Holiday Ficlet for abusing_sarcasm!
Title: Practical Uses of the Orphaned Heart
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing Harry/Teddy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry misses the annual Weasley Family Reunion after Teddy Lupin, his summer houseguest, comes down with a mysterious illness. Shenanigans ensue.
Notes Many, many thanks to chlorate for the beta read. This was written for abusing_sarcasm, who is a great supporter of my fics and an awesome person all-around. Happy holidays, and I hope you'll enjoy the fic! :)
Harry can't remember the last time the house felt so peaceful. Perhaps it never has. He likes the jolly noise of his children and the constant stream of friends through the front door, but at thirty-five, he's beginning to feel not tired but restless. He was not looking forward to the annual Weasley family reunion this year, just as he did not look forward to it the previous year or the year before that. He isn't sure exactly when it had started to wear on him, but when Teddy contracted a bad stomach virus before the trip, he was secretly relieved to have the excuse to say behind. Teddy, who stays with them during his summers home from Hogwarts, spends his days resting and reading in the room they keep for him on the fourth floor, and Harry spends his days working and his nights doing what he never seems to have time for while his wife is around: wanking until he's sore.
For the past ten years, he's been having a secret affair with his own cock. Sleeping beside Ginny, he often wishes that he could stroke himself off stealthily enough not to wake her, but he would feel disrespectful even being in the same house as his wife and children while sinking into the fantasies that get him off these days. Instead, he'll take care of business in his desk chair at the Ministry, the danger involved only adding to his arousal, or he'll sneak into the bedroom during a dinner party, Ginny downstairs being the perfect hostess while Harry stands over the sink in the master bathroom, pathetically whispering things like Yeah, suck that big dick while he imagines the young bloke who cleans the Ministry offices at night swallowing his come in hungry gulps.
The fact is, he's gay. He knew this about himself when he was seventeen. After Voldemort-which is all that he really remembers clearly, the years before a storybook blur that often feels like something he's invented to impress colleagues-he returned to Ginny with all the vigor and excitement of a young man fresh from the precipice of death, but he fell soft as soon as they tried to resume their lakeside activities. The simple thrill of doing stuff just wasn't enough anymore. Ginny told him he had post-traumatic stress disorder. It made sense, and he accepted a sixteen-year-old girl's diagnosis, telling her that they would simply need some time apart. Ginny, being the rational, level-headed witch she is, shook his hand and told him that was probably wise. She then proceeded to clumsily stalk him at school, making sure he wasn't dating another girl. Harry wouldn't dare; he was fairly sure she would quite literally kill him if he tried, and he wasn't interested in another girl. Her penchant for tracking him all over the castle did however make it rather difficult to have a tawdry and confusing affair with Neville Longbottom.
Harry still thinks of Neville with a profound sadness. He'd been elevated to hero status after the Battle of Hogwarts, of course, and had experienced a fallout not unfamiliar to Harry after the dust had settled. What, you mean I don't get my parents back now? Harry recognized the look on his face like he was peering into a mirror. Feeling that no one could understand Neville the way he did, he began spending more time with him. It wasn't like his social calendar was packed, since Ron and Hermione were fucking each other round the clock to make up for lost time and most of his other friends were dead and buried. He and Neville didn't talk about the post-hero phenomenon; they didn't need to. They sat together in silence most days, Neville staring pensively into the distance and Harry enjoying the quiet and the sense that he wasn't alone within it.
Quite unlike his pre-war self, Neville was no longer timid. If there was an opportunity to stand in front of the class and demonstrate a charm, he'd do it, even if he was absolute shit and almost got the entire class killed with his attempt, which happened more often than not until Flitwick refused to let him volunteer. The only fear he retained was of flying. Harry wasn't especially fond of it in those days either, following the death of Hedwig, which for some reason had moved him more than much of the carnage that came later.
Even considering Neville's new thirst for life, Harry was still surprised when he one day reached over and slid a warm, almost moist hand into Harry's robes and between his legs. Neville looked quite surprised himself. They were sitting on a ledge of one of the castle's highest turrets on a dismal Tuesday morning, admiring the foggy view while Potions class went on without them down in the dungeon. Harry made some stupid remark about the weather, Neville hummed in disinterested agreement, and then there it was, his hand squeezing the soft bundle of Harry's cock and balls through his trousers.
"Um," Harry said. He was surprisingly unperturbed. Maybe Neville had dropped something?
"Sorry," Neville said. His eyes were wide with astonishment, but his hand was still confidently grasping Harry's crotch, and Harry's balls were beginning to tighten happily in response.
"I just," Neville sputtered, and then he kissed Harry tentatively, a small thing, soft on his lips. Harry sighed and let his legs slide open a bit more. If Neville's new approach to life was gusto, Harry's was resignation. So Longbottom wanted to rub him off? Okay. Whatever.
His cock was fantastically responsive to Neville's groping, something he hadn't even been able to accomplish with wanking sessions since the war began. He kissed Neville with languid, open-mouthed bliss, glad for the excuse not to look at or speak to each other while this went on. He opened his legs as wide as he could and moaned encouragement when Neville pulled his zipper down, felt his way inside Harry's shorts and really went to work. Harry's orgasm came so fast and hard that it truly startled him, and he leaned against Neville to recover after he'd pumped out a painfully full load.
"Neville," Harry breathed when he could finally speak again. "What the fuck?"
Neville cleaned his hand with a spell and sat forward, looking glum.
"I just want to touch someone," he muttered, barely audible. "I want someone to hold me, and, and you're so -- I've always -- I don't know. You smell fantastic up close, and lately you're always sitting near me. I thought maybe you were waiting for something to happen."
Harry sighed, still overwhelmed by how good that had felt. It was so simple, and it was just Neville, but he knew how to handle a cock, no doubt about that. Harry grabbed his jaw and turned him into a hungry kiss, chewed at his bottom lip and waited for it to feel amazing, the way his first kiss had, back when kissing girls was exciting and new.
In all honesty, he was never very attracted to Neville, but they were both lonely, and if Neville didn't have the most fuckable arse in all creation, Harry didn't know arses, which perhaps in the beginning was somewhat true, but he got to know arses pretty well that year, though Neville's was the only one he pounded his cock into on a regular basis. He fantasized about giving it to a number of blokes, his wanking habits gloriously restored. Draco Malfoy, that smug little prick, would cry and beg for more when Harry bent him over right in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall. Oliver Wood, whom he'd thought about inappropriately in the past, though always with caution and naiveté, would fall on him after a Quidditch match, ask him who his Captain was while he ruthlessly fucked his virgin arse and come all over his back with a satisfied grunt. Harry even had a fantasy about Ron, though he rarely allowed himself to go there. Sometimes, when he needed something truly wrong to finish off a long session, he would imagine Ron on his back in bed, unaware that Harry had entered the room as he blissfully pulled away on that huge, thick cock of his, his knees bent and his thighs tensed, mouth open.
Sometimes Harry even thought about these things when he was with Neville, imagining that his was another arse, another mouth. Eventually, it all began to get to him. He was turning into a deviant and a shameless sex addict, skipping classes to plug Neville's arse in broom closets. Ginny, meanwhile, shone like a beacon of hope on the horizon. He proposed to her at the leaving ceremony, in front of everyone. Neville left early, sniffling and complaining of his allergies. Harry hated himself, but not as much as he did after picturing Cedric Diggory when it was Neville who was snuggled into his arms.
These days Neville will speak to Harry civilly only in mixed company. He lives in Strafford with a wizard named Horace who worships him completely. Harry considers it a pretty fair shake. It is he, the evil heartbreaker, who ended up unhappily married and unhealthily fixated on his own cock. It has been a consistently satisfying sexual companion for the past seventeen years, which is more than he can say for his wife, but never mind. None of it is less than he deserves, for treating Neville badly, for using Ginny to uncomplicate his already overwrought life, and for continuing to picture Ron's fantastic cock at inappropriate moments, such as during his wedding to Hermione.
