Some Day My Princess Will Come - Harry/Weasleys - NC-17
Title: Some Day My Princess Will Come
Author: shocolate
Established pairing(s): Harry/Ginny, Arthur/Molly, Bill/Fleur, Ron/Hermione
Infidelity pairing(s): Harry/Arthur, Harry/Bill, Harry/Charlie, Percy/Harry, Harry/Fred, Harry/George, Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Genre: humour
Word Count/Art Media: 5411
Warnings: undead!Fred – not Inferi, just not dead; het and slash, which is fine by me, but some people don't like Ginny's bits… so you can stop reading when she turns up, if you like… but then you'll never know the Magic Word, that you'll need to claim your Free Orgasm, when Harry comes to your door…
Summary: A Snow White-style fairytale: while Harry is waiting for his Prince(ss) Charming (Ginny) to come to his rescue, he has sex with the dwarves (the rest of the Weasleys)
Notes:

Written for the Fabulous No-Pressure Laissez-Faire HP_Unfaithful Challenge at hp_unfaithful, and I don't DO infidelity… although, apparently… unless it's with Weasleys??

*headdesk*

Many thanks to magicofisis, for laughing at it and teaching me to spell rhododendrons.


Some Day My Princess Will Come
****
Wicked Queen
It had gone to Molly's head.

It was probably just a bit of a mid-life crisis, Hermione said, but after killing Bellatrix Lestrange, Molly was impossible to live with. Hermione was all for a bit of healthy self-belief and a dollop of feminism, but Molly's men were driven away, one by one, unable to cope with her new regime, her new expectations, now that she was a strong, independent woman, who wasn't going to pander to their needs anymore.

And one by one they slipped away, into the night, until Harry was the only man left at the Burrow, at Molly's beck and call, too confused and grateful for all she'd done for him to object to her treatment.

He couldn't understand why Ginny stood at her mother's shoulder, eyes downcast, and didn't stand up for him. Hermione said it was because her mother had an unbreakable hold over her, having saved her life during the battle, but Harry clung to his faith that she'd do it eventually.

Defy her mother.

Tell her that he, Harry, was good enough for her, and that they'd muddle through the housework together. And then sweep him up on her horse and they'd gallop away to her castle and have really filthy sex.

Hermione said he shouldn’t hold his breath, as she smuggled him out of the Burrow, in the dead of night, kissed him on the cheek and advised him to get to Shell Cottage.


Bashful
Arthur was bashful about several things.

Leaving his wife; being a liability to his oldest son; leaving his wife; hearing the boys wanking in the middle of the night and wanting desperately to bury his cock somewhere hot and wet and tight and… well, hot and wet, anyway…

For thirty years he'd had his Mollywobbles, and he still didn't believe she wouldn't see the error of her ways, and take him back, but for now.

He had the smallest spare room at Bill's, Fleur had gone to visit her parents round about the time that George turned up at the cottage; Charlie shared the Master Bedroom, the twins shared the other spare room and Percy and Ron slept downstairs.

To be honest, they were rather tripping over each other, but the boys all pitched in with the chores; if Molly could only see them.

If only she'd take him back, or someone he wasn't related to would come to the cottage and kneel at his feet and…

He didn't mean it.

Didn't automatically press his hand to his crotch when a knock sounded at the back door, late one night.

Didn't groan when Bill led Harry into the sitting room and slapped him companionably on the back and told him to bed down with Ron. Didn't offer to walk round the garden with him, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder as he knelt down, closing his eyes as he paid his respects at Dobby's graveside, bite his lip to stop himself from pulling the boy back against his cock and grind against him.

Didn't know what to say when Harry brushed against the bulge in his robes as he got to his feet.

"Oh," Harry said. "Sorry… I'm…"

"It's not," Arthur trailed off, as it clearly was.

"You must…" Harry blinked seriously up at him. "Miss her…"

"It won't always… she won't always be…"

"You must miss her," Harry repeated, inexplicably reaching out and cupping Arthur's… his… well, his, well, not his father-in-law's, because Ginny hadn't… Ginny… Ginny's…

Arthur cried out and bucked against his hand, the blood necessary to power his erection and his blush leaving his brain without higher function as he rutted in Harry's hand and the darkness and climaxed and stood, head bowed, as Harry stammered out an apology.


