About the Story: This is a fantasy about fantasy, so please excuse the rather self-deprecating tone of these comments. I'm a bit embarrassed to have written this story, but I hope it will interest people. I've tried to stay true to the style and characters that Rowling has created, which is difficult, considering the premise of the story. Anyway, it's fun, and I've written more, which I shall post if there's interest. Thanks for your time.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is based on the novels of, and not authorised by, Miss J. K. Rowling. Lawyers terrify me.

Warning: Please don't read this if you're not interested in homosexually explicit fiction. You read on at your own peril. Seriously.

Rude Awakenings: I

The boys were in a tight embrace, legs intertwined and lips glued together. He could feel the other boy's fingers running through his hair, stroking him roughly. The world was at rights, and all worries had been banished to somewhere else: here there were only beautiful white clouds and this passionate embrace—

But a sharp noise rent the clouds, and the other boy was gone. The thoughts and worries of reality were drifting back into clear focus.

Harry sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes to disperse the blurred shadows of sleep, and ripped aside the hangings of his bed. Scrambling to find his glasses on the nightstand, he shoved them on and squinted into the half-light until he could make out someone's form.

As his eyes adjusted, Harry saw that Seamus was hastily mopping a puddle of spilled water on the windowsill with his sleeve, and as he looked up at Harry's bed he replaced a magically repaired water glass onto his nightstand. Seamus' hair was mussed, and his brown eyes reflected the light of the single candle beside his bed.

"Oh—" muttered the boy, freezing for a moment when he saw Harry staring at him. "I was just—er—getting a glass of water." Harry looked away quickly, because the puddle of water on the windowsill, which was several feet away from the jug on Seamus' nightstand, the damp-looking sock that had been dropped on the carpet nearby, and the distinct bulge visible in Seamus' pinstriped pyjama trousers as he straightened up seemed to suggest otherwise.

Seamus cleared his throat nervously and wiped his hands on his trousers.

"What time is it?" moaned Harry, lying back on his pillow, rubbing his eyes again, and staring decidedly up at the canopy of his four-poster bed.

"I…I, er, think there's a couple of hours left before breakfast, said Seamus. "Bloody sorry to wake you, Harry—I was just—I couldn't sleep." He coughed.

Harry had been trying to recall his dream—it had been a happy one—but now he sat up again, realising reluctantly that he was fully awake. "Well, I suppose I've got time to finish off Snape's essay, then," he groaned.

"Right," said Seamus, awkwardly. He kicked the sodden sock under his bed and lay stiffly back on his sheets, adjusting the crotch of his trousers uncomfortably.

Harry shook himself, straightened his glasses, and unlocked his trunk with his wand. He ruffled through crumpled parchment and ragged, broken quills until he found a usable ink bottle, and then pulled a quill, Magical Drafts and Potions (Fifty-Ninth Edition) by Arsenius Jigger, his half-finished potions essay, and Hermione's potions notes from the previous day's class from his bag. Seamus coughed and shifted on his bed.

Sitting down, Harry muttered "Lumos" to brighten the early morning gloom, opened to a dog-eared page in his potions book, and stared at Hermione's neat descriptions of the classes of potion antidotes:

…which serve primarily to counteract basic potions that cause intense emotion, such as simple amorous solutions and other such mixtures that stimulate the senses—Seamus was sitting up again; Harry was acutely aware of the familiar sounds of his bed creaking—however, should suffice in situations in which one is in urgent need—Harry froze, and then put down his quill slowly.

He had remembered his dream, and it certainly had been a happy one. (He peered over at Seamus' bed, where the other boy had crossed his legs gingerly over the bulge between them.) It had also certainly not included those pinstriped trousers; he felt his face grow warm and pulled his knees to his chin, hugging them.

"Seamus?" he whispered, suddenly breathing heavily.

"What?" blurted the Irish boy. "Er…sorry?"

"I, er—do you want to do something more, er, interesting right now? I mean we're both awake, and I might as well give Snape's essay up as a bad job…" Harry was sure that Seamus could hear his heart beating.

"Erm…" Seamus was staring at him apprehensively: "What do you mean?"