This rubbish is on his mind as he makes his way home from work, and he tries to shake the thought process by the time he Apparates into the living room. He doesn't want to linger on this foul business while in the company of Teddy. Harry has always felt especially protective of Teddy, who is a quiet and thoughtful boy, an orphan who has never complained about what has been left to him . Unfortunatly, Teddy has also turned out to be very handsome. By Teddy's sixteenth birthday Harry had to consciously avoid thoughts of the boy during his more reckless wanks. He will not sexualize every relationship in his life. He is above such things, even in fantasies.
"Teddy?" he calls as he shrugs off his work robes. The house is warm and bright against the oncoming dark, and Harry suffers a pang of fear when he thinks for a moment that Ginny might have returned home early. Not that he fears his wife. He just, well.
Instead of Ginny, he finds Teddy in the kitchen, sitting at the table while something smelling vaguely of chicken and garlic bakes in the oven behind him. His wand is lying on the table, and he's bent over a book on the Second Voldemort War. It's a subject he's fascinated by, much to Harry's dismay.
"Hullo." Teddy beams when Harry enters the kitchen. He's a sweet boy with an easy smile, but his eyes are the saddest things Harry has ever known. Perhaps he's only projecting, thinking of Remus and Tonks when he sees the boy, and of Sirius, whose death certainly played its part in his conception.
"Did you have a good day at work?" Teddy has asked this each evening since the others left for the holiday, and Harry is always oddly touched, though Ginny asks him the same thing when she's here. Teddy sounds like he's actually interested in the answer, though probably he's just better at faking it. He's a seventeen year old boy; what does he care about the details of a dull adult's afternoon?
"Fine, fine," Harry says. He pours himself a short glass of firewhiskey and considers offering Teddy some, but perhaps it would reignite his stomach troubles, which have begun to taper off. "And your day was relaxing, I imagine?"
"Yes, quite." Teddy pages through the book, and Harry hopes to God he won't come up with some damn question about the war that he hasn't asked in the past ten years of his incessant curiosity on the subject. He's grateful when Teddy reads quietly, and then he's bothered by the silence.
"You must be terribly bored," Harry says. "I'm sorry you had to miss the reunion. I can send you on if you're feeling better."
"That's okay," Teddy says, so quickly that his cheeks color. "I always feel - a little - well, you all always make me feel welcome, but still. It's somebody else's family."
"I know," Harry says, too enthusiastically, but he does. He's always wanted to feel like a Weasley, and they've made every effort to wedge him into the tribe, but he's still the freak who saved the world, and marrying in didn't change that.
They have a quiet dinner, and Harry goes out of his way to be complimentary of Teddy's cooking, remembering how much any encouragement from an adult meant to him when he was a teenager. It's different for orphans, he knows. They don't take the attention for granted.
"Want to listen to the game?" Teddy asks after dinner, flicking the wireless to the all-Quidditch station. Harry is surprised that he's interested; he never really thought Teddy was very sporty, but he agrees that it sounds like a pleasant way to spend the evening, and falls asleep on the couch while the Arrows trounce the Magpies, his half-empty scotch glass tipping from this hand. He wakes up when he feels Teddy carefully extracting it from his fingers.
"Sorry," Teddy whispers, as if there is someone else here who is sleeping. "I was afraid it would spill."
Harry ends up sleeping on the couch - why not? Normally he retires eagerly to his bedroom for an after-dinner wank, but this evening he doesn't have the usual frantic need for one. Perhaps after four days without his wife he's actually growing bored with his cock and his fantasies.
He wakes up late and blinks in the warm glow coming through the den's high windows, wondering why he feels so guilty for lying in and making himself late for work. Hasn't he done enough for these fucking people? Hasn't he earned his fortune and his rest? His throat constricts with familiar fear: You could become useless if you let yourself think like this, it would happen so fast. He throws the blanket that somehow got placed over his legs away and gets up.
At work, he doesn't feel quite awake, and he stares for a long time at reports without making any sense of the words written on them. He drinks strong tea and even a Pepper-up Potion, but nothing helps. Finally, at noon, he decides to go home. His tireless resolve won't crumble if he takes one afternoon for himself.
When he Apparates back to the house, it's quiet and warm, the kind of stilted midsummer afternoon that would make even a child who's swallowed an entire pack of Fizzing Whizzbees sleepy. Harry goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of milk, drinks it with languid indulgence and gasps in satisfaction when he's finished. He yawns as he heads upstairs toward his bedroom, almost forgetting that Teddy is staying with him until he hears the sound of labored breathing from behind the guest room door.
Harry opens Teddy's door thinking he's getting sick again and that he'll need help cleaning up and getting a potion down his ragged throat. He's so convinced that he'll see Teddy bent over in misery when he opens the door that for at least two seconds he doesn't register what he actually sees.
Teddy is on the bed, completely naked and spread on all fours, his arse lifted and his toes curled. For a moment, Harry still earnestly thinks Teddy might be throwing up, or anyway, he tells himself that this concern motivates his curiosity, and he narrows his eyes to study the curious scene when Teddy doesn't seem to notice him at the door. Then his perverse, traitorous eyes travel back to the curve of Teddy's arse, and he finds something vaguely amiss. Teddy is rocking back in agony -or pleasure?- as if he's being fucked mercilessly by some invisible force. He's - oh, God, open, and he's being filled up by something, drooling onto his pillow with his eyes shut as if he's being rocked to sleep instead of fucked senseless. Is it a charm? Harry is envious if so, though he's always preferred to be on the giving end of such a fuck. He realizes after several listless moments that he's standing in the doorway watching his innocent and unofficially adopted godson sort of person having some incredibly intimate experience, whatever the fuck the exact nature of such experience is, and he starts to back away just as a boy suddenly appears behind Teddy, throwing off what Harry recognizes as the Invisibility Cloak.
"Shit!" the boy shrieks. He has black hair and ruddy cheeks, and Harry thinks his accent sounds slightly but not quite Irish - maybe he's halfsies? Harry flies out into the hall in blind humiliation; this is his house, but seeing Teddy doing with it what he wants makes him feel strongly that he doesn't belong here, and it's not an unfamiliar feeling. This is what knocks into him more than his shock over what he saw: this house has never belonged to him.
Harry crashes into his bedroom and shuts the door behind him and locks it with his wand. Out in the hallway, he hears the frantic voices of Teddy and his companion. Teddy sounds close to tears and the other boy sounds angry. Then there's a pop as if someone has Apparated, and Teddy's door shuts quietly, not blocking out the sound of his hysterical sobbing. Harry's breath catches when he realizes that he may have just witnessed something that was taking place against Teddy's will, though that was certainly not his first impression. He paces the room, trying to decide if he should intervene. Teddy might be too embarrassed to come to him, but if his first impression was correct, confronting him about the incident would only make things worse. Harry wonders if his Invisibility Cloak has been stolen, and he decides he has to speak to Teddy either way. Red-faced, he heads out into the hall.
"Teddy?" he calls when he reaches his door. Teddy's gasping sobs go quiet, but Harry can still hear him breathing hard behind the door. "Are you alright?" Harry asks.
There is a long pause that increases Harry's worry.
"Yes," Teddy says weakly. "I'm sorry."
"I just wanted to make sure -- that was, your friend, yes? Not some -- intruder?"
Teddy laughs in surprise, then stops abruptly as if he regrets it.
"That was Edward Bates," Teddy calls through the door, his voice suddenly steadier. "We go to Hogwarts together."
Harry is relieved, and the gravity of the situation lightens a bit. Teddy is of age, and he can do whatever he likes with his boyfriend.