Sneezy
Bill was a patient man. He loved his family; he would never turn them away – whether that meant Ron, during the war, or the whole bloody lot of them, now that his mum had discovered feminism. He understood why Fleur had had enough, and gone to visit her parents, but he missed her and it was a full moon and he missed her.

Not just her willing body, when the wolf was making its presence felt, but her Allergy Potion, when even the hint of wolf set him off. Who ever heard of a werewolf who was allergic to fur?

He was sitting in the kitchen, having a large black coffee, trying to keep alert while the moon and the wolf pulsed through his blood, unwilling to go up to bed and disturb Charlie with his sneezing.

And erotic dreams about his wife.

The back door opened and a wild eyed Harry stepped inside. The poor bloke had taken the brunt of Mum's breakdown, and the first thing he'd done, when he arrived at their… sanctuary, was to visit the house-elf's grave. He was a good bloke, Harry. Bill tried to put him at his ease.

"You went beyond the call, Harry," he said.

"What?" Harry squeaked, staring inexplicably at his hand.

"Doing Mum's chores," Bill explained.

"Oh, God," Harry muttered. "I shouldn't have done it."

"You should have left earlier," Bill said firmly. "It wasn't your place to do the work of all her men folk."

"Oh," Harry said. "Chores."

Bill gave him an odd look.

He was flushed and he was breathing heavily.

And Bill missed his wife.

He sneezed, loudly.

He missed a hand on his cock, tugging hard as he arched into it… was that really too much to ask for?

"I don't mind doing chores," Harry said, interrupting Bill's fantasy as his cock hardened.

"We've got that covered," Bill croaked. "Seven of us, already."

"I can't just… freeload," Harry said indignantly. "There must be something I can…oh." He trailed off as Bill pressed his hands to an interesting bulge in his jeans. "Oh… I could… if you like?"

Bill moaned and tried to shake his head, but nodded and unzipped. Harry's eyes widened as Bill's cock leapt out at him, but he gamely moved to the chair on Bill's right and wrapped his arms round the older man. Bill gasped as Harry's hand closed on his cock and his head fell back on Harry's shoulder.

"Never done this to another bloke," Harry muttered. "Not… properly. Reckon this angle'll work… almost like wanking, but… not mine."

"Shut up," Bill growled and Harry's fingers tightened.

"Sure," he breathed, watching Bill's face as he stroked him, varying his pace and grip until Bill's eyelids and jaw dropped, then stroking him to a simultaneous bellowing sneeze and a climax that splattered against the underside of the kitchen table.

He tucked Bill's cock back in his jeans as his host croaked his thanks.

"I'll… stay out, tonight," he said. "Full moon. You can take my bed; needn't disturb Ron."


Sleepy
Charlie knew he was better off than the rest of his brothers, sharing a large double bed, with various embedded Charms that unfortunately seemed to be activated in French. He'd shared with Bill before, of course, but he didn't used to be such a furnace. Since the werewolf thing, his body temperature was up a couple of degrees and he'd be a great hot-water-brother in the winter… but in the middle of summer?

Charlie hadn't been getting enough sleep and had gratefully taken an early night when Bill had said he'd be out all night. He hadn't even bothered wanking, just pulled a cool sheet over his naked body and fallen asleep as his head hit the pillows.

He'd half woken, several hours later, his arms and legs wrapped around an object, his achingly hard cock automatically rubbing against something deliciously soft. He'd spared one sleepy brain cell to worry he was frotting against his brother, but this cuddly object was to cool to be Bill. He sighed and snuggled and pulled it closer, flattening his hand on what felt like a smooth, hard chest as his cock slid against cool… silky…

"Silk boxers," he murmured, happily burying his face in soft hair. "Silk, silk, silk, silk, silk."

"Charlie?" the object whispered.

"Cock so hard," Charlie sighed, thrusting against the silky bottom. "Nice, silky object."

