As such, he didn't really make any noise as he slept and, more importantly, he didn't move while asleep.
At all.
He didn't toss or turn. He didn't snore or sniffle. His sheets didn't rustle and his bed didn't creak, whatever its condition (and let's face it, the bed he'd slept in while at the Dursley's almost wailed in pathetic misery at the merest twitch! Especially after being used by his dear, dear cousin).
But anyways, at Number Four any noise would visit his Uncle's walrus-like wrath upon him, something he always tried to avoid as a child, not to mention that moving about would earn him quite a bit of bumps and bruises during his early years, seeing that the cupboard under the stairs was not exactly roomy.
As such, when he woke up that first morning at Hogwarts, he was somewhat disoriented.
Why, you may ask? Well, after catching up with his dorm mates (and pretty much gossiped about manly topics), Harry had stripped and put on his sleep pants before crawling onto the other side of his bed. He remembered this quite clearly, in fact. He'd fallen asleep on his side with his back toward the blond first year.
This, however, was not how he woke up.
At all.
Indeed, as he blinked his green eyes a few more times, he finally concluded that he really was awake, and yes, he had moved while asleep. Or, better yet, he thought wryly while looking at the mop of bright blond hair resting on his shoulder and under his face, someone had moved him in his sleep; someone who was clearly far too cozy at the moment, although he couldn't say he was any less comfortable himself.
Had it been anyone else, Harry would have probably reacted much differently. And really, had he been anyone different, he would probably have some blood circulation issues to deal with as well. Then again, other lads his age would probably have freaked out, had they found themselves in his place.
But really, he was Harry Potter, and though he recognized himself as somewhat of an inexperienced pervert, little kids really didn't do it for him.
And anyways, if anything, Harry was only feeling warm and fuzzy because of his current situation, and couldn't help but ask himself if this was what it was like to have a family, or a brother, or really, anyone close enough to comfort and take care of . . .
(Aw, and isn't Harry a right sap in the mornings?)
For if you haven't figured it out by now, little Cooper seemed to have moved rather spectacularly during the night. Harry was somewhat bemused at the new position, really, since he was firmly on his back and Goldie was comfortably stretched on top of him, his legs on either side of Harry, though they were bent and his feet were resting on top of Harry's own thighs. Bare-chested as they both were, Harry could feel each and every breath the boy took, deep and even with sleep, along with the warmth that radiated from his small frame.
It was . . . comfortable. Supremely so. And the weight on top of him was more than a bit relaxing. It was a constant reminder he was not alone and there was someone there with him, and indeed, he felt quite well rested because of it.
He decided right then, since it was a Sunday, that he'd wait 'till Cooper woke up before moving; that is, unless it got too late. He had that meeting with McGonagall to go to still. Who knew what the old witch would do to him if his skipped it, right?
She would probably hiss at him with her kitty-claws extended and scratch him something awful!
. . . He had to chuckle at his imagination, just for that.
Moving his arms, he settled the little boy more comfortably and started playing with his soft hair, content to think on the upcoming year, even as he finished kicking off the blankets. It wasn't hot, per se, but it wasn't cold either. Still, even from his position, he could see just how painfully thin the sleeping first year was. Nothing as extreme as he himself at that age, but still very noticeable; he wondered, not for the first time, just what had happened to the kid and hoped all the same that it wasn't anything too bad.
At the moment, he didn't know what he'd do if it was.
Probably something foolish, though.
"Hmmm," Cooper murmured sleepily, doubtlessly reacting to his touch while burying his face on his neck and curling more into his chest, if that was at all possible. Harry had to wonder if the little guy would burrow between his ribs next, and chuckled at his own thoughts.
"Good morning, Goldie," Harry smiled. The boy was just too cute for words.
"Hmmph."
"You can go back to sleep if you want," he told the younger boy softly, rubbing circles onto his back and still running gentle fingers through his soft golden hair.
"'M up…"
Laughing, Harry ruffled the boys hair a bit and waited as the little blond seemed to stretch without moving, a tightening and relaxing of muscles, before he abruptly sat up on his stomach, eyes half closed and looking like he was still sleeping, narrow shoulders hunched forward and hair tousled wildly to his right.