"Would you like some tea?" Harry asks, still wondering what has become of his Cloak.
"I don't know if I can look at you right now," Teddy says. He sighs brokenly. "I'm so embarrassed. Oh, God. I thought you were at work."
"There's no reason for embarrassment," Harry says. He's suddenly desperate to see Teddy and have a conversation about his sexuality, to guiltily hoard the details of the teenaged life he missed. Unless of course Teddy is seeing Edward in secret the way Harry saw Neville, in which case he could offer him some very hard learned advice, though that might require admitting what he actually is, which he cannot do. "Please, Teddy," he says. "I know it's awkward, but there's nothing wrong with what you've done, nothing at all."
There's a silent stretch, and then Harry hears the doorknob begin to turn. Teddy pokes his reddened face out and meets Harry's eyes immediately. The amount of trust Teddy communicates with his unwavering gaze is striking, and Harry is overcome by the desire to yank him into his arms as a gesture of reassurance. It is not unusual for people to trust him, but a vulnerable orphan's trust is different. He knows that better than anyone.
"Come on," Harry says. "We'll have tea."
They tread downstairs and Teddy sits listlessly at the kitchen table while Harry makes tea. He's so nervous that he chips one of the teacups, and then explodes it with his wand in the process of trying to fix it. Teddy laughs anxiously.
"Whoops," he says.
"Happens to everyone," Harry mutters, and they both start laughing hysterically and for a long time.
They retire to the den with their tea, the kitchen hardly cozy enough for such a fragile moment. Harry sits on the sofa and Teddy in a giant armchair he's always favored when he comes to stay. It's considered Harry's chair when Teddy is not around, but he always surrenders it for the summer.
"I'm so humiliated," Teddy says.
"Don't be," Harry says.
"We -- he used your cloak and everything. I'm so sorry. If it's stained I'll -- oh, God, I don't know how to clean such a thing but I'd be willing to try."
"It's alright," Harry says, though the thought of some junior hoodlum's come on his Cloak is infuriating. He doesn't blame Teddy, at any rate. That other boy was clearly bossy and demanding.
"It's just that some people have a certain thing for you," Teddy says, his face going red. "He wanted, you know, because it was yours."
"I see." Harry tells himself he should be sickened by this, but he's suddenly very aware of the weight of his cock between his thighs. Maybe it's the sight of Teddy curled up in his chair and blowing into his tea cup, his eyes still red-rimmed, though that shouldn't be it at all. Maybe it's just the idea of someone in this house having fantastic sex. He hates that little bugger -- Edward, what a name -- and has the sadistic urge to contact his parents, though for Teddy's sake of course he won't.
"So you're fairly serious with that boy -- with Edward?" Harry asks. Teddy sighs.
"I don't know," Teddy says.
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Harry says.
"It's just that he's kind of thick," Teddy says, and the word thick slides along Harry's cock like a phantom tongue, though he knows that's not what Teddy meant. He shifts on the sofa and can hardly listen as Teddy goes on to complain about Edward's lack of interest in anything but sex and Quidditch. Harry hears him saying other things entirely: His cock is so thick, I can hardly take it, but it feels so good, I really do love being fucked, you saw me, open wide and drooling --
Harry clears his throat and stands, aware that he only has a precious few seconds to leave the room before his trousers tent. He tells Teddy he has to use the loo, but bypasses the one in the downstairs hallway and jogs up the stairs to the master bath in his room. Standing inside with the door locked behind him, he feels incredible shame descend, as if Teddy is fully aware of what he means to do. He releases his cock from his trousers with shaking hands and leans against the counter as he pumps it frantically through his fist, close to coming but too blocked by his lingering guilty thoughts. What finally does him in is imagining Teddy standing in the doorway and seeing this, watching with glazed eyes and parted lips, mesmerized. Harry comes so hard that he splatters the glass door of the shower, and he laughs insanely at the sight before his endorphins leave him and his shame returns.
*
He tries not to spend too much time around Teddy in the following days, and Teddy seems hurt by this, but Harry can't be near him without getting excited. His wanking has gotten out of hand, and all of his fantasies end with Teddy, even the ones he tries to begin elsewhere. He knows it's about more than just the scene he walked in on at the house, and that's the part that disturbs him the most. He's never been much of a father figure to Teddy; perhaps he's intentionally avoided the responsibility. Teddy grew up with his grandparents and has always been closer to Harry's children than to Harry himself. In fact, Harry would be hard pressed to name anybody he's especially close to anymore. Everything he does socially feels like a duty, and he has never confided in anyone about being gay, unless he counts Neville, whom he wasn't close to even when they were fucking. He wants someone he can truly share his life with, not just his company, and since finding out that Teddy is not only an orphan but also gay, he can't stop having another kind of fantasy entirely. Just the fact that there is someone nearby who might actually understand him is thrilling beyond any wank fodder his twisted mind could produce.
But Teddy is half his age, and Harry hates himself for even considering such whimsy. He spends long hours at the office, unable to concentrate, and politely eats the dinners Teddy continues to cook for him at home, making excuses about not lingering after the meal. On at least one occasion Harry is afraid Teddy is going to burst into tears due to this treatment, but he leaves the room anyway, telling himself that's only projecting. Eventually Teddy seems to stop trying so hard, and Harry knows he shouldn't be disappointed when he comes home from work one evening and finds the kitchen cold and quiet. He orders takeout and eats it with the Prophet spread out on the table. Teddy comes into the kitchen when he's almost through, looking sullen.
"Are you alright?" Harry asks, afraid his stomach might be hurting him again. It's a mysterious illness that the doctors at St. Mungo's have been puzzled by since it struck just before the reunion. They cannot determine the cause or cure it with the usual potions. It has occurred to Harry that the illness might be invented, but Teddy has no reason to lie except to avoid the reunion, and Harry can't imagine why he'd want to, unless his boyfriend demanded it.
"I just got an Owl," Teddy says, moving toward the cabinets without looking at Harry. "Edward's broken up with me."
"Oh, Teddy, I'm sorry." Harry is secretly thrilled, as if this makes Teddy available to him, never mind that Harry is married and Teddy is seventeen. He is truly astonished with himself, almost curious about how much more despicable his thought process could possibly get.
"Don't pretend you're sorry," Teddy mutters, his back to Harry. Harry's blood freezes instantly, like Teddy has cast an irreversible spell.
"I know you don't like me being gay," Teddy says. Harry is so panicked that it takes him a moment to truly hear this.
"What?" he pushes out, his heart pounding. "Don't be ridiculous, I --"
"You've barely looked at me since that day!" Teddy turns to glower at him, but the conviction quickly drains from his face, and his chin begins to quiver. "You tried to act good about it at first, but I know you were only being decent because you felt like you had to."
"That's nonsense," Harry says, too forcefully. He stands as if the two of them are going to come to blows over this, suddenly enjoying the frenzied pounding of his heart.
"Is it? Well, then why have you been so nasty to me ever since? Are you really that offended on behalf of your bloody cloak?"
Harry wasn't able to find a drop of anything on the cloak, and had almost forgotten its role in the deed. Something about the fact that Teddy is bringing it up again gives him pause.
"No," Harry says, frowning. Teddy is even more worked up than he is, his chest heaving as if he's about to launch into a tantrum. His face flickers with the threat of tears like it's a lantern about to blow out.
"So why are you mad at me?" Teddy asks. The loneliness in his voice draws Harry across the kitchen against his will, and as soon as he puts his hands on Teddy's trembling shoulders he knows there's going to be trouble.
"I'm not," Harry says. "I'm so far from mad at you, Teddy, oh, God. I wish I could -- explain to you -- how much you mean to me, really."
Harry didn't intend to say any of that, isn't even sure where it came from, but the way Teddy's eyes soften as he speaks makes him want to go on.
