Oh the usual, JKR owns it all. I just like to play with the boys from time to time….
Harry trudged down the path; his breath leaving little puffs in the cold air. The frosted weeds that he stepped on made little critching noises as he walked. The further he walked, the better he could see the Burrow.
Funny how some things never change, Harry thought. Not that he'd ever want the Burrow to change. It was as lopsided as ever, the different floors tilting as if they would slide off at any moment, the same untidy garden now frozen, and the faint smell of wood and peat burning in the hearth. Harry rubbed his hands together. It would be good to get inside and get warm.
It hadn't taken him as long as he had expected to travel to Ottery St.Catchpole. The Knight Bus had careened into the tiny village and deposited Harry at the only pub. It had been a bit tempting to crawl back into the bottle, but Harry had decided that that probably wasn't the wisest course of action at the moment. Not to mention that he felt vaguely queasy after the bus ride and he still had a bit of a hangover from his last binge.
He shifted his knapsack before he lifted his hand to knock on the door. But when his hand fell toward the wood, the door opened and Harry nearly hit Mrs. Weasley on the nose.
"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry exclaimed, blushing furiously, "I'm sor--"
"Oh don't worry, Harry, dear," she interrupted, reaching for Harry to wrap him in a patented Molly Weasley hug. "I saw you coming."
Harry sighed. For such a gentle-looking woman, she had a hug like a bear trap, and one didn't get out of it until she was good and ready to let go. But he didn't mind. It felt good to be hugged, and if he'd grown up with a mother, she would have surely hugged him like this.
"What brings you here, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she released Harry, but held onto his wrists to study him at arm's length.
He could tell from her slightly worried expression that she was going to start mothering him like mad, insisting that he eat four helpings at every meal, darning his socks, and fussing about his hair. And to be quite honest, he couldn't wait!
"Well, I had some free time and thought it might be nice to visit with you and Mr. Weasley," Harry lied. He suspected Weasleys knew of his relationship with Draco since Ron and Hermione's wedding, but he wasn't sure how they felt about it. Mrs. Weasley had seen them together at the wedding in a somewhat compromising position. But then again, she had been pretty tipsy and who knew what she remembered. They'd always treated him like one of their sons, but how did they feel about a gay son?
"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, a little frown on her face, "you know what happens to people who lie, don't you?"
Harry's confused look turned to one of relief when he saw the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "They get bewitched and their noses grow," Mrs. Weasley said, with a little laugh.
Ushering him into the house, she pointed him toward the stairs and ordered. "Wash up, take a nap, and come down for dinner at six. You can tell me all about what brought you here later after dinner." Mrs. Weasley patted Harry's arm affectionately. "You look starved. Now hurry on up young man."
"Yes ma'am!" Harry grinned happily. Nothing had changed at the Burrow.
xxxxxx
Harry stared into the mirror over the sink. No matter what he did with his hair, he still had that messy bed-hair look. No matter how much he brushed his hair, or how much gel he used on it, it still looked like a bird's nest. After a hot shower, well, as hot as could be at the Burrow, and a short nap later, Harry felt much better. Although quite hungry.
"Harry!" A rap on the bathroom door was heard. "Molly wanted me to make sure you would be down shortly, Supper's almost ready," Mr. Weasley called from outside the door.
"Yeah, be down in a minute," Harry said. Arthur's fading footsteps told Harry that he was already headed downstairs.
Harry rubbed his stomach after another particularly loud grumble and gurgle; the thought of Mrs. Weasley's cooking made Harry even hungrier. He'd heard Mrs. Weasley say something earlier about Shepherd's Pie, and after one last lick and a promise to his hair and he turned to head downstairs.
"You don't want to eat her food!" the mirror shrieked at Harry.
Startled, Harry turned to face himself again in the mirror. He'd never quite gotten used to talking mirrors. They made him feel like he was twelve again.
"What do you mean, I don't want to eat her food?" Harry asked, staring intently into the mirror, his hands on his hips.
"Because, my boy, you don't have that kind of hunger," the mirror said in a low leering voice.
Stupid mirror, Harry thought. "Of course I'm hungry, my stomach's growling like mad," Harry said, irritated, as his stomach gave another loud gurgle.
"Boy, food won't answer your problems," the mirror said. "But, I know what will…"
Harry stepped closer and waited, staring at the cocky piece of furniture.
"You just need a good shag!" the mirror crowed and broke into cackling laughter.
"Like you've ever had a good one," Harry muttered darkly. He hurried out of the bathroom toward the stairs to the kitchen, grateful that everyone else in the Burrow was downstairs and not anywhere near hearing range of this odd conversation.