Harry had never seen a worst case of bed-hair in his life, that's for sure.
"I'm up," the kid grumped more clearly as he fisted his closed eyes.
Grinning even more, Harry folded his hands behind the first year, not wanting the kid to slide further down his stomach and into dangerous territory. His legs had already suffered enough under the kid's scrawny bum, thank you very much; he didn't want to think of the anguish his crotch would experience under the same treatment.
Still, it was adorably funny to see the kid trying and failing to wake up. In fact, he looked like he would fold in two and go right back to sleep at any moment. That is, until he opened a bleary eye a bit wider and took in his surroundings.
Confusion was the boy's first reactions, even as he blinked those big eyes of his and looked around without comprehension. That is, until his gaze came to rest on Harry and a small tentative smile made its presence known on his face.
"It's still early, you know, so we could get some more sleep in before grabbing some breakfast," Harry told him with a quirk of his lips.
He would not laugh.
He wouldn't!
Not when the kid was unaware of how his hair looked at that moment (and honestly, just how could it all be pointing straight out from the right side of his head?), or how he hadn't stopped rubbing his face as he looked around.
But really, when the boy's face turned rosy on top of all that, he couldn't hold in his chuckles anymore, even as he poked the boy's tummy a bit, eliciting more than a few strangled, sleepy giggles and faint warding off motions as the blond tried to squirm out of reach.
It wasn't long before an all-out tickle-fest started and shrieks of laughter filled the room, even as his four-poster shook because of their playful wrestling match. And really, even as his breathing sped up and his own laughter joined that of Cooper's, Harry couldn't really remember when he had been as carefree as he was now; as playful as he was now. He wondered, not for the first time, if he had really changed so muc—
His thoughts, however, were abruptly interrupted when the slick little blond escaped his hold and somehow latched himself to his back and pinned him to the bed (and do get your filthy minds outta the gutter, eh?).
Not to mention that Harry let him win . . .
Hey, why the doubting faces? He did let the scrawny little blond win! End of story. Hmph.
Giving up with a laugh, sweating, smiling and breathing heavily, the two boys stayed like that for a while more, even after their breathing was under control. Cooper himself seemed comfortable enough lying on Harry's back so the older wizard let him stay there.
Again, it was comforting.
"Harry?" the small first year asked softly.
Turning his head toward his right shoulder, where Goldie's head was, he responded in an equally soft tone, "Yeah?"
The boy didn't answer right away, just tightened his arms around Harry's chest a bit more, but Harry could see he was thinking, so he let little guy gather his thoughts and waited. It wasn't a long wait though, but he knew whatever Cooper wanted to say, it was important. "Thank you," the boy said, not meeting his gaze, a blush staining his cheeks.
Confused and not exactly in a position to have a conversation, he called on his magic and his will, and before the blond blinked, their positions had changed and they were both laying while facing each other; Harry's green gaze settled firmly on Cooper's blue-green eyes.
"Huh? Wha—?"
Smiling a bit, Harry winked, "Its magic," was his whispered answer. "Now, you're welcome, though I have no idea what you're thanking me about, bud."
Looking down and closing his eyes, Cooper seemed to steel himself, and when those clear eyes opened once again Harry was surprised by how old they looked, even if they didn't meet his own gaze straight on, "I—I've always been alone, you know?" the golden haired child said softly while he fidgeted with the blankets, his eyes set on his twiddling fingers, unfocused, "Even at the orphanage, I've never really had any friends. It was a small orphanage, see? And most of the kids there are younger than me . . . I, well, I was always picked on at school because I was smaller than everyone else, and somewhat shy, I guess," he whispered, a tinge of pink on his cheeks becoming an almost permanent fixture.
Harry's heart ached at the sight, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the boy into a hug, but he didn't want to interrupt. Sometimes, the best thing you can do for someone is to listen. It was why he had grown so attached to Sirius after so short a time; he had listened and not judged, he had let him pour his heart out without interruption; he had been there when no one else was.