The object sighed and the chest under Charlie's palm heaved.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," the object muttered, arching its back and sticking out its delightful arse.

Charlie's eyes fluttered half open as he thrust, dimly registering the black hair in his face.

"So nice," he murmured, his thumb brushing over a nipple as he came, splattered the soft and silky boxer shorts he'd been frotting against, and fell back to sleep.


Doc
Percy always got up extra early, leaving Ron buried in a nest of blankets and eager to claim the first shower, before anyone else was even awake.

No one else was ever awake, but Harry Potter broke rules like nobody else, and was standing naked at the bathroom sink, hand washing a pair of black, silk boxer shorts.

Percy tried very, very hard not to picture how they'd become… stained. Of Harry lying in bed in just silk boxers, one hand tormenting his nipples, one plunged inside the black silk, pumping desperately on his aching cock until he arched into his hand and came, a darker, wet patch spreading over the front of his shorts.

He groaned as his own cock hardened and Harry turned swiftly to face him, his cock swinging. Percy cursed the Laws of Physics and pressed his hand to his groin.

Harry gasped, "Sorry," and held his boxers in front of him, where they clung wetly to his cock, leaving nothing to the imagination. Percy, finding he could bend a rule with the best of them, imagined it, anyway.

"Percy, I… I'm…" Harry stammered.

Percy was still staring at Harry's groin and absently stroking himself.

"No women," he croaked.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Stuck here," Percy explained. "We're stuck here, hiding from my mother, and there are no women for miles and Ron talks in his sleep and I don't want to hear about Hermione's breasts. I wouldn't normally…"

He trailed off and nodded at Harry's silk draped cock.

Harry sighed.

"Would you like a hand?" he asked wearily, nodding back at Percy's.

"Good heavens, no," Percy spluttered, waving his hands wildly in the air between them, before whisking off his glasses and polishing them frantically on his pyjama jacket. "Completely inappropriate."

"I'm so sorry," Harry moaned. "I would never…"

"But if you could continue to stand there…" Percy interrupted. "Like that… and let me… take care of things, myself… I'd consider it a personal favour."

Harry blinked rapidly, before nodding abruptly and throwing back his shoulders to emphasise the outline of his cock under the black silk.

"Excellent," Percy said crisply, pulling his erection through the flap of his pyjama bottoms and stepping closer.

He locked his eyes on Harry's groin and started stroking, while Harry looked blankly at the wall behind Percy's head.

"Water," Percy croaked, his hand jerking on his shaft.

"What?" Harry asked.

"More water… on… on you…"

Harry reached for the tap and turned it on, cupping his hand under it and dribbling the water down his chest and onto the silk boxers, the added weight dragging them lower on his cock, curly black pubes becoming visible and trapping water droplets.

"Sweet Merlin," Percy whispered, reaching out blindly with his free hand and grabbing Harry by the upper arm as his climax flashed through him, spraying Harry's stomach with pearly drops.


Dopey
Fred wasn't as sharp as he had been, before the Battle, and he got a lot of headaches, but he had broken the fall of half a castle with his head, so it was only to be expected. Of all the Weasley men, he'd been the closest to content to follow Molly's instructions, and he'd only fled the Burrow with George because…

Well, because.

Because George said they were leaving.

No one expected anything too strenuous of him, here at the cottage; he was in charge of the chickens, he helped George with the washing up and he wanked a lot.

George had been a bit concerned, but their dad said leave him to it, so they did. They'd grown used to walking past his door and seeing him sprawled on his bed… exercising his right hand. They didn't even tell him to close the door. They just nodded and smiled and he grinned back and tossed off.

Percy had even said something about it being good for him, that the chemicals released in his body would help with the headaches, and the exercise would keep his wrist supple, for when he was allowed to use a wand, again.

Well, good for Percy; maybe he should loosen up a bit and wank some more.

George had already got up, that morning, when Fred woke, and he was sporting some pretty impressive wood, so he kicked off the bedclothes and freed it from his boxers. Wrapping his hand around it, he gave it a few slow, tortuous strokes, sighing happily as it throbbed in his hand.

