FIC: The Sought (Harry/Bill, 1/1)
Fic: The Sought
Author: Jaylee
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Bill
Summary: “No one who knew Harry Potter would assume him capable of actively seeking out companionship of the adult variety or being capable of plotting to seduce said companion, until the touches supposedly meant in passing grew bold, and the silent examinations lingered longer than mere fascination would allow.”
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the world in which they live. I’m just having a little non-profit geared fun.
Special Thanks: This fic is dedicated to Nirnaeth Arnoediad for requesting it, Honeycakehorse for encouraging it, and Hazel for being one hell of a fantastic beta and support system. Hugs go out to you all! :-)
*****
The first time Bill met Harry Potter he wasn’t overly impressed.
Harry had been cute, that much was true, stuck somewhere between a boy and a man: all gangly limbs and that awkward adolescent posture that was half slouch, half developing confidence. He was also far more quiet and introspective than a child should be at the tender age of fourteen, but otherwise he didn’t really carry any distinguishing features or traits that separated him from the hordes of other boys his age. In short, he was simply his kid bother’s best friend, and by extension, an honorary little brother himself, since it was apparent upon their first introduction that Bill’s parents had all but adopted the poor lad.
He hadn’t quite known what he was expecting, that much was true. He knew who Harry Potter was, of course, everyone did, so he supposed he was expecting the child to simply exude ‘hero’. The type that dominated the attention of a room when walking into it, and that carried themselves in a suave, Lockhart-type fashion. Certainly his siblings’ descriptions fueled that vision. Everything from Ron’s ‘He’s the bravest, most tremendous mate I’ve ever met. Nothing scares him, nothing. And he’s the best flyer in our year, possibly even in the entire school,’ to Ginny’s blushed confession ‘he’s the loveliest boy in all of Gryffindor,’ to the twins’, ‘Harry’s a great chum with a wicked sense of humor. You’d think he had Weasley blood in him,’ had served to build up a false ideal of a young Hercules, man of the people, blessed by the gods, and all other such nonsense.
It wasn’t until Bill watched Harry perform in the third tri-wizard task that he caught the first indication that Harry might exceed his own reputation one day. The power was there in droves. The whole audience felt it; knew it. The charisma was also there… in this little fourteen year-old-boy, no longer slouching, chanting hex after hex, curse after curse, charm after charm; holding his own in a maze of horrors as if he knew exactly what he was doing and had every right to be there. The shyness and awkwardness Bill had witnessed in Harry upon that first introduction had disappeared, and while the kid was still skinny, still small, he was every inch the potential Don Juan, for nothing was more heady than unfailing courage, quiet intensity, and unpremeditated ingenuity combined with large, beautifully deep green eyes.
For the first time since he had escaped it, Bill wished he were back in school.
At the very least, his admittance into the Order insured that he got a front row seat, as it were, of Harry’s transition from child to adult - a metamorphosis that took place far faster then it did with Harry’s peers, either because of all he had been through in his young life, or by his own volition. All Bill could really say for certain was that within the space of a heartbeat Harry went from a juvenile to a grown man: tall, and slender - with eyes, aged far beyond his years, that spoke of hidden secrets and wizened truths - and a demeanor that both threatened and cajoled.
Yet despite the unmasked allure Harry exuded, Bill, like everyone else could only admire him from afar, for he remained indefinitely untouchable, the last of his innocence entirely safeguarded by those who surrounded him, perhaps even more than Harry was aware.
Which is why it was easy, almost too easy, for Bill to pass off the early signs of Harry’s growing interest with his own burgeoning sexuality as his imagination.
So Harry seemed to brush past him, laying a palm against his back, or lightly tapping Bill’s arm along the way, more than he had in the past. There were a lot of people occupying one house, and Grimmauld Place was only so big…
And true, Harry’s eyes had been on him more often than not, but then Bill figured that might have something to do with his new tattoo on the back of his neck depicting the eye of Isis, the Egyptian god, or the new dragon tooth earring dangling from his right ear. After all, it wasn’t so far fetched to believe that perhaps the little mite just had a hidden appreciation for fashion and was looking towards the older and wiser Bill for an idea of how to spice up his own image.
No one who knew Harry Potter would assume him capable of actively seeking out companionship of the adult variety or being capable of plotting to seduce said companion, until the touches supposedly meant in passing grew bold, and the silent examinations lingered longer than mere fascination would allow.