Reaching the bottom of the rickety stairs, he stopped. Was that Ginny's voice he heard? He didn't remember Mrs. Weasley saying that she would be here. He could hear her and Mrs. Weasley's voices coming from the kitchen. He hadn't seen Ginny since Ron and Hermione's wedding. She and her husband had led the rounds of toasts to the happy couple. But, what was she saying? She sounded upset. In fact, she sounded like she was crying, and as far as Harry could remember, he'd never heard Ginny cry. She'd take the roughest hit on the Quidditch field, or the hardest tumble and never shed a tear. Harry crept toward the end of the passageway to the kitchen, making sure to stay in the shadows. It felt wrong to intrude, and he probably should have gone back upstairs, but his curiosity got the best of him. Harry inched a little closer; he could hear them clearly now.
"Mum, he's just not interested like he used to be," Ginny said, and Harry could hear the tears in her voice.
"Now Ginny, you know he's very busy with his work in the Ministry. Your father would have times when he wasn't as frisky as--"
"Mum!" Ginny exclaimed.
"Ginny Weasley Longbottom! You listen to me! You want to whine about things, but when I give you advice, you don't listen to a word I say!" Mrs. Weasley said, both concern and irritation in her voice.
"Neville is under a lot of pressure at the Ministry. Of course, he comes home tired, irritable, uninterested in sex; many men are like that when their jobs become stressful," Mrs. Weasley continued more softly. Harry could almost feel the heat coming off her cheeks. A Weasley embarrassed by sex? He covered his mouth to hide his chuckle.
"I know his job isn't that stressful in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office." Harry waited, hearing Ginny give a loud sniffle. The rustling of material and a nose being blown came next.
"I think he's having an affair," Ginny said resolutely. The bang of a plate on the table followed.
"Careful dear!"
"He's not interested in sex because he's getting it somewhere else! He's tired because he has to lie and hide it from me! And irritable! He's irritable because he's running around trying to live two lives!" Ginny shrieked.
The crash of plates hitting the floor jarred Harry. This hadn't been a very good idea at all. Damn his curiosity! If he walked in now, everyone would be embarrassed and Harry didn't fancy that idea at all.
Ginny's crying seemed to echo in the gloomy passageway, and Harry inched closer to the wall. He could barely hear Mrs. Weasley's comforting words.
"There, there, dear. I'm sure you're wrong," Mrs. Weasley said in her most soothing voice, and Harry strained his ears to hear Ginny's barely audible reply.
"But what if I'm not?"
Harry decided right then and there that he should probably go back upstairs for a bit, and when he came back down, he would descend the stairs very loudly.
xxxxxxx
Dinner had been a very subdued affair; Ginny, her eyes red, and her cheeks blotchy, answering in monosyllables; Mrs. Weasley, shooting worried looks toward her daughter and Harry all through the meal. Even Mr. Weasley even seemed disturbed, if his half-hearted questions toward Harry about "spell phones" throughout the meal were any indication.
All hopes of asking Mr. or Mrs. Weasley for advice with his own problems with Draco had vanished from his mind in the light of Ginny's problems. It seemed inconceivable that Neville Longbottom would be having an affair. He had been such a stickler for rules when he was in school. It was almost unbelievable that someone so staid could be tempted into unfaithfulness.
Not to mention that Harry didn't think Neville would have been brave enough to cross Ginny like that. I sure wouldn't have, Harry thought with a little shudder. Ginny had been a wildcat when they'd fought at the Ministry of Magic years ago. And the way she played for the Chudley Cannons didn't seem to indicate that anything had changed in that regard.
Harry set his toothbrush back in its case. He gazed into the mirror over the sink once more. "Anything you'd like to add?" he asked, staring determinedly into the silvered glass. "Didn't think so," Harry muttered, almost disappointed that the snarky little glass wasn't up for an argument.
He picked up his toothbrush case and headed back to Ron's old room. Padding down the hall, Harry heard voices from Ginny's room. It seemed that she had decided to stay overnight after all. It was really tempting to stop and listen, but Harry had learned his lesson earlier this evening.
"Pity you and Harry aren't together," Mrs. Weasley said.
Harry stopped. Well… maybe for a minute.
Ginny said something too low for Harry to hear. But he was quite able to hear Mrs. Weasley's shocked cry.
"He's what?"