"So tell me," Teddy says, almost whispering.
"I can't," Harry says, and suddenly his throat is so tight that he's afraid to breathe, lest he start sobbing. This is rapidly getting out of control, and he really needs to remove his hands from Teddy's shoulders, or at least stop thinking about how warm he is under his t-shirt.
"Alright," Teddy says, his voice pinched. "Fine. Then I might as well tell you so you can hate me properly. I'm the one who wanted Edward to wear the Cloak. Because it smells like you. And because with him being invisible I could do a better job of pretending it was you back there." Teddy's face goes pale as he speaks, as if this is happening without his permission. Harry knows how he feels. He steps closer, and Teddy lets his head tip back just a bit, close to surrendering.
"You think about me when your boyfriend fucks your arse?" Harry asks. His voice is unrecognizably gruff, but he can barely hear it over the war drum of his heart.
"He's not my boyfriend anymore," Teddy says, as if it had been Edward who was stopping them. Harry's hands slide down Teddy's arms, and his fingers close around the soft bulge of his biceps. He takes a moment to acknowledge the fact that he's not afraid anymore, that he's going to do this no matter what. This is how Neville must have felt before he reached for his crotch, and his last thought before he gives in to the pulsing thrum of his body is that this could end up being as dangerous for him as it was for Neville. He lays himself bare anyway, kisses Teddy with nothing held back. Teddy gulps in surprise and goes soft in Harry's arms, fumbles his hands through Harry's work robes to touch the place on his chest where his heart is beating wildly.
"Why?" Harry breathes into Teddy's face. "Why me?"
"Are you fucking kidding?" Teddy asks, and apparently that is what Harry has been waiting to hear. He hoists Teddy up and dumps him onto the kitchen table, rips away his t-shirt in one smooth motion. Teddy scrambles to get his trousers off like he's never done so before and is incredibly confused by the process. Harry grabs his hands and slams them onto the kitchen table, up over his head. Teddy pants up at him, his briefly worried expression giving way to a wicked smile, and when Harry reaches down to undo Teddy's trouser buttons he stays still, lets him do all the work.
What follows is frantic and giddy in a way that Harry has never known. There was something mournful and businesslike about his encounters with Neville as a teenager, and everything he's ever done with his wife is just a depressing reminder of his obligation to enjoy it. Now Harry holds nothing back, as if he's in one of his consequence-free fantasies, and Teddy is grateful and willing under his hands, so open to him that Harry worries he'll fall to pieces on the kitchen floor. He licks into Teddy's arse like a clueless teenager, wanting only to make him feel good. Teddy bucks on the table, writhes crazily against Harry's mouth and pumps his cock until his come splashes his stomach, some of it landing in Harry's hair. Harry wishes he had the presence of mind for dirty talk, but he can barely keep his feet on the floor.
"Fuck me," Teddy begs. "Please, Harry, fuck me hard."
Harry snorts, for some reason finds the situation suddenly hilarious. Teddy laughs stupidly, his lips still wet from Harry's kisses. Harry's heart breaks for it, the sight of Teddy on the kitchen table with that brilliant grin, as if they're just fooling around, as if they're going to be okay when they wake from this dream.
"You want this?" Harry asks, standing back with his cock in his hand. Ginny has referred to it as magnificent in the past, which only makes him feel ridiculous. Teddy is still watching his face.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Maybe in the bed, though? My back hurts a bit."
"Oh, Teddy!" Harry scoops him up off the table and cradles him. Teddy wraps his legs around his waist and drops his head to his shoulder like he's been waiting for this, too. "I'm sorry," Harry says, holding him tight, though his muscles aren't what they used to be and Teddy is heavier than he looks.
"Sorry for what?" Teddy asks.
"Nothing. Everything. Come here."
Harry carries him all the way to his bedroom, and Teddy watches him with curiosity all the way there. He's got all the sweetness of Remus but none of his resignation, all of Tonks' boldness but none of her oblivious contentment. His mother's nose and his father's eyes. Something in his devious smile that reminds Harry of Sirius.
"I was always so jealous of your kids," Teddy says when Harry lays him gently in his marriage bed. "I thought I just wanted a father. Maybe I did. But then it changed. Now I just want everything. Everything, okay? So don't apologize for it."
Harry gives him everything. Teddy puts his feet up on Harry's shoulders when he thrusts into him, then spreads his legs apart when Harry really gets going, throws himself open like double doors, unembarrassed. Harry has never met anyone like him, and, dear God, he's never fucked anyone who felt this good.
Coming inside Teddy is ceremonious, not just a physical inevitability but some kind of significant statement, a pact. Teddy strokes Harry's back and allows him to linger inside him like he understands that Harry hasn't been with a man in sixteen years and that he needs to soak it in. And Teddy is a man, isn't he? Well, almost. He's more of a man than Harry was at his age. Standing up to Voldemort was one thing, but Teddy knows who he is and what he wants. It's the hardest task a man can face, Harry has learned.
They sleep easily and late into the next morning. Harry wakes twice, confused, and pulls Teddy to him both times, needing proof of what's happening, the warmth of his skin and the push of his breath against his collarbone, evidence that he's not imagining this. In sixteen years his fantasy life has taken on a frightening importance, and he's fighting the desire to sink into it now. In his fantasies he flies away with Teddy to some foreign land and lives happily on the fortune he has haphazardly amassed, serving as benefactor to whatever Teddy wants to become and sleeping with him like this every night, not just in the same bed but wrapped up close in a stark fear of loss and an ever-present sense of mortality that the two of them understand better than most people.
But in reality, he has choices to make, decisions that have become harder because of his own procrastinating and self-hatred and denial. It's a dull old problem that should seem laughable after everything he's been through, but when he pictures the faces of his children his stomach shifts with fear.
"Teddy," he says, shaking him awake at noon. Teddy cracks his eyes and shuts them again, as if he wants to linger in the place between what they've done and what it means. Harry strokes his cheek until he opens his eyes again.
"What's wrong?" Teddy asks blearily, as if he were an old man who already knows to expect the worst. And he is, Harry knows he is. He was that same old, weary man at seventeen.
"Nothing," Harry says, a lie. He kisses Teddy's forehead. "I just want you to know. This isn't a middle-aged, you know, romp, for me. I think you are - I think - and this is egotistical, but - I feel like circumstances - like you - like you were what, you know, the universe offered me - God, I've been lying here coming up with ways to phrase this for hours and - anyway, I feel like we're both here because we deserve, you know. Somebody who gets it. This is what we've earned. Oh, fuck, you know what, never mind. Go back to sleep."
Teddy smiles and kisses Harry sleepily, his mouth hot and his breath lethal. Harry laughs into his mouth, embarrassed by his attempt to explain what is happening.
"I love you so much," Teddy says, and there's nothing more than that. He just smiles at Harry, half-asleep and happy, like this is the end of their story and not the beginning of their struggle.
"Oh," Harry says. It's what he's been waiting for, and how odd, when it was the idea of the sort of sex they had the night before that kept him alive for so long. "Well. Of course you know I love you as well."
Teddy laughs hysterically until Harry rolls him over, grinning and humiliated, because he sounds like a stodgy old Ministry prick, and Teddy forgives him for that, apparently.
"Of course you do," Teddy says, and Harry kisses him, loving the sour taste of his morning breath, because Ginny's always smells like candied ginger when she wakes, and it's really quite disturbing, as if she sneaks to the sink to polish her teeth before he encounters them. He's been waiting for so long for someone who will open up to him without preparing first, without perfume and polish, someone real and messy and wrecked enough to wipe his fantasies aside. Teddy wraps a leg around his back and laughs into his mouth, makes him wonder how he'll divide his halved fortune among his children, because this is worth all the practical travesties he's avoided for so long, worth anything.