After a week of this increasingly brazen behavior Bill could no longer deny that Harry Potter had matured in more ways than one. And what’s more, he really didn’t *want* to deny it. The temptation Harry presented was almost painful in its appeal… a young, untouched virgin, mere weeks over the age of consent, who exuded intensity, and who possessed undeniably quick and smooth reflexes just waiting to be focused in areas beyond dueling or Quidditch… it was every healthy, bi-sexual male’s fantasy come to life and Bill had already been considerably weak-willed when it came to Harry Potter.
Only the specters of his mother, Dumbledore, and Remus Lupin prevented him from calling Harry on his behavior and then showing him, in exquisite detail, just what testosterone induced euphoria would feel like. But even specters, large, imposing and powerful though they were, could weaken under the continued strain of Harry’s persistence.
And when Harry Potter resolved himself to something, the world couldn’t help but stop and take notice.
“Did that hurt?” Harry asked him on the cusp of a new summer morning, when the rest of the house lay sleeping and only the two of them, the resident insomniacs, remained up and alert - a situation that spelled doom from the get-go but one Bill didn’t have the strength or doggedness to walk away from and one he was actually pretty excited about… alone time, at last, with Harry.
“Did what hurt?” Bill asked, distracted by the closely looming presence of the dark haired youth on the living room couch, as he reached behind Bill with a slightly shaking hand to goose his fingers across the ink stained flesh of his neck.
“The tattoo,” Harry breathed, his whisper hitching in his chest as his night-chilled fingers made contact with the exothermic heat generated by Bill’s skin.
Electricity shot through the older man, though whether it was the temptation the young hero made, or the shock of the coldness of Harry’s hands, Bill couldn’t say. What he could attest to with certainty, however, was that the dark-haired youth smelled of wind, soap and the last lingering scent of dinner, that even though his hands were cold, the rest of his body radiated heat that Bill could feel through the small space that separated them. That Harry’s eyes were even larger and even more impossibly green up close, and they shown like two luminescent jewels in the night - cat’s eyes.
Their close proximity also showed, in exquisite detail through the outline of thin cotton pajamas, that young, sixteen-year-old Harry, just brimming in youth and passion, was hyper aware of Bill in turn.
And just like that, with the proof of the younger man’s lust so obvious and blatant, any control Bill had left snapped like frayed ribbon.
“You’re playing with fire, kid,” Bill gasped, his voice deeper than normal as his body tightened with awakened lust.
“I’ve played with fire my whole life… I don’t know any different,” Harry responded, his own body shaking with obvious nervousness, and yearning, bellied only by the determined and feral look in his eyes. “There are things I want to do before I die, and I want you to be the one to show me.”
The ominous undertone to the dark haired youth’s words caused a painful lurch to Bill’s heart. He knew of the prophecy of course, the entire Order did. Dumbledore had seen fit to call a special meeting to inform them of it at the beginning of the summer. Yet no one, even those, such as Professor Snape, who weren’t particularly fond of Harry, could imagine or even think to imagine an outcome where Harry wouldn’t prevail in the end… the idea simply too horrific.
And horrific not only because it would mean that Voldemort would triumph, bringing with him dark, foreboding times, but because of the idea of the bright, brilliant flame that was Harry Potter being snuffed…
That bright, brilliant flame who even now ran his hand tentatively down Bill’s chest, from neck to bellybutton, undeterred and wanting.
“Why me?” Bill croaked. His own lust was beginning to overpower his morose thoughts.
A triumphant grin flashed across Harry’s face, so brief that Bill almost missed it, but present enough that the older man couldn’t help but question the sorting hat’s placement of Harry into Gryffindor house all those years ago. Yet with this new insight into Harry Potter’s more devious and determined nature, Bill’s want for him seemed to grow further still.
Duality, on Harry, was as sexy as hell.
“Because I trust you. Because I know that you’ll know what you’re doing and because most people my own age don’t. Because I’ve had a bit of a thing for you for awhile... you’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. And because I’ve been watching you, watch me back, and I didn’t think you’d be opposed to…”
Harry’s answer, which started off firm, driven and laden with throaty undertones, trailed off at the end, hesitant and uncertain. The younger man pulling back just slightly, as if it had occurred to him just then that his advances might be rebuffed and he could very well be unwanted.