"I—er—well, do you want to—you know…"

"Harry—I want to kiss you, Harry," Seamus whispered, and his cheeks were flushed now.

Harry almost forgot to breathe, and choked. "We—we, er, have a while before breakfast; we could—"

"No."

"Oh, er—"

"Let's skip breakfast, all right?" Seamus' stare was fierce as it moved down from Harry's eyes and took in his skinny frame.

Harry was aware that his trousers were becoming more than a bit tight. He saw Seamus' eyes linger on his crotch, and blushed furiously. A slumbering snort from another bed made him jump, though, and he swallowed. "But what about them?" He indicated another four-poster.

"Forget about them," grinned Seamus. "Just come over here, will you?"

Seamus stood up, the bulge in his trousers more visible than ever, and Harry walked across the small dormitory to stand opposite him, heart thundering.

"Well?" said Seamus.

Harry blinked. Seamus wore a jaunty smile, and he had even, white teeth.

Suddenly they were writhing on the scarlet rug, hands in each other's hair. Harry felt Seamus' hot breath in his mouth, mingling with his own, and gasped when Seamus pressed their lips together. He felt the Irish boy's tongue exploring his mouth.

Harry broke away and began shakily to unbutton Seamus' shirt, revealing a chest that was wide and surprisingly muscular, especially considering the rich house elf-prepared diet the students enjoyed daily in the Great Hall. He ran his fingers nervously over Seamus' skin as he struggled to undo the buttons, and he felt the boy shudder.

But suddenly, his bashfulness discarded, Harry lowered his mouth to Seamus' nipple and licked it gently as his own chest heaved. Seamus jolted into a sitting position, and, after a moment, he ripped off Harry's shirt and laid his head on Harry's thin, pale chest.

Harry closed his eyes and felt Seamus' thin fingers creep under his waistband as the boy breathed gently against Harry's chest. The fingers traced light circles over his tailbone before moving slowly downwards. Shivering with pleasure, Harry looked down until his green eyes met his classmate's brown ones.

The hungry, fervent look he found in them startled him, and he looked away. This was impossible: how could he have just kissed Seamus? And even more strangely, in Harry's eyes—Seamus had kissed him. In a part of his mind that Harry had not, until now, realised existed, however, an unbidden voice whispered triumphantly: he had kissed Seamus—and Seamus had kissed him! And what was he doing now? Seamus was touching him—caressing him—and (the voice purred) it was wonderful. Harry began to sit up and Seamus withdrew his hand quickly.

How could this be Seamus, a boy with whom Harry had argued and laughed for more than three years now? Seamus had always seemed serious, sometimes surly, but excitable and bold. Perhaps this was a dream—but he could never have dreamed that this moment would be possible—much less that he, Harry, would ever have wanted to engage in such an intimate experience with his friend. And yet (said the voice, laughingly) he wanted it more than anything.

"Harry, I'm—" Seamus interrupted Harry's confused stream of thought, but he broke off when their eyes met. Harry faltered for a moment, but he was reassured by the look of honest concern in his friend's eye, and both boys grinned.

Harry stood up, aware of the cool air on the sweaty back of his neck. He took Seamus' hand, and, still smiling, whispered: "Let's… do you want to…."

Seamus stood up, facing Harry, and carefully, staring into his eyes, stroked the bulge in the black-haired boy's trousers. After a moment, Harry stopped him and, holding his breath, untied the drawstring on Seamus' trousers. He tugged the pinstriped fabric, and Seamus helped him pull the waistband over his own erection.

Harry stood staring at his friend's throbbing cock and muttered, "What are we doing?"

"Don't worry," murmured the Irish boy, his eyes closed.

Seamus' cock jutted out straight from his body, the head shining in the weak light of almost-daybreak streaming from the window. Harry blinked, and then knelt down and, instinctually, tickled the tip with his tongue. Seamus shuddered and reached down to stroke the back of Harry's neck, whispering: "Please."