*
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing Harry/Teddy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry misses the annual Weasley Family Reunion after Teddy Lupin, his summer houseguest, comes down with a mysterious illness. Shenanigans ensue.
Notes Many, many thanks to chlorate for the beta read. This was written for abusing_sarcasm, who is a great supporter of my fics and an awesome person all-around. Happy holidays, and I hope you'll enjoy the fic! :)
Harry can't remember the last time the house felt so peaceful. Perhaps it never has. He likes the jolly noise of his children and the constant stream of friends through the front door, but at thirty-five, he's beginning to feel not tired but restless. He was not looking forward to the annual Weasley family reunion this year, just as he did not look forward to it the previous year or the year before that. He isn't sure exactly when it had started to wear on him, but when Teddy contracted a bad stomach virus before the trip, he was secretly relieved to have the excuse to say behind. Teddy, who stays with them during his summers home from Hogwarts, spends his days resting and reading in the room they keep for him on the fourth floor, and Harry spends his days working and his nights doing what he never seems to have time for while his wife is around: wanking until he's sore.
For the past ten years, he's been having a secret affair with his own cock. Sleeping beside Ginny, he often wishes that he could stroke himself off stealthily enough not to wake her, but he would feel disrespectful even being in the same house as his wife and children while sinking into the fantasies that get him off these days. Instead, he'll take care of business in his desk chair at the Ministry, the danger involved only adding to his arousal, or he'll sneak into the bedroom during a dinner party, Ginny downstairs being the perfect hostess while Harry stands over the sink in the master bathroom, pathetically whispering things like Yeah, suck that big dick while he imagines the young bloke who cleans the Ministry offices at night swallowing his come in hungry gulps.
The fact is, he's gay. He knew this about himself when he was seventeen. After Voldemort-which is all that he really remembers clearly, the years before a storybook blur that often feels like something he's invented to impress colleagues-he returned to Ginny with all the vigor and excitement of a young man fresh from the precipice of death, but he fell soft as soon as they tried to resume their lakeside activities. The simple thrill of doing stuff just wasn't enough anymore. Ginny told him he had post-traumatic stress disorder. It made sense, and he accepted a sixteen-year-old girl's diagnosis, telling her that they would simply need some time apart. Ginny, being the rational, level-headed witch she is, shook his hand and told him that was probably wise. She then proceeded to clumsily stalk him at school, making sure he wasn't dating another girl. Harry wouldn't dare; he was fairly sure she would quite literally kill him if he tried, and he wasn't interested in another girl. Her penchant for tracking him all over the castle did however make it rather difficult to have a tawdry and confusing affair with Neville Longbottom.
Harry still thinks of Neville with a profound sadness. He'd been elevated to hero status after the Battle of Hogwarts, of course, and had experienced a fallout not unfamiliar to Harry after the dust had settled. What, you mean I don't get my parents back now? Harry recognized the look on his face like he was peering into a mirror. Feeling that no one could understand Neville the way he did, he began spending more time with him. It wasn't like his social calendar was packed, since Ron and Hermione were fucking each other round the clock to make up for lost time and most of his other friends were dead and buried. He and Neville didn't talk about the post-hero phenomenon; they didn't need to. They sat together in silence most days, Neville staring pensively into the distance and Harry enjoying the quiet and the sense that he wasn't alone within it.
Quite unlike his pre-war self, Neville was no longer timid. If there was an opportunity to stand in front of the class and demonstrate a charm, he'd do it, even if he was absolute shit and almost got the entire class killed with his attempt, which happened more often than not until Flitwick refused to let him volunteer. The only fear he retained was of flying. Harry wasn't especially fond of it in those days either, following the death of Hedwig, which for some reason had moved him more than much of the carnage that came later.
Even considering Neville's new thirst for life, Harry was still surprised when he one day reached over and slid a warm, almost moist hand into Harry's robes and between his legs. Neville looked quite surprised himself. They were sitting on a ledge of one of the castle's highest turrets on a dismal Tuesday morning, admiring the foggy view while Potions class went on without them down in the dungeon. Harry made some stupid remark about the weather, Neville hummed in disinterested agreement, and then there it was, his hand squeezing the soft bundle of Harry's cock and balls through his trousers.
"Um," Harry said. He was surprisingly unperturbed. Maybe Neville had dropped something?
"Sorry," Neville said. His eyes were wide with astonishment, but his hand was still confidently grasping Harry's crotch, and Harry's balls were beginning to tighten happily in response.
"I just," Neville sputtered, and then he kissed Harry tentatively, a small thing, soft on his lips. Harry sighed and let his legs slide open a bit more. If Neville's new approach to life was gusto, Harry's was resignation. So Longbottom wanted to rub him off? Okay. Whatever.
His cock was fantastically responsive to Neville's groping, something he hadn't even been able to accomplish with wanking sessions since the war began. He kissed Neville with languid, open-mouthed bliss, glad for the excuse not to look at or speak to each other while this went on. He opened his legs as wide as he could and moaned encouragement when Neville pulled his zipper down, felt his way inside Harry's shorts and really went to work. Harry's orgasm came so fast and hard that it truly startled him, and he leaned against Neville to recover after he'd pumped out a painfully full load.
"Neville," Harry breathed when he could finally speak again. "What the fuck?"
Neville cleaned his hand with a spell and sat forward, looking glum.
"I just want to touch someone," he muttered, barely audible. "I want someone to hold me, and, and you're so -- I've always -- I don't know. You smell fantastic up close, and lately you're always sitting near me. I thought maybe you were waiting for something to happen."
Harry sighed, still overwhelmed by how good that had felt. It was so simple, and it was just Neville, but he knew how to handle a cock, no doubt about that. Harry grabbed his jaw and turned him into a hungry kiss, chewed at his bottom lip and waited for it to feel amazing, the way his first kiss had, back when kissing girls was exciting and new.
In all honesty, he was never very attracted to Neville, but they were both lonely, and if Neville didn't have the most fuckable arse in all creation, Harry didn't know arses, which perhaps in the beginning was somewhat true, but he got to know arses pretty well that year, though Neville's was the only one he pounded his cock into on a regular basis. He fantasized about giving it to a number of blokes, his wanking habits gloriously restored. Draco Malfoy, that smug little prick, would cry and beg for more when Harry bent him over right in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall. Oliver Wood, whom he'd thought about inappropriately in the past, though always with caution and naiveté, would fall on him after a Quidditch match, ask him who his Captain was while he ruthlessly fucked his virgin arse and come all over his back with a satisfied grunt. Harry even had a fantasy about Ron, though he rarely allowed himself to go there. Sometimes, when he needed something truly wrong to finish off a long session, he would imagine Ron on his back in bed, unaware that Harry had entered the room as he blissfully pulled away on that huge, thick cock of his, his knees bent and his thighs tensed, mouth open.
Sometimes Harry even thought about these things when he was with Neville, imagining that his was another arse, another mouth. Eventually, it all began to get to him. He was turning into a deviant and a shameless sex addict, skipping classes to plug Neville's arse in broom closets. Ginny, meanwhile, shone like a beacon of hope on the horizon. He proposed to her at the leaving ceremony, in front of everyone. Neville left early, sniffling and complaining of his allergies. Harry hated himself, but not as much as he did after picturing Cedric Diggory when it was Neville who was snuggled into his arms.
These days Neville will speak to Harry civilly only in mixed company. He lives in Strafford with a wizard named Horace who worships him completely. Harry considers it a pretty fair shake. It is he, the evil heartbreaker, who ended up unhappily married and unhealthily fixated on his own cock. It has been a consistently satisfying sexual companion for the past seventeen years, which is more than he can say for his wife, but never mind. None of it is less than he deserves, for treating Neville badly, for using Ginny to uncomplicate his already overwrought life, and for continuing to picture Ron's fantastic cock at inappropriate moments, such as during his wedding to Hermione.