He was just getting going when a strangled noise in the doorway made him look up. Harry was standing there, looking gormless, and not doing the comforting nod-and-smile-and-walk-on thing that his brothers and dad did. Fred's attempted grin fell off his face; this was going to be like when Fleur wouldn't do the nod-and-smile-and-walk-on thing and went to France to avoid him wanking.

And Harry would leave and Ron would miss him and sulk and Fred didn't like sad faces.

He attempted another grin and Harry shook himself and entered the room.

Which was new.

Fred looked from Harry to the doorway to his cock and wondered what he should do. What if Harry didn't like people wanking? He was Harry Fucking Potter, and pretty damn powerful and he'd apparently killed You Know Who, which Fred had missed, while unconscious, and what if he was gonna tell Fred off?

And then leave, and make Ron sad.

But Harry sat on the side of Fred's bed, and he didn't look angry and Fred started stroking again and Harry smiled awkwardly and said, "D'you need any… shall I…"

And Fred nodded, emphatically and Harry kind of leant across Fred's thighs and braced a hand beside his hip and Fred tangled his free hand in Harry's hair and pushed his head down, over his cock.

Wanking was good, but a blow job sounded better.

Harry automatically opened his mouth and squawked as the head of Fred's cock slid between his lips and Fred wondered if maybe Harry had been offering something other than a blow job, and was he squawking in protest?

But then Harry sighed and his hot breath on wet skin sent shivers through Fred's body and Harry braced both hands and leant down lower.

Fred kept his hand tangled in Harry's hair as he thrust slowly up into the heat and wet suction of Harry's mouth and this was brilliant and Fred was really, really glad that Harry liked wanking and he stroked his cock as it disappeared and reappeared wetly between Harry's lips and this was far better than the nod-and-smile-and-walk-on thing and Fred was really glad that Harry had come to the cottage.

And he came in waves that flooded Harry's mouth and made him cough and gag slightly.


Happy
George reckoned he had a lot to be happy about.

Yes, his mother had lost control and taken control; yes, he slept in Bill's spare room and was in charge of the washing up and hadn't even visited the shop, to assess the damage, since the war.

But after those few nightmare hours that he'd thought Fred was dead… what was a bit of washing up and having to go outside to wank.

Ah, yes, well.

Fred wanked in their bedroom. A lot. And had no sense of personal space. George was more than happy to concede home territory to him and let him wank in peace.

And go outside and kneel in the bushes and fertilise the rhododendrons. It was quite interesting, actually, just how well his favourite bush was doing, since he started coming in it. He wondered if there was a Wheeze in there, somewhere.

He didn't really care.

There would be plenty of time for that, when Fred was better, but for now he'd crawl inside Bill's largest rhododendron, drop his boxers and kneel in the earth. Resting his chest on a low branch and wrapping his arm round it, he'd lean forward and spread his legs and grasp his cock and stoke himself. The sun, filtering through the leaves, was warm and green tinged, the sound of the waves echoed up from a great distance, no one disturbed him.

He was happily wanking up a storm, his eyelids fluttering, his back arched as he thrust into his hand, his arse flexing, when distracted footsteps stumbled down the path and against a root and the branches parted. A shaft of light lit his buttocks before someone crashed through the opening and landed, one hand on each cheek, startled breath puffing against his opening.

"George?" a voice croaked, hands not leaving his buttocks.

"Harry?" he wheezed, half the breath having been knocked out of him as Harry's entrance had pushed his chest against the branch – and the other half by someone's proximity to his entrance.

"Sorry," Harry said, idly squeezing. "I tripped."

"And you… recognised me from my arse?" George asked weakly, unable to stop wanking.

"Oh," Harry said. "Um… I guess I was sort of expecting it to be you."

"Oh," George said, not sure if he was flattered or insulted to be thought of as someone who wanks in a bush.

"Should I…?" Harry took a deep breath and huffed loudly over George's arse.

"Don't go," George said swiftly, as Harry said, "Help?"

"Please," George moaned, arching under Harry's hands and tugging hard on his cock.