And then he had offered something that he had never received; comfort and affection. Mindlessly and without question, Sirius had given him that and more.
It was, above all else, what made him love his godfather so much.
It was the reason his death hit him so hard. Not because he was his godfather or a link to his parents, but because he was the only one, until he met Bobby recently, who had accepted him for himself right off the bat.
It was why, as Cooper continued to speak, Harry just sat back and listened, offering whatever comfort he could with his presence.
"My parents abandoned me there, you know? In the orphanage. I wasn't wanted and everyone knew it. I was teased for it. Not to mention the strange things that always happened when I was upset. And when I got my Hogwarts letter, well, I didn't know what to think . . . I, well, I thought it was a bad joke, really," tears seemed to gather at the corner or his eyes and Harry's heart clenched just the slightest bit; why would he cry because of his letter? "But it wasn't a joke and I . . . I was happy, so very happy when I found out about it, and even more so when Professor McGonagall then took me to Diagon Alley . . . And when I came back to the orphanage, everything was great; I . . . I was going to a new school and I thought well, maybe I could make friends there? Maybe I could fit in there . . . ?"
The boy paused again and wiped at his face, his features reddening more in embarrassment, he guessed, but the next thing he knew, the little blond surged forward and latched onto him with a strength that surprised the last Potter. And what could Harry do but to hold him just as tight? He knew about loneliness, after all.
It was a horrible thing.
Still, when the boy continued his voice was soft, muffled by Harry's chest, " . . . I, I was s-so happy . . . " Copper continued, his breath hitching before he seemed to control himself with a deep intake of air, "B-but, well, not everyone was happy for me, and . . . and then I had to make my own way to the Platform and I thought everything was going to be the same; that I'd be alone again, and it was like that at first . . . " Harry could feel the tears against his skin, but he ignored it, rubbing soothing circles across the first year's back. He knew there were gaps in what Cooper was telling him, the broken ankle (and how it come to be broken in the first place) being the most glaringly obvious, of course.
But then, that wasn't what the kid was talking about was it? Harry didn't even think that Cooper had wanted to say all those things himself. Nonetheless, when the blond continued speaking, Harry was listening, ". . . I was ready to give up, you know? I asked for help at first, and then I just wanted to get on the train. It hurt so much! But then . . . then you were there, and you took care of me and helped me . . . I, no one's ever helped me before, ever. So . . . I mean, thank you for that," Cooper finished with a whisper, clinging to Harry with as much force as he could probably muster, as if he was trying to say a million other things as well, but couldn't find the words for them.
But Harry understood, so he just hugged the kid back just as fiercely. He hugged the boy in a way that told him that he was welcome, that he was there now; that he would be his best friend, if that was what he wanted. He felt that something about this kid was special, if for no other reason than he reminded him of himself. He would make sure that he was safe, at the very least.
And it was all the response the younger boy needed, as well.
It took some time before Copper calmed enough to loosen his grip, but Harry didn't mind, and he didn't let the boy go either. He wouldn't ever turn the blond away, not after learning at least a bit of what his life had been like, and he wanted Cooper to know that. However, there were potions to be taken and a meeting to attend, not to mention that Harry needed to start practicing more of his magic. He wouldn't be able to go back into the Tank of Knowledge until Bobby had finished bringing the Potter accounts up to date, but he could always cement what he had already learned until then.
Not to mention he hadn't seen Alden around and he was starting to worry for his guardian-cat. If nothing else, the feline could have at least help defend him against McGonagall, right?
Shaking his head slightly and focusing back onto the boy in his arms, he drew the blond closer.
"Hey, kiddo?" he whispered into the boy's ear, moving until he could see the boy's clear eyes, until they were nose to nose, "I have some foul-tasting potions that you have to take so that your ankle doesn't give you any more problems, you hear?" he asked with an easy grin, poking the kid on the ribs until he got a nod, "Then let's get up and you can take a shower. Honestly, boy, you stink!"
"Hey!" Cooper protested with a wavering smile that finally settled as the mood shifted, "I do not!"