This rubbish is on his mind as he makes his way home from work, and he tries to shake the thought process by the time he Apparates into the living room. He doesn't want to linger on this foul business while in the company of Teddy. Harry has always felt especially protective of Teddy, who is a quiet and thoughtful boy, an orphan who has never complained about what has been left to him . Unfortunatly, Teddy has also turned out to be very handsome. By Teddy's sixteenth birthday Harry had to consciously avoid thoughts of the boy during his more reckless wanks. He will not sexualize every relationship in his life. He is above such things, even in fantasies.
"Teddy?" he calls as he shrugs off his work robes. The house is warm and bright against the oncoming dark, and Harry suffers a pang of fear when he thinks for a moment that Ginny might have returned home early. Not that he fears his wife. He just, well.
Instead of Ginny, he finds Teddy in the kitchen, sitting at the table while something smelling vaguely of chicken and garlic bakes in the oven behind him. His wand is lying on the table, and he's bent over a book on the Second Voldemort War. It's a subject he's fascinated by, much to Harry's dismay.
"Hullo." Teddy beams when Harry enters the kitchen. He's a sweet boy with an easy smile, but his eyes are the saddest things Harry has ever known. Perhaps he's only projecting, thinking of Remus and Tonks when he sees the boy, and of Sirius, whose death certainly played its part in his conception.
"Did you have a good day at work?" Teddy has asked this each evening since the others left for the holiday, and Harry is always oddly touched, though Ginny asks him the same thing when she's here. Teddy sounds like he's actually interested in the answer, though probably he's just better at faking it. He's a seventeen year old boy; what does he care about the details of a dull adult's afternoon?
"Fine, fine," Harry says. He pours himself a short glass of firewhiskey and considers offering Teddy some, but perhaps it would reignite his stomach troubles, which have begun to taper off. "And your day was relaxing, I imagine?"
"Yes, quite." Teddy pages through the book, and Harry hopes to God he won't come up with some damn question about the war that he hasn't asked in the past ten years of his incessant curiosity on the subject. He's grateful when Teddy reads quietly, and then he's bothered by the silence.
"You must be terribly bored," Harry says. "I'm sorry you had to miss the reunion. I can send you on if you're feeling better."
"That's okay," Teddy says, so quickly that his cheeks color. "I always feel - a little - well, you all always make me feel welcome, but still. It's somebody else's family."
"I know," Harry says, too enthusiastically, but he does. He's always wanted to feel like a Weasley, and they've made every effort to wedge him into the tribe, but he's still the freak who saved the world, and marrying in didn't change that.
They have a quiet dinner, and Harry goes out of his way to be complimentary of Teddy's cooking, remembering how much any encouragement from an adult meant to him when he was a teenager. It's different for orphans, he knows. They don't take the attention for granted.
"Want to listen to the game?" Teddy asks after dinner, flicking the wireless to the all-Quidditch station. Harry is surprised that he's interested; he never really thought Teddy was very sporty, but he agrees that it sounds like a pleasant way to spend the evening, and falls asleep on the couch while the Arrows trounce the Magpies, his half-empty scotch glass tipping from this hand. He wakes up when he feels Teddy carefully extracting it from his fingers.
"Sorry," Teddy whispers, as if there is someone else here who is sleeping. "I was afraid it would spill."
Harry ends up sleeping on the couch - why not? Normally he retires eagerly to his bedroom for an after-dinner wank, but this evening he doesn't have the usual frantic need for one. Perhaps after four days without his wife he's actually growing bored with his cock and his fantasies.
He wakes up late and blinks in the warm glow coming through the den's high windows, wondering why he feels so guilty for lying in and making himself late for work. Hasn't he done enough for these fucking people? Hasn't he earned his fortune and his rest? His throat constricts with familiar fear: You could become useless if you let yourself think like this, it would happen so fast. He throws the blanket that somehow got placed over his legs away and gets up.
At work, he doesn't feel quite awake, and he stares for a long time at reports without making any sense of the words written on them. He drinks strong tea and even a Pepper-up Potion, but nothing helps. Finally, at noon, he decides to go home. His tireless resolve won't crumble if he takes one afternoon for himself.
When he Apparates back to the house, it's quiet and warm, the kind of stilted midsummer afternoon that would make even a child who's swallowed an entire pack of Fizzing Whizzbees sleepy. Harry goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of milk, drinks it with languid indulgence and gasps in satisfaction when he's finished. He yawns as he heads upstairs toward his bedroom, almost forgetting that Teddy is staying with him until he hears the sound of labored breathing from behind the guest room door.
Harry opens Teddy's door thinking he's getting sick again and that he'll need help cleaning up and getting a potion down his ragged throat. He's so convinced that he'll see Teddy bent over in misery when he opens the door that for at least two seconds he doesn't register what he actually sees.
Teddy is on the bed, completely naked and spread on all fours, his arse lifted and his toes curled. For a moment, Harry still earnestly thinks Teddy might be throwing up, or anyway, he tells himself that this concern motivates his curiosity, and he narrows his eyes to study the curious scene when Teddy doesn't seem to notice him at the door. Then his perverse, traitorous eyes travel back to the curve of Teddy's arse, and he finds something vaguely amiss. Teddy is rocking back in agony -or pleasure?- as if he's being fucked mercilessly by some invisible force. He's - oh, God, open, and he's being filled up by something, drooling onto his pillow with his eyes shut as if he's being rocked to sleep instead of fucked senseless. Is it a charm? Harry is envious if so, though he's always preferred to be on the giving end of such a fuck. He realizes after several listless moments that he's standing in the doorway watching his innocent and unofficially adopted godson sort of person having some incredibly intimate experience, whatever the fuck the exact nature of such experience is, and he starts to back away just as a boy suddenly appears behind Teddy, throwing off what Harry recognizes as the Invisibility Cloak.
"Shit!" the boy shrieks. He has black hair and ruddy cheeks, and Harry thinks his accent sounds slightly but not quite Irish - maybe he's halfsies? Harry flies out into the hall in blind humiliation; this is his house, but seeing Teddy doing with it what he wants makes him feel strongly that he doesn't belong here, and it's not an unfamiliar feeling. This is what knocks into him more than his shock over what he saw: this house has never belonged to him.
Harry crashes into his bedroom and shuts the door behind him and locks it with his wand. Out in the hallway, he hears the frantic voices of Teddy and his companion. Teddy sounds close to tears and the other boy sounds angry. Then there's a pop as if someone has Apparated, and Teddy's door shuts quietly, not blocking out the sound of his hysterical sobbing. Harry's breath catches when he realizes that he may have just witnessed something that was taking place against Teddy's will, though that was certainly not his first impression. He paces the room, trying to decide if he should intervene. Teddy might be too embarrassed to come to him, but if his first impression was correct, confronting him about the incident would only make things worse. Harry wonders if his Invisibility Cloak has been stolen, and he decides he has to speak to Teddy either way. Red-faced, he heads out into the hall.
"Teddy?" he calls when he reaches his door. Teddy's gasping sobs go quiet, but Harry can still hear him breathing hard behind the door. "Are you alright?" Harry asks.
There is a long pause that increases Harry's worry.
"Yes," Teddy says weakly. "I'm sorry."
"I just wanted to make sure -- that was, your friend, yes? Not some -- intruder?"
Teddy laughs in surprise, then stops abruptly as if he regrets it.
"That was Edward Bates," Teddy calls through the door, his voice suddenly steadier. "We go to Hogwarts together."
Harry is relieved, and the gravity of the situation lightens a bit. Teddy is of age, and he can do whatever he likes with his boyfriend.