He didn't have any lube on him and he felt sure that Neville would have known if rhododendron leaves contained lubricating sap and he made a mental note to look into it. He didn't have to worry about Harry's unlubed fingers breaching him, however, because they were only used to hold his cheeks apart as his mouth descended.

"Oh, good boy," George breathed happily, going cross eyed as Harry lapped at his hole, his cock leaping and throbbing in his hand as the tip of Harry's tongue slipped inside him, coming spectacularly with a swallowed shout as Harry slipped a finger inside his loosened hole.

He lay, panting, across his branch, milking the last drops of come onto the rhododendron's roots, squeezing Harry's finger tightly. As he finally went limp, Harry's finger slid free and George felt a friendly pat before the leaves parted once more and Harry left.


Grumpy
Hermione always told him off for being grumpy about things - Quidditch, people kissing his sister, Quidditch, her 'above the clothes' rule - but sharing a mattress with Percy on Bill's sitting room floor warranted a good sulk.

And that was before he even contemplated his mother's Gargantuan Menopause.

And Hermione's refusal to leave, with him. If only she'd been here. Or let him bring her breasts.

One.

One would have done; one perky, pink tipped boob to squeeze and suck on.

He imagined.

They certainly felt perky, through her shirt, but could just as easily have been green tipped, for all he'd seen of them, and her breasts had stayed at the Burrow, to help her take care of Harry, anyway.

He washed his teeth and glared at Percy's green tipped toothbrush.

Percy didn't get grumpy or sex starved or stuff.

Bastard.

And he always got the first shower.

The water was taking ages to heat up and, yes, if he'd got up earlier he'd have had the benefit of hot water, but he'd felt like curling up in his nest of blankets and really working on his sulk.

It was only Bill, returning from a nights full mooning and turfing him out of bed to try and get his sitting room back, that had sent him pouting up to the cottage's only bathroom.

To pout at his reflection and wonder where Harry was.

Harry.

He'd been at Shell Cottage over twelve hours and Ron'd only seen him briefly, when he first arrived. Then he'd gone back out, into the garden, to visit Dobby's grave, and Ron had lain awake, beside a snoring Percy, waiting for Harry to come to bed. And he hadn't.

And there was no sign of him, this morning, and it was a small cottage, especially with eight men in it. Bill was tidying and said the garden was empty and he hadn't seen him; Ron'd looked in the master bedroom and Charlie'd still been asleep, his dad had been making the bed in the spare room and Percy breakfast in the kitchen; there was no sign of George, but Fred was lying on his bed, post first wank of the day, idly stroking his cock, and Ron had done the nod-and-smile-and-walk-on thing and gone and shut himself in the bathroom.

If not being able to find Harry wasn't enough to make him grumpy, then he didn't know what was. Not knowing where Harry was made him as twitchy as going up to his room after an 'above the clothes' snogging session with Hermione and still being able to smell her, as he wanked.

He reached into his pyjamas and stroked his cock, confusing it by missing Harry and Hermione, as well as by being too grumpy to really put his heart into it.

He was just feeling really put upon, that even his cock was against him, when the door opened and a wild eyed, insane haired Harry, with mud on his knees, burst into the bathroom and closed the door, behind him.

Ron's hand froze on his cock, which took the opportunity to perk up, considerably. Almost certainly not because Harry was in the room and looking flushed; more likely because now he was only missing Hermione, and that was how he was supposed to feel as he squeezed it and his balls ached.

"Oh," Harry said, his eyes fixed on Ron's groin.

"It's not what you think," Ron said, unwilling to remove his hand, which was just a hand shaped bulge, and reveal the cock shaped bulge beneath it.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"OK, maybe it is," Ron admitted suavely.

"Just give me a minute," Harry said inexplicably. "I'd better clean my teeth."

He ran his tongue over his teeth and pulled a face.

Ron inexplicably wondered if it was the face he pulled when he came; he'd once caught his reflection as he cleaned out his ears, and was shocked to realise that he used his sex face for non-masturbatory occasions.

"I'll leave you to it," he said, trying to edge around Harry, to the door, while simultaneously subduing a cock that was straining to get a look at Harry's sex face.

"Oh," Harry said. "But I meant… and what about your shower?"

