Title: The Test Subject
Pairing/Character: George/Harry, Fred (and an appearance by Ron and Hermione)
Word Count: 946
Summary: Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes has a new product in need of testing . . . .
Warnings (Highlight to view): For a mild consent issue and implied incest.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Harry had been lying on Ron's bed at the Burrow ever since the "Defeat," as the Daily Prophet had dubbed the destruction of Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters. He had refused to attend the Ministry or Order's debriefings, eschewed the victory celebrations, and, in general, had been a stolidly silent pain-in-the-ass.
"It's been a month," Molly Weasley told Fred and George, who had come to visit. "He's so unhappy, boys, and in such pain, but he won't let me give him anything for it."
"Maybe it was a Grumpus Curse his right thigh got hit with."
"George!" Molly chastised. "Harry's had a rough time of it. Be sensitive."
"Yeah," George, as Fred, said to his brother, whom his mother had just addressed. "'Be sensitive'."
"Right you are," Fred, as George, replied. "Don't fret, Mum. We've brought Harry something to cheer him up," he said, winking at his twin.
The wizards clamored upstairs to Ron's room where they knew Harry was sleeping—Ron being off 'celebrating' somewhere with Hermione—and they opened the door. They did not worry about waking their friend because they knew he had become something of a heavy sleeper. A musky, stale scent greeted them.
"Phew! Open a window," Fred said.
"You open it. I've got the 'present'."
"Don't drop it," Fred urged, opening the window before turning and casting a freshening charm on the room—and Harry.
"You know I'm not going to drop it, brother," George said, sitting down and unwrapping the package to reveal a mirror in a plain brown frame, which he turned toward the sleeping wizard. "Strip him off."
"Why should I do it?"
"Because I've got the mirror."
"George, I'm not—"
"Look, I'm not asking you to touch him, you git, just to pull down his trousers."
"You should be doing this, you ponce," Fred groused. "You're the ponce!"
"Because I'm the ponce, I'll be testing the mirror. If you tested it, it'd make you gay."
"It would not!"
"You said before—"
"I know what I said," Fred replied, unbuttoning Harry's jeans and yanking them down. "I'm just not completely comfortable with this, is all."
"Right. Last night you agreed with me that this is exactly what Harry needed. You wanted to be here."
"I always help you test the new products," Fred said, defensively.
"Fine. . . . Oh, hello."
"I am not gay."
"Of course not," George said, with mock seriousness. "You're just 'Harry-curious'."
Fred flushed and glared at his brother, taking the chair next to him. "He's a lucky sod, isn't he?"
"Trust me, brother. I've seen luckier," George said, grinning and licking his lips as if to indicate he was sufficiently pleased with his 'fortune'.
"Ugh! Spare me, you over-sexed pillock."
"Have some respect for the Scientific Method—I'm about to begin."
Fred snorted at that.
George, holding the mirror in one hand and pulling his wand with the other, pointed it at Harry and cast a charm to slowly rouse their unsuspecting friend.
"Ungh," he moaned, tossing slightly, which caused his cock to jiggle.
"Very nice," George murmured, admiring the way the wakening organ began to fill and twitch.
Fred couldn't help but smile at his brother's enthusiasm, and the most excellent and therapeutic prank they were about to play. He glanced at the reflection of the waking wizard's hardening shaft in the mirror, which as yet had no name. It was a very nice cock, he had to admit—but not to George.
"Wha—?" Harry asked, pushing himself up with his elbows.
"Oh!" Fred exclaimed, casting a locking charm on the door, and then, "Silencio!"
"Fred?" Harry asked, looking from that wizard to George and then at his reflected arousal in the mirror. "What are you—oh, er, I'm—Oh! Fuck! What are . . . you doing . . . to—what's tha—at! Jesus, fuck, Christ, God, you bas—YES!" he cried, grasping his shuddering, spending prick and pumping it hard in the heedless throes of his orgasm.
"By gods, I think it works!" George exclaimed, grinning madly. "Oh, Harry, that was beautiful," he told his lover, who had fallen back in a quivering heap on the bed.
"Sodding . . . wanking . . . bastard," Harry gasped out.
"Wrap this up," George ordered, shoving the mirror into his brother's hands—without failing to notice that Fred was gobsmacked—before stripping off and covering Harry's body with his own. "Happy birthday, you brooding twit," he told him, pressing his mouth to kiss the wizard's own panting one.
"I . . . I guess it did work, at that," Fred said, a bit out of breath himself.
"How's that thigh of yours?" George asked Harry, ignoring his brother.
"Fi—ine," Harry almost choked out. "What the hell did you two just do to me?"
"Used you as a test subject, obviously," Fred said.
"Brother," George replied testily, "test's over—shove off."
Harry turned his head to look at Fred and smiled suggestively, saying, "Or you could join us."
"I'mnotgay," Fred replied in a rush, almost jumping for the door, which he slammed shut behind him.
He could not hear them, of course, but, leaning hard and heavily against the door, he was sure they were laughing.
Well, Harry deserves to laugh, thought Fred, who was happy that the mirror worked, and that George had allowed him to be present for the test.
But he felt a bit sad all the same because Harry was the one thing his brother wouldn't share with him.
"So, is Fred gay, yet?" Harry asked his lover, who was nibbling a trail down his chest.
"Probably not, but I've been working on something back at the shoppe that should help . . . ."
"You're a good brother, George WeasLEY!"
His mouth otherwise occupied, George thought, Yeah, I am. I share everything with Fred.
And a sneaky het epilogue!
"Oh, god! That's . . . disgusting," Ron said, turning his head sideways as he spied on his brother and his best friend, while Hermione, secure in the knowledge that they were safe within the cocoon of obfuscation that she had cast as soon as Fred had sat down, smirked.
"You don't really look all that . . . disgusted," the witch opined, drawing one fingernail lightly up the underside of her boyfriend's rigid prick. George Weasley has no true understanding of luck.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, suspiciously.
"Oh, I'm not implying anything, of course, but it's normal for people to be curious—"
"I'm not gay!"
Hermione squeezed her hands around Ron's cock and demanded, "Did I say that you were gay, Mr. Weasley? Mr. Ronald. Bilius. Weasley?" she whispered against his ear, worrying the lobe lightly between her teeth after each name.
"No—oh," he almost whined.
"I thought not. Now get your hands above that head and let me hear you strain the hell out of the Silencio Invisio Charm!"