"Would you like some tea?" Harry asks, still wondering what has become of his Cloak.
"I don't know if I can look at you right now," Teddy says. He sighs brokenly. "I'm so embarrassed. Oh, God. I thought you were at work."
"There's no reason for embarrassment," Harry says. He's suddenly desperate to see Teddy and have a conversation about his sexuality, to guiltily hoard the details of the teenaged life he missed. Unless of course Teddy is seeing Edward in secret the way Harry saw Neville, in which case he could offer him some very hard learned advice, though that might require admitting what he actually is, which he cannot do. "Please, Teddy," he says. "I know it's awkward, but there's nothing wrong with what you've done, nothing at all."
There's a silent stretch, and then Harry hears the doorknob begin to turn. Teddy pokes his reddened face out and meets Harry's eyes immediately. The amount of trust Teddy communicates with his unwavering gaze is striking, and Harry is overcome by the desire to yank him into his arms as a gesture of reassurance. It is not unusual for people to trust him, but a vulnerable orphan's trust is different. He knows that better than anyone.
"Come on," Harry says. "We'll have tea."
They tread downstairs and Teddy sits listlessly at the kitchen table while Harry makes tea. He's so nervous that he chips one of the teacups, and then explodes it with his wand in the process of trying to fix it. Teddy laughs anxiously.
"Whoops," he says.
"Happens to everyone," Harry mutters, and they both start laughing hysterically and for a long time.
They retire to the den with their tea, the kitchen hardly cozy enough for such a fragile moment. Harry sits on the sofa and Teddy in a giant armchair he's always favored when he comes to stay. It's considered Harry's chair when Teddy is not around, but he always surrenders it for the summer.
"I'm so humiliated," Teddy says.
"Don't be," Harry says.
"We -- he used your cloak and everything. I'm so sorry. If it's stained I'll -- oh, God, I don't know how to clean such a thing but I'd be willing to try."
"It's alright," Harry says, though the thought of some junior hoodlum's come on his Cloak is infuriating. He doesn't blame Teddy, at any rate. That other boy was clearly bossy and demanding.
"It's just that some people have a certain thing for you," Teddy says, his face going red. "He wanted, you know, because it was yours."
"I see." Harry tells himself he should be sickened by this, but he's suddenly very aware of the weight of his cock between his thighs. Maybe it's the sight of Teddy curled up in his chair and blowing into his tea cup, his eyes still red-rimmed, though that shouldn't be it at all. Maybe it's just the idea of someone in this house having fantastic sex. He hates that little bugger -- Edward, what a name -- and has the sadistic urge to contact his parents, though for Teddy's sake of course he won't.
"So you're fairly serious with that boy -- with Edward?" Harry asks. Teddy sighs.
"I don't know," Teddy says.
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Harry says.
"It's just that he's kind of thick," Teddy says, and the word thick slides along Harry's cock like a phantom tongue, though he knows that's not what Teddy meant. He shifts on the sofa and can hardly listen as Teddy goes on to complain about Edward's lack of interest in anything but sex and Quidditch. Harry hears him saying other things entirely: His cock is so thick, I can hardly take it, but it feels so good, I really do love being fucked, you saw me, open wide and drooling --
Harry clears his throat and stands, aware that he only has a precious few seconds to leave the room before his trousers tent. He tells Teddy he has to use the loo, but bypasses the one in the downstairs hallway and jogs up the stairs to the master bath in his room. Standing inside with the door locked behind him, he feels incredible shame descend, as if Teddy is fully aware of what he means to do. He releases his cock from his trousers with shaking hands and leans against the counter as he pumps it frantically through his fist, close to coming but too blocked by his lingering guilty thoughts. What finally does him in is imagining Teddy standing in the doorway and seeing this, watching with glazed eyes and parted lips, mesmerized. Harry comes so hard that he splatters the glass door of the shower, and he laughs insanely at the sight before his endorphins leave him and his shame returns.
*
He tries not to spend too much time around Teddy in the following days, and Teddy seems hurt by this, but Harry can't be near him without getting excited. His wanking has gotten out of hand, and all of his fantasies end with Teddy, even the ones he tries to begin elsewhere. He knows it's about more than just the scene he walked in on at the house, and that's the part that disturbs him the most. He's never been much of a father figure to Teddy; perhaps he's intentionally avoided the responsibility. Teddy grew up with his grandparents and has always been closer to Harry's children than to Harry himself. In fact, Harry would be hard pressed to name anybody he's especially close to anymore. Everything he does socially feels like a duty, and he has never confided in anyone about being gay, unless he counts Neville, whom he wasn't close to even when they were fucking. He wants someone he can truly share his life with, not just his company, and since finding out that Teddy is not only an orphan but also gay, he can't stop having another kind of fantasy entirely. Just the fact that there is someone nearby who might actually understand him is thrilling beyond any wank fodder his twisted mind could produce.
But Teddy is half his age, and Harry hates himself for even considering such whimsy. He spends long hours at the office, unable to concentrate, and politely eats the dinners Teddy continues to cook for him at home, making excuses about not lingering after the meal. On at least one occasion Harry is afraid Teddy is going to burst into tears due to this treatment, but he leaves the room anyway, telling himself that's only projecting. Eventually Teddy seems to stop trying so hard, and Harry knows he shouldn't be disappointed when he comes home from work one evening and finds the kitchen cold and quiet. He orders takeout and eats it with the Prophet spread out on the table. Teddy comes into the kitchen when he's almost through, looking sullen.
"Are you alright?" Harry asks, afraid his stomach might be hurting him again. It's a mysterious illness that the doctors at St. Mungo's have been puzzled by since it struck just before the reunion. They cannot determine the cause or cure it with the usual potions. It has occurred to Harry that the illness might be invented, but Teddy has no reason to lie except to avoid the reunion, and Harry can't imagine why he'd want to, unless his boyfriend demanded it.
"I just got an Owl," Teddy says, moving toward the cabinets without looking at Harry. "Edward's broken up with me."
"Oh, Teddy, I'm sorry." Harry is secretly thrilled, as if this makes Teddy available to him, never mind that Harry is married and Teddy is seventeen. He is truly astonished with himself, almost curious about how much more despicable his thought process could possibly get.
"Don't pretend you're sorry," Teddy mutters, his back to Harry. Harry's blood freezes instantly, like Teddy has cast an irreversible spell.
"I know you don't like me being gay," Teddy says. Harry is so panicked that it takes him a moment to truly hear this.
"What?" he pushes out, his heart pounding. "Don't be ridiculous, I --"
"You've barely looked at me since that day!" Teddy turns to glower at him, but the conviction quickly drains from his face, and his chin begins to quiver. "You tried to act good about it at first, but I know you were only being decent because you felt like you had to."
"That's nonsense," Harry says, too forcefully. He stands as if the two of them are going to come to blows over this, suddenly enjoying the frenzied pounding of his heart.
"Is it? Well, then why have you been so nasty to me ever since? Are you really that offended on behalf of your bloody cloak?"
Harry wasn't able to find a drop of anything on the cloak, and had almost forgotten its role in the deed. Something about the fact that Teddy is bringing it up again gives him pause.
"No," Harry says, frowning. Teddy is even more worked up than he is, his chest heaving as if he's about to launch into a tantrum. His face flickers with the threat of tears like it's a lantern about to blow out.
"So why are you mad at me?" Teddy asks. The loneliness in his voice draws Harry across the kitchen against his will, and as soon as he puts his hands on Teddy's trembling shoulders he knows there's going to be trouble.
"I'm not," Harry says. "I'm so far from mad at you, Teddy, oh, God. I wish I could -- explain to you -- how much you mean to me, really."
Harry didn't intend to say any of that, isn't even sure where it came from, but the way Teddy's eyes soften as he speaks makes him want to go on.