And, well, it didn't take Harry too much time to win this tickle-war, or to get Cooper to drink his potions for that matter, before showing the boy over to his dorm and in the direction of the bathroom, thankful there were a few other first years hanging around, a couple of which immediately latched onto the little blond and asked him how he was doing.
Harry was glad for that and the blonds' spirits were pretty high by this point, as well. As it was, he told the kid he would see him at lunch and headed back toward his dorm.
Breakfast would have to wait, considering the time.
Thankfully, though not strangely, the majority of his dorm mates were still sleeping, most likely because of sound dampening charms placed on their curtains, though Neville had probably woken up pretty early if his bed's neatness was any indication. As things were, the morning was half-way done and he set about getting ready to go and meet his Head of House.
He had to wonder just what was it that McGonagall wanted with him this early in the year . . . But then he remembered his stunt during the feast and, well, you remember that too, right? Hopefully he wouldn't get too many detentions . . . though with any luck he wouldn't get any at all.
Afterwards, well, he would have to see . . . it was a Sunday, so maybe he could find a quiet place for a few hours and practice the five knuckle shuffle. He sure as hell needed the exercise, that's for sure.
Then again, maybe he should start looking for some real help with that, too, eh?
-O●O●O●O-
"Enter," came the brisk answer from inside the office.
Harry opened the door and walked in gracefully, feeling quite refreshed after his morning shower. Not to mention that he'd found Shaggy stuffed into his trunk and was happy to have the enchanted furry thingamabob close to him once more . . . he had grown rather fond of it, after all.
At the moment, it was wrapped around his right wrist, looking to the whole world as a spunky little wristlet; A very wiggly, teasing little wristlet at that. But Harry didn't really mind, seeing as he had grown accustomed to much worse during his stay at his vault.
"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," he greeted his Head of House with an easy lopsided smile.
The Transfiguration Mistress welcomed him in kind, and Harry was glad her lips weren't pressed together and she wasn't glaring at him in any way. It meant he wasn't in trouble, or at least not too much trouble. However, he had to wonder, even as he accepted a seat across her desk and some biscuits, what this meeting was about.
As it happened, though, Harry didn't really have to wait too long to find out.
"I admit to being rather upset with your display last night, Mr. Potter," she began, getting right to the point. "However, after speaking with Madam Pomfrey and Miss Granger about the surrounding circumstances I find that few could have done any better, or eased that child's transition into Hogwarts with as much success as you have obtained. For that, I award twenty points to Gryffindor."
"Thanks you Professor, but I would have done what I did for anyone, really."
McGonagall gave him a nod at that, "And you should be commended for it, Potter, because few others would have done the same; or gone to the lengths you did," she raised her hand when he made to speak once more, so he remained silent, "Now, when I first asked you to come to see me, I fully intended to award you at least two weeks of detention and would have deducted as many points as I have awarded you, not to mention I wanted to know what had possessed you to act in such a manner.
"Upon confirming young Mr. Kensington's injuries, however, I see that your actions were fully justified; nevertheless, seeing as you are already here, I thought we might discuss Mr. Kensington's condition as well as your course selection for your N.E.W.T level classes."
"Thanks ma'am. I actually wanted to talk to you about my options for classes as well, since a few things happened during the summer holidays that have made me reconsider my options."
"Indeed?" The Deputy Headmistress asked, looking somewhat surprised, before she nodded and gathered some parchment from atop her desk, "Let us leave that for last then and talk about Mr. Kensington first. There are a few things about him that you might help me clear up."
"Wouldn't you know more about him than me, Professor?" Harry asked, confused.
"That's just it, Mr. Potter, I hardly know anything about the boy, and I was the one who delivered his letter to him," she told him, and it was obvious to him that she was rather worried about the kid. "He was an unusually quiet child, all things considered, and he didn't ask any questions during his trip to Diagon Alley. In fact, until last night I thought the boy was mute," she finished flatly, and this took him quite by surprise, since even if the boy was muggleborn, magic would have allowed for at least that to be confirmed. "There are no records of the lad, not in the Muggle world and not in the Wizarding world. For all intents and purposes, he appeared in that orphanage one night out of the blue."