Nope, better to get back to Ron's room, the faster the better. Harry trotted quickly down the hall.
xxxxxxx
Ron's room still smelled of old socks and gunpowder, thought Harry as he turned over and punched his pillow. Not to mention the slightly musty odor from the closet. Harry sighed and turned over again. He didn't remember the beds at the Weasleys' being this lumpy. But then again, the last time he had stayed over had been, what? Seven years ago?
He turned towards the window this time, finally finding a spot where his body seemed to fit in-between the lumps in the mattress. He sighed again; at least the view was the same, the great oak tree outside the window. In summer it would block his view of the night sky, but right now its leafless branches afforded Harry a clear view of the stars bright in the dark cloudless night. Moonlight streamed in through the window, and if Harry stared hard enough he could almost see the tiny motes of dust in the air. Funny, how being out in the country seemed to make everything clearer, brighter, more in focus. Perhaps it was the absence of distractions that sharpened one's view of things, almost like a ray of moonlight in a dark room.
Harry closed his eyes. He was tired and he should be able to fall asleep quickly, but he couldn't. The argument he'd had with Draco preyed heavily on his mind. He wanted nothing more than to set it to rights, but what the hell was right? Harry missed Draco; he wanted to spend time with the man, perhaps even find some sort of mutual commitment with him. But Draco seemed more interested in running his business, the affairs of the manor, and at the moment being an obsessive-compulsive arse.
But Ginny's words haunted him. Tired. Draco had been coming home exhausted the last few months. Irritable. Gods, he'd been snappish with Harry lately. Uninterested in sex. Well, he had been passive the last few times. Not that Harry minded, but sometimes…
Could Draco be cheating on him? There. He'd finally admitted the possibility. Harry felt a huge ball of hurt welling up in his throat, and a prickling start behind his eyes. Dammit! To his horror, he felt one tiny tear slide down his cheek. He did not want to cry. Not here, not now.
Pulling the cover up under his chin, Harry tried to relax. He swallowed thickly and blinked hard at the unshed tears in his eyes. At least some things were unchanging. The fuzzy Chudley Cannons cover tickled his nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze before giving in. Harry finally felt sleepy. The bed was so nice and warm and his stomach was so full…
Draco's fingers stole under his tee-shirt, tracing his ribs, his slender fingers fitting in-between each narrow bone as they slid up his chest. Cool fingers tracing his nipple before rolling it gently, then giving it a little pinch as if to say, "be good or else."
He could feel Draco's breath upon his neck; warm and moist, and the tickle of Draco's long hair brushing over his shoulder to trail down his chest, a hot mouth kissing and gently nibbling its way to his nipples. Draco's hand moved down from the nipple it had been playing with, stopping to rest on his stomach, fingers feathering lightly through his dark hair, slowly sliding down the path to his burgeoning erection.
Draco's heavy signet ring felt cool on his hot length, and Harry bit his lip. Draco knew exactly where to touch him to bring him to this state of arousal. Harry's hand joined Draco's and stroked his erection. Harry led the way, harder, slower, faster, tighter, more…into Draco's snug grip. Harry's hand slid down once more and his damp hand cupped his aching sac. Oh Gods, it was too much, too good… more… harder… now!
Harry woke with a loud groan; his hand down his sleep pants covered in come. He felt wetness spreading beneath him and moaned. Dammit!
"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley called.
Harry heard the doorknob jiggle, then stop.
"Harry, you all right in there?"
"Yes Mrs. Weasley," he choked out.
The doorknob jiggled again and the door swung open. Harry could see a blurred Mrs. Weasley in the doorway. And if he were in any other position than the one he was currently in, he would have laughed. Her face was caked with cold cream and her hair was fizzled out like a clown's, a random roller stuck here and there.
"Harry…" she began, then stopped and sniffed. It was almost like watching a bloodhound sniffing a scent, the way her nose twitched.
"It smells in here. Why didn't you tell me that it smells in here, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, reaching into her pocket. "I'm not a very good hostess, am I? I should have checked your room."
"Mrs. Weasley, please, it's fine, really," Harry said, willing his voice to stay steady.
"Scourgify!" Mrs. Weasley cried, and gave her wand a little twisting wave.
Harry felt a wave of cleansing magic wash over him. Such an odd feeling to be sated and tingly clean at the same time.
"Good night, Harry, sleep tight," Mrs. Weasley said pulling the door shut.
"Good night," Harry murmured at the shut door and curled back under the covers.
Yep, some things never changed at the Burrow!
a/n: A great big Thank You to all who've been leaving reviews! I can't tell you how much I love reading them and knowing that you like this little fic. What can I say? Reviews inspire me to write! Flames? Well, I just use those to light the fireplace… Auch, Viele Danke zu Conny F. for your continued support!