"So tell me," Teddy says, almost whispering.
"I can't," Harry says, and suddenly his throat is so tight that he's afraid to breathe, lest he start sobbing. This is rapidly getting out of control, and he really needs to remove his hands from Teddy's shoulders, or at least stop thinking about how warm he is under his t-shirt.
"Alright," Teddy says, his voice pinched. "Fine. Then I might as well tell you so you can hate me properly. I'm the one who wanted Edward to wear the Cloak. Because it smells like you. And because with him being invisible I could do a better job of pretending it was you back there." Teddy's face goes pale as he speaks, as if this is happening without his permission. Harry knows how he feels. He steps closer, and Teddy lets his head tip back just a bit, close to surrendering.
"You think about me when your boyfriend fucks your arse?" Harry asks. His voice is unrecognizably gruff, but he can barely hear it over the war drum of his heart.
"He's not my boyfriend anymore," Teddy says, as if it had been Edward who was stopping them. Harry's hands slide down Teddy's arms, and his fingers close around the soft bulge of his biceps. He takes a moment to acknowledge the fact that he's not afraid anymore, that he's going to do this no matter what. This is how Neville must have felt before he reached for his crotch, and his last thought before he gives in to the pulsing thrum of his body is that this could end up being as dangerous for him as it was for Neville. He lays himself bare anyway, kisses Teddy with nothing held back. Teddy gulps in surprise and goes soft in Harry's arms, fumbles his hands through Harry's work robes to touch the place on his chest where his heart is beating wildly.
"Why?" Harry breathes into Teddy's face. "Why me?"
"Are you fucking kidding?" Teddy asks, and apparently that is what Harry has been waiting to hear. He hoists Teddy up and dumps him onto the kitchen table, rips away his t-shirt in one smooth motion. Teddy scrambles to get his trousers off like he's never done so before and is incredibly confused by the process. Harry grabs his hands and slams them onto the kitchen table, up over his head. Teddy pants up at him, his briefly worried expression giving way to a wicked smile, and when Harry reaches down to undo Teddy's trouser buttons he stays still, lets him do all the work.
What follows is frantic and giddy in a way that Harry has never known. There was something mournful and businesslike about his encounters with Neville as a teenager, and everything he's ever done with his wife is just a depressing reminder of his obligation to enjoy it. Now Harry holds nothing back, as if he's in one of his consequence-free fantasies, and Teddy is grateful and willing under his hands, so open to him that Harry worries he'll fall to pieces on the kitchen floor. He licks into Teddy's arse like a clueless teenager, wanting only to make him feel good. Teddy bucks on the table, writhes crazily against Harry's mouth and pumps his cock until his come splashes his stomach, some of it landing in Harry's hair. Harry wishes he had the presence of mind for dirty talk, but he can barely keep his feet on the floor.
"Fuck me," Teddy begs. "Please, Harry, fuck me hard."
Harry snorts, for some reason finds the situation suddenly hilarious. Teddy laughs stupidly, his lips still wet from Harry's kisses. Harry's heart breaks for it, the sight of Teddy on the kitchen table with that brilliant grin, as if they're just fooling around, as if they're going to be okay when they wake from this dream.
"You want this?" Harry asks, standing back with his cock in his hand. Ginny has referred to it as magnificent in the past, which only makes him feel ridiculous. Teddy is still watching his face.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Maybe in the bed, though? My back hurts a bit."
"Oh, Teddy!" Harry scoops him up off the table and cradles him. Teddy wraps his legs around his waist and drops his head to his shoulder like he's been waiting for this, too. "I'm sorry," Harry says, holding him tight, though his muscles aren't what they used to be and Teddy is heavier than he looks.
"Sorry for what?" Teddy asks.
"Nothing. Everything. Come here."
Harry carries him all the way to his bedroom, and Teddy watches him with curiosity all the way there. He's got all the sweetness of Remus but none of his resignation, all of Tonks' boldness but none of her oblivious contentment. His mother's nose and his father's eyes. Something in his devious smile that reminds Harry of Sirius.
"I was always so jealous of your kids," Teddy says when Harry lays him gently in his marriage bed. "I thought I just wanted a father. Maybe I did. But then it changed. Now I just want everything. Everything, okay? So don't apologize for it."
Harry gives him everything. Teddy puts his feet up on Harry's shoulders when he thrusts into him, then spreads his legs apart when Harry really gets going, throws himself open like double doors, unembarrassed. Harry has never met anyone like him, and, dear God, he's never fucked anyone who felt this good.
Coming inside Teddy is ceremonious, not just a physical inevitability but some kind of significant statement, a pact. Teddy strokes Harry's back and allows him to linger inside him like he understands that Harry hasn't been with a man in sixteen years and that he needs to soak it in. And Teddy is a man, isn't he? Well, almost. He's more of a man than Harry was at his age. Standing up to Voldemort was one thing, but Teddy knows who he is and what he wants. It's the hardest task a man can face, Harry has learned.
They sleep easily and late into the next morning. Harry wakes twice, confused, and pulls Teddy to him both times, needing proof of what's happening, the warmth of his skin and the push of his breath against his collarbone, evidence that he's not imagining this. In sixteen years his fantasy life has taken on a frightening importance, and he's fighting the desire to sink into it now. In his fantasies he flies away with Teddy to some foreign land and lives happily on the fortune he has haphazardly amassed, serving as benefactor to whatever Teddy wants to become and sleeping with him like this every night, not just in the same bed but wrapped up close in a stark fear of loss and an ever-present sense of mortality that the two of them understand better than most people.
But in reality, he has choices to make, decisions that have become harder because of his own procrastinating and self-hatred and denial. It's a dull old problem that should seem laughable after everything he's been through, but when he pictures the faces of his children his stomach shifts with fear.
"Teddy," he says, shaking him awake at noon. Teddy cracks his eyes and shuts them again, as if he wants to linger in the place between what they've done and what it means. Harry strokes his cheek until he opens his eyes again.
"What's wrong?" Teddy asks blearily, as if he were an old man who already knows to expect the worst. And he is, Harry knows he is. He was that same old, weary man at seventeen.
"Nothing," Harry says, a lie. He kisses Teddy's forehead. "I just want you to know. This isn't a middle-aged, you know, romp, for me. I think you are - I think - and this is egotistical, but - I feel like circumstances - like you - like you were what, you know, the universe offered me - God, I've been lying here coming up with ways to phrase this for hours and - anyway, I feel like we're both here because we deserve, you know. Somebody who gets it. This is what we've earned. Oh, fuck, you know what, never mind. Go back to sleep."
Teddy smiles and kisses Harry sleepily, his mouth hot and his breath lethal. Harry laughs into his mouth, embarrassed by his attempt to explain what is happening.
"I love you so much," Teddy says, and there's nothing more than that. He just smiles at Harry, half-asleep and happy, like this is the end of their story and not the beginning of their struggle.
"Oh," Harry says. It's what he's been waiting for, and how odd, when it was the idea of the sort of sex they had the night before that kept him alive for so long. "Well. Of course you know I love you as well."
Teddy laughs hysterically until Harry rolls him over, grinning and humiliated, because he sounds like a stodgy old Ministry prick, and Teddy forgives him for that, apparently.
"Of course you do," Teddy says, and Harry kisses him, loving the sour taste of his morning breath, because Ginny's always smells like candied ginger when she wakes, and it's really quite disturbing, as if she sneaks to the sink to polish her teeth before he encounters them. He's been waiting for so long for someone who will open up to him without preparing first, without perfume and polish, someone real and messy and wrecked enough to wipe his fantasies aside. Teddy wraps a leg around his back and laughs into his mouth, makes him wonder how he'll divide his halved fortune among his children, because this is worth all the practical travesties he's avoided for so long, worth anything.
*