Harry blinked, surprised that McGonagall had told him so much, even if only to tell him that they didn't know enough. "Then where did he get his name from, Professor?" It was the only thing he could think of at the moment.
The Deputy Headmistress simply leaned back in her chair and looked at him over her square spectacles, "As far as I have been able to uncover, the name, Cooper, was known to the child. Kensington is a surname given to him by the orphanage," and was he seeing things or was McGonagall looking at him a bit too intensely?
"If that's the case, what can I do to help, Professor?" he asked her, noticing some small signs of dissatisfaction in her gaze, as if she were expecting something else from him, and though he had some idea of what it was, it was still too soon to take such actions (not to mention how he didn't want to commit himself to something so serious without more thought). He would wait until Cooper was acclimated before he asked the boy anything; he refused to interrogate his little friend or take advantage of any of the trust the kid had placed on him, as he was sure was McGonagall's desire.
Sighing softly, the Transfigurations Mistress seemed to discard a few thoughts as she reached to shuffle some papers into order. "Well, let me know if you learn something of import about his situation. Some things about it just don't sit well with me. Apart from that, just keep doing as you have done, Mr. Potter, and keep an eye on the lad."
Nodding confidently, he smiled a sudden smile at his Head of House, startling her slightly. "I'll keep both my eyes on him professor, as often as I can spare them, and make sure he is as safe and as happy as I can make him."
And was it him, or was that a smile he was seeing at the corner of the old professor's mouth? Either he was growing into quite the inspirational speaker or his Head of House was getting softer.
Whatever the case, it was a wonder to behold, that's for certain.
"Then I will thank you for that Mr. Potter," she told him with a firm nod, "Indeed, if this is the care you show to the younger years, I regret that you weren't selected as a Prefect for Gryffindor House."
Laughing slightly, Harry shook his head ruefully, "Me? A Prefect? Are you sure you're remembering who you're talking to, Professor?"
She gave him quite a stare at that, and his smile widened at the sheer sternness in the look. There was the Professor McGonagall they all knew and behaved for, "I assure you, Potter, I am perfectly aware. Now, you mentioned having a change of mind about your subject selection?" She questioned, changing the subject as she retrieved a particular sheaf of parchment from the pile.
Harry simply eyed the files a bit as he nodded; his green eyes stark on his face, "I uncovered quite a bit when I searched within my family history. As it turns out, my Great-Grandfather denied his inheritance when he married Dorea Black, and since to inherit in the Potter family, the Patriarch has to bring the Heir to the Potter Vault and introduce him to the Family Guardian, it also means that my Grandfather and my Father were denied their heritage as well, under different, but linked circumstances."
McGonagall quickly filled in the blanks though, "But since there was no Potter Patriarch, the Goblins were obligated to inform you in his stead," she nodded, as if putting the pieces of a puzzle together, "But for your Vault to have a Guardian . . ."
"A fully sentient Guardian, at that, Professor," he clarified, feeling a sort of guilty pleasure in seeing her so shell-shocked. Hogwarts was only semi-sentient, and with so much magic being performed within it throughout a thousand years . . . well, without knowing any better, someone could be led to believe that the Guardian of his vault was well over three thousand years of age, if not more. While such was probably true, being able to actually prove that he belonged to an unbroken magical line of such an age would lift many an eyebrow; pureblood or not.
"But then—" she began.
"It means that I am filthy rich, Professor McGonagall," he told her in a somewhat dismayed tone of voice, though he'd already come to terms with these facts himself. "It means that my family holds a great many titles and properties (though I'm not certain if any of them are still valid, or what they are), and even more investments; that the Guardian of my Family's Heritage is practically demanding me to find a bright and beautiful boyfriend to make plenty of Potters with. It means, Professor, that there's a whole load of other options opened for me as well, and that I don't have to be an Auror if I don't truly, fully want to . . . " he trailed off, blinking his large green eyes at the stunned Transfigurations Mistress. "Professor?" he asked probingly.