Ron shrugged, which caused a small wank. "Wait," he said, "but you meant what?"

"I thought you'd… like a hand with that…"

They both looked down at Ron's groin and his cock throbbed hopefully.

"You don't have to do that," Ron protested weakly. "I do know what I'm doing."

"I don't doubt you for a minute," Harry said earnestly. "I never have."

"You've never doubted my wanking capabilities?"

"I've never doubted your capabilities, at all," Harry said.

Ron flushed.

"But not if you don't want me to…" Harry said.

Ron was confused. His cock was clearly interested in someone else touching it, when it should have been being a bit more faithful to Hermione. His hand was offended at somehow not being thought good enough to do the… job it'd always prided itself on.

"Sounds a bit… queer, doesn't it?" Ron muttered grumpily.

"No," Harry assured him, making a wanking gesture. "Just a… helping hand…"

"I dunno," Ron said, looking at Harry's hand. "Even Hermione hasn't… I don't think you should do it before she does."

Harry licked his lips.

"And obviously she hasn't gone down on me, either," Ron babbled, staring at the glimpse of Harry's tongue.

"So," Harry said slowly. "Basically, something that'll get you off, but you won't do with Hermione, at any point in the future, and feel bad about doing with me, first?"

"That sounds… reasonable," Ron said, nodding.

"Right," Harry said briskly, undoing his jeans and dropping them to the floor.

"What?" Ron squeaked.

Harry blushed, but stepped out of his jeans and boxers and turned and braced his hands on the sink.

"Reasonable," Ron croaked, looking at Harry's gently flexing cheeks.

His asking Hermione to take it up the arse was probably even less likely than Hermione agreeing to it; this would just be between him and Harry.

He stepped closer and rested a shaking hand on the small of Harry's back.

"Um," he said.

"Here," Harry said, calmly handing him a tube of shaving gel.

Ron had to take his hand off his cock to reach for it and their fingers touched and their eyes met, in the mirror, and Harry blushed, not particularly calmly at all. Ron took a deep breath, gingerly held Harry's cheeks apart and peered between them.

Harry arsehole peered back at him.

After a few moments, Ron realised he was never going to win the staring match and he blinked rapidly and flipped the lid off the gel and dribbled it down Harry's crack.

"Take that," he murmured as Harry's hole was submerged.

Feeling bizarrely smug that arseholes don't have eyelids to blink away shaving gel, and hoping it was the sort for sensitive skin, as he was gonna plunge his cock into a dollop of it – and for poor Harry's sake, of course - he pushed his pyjama bottoms down.

Eyes flicking between the head of his cock and the slight frown on Harry's face in the mirror, he stepped forward, holding his cock between Harry's cheeks and using it to smear their makeshift lube around the… area in question.

"Should I…? D'you need…?" Ron huffed and looked questioningly at his best mate. "It's not very big."

"Stop putting yourself down," Harry said sternly.

"Your hole!" Ron spluttered. "I mean I don't want to hurt you. Honestly."

"It'll stretch," Harry said. "Just go slowly."

"Right," Ron murmured, pressing forward and pushing with his thumb until he breached Harry's body. "Fucking hell, Harry."

He froze, trembling, as Harry's body relaxed to accept him. This was amazing. He'd never felt anything like this tight heat, and now he knew what it felt like and he'd never feel it again and he couldn't ask Hermione, even if she'd do it, because then he'd feel bad about it not being his first time, and he couldn't ask Harry, because…

…well, there must be a good reason why he couldn't ask Harry if he could take him up the arse, but he was too busy gripping Harry's hips and thrusting into him to come up with anything.

Story of his life.

Fuzzy end of the lollypop.

Never got the good stuff.

Never got to watch Harry's wide green eyes in the mirror as he stretched him and wrapped an arm around his waist and gave short, frantic thrusts as his climax ripped through him and he flooded Harry's off limits arse.

It was so unfair.


Handsome Princess
Ginny felt simply dreadful.

She'd seen the way Harry looked at her, his eyes flickering to her face every time her mother ordered him to do something.

She knew she should have stood up to her and for him.