Harry bit his lip for a moment and then hurriedly thrust Seamus' dick into his mouth, his hands massaging the boy's buttocks. The taste was both salty and sweet and Harry immediately rubbed the length of the cock with his tongue, savouring its texture and its pulsations, now sure that he was still dreaming.

Seamus thrust his cock into Harry's throat, shooting a stream of liquid. Harry gagged, spluttered, and pulled away.

When he had recovered, he pulled off his own trousers and sat on Seamus' chest. Harry's cock was long, thin, and pale, and his balls were drawn up tightly. Seamus had only to reach up and touch his friends dick playfully before Harry gave a loud moan and ejaculated, the cum spurting onto Seamus' face—

"Bloody Hell!"

Ron had ripped aside the hangings of his bed and stood staring down incredulously at his friends. The redhead had taken to sleeping with his shirt off, and his pale nipples were hard in the cool air.

"What'd—er—sorry, I just—I—" He stopped, his face a mask of wide eyed shock, staring first at Harry's terrified face, then at Seamus' erect cock. Seamus lay panting on the carpet, but Harry covered himself desperately with one hand, grabbed his glasses, which had slipped off, and jumped up.

"Ron, we—I…" he spluttered.

He had suddenly noticed how beautifully the light caught his best friend's flaming ginger hair, and how handsome his face was; and he could not stop his eyes roaming over Ron's pale belly and down to the inevitable tent of fabric forming between his legs, behind which (whispered the unbidden voice again) was something that Harry suddenly greatly wanted to see.

"Muhgn," said Ron incoherently, and swallowed. Harry had slowly drawn his hand away from his erection, closing his eyes for a moment.

Ron's ears had surpassed the colour of the carpet by now, and he was gaping. Harry stared at Ron's open mouth and moist lips.

"Harry…that's your—your…" Ron whimpered. "You're naked, Harry."

Seamus snorted from beside his bed and, striding purposefully over to Ron, tugged the redhead's trousers down around his ankles deftly.

"Oi!" shouted Ron, trying frantically but unsuccessfully to cover what nature had blessed him with rather a lot of.

Laughing, Seamus pushed Ron back onto his bed, and stood back, fingers massaging his own erection and eyes staring at Ron's. "Merlin!" he groaned, "that's beautiful."

Harry, unable to contain himself, whispered fervently, "Ron… please… I need to touch you."

For a moment, after he had said this, the absurdity of the situation hit Harry—images of Mrs. Weasley, of Fred and George, of Ginny, and Hermione all flashed in his thoughts. His logical mind feebly presented its case against what he was about to do, but all reasonable thought dissolved as Harry's eyes moved from Ron's face down to his pale cock, and he climbed on top of his friend, stroking the coarse hair around Ron's balls.

He straddled the redhead, who was still frozen with disbelief, and inserted his tongue into Ron's open mouth. Ron seemed to come to life suddenly, grabbing Harry's shoulder blades and kissing him back. The boys' cocks rubbed together, and Seamus grabbed both and rubbed them with his thumbs, grinning.

In a moment, Harry felt the length of Ron's dick pushing against his belly, pulsing as Seamus stroked it. His mind was blank as he felt Ron's pleasurable thrusts grow wilder and soon the redhead shot a thick stream of cum across Harry's chest and onto his chin. With a final moan, Harry ejaculated for the second time, mouth still glued to Ron's. Seamus gave a gasp of pleasure and did the same.

Shafts of clear, new light shone from the windows. The three boys lay together, breathing heavily, hearts racing, on Ron's sheets—which were now soiled with cum—when they heard Dean's bed creaking violently, and tangled in the sheets, Dean tumbled through his hangings and onto the carpet. His trousers were around his ankles, his fingers grasped his dark cock, and cum was splattered over his belly.

He looked up at his friends sheepishly, and grinned: "You'd better let me join next time."

Ron laughed, one arm around Harry's middle and the other hugging Seamus' thigh.

Harry tickled the tip of Seamus' cock and kissed Ron on the freckled cheek. He smiled up at Dean, noting the boy's handsome grin, and laughed, "I'm game for a bit more, if you are."

Seamus groaned and chuckled, "Well, I reckon we'll be missing lunch too then."