"A—a boyfriend, Potter?!" she asked in a stutter.
Brightening, he gave her a happy nod, "Isn't it wonderful, Professor? There's specific legacy magic for that, so I won't have to settle for a girl just to have a family," he told her, and through those spells (and potions) did exist; they had other kinds of uses than the ones he was implying.
More fun uses, at that.
As well, he preferred her not to know about the Potter condition for now, though he was sure it would re-surface sooner rather than later. It made him pause a bit too; did it mean the last three generations of Potters were black sheep in the history of the family?
"I—I see," she remarked dazedly and blinked at him before seemingly gathering her wits about her and shuffling the papers in her hands unnecessarily. "And just how would this impact your studies, then, Mr. Potter?" she asked a bit gruffly, still processing what he'd told her.
"Well, I actually made a list of the subjects I'd like to take, along with a few other requests regarding my future education," he told her as he took a sealed letter from one of the pockets of his robe and handed it to her, the wax seal with the Potter coat of arms quite prominent on the thick parchment. "The reasons for my selections are in there as well. If there are any problems or if you have any questions, there are directions on how to contact my Family's Guardian in that letter. Since he is, for all intents and purposes, my magical guardian now, it falls to him to arrange for my suitable education until such a time as I can take matters into my own hands, as it were."
Blinking slowly again, McGonagall took the letter and nodded, still trying to process all of what he had just revealed. He remembered having been in a post-orgasmic haze when most of this news was broken to him, though, so he could sympathize a bit with her. "Well then," she said as she slowly put the letter down and looked at him once more, "I will read this and contact your Guardian, Mr. Potter. Should I have any other questions I will call on you as well. Until then, you are dismissed."
How she pulled herself together so quickly, Harry didn't know. But then, she was probably used to dealing with all sorts of things, so he nodded his ascent and headed out of her office, a smile beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.
That had gone better than he had expected.
Now, he still had time to go down to Hagrid's Hut for some tea before lunch. It should be enough to tide him over at the very least, not to mention give him a chance to catch up with the gentle giant.
Destination in mind, he turned down the corridor, humming a catchy tune under his breath.
He looked like a canary that'd gotten the better out of a cat.
-O●O●O●O-
It wasn't until well into the afternoon that he actually met up with Ron and Hermione, seeing they had missed each other at lunch. Afterwards, however, they managed to spend the rest of the day catching up and meeting with their other friends, all of them quite happy to use the free day to laze around to their hearts content.
Quite a few of the students were outside and in or around the lake, and Harry had even seen Goldie and a few other first years running around the lawns playing some kind of game.
He was happy to see it actually, since the kid seemed to be fitting in nicely.
Still, it wasn't until after supper that he found some time to slip away on his own. With excuses of being a little tired and going to sleep early, he headed toward his dorm room, intent on getting a few things from his trunk.
It wasn't that he had anything to hide, really, but he didn't want to embarrass his dorm mates when he set about to unlocking the hidden compartment of his family's trunk. For as all things Potter, it too had quite a unique lock (the hidden compartment that is). So when he reached his room, he tugged Shaggy from his wrist and threw him in his trunk's direction, watching as it expanded and floated down gently to the foot of his bed.
He, on the other hand, headed over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and relive himself, for even though he wasn't sleepy at the moment, he was sure he would be after he was done.
Or at least, that was his plan.
No sooner he returned to the room did he discard his shoes and robe, while slowly taking off the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing, along with the rather comfortably tight emerald green boxer-briefs which were enchanted to cradle his bits in a warm, soft grasp. Folding what he could wear again and throwing what he couldn't in the room's laundry basket, he walked toward Shaggy and his trunk stark naked; something he'd gotten used to in his vault.
And really, maybe he should see if the other boys minded it very much? It'd be a relief to stay in the nude in their room at the very least.
Kneeling in front of the rounded corner of the trunk, Shaggy thickening under his knees to provide him better support, which he was glad for, he gently tapped a simple combination on the edges of the seemingly regular piece of luggage. But then, nothing was quite regular when it came from the Potter's Vault, now was it?