Should have taken his hand and said, "Harry is not a House-Elf, Mother, plus which I love him and he just saved the world."

And gone and lain with him, in the long grass, and let him touch her chest.

But then her mother had made him mow the lawn, and there was nowhere to lie down, bare chested, without her nipples being on display to the whole family.

Though most of the family had buggered off to Shell Cottage.

The day she woke up and found Harry gone, too, was the final straw. She didn't know how he'd managed to slip out, until she realised that Hermione was watching her nervously.

"You let him out, didn't you?" Ginny demanded.

"Yes, I bloody well did," Hermione said. "After all he's been through, to have him wait on the womenfolk, like that!"

"I know," Ginny said sadly. "You're right; I should have said something."

"You could go after him," Hermione suggested. "He's only had a twelve hour head start, he won't have had a chance to settle in - you can catch up with him at Shell Cottage and have a serious talk. Let him know you'll be with him."

"Be with him?" Ginny echoed.

"I don't mean sleep with him," Hermione said swiftly. "Harry is too much of a gentleman to pressure you, and he's very inexperienced and innocent, himself, anyway. I mean share his life, help him, take care of him."

"Oh," Ginny said sadly.

"And sleep with him, eventually," Hermione added.

"Right," Ginny said firmly. "I'll do it. I'll follow him and apologise for not supporting him, before, and tell him I'm there for him."

So, she boldly snuck out of the Burrow and made her way to Bill's charming cottage.

There she found George in the garden, and he'd given her a very wary look.

"I haven't come after you all, or anything," she said swiftly. "Mum doesn't even know I left; I just want to see Harry."

"Ah," George said. "Harry."

"D'you know where he is?" Ginny asked.

"Why should I know where he is?" George demanded, with a strange laugh.

"No reason," Ginny said.

"I imagine he's inside the house, somewhere," George said. "Look for him, yourself."

Ginny rolled her eyes and headed for the back door.

"Oh," George called after her. "If Fred's lying in bed… just nod-and-smile-and-walk-on."

Ginny waved an acknowledging hand and entered the kitchen.

Percy and Bill were breakfasting and they both choked on their toast when they saw her.

"Mum hasn't sent me," she assured them. "I've come for Harry."

"Come for Harry?" they both echoed, inexplicably flushing.

"He went upstairs, earlier," Percy said. "At a fair lick."

Ginny nodded and stole some toast and headed up the stairs, meeting Ron on the landing.

"Ginny," he said nervously, turning to look back over his shoulder, his eyes darting around the hallway.

"I haven't come from Mum," she said wearily. "Hermione persuaded me to come for Harry."

"Come for Harry?" he repeated.

"Have you seen him?"

Ron gave a grumpy grunt and gestured vaguely up the stairs.

"And are you gonna let me pass and go after him?" she asked.

"What's the Magic Word?" Ron demanded.

"Move your skinny arse, dickhead," his sister snapped.

"Close enough," Ron muttered and stomped down the stairs.

After checking the empty bathroom, doing the nod-and-smile-and-walk-on thing as she passed a wanking Fred, and identifying the snoring lump in the Master bedroom as Charlie, this left just the smaller spare room.

Pushing open the doorway, she met a pair of desperate green eyes, hunched over an almost angry looking erection.

"Harry?" she breathed.

"G-ginny?" he stammered.

"Are you alright?" she asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Not if I don't come in the next thirty seconds," Harry groaned, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was masturbating.

"Would you like me to…"

"Please," he begged, sprawling back on the bed and pointing his penis at her.

"…leave you to it?" she finished in a whisper.

"Fuck," Harry said, breathing raggedly and looking at her with wild eyes. "Sorry."

"No," she said faintly, approaching the bed. "Do you really want someone to… me to… touch you?"

"More than you can possibly imagine," he gasped.

"What should I do?" she asked, sitting beside him and looking dubiously at his erection.

"Anything," he croaked. "I think I can probably come just from the weight of your stare…"

"Oh, you poor dear," she said, leaning over and reaching out her hand and wrapping it round the hot flesh. "You really do need rescuing, don't you?"

And he came in her face.