It had to be more than magical, and certainly perverted, or it wouldn't really fit with the family motif.
This was proven all the truer when the small face holding the regular lock of the trunk seemed to come alive and grow to twice its size or more, and then smoothly moved from its place in the middle of the trunk and to the corner where Harry was kneeling at, allowing for maximum comfort for the unlocking process.
Bobby's face blinked and its gaze zeroed in on his throbbing erection and opened its mouth eagerly, and Harry couldn't help but wonder again just where his ancestors came up with this stuff, even as he eased his cock into the willing entrance, his knees easily sliding onto either side of the trunk's smooth edge while he paused to get used to the sensation.
It was warm and wet and perfectly, deliciously tight, and his breathing became deeper because of the sudden attack on his senses, his mind focusing solely on his considerably hard shaft. Oh, it wasn't really Bobby, true, just a semi-animated representation of him. But still. Still . . .
It had a sinful mouth.
A miniature guardian for those treasures taken outside of the vault.
Taking hold of whatever he could, Harry simply started ramming into it with abandon, giving himself immediately to the feeling and not caring for any foreplay. He was hot and he was horny and he had a willing trunk to fuck and that was all that mattered. So he did just that, groaning when Shaggy flexed and wrapped around his legs, reaching and caressing his ass before gently cupping and massaging his large balls.
He groaned low in his throat at the contact and pumped into the tight luggage as sweat began to bead across his heated skin; he closed his eyes and allowed the sensations to wash through him as he continued in a fast but steady rhythm, his breaths reverberating deeper in his chest when Shaggy pulled at his balls and panted in heated desire when the trunk sucked him in turn.
Harry didn't know how long he fucked his trunk, as time seemed to lose track of him until he could feel the wonderful mounting of pressure at the tip of his toes, the first signs of a slow, drawn-out release, because Merlin help him, but he was going to enjoy himself while he could!
Throwing his head and closing his eyes, he arched his back and placed his hands on his hips as he ploughed on, his swollen member coming almost completely out of its tight confines before being swiftly pushed back in as he set a new, more frantic rhythm, the muscles of his legs and back rippling, his skin moving with them at every one of his measured thrusts.
"Bloody hell, Harry, wha're ye doin?" came the startled question from the doorway.
Turning without losing his pace, but laying a steadying hand on the trunk, else his cock lose its way, Harry found Seamus staring back at him from the door of the room, a look of dumbfounded incredulity on his face.
"Shut the bloody door, Seamus!" he grunted out between thrusts, not even the slightest bit embarrassed as he turned around and kept fucking his trunk (and damn but did he like the sound of that), the curve of his ass becoming more prominent with his new position.
Still, when he heard the door being shut and then locked (which startled him somewhat), he didn't really expect to see anything but an empty room when he glanced back from the corner of his eye, certain he would need to speak to a traumatized Seamus later on about what he saw.
What he found, however, were a pair of lust-filled blue eyes firmly fixed on his tight behind as the Irish boy palmed his growing erection through his trousers.
Well, would you look at that, Harry thought with a smirky smile, wasn't this an interesting turn of events?
With a mild shake of his head, he quickened his pace. After all, he still needed to open his trunk. He would deal with Seamus after that was done, and hopefully the other wizard would be up for a bit of fun after he was finished. The sight he made at the moment; his skin glistening and his firm ass clenching with each thrust, should be inviting enough, surely.
Though he could freely admit that Seamus had quite a cute ass himself; after all, he'd seen it more than once. His smirky smile, if possible, turned just a tad bit predatory.
Well, maybe he could have himself an irish lad before bed?
Relentlessly, he continued plowing into his luggage, his imagination soaring.
-o
TBC…
-o
Pickled Brains: And no, Seamus won't end up with Harry. Though if anyone's opposed to a pair of horny teenage boys (or this pair of hot and sweaty lads) jumping at each other's bones, well, too bad.
Anyways, how about y'all leave me some reviewing goodness, eh?