Bill wondered how it was that he could go from entirely willing prey one minute, to the older and experienced protector in the next, wanting nothing more than to encase Harry in his arms and reassure him of everything and anything: showing him love, showing him need...
The spike and decline of emotions only served to fan the flames of desire coursing through him, and Bill knew that he was losing a helpless battle; one he was no longer sure it was important to wage to begin with; after all, Harry did make some very convincing arguments. And technically, despite their age difference, the younger man was old enough to make such a request. Besides, wouldn’t it be better for Bill, someone who had Harry’s best interests at heart, to lead him through such experiences rather than someone who wouldn’t show true appreciation or concern?
Any further contemplation was cut off by the feel of lips, silky soft and oh so tentative, delicately brushing across his own, accompanied by a light, needing whimper. And in a moment of hormonally driven clarity, Harry Potter was all that mattered and all Bill Weasley could see.
He moved quickly to enclose the remaining space between them, taking Harry firmly in his arms, and squeezing the other boy to him impossibly tight, as he bore them both to the couch, Bill on top, and rained a dozen kisses all over Harry’s face and neck, and any other patch of skin he could find, while his hands fumbled eagerly with Harry’s clothes.
And then he was lost entirely.
*****
Throughout his childhood Bill had been convinced that his mother had the power to read the minds of her offspring. Even after he had grown, well skilled in the art of Occlumency, he still held firmly to the belief that her sixth sense when it came to the moralistically questionable actions of her children knew no opposition. Which would definitely explain why, the morning after that dizzying, sweltering, absolutely wonderful night of reckless, vigorous passion, Bill could scarcely meet her eyes.
Harry, however, was a pro.
To his credit he did not seek out Bill’s gaze, or give any open indication that it was Bill who had put the large, beaming smile on his face. But he had walked into breakfast with a new, proud swagger and had not attempted, even once, to remove the grin just teasing the corners of his mouth.
The adults all noticed… how could they not? Here was the a previously moody and depressed child, one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and who had only recently lost someone very close to him, suddenly smiling. It was more than a little unnerving… except to Bill, who couldn’t prevent the jolt he felt in his heart the sight of that beautiful smile caused, or his pride in the knowledge that he had put it there.
Luckily it seemed as though most of the occupants of the room chose to pass of Harry’s newly pleasant demeanor as a sign that he was healing, at last… except for Dumbledore, who had stopped by to talk with the Order that morning and had not taken his eyes off of Bill since.
It was all the redhead could do to remind himself that he was an adult, long graduated from Hogwarts, and that Dumbledore had no real say in anything he did, save his work for the Order, but he couldn’t help but feel like a child awaiting punishment. As if he should be ashamed, which, upon reflection, he really wasn’t.
It had been beautiful, spiritual as well as physical, and oh so tender. Harry, despite his inexperience, had been very eager, and so awed by the littlest caresses or words: as if starved for affection, as if aching for anything and everything Bill could give him. The older man couldn’t help but be inspired and stirred by the memory of their time together. In fact, if Harry pursued it, and wanted it as he did, Bill would do it again… in a heartbeat.
The little imp had proven himself to be downright addictive.
“How are you feeling Harry?” the wizened wizard asked over breakfast, his eyes still piercing through Bill’s body and into his soul.
“I’m doing good, Professor, I even managed to sleep some last night,” came a muffled response from a mouth preoccupied with making its way through a slice of toast.
“I’m very pleased to hear that,” the Headmaster replied, his eyes adopting his customary twinkle as he suddenly gave Bill a wink, finally turning his head towards his young charge, and pointedly missing the eldest Weasley brother coughing up some of his orange juice in shock.
Surely the elder wizard, and Harry’s fiercest protector, didn’t just bestow some sort of… ‘approval’? Surely he didn’t just grant his blessing…
Bill shook his head, wondering if he had imagined it all, wondering if last night had been nothing more than an erotically intense dream, and wondering if Harry would ever come to him again.
*****
He had been struggling with his disappointment for half of the night, a little bit hurt and a little bit concerned when Harry had announced to the house that he was going to bed without even a glance in Bill’s direction.
It wasn’t, he knew, that he had any claim on Harry. For who could really claim the Boy Who Lived as his own when his unfaltering spirit was, in fact, quested for by so many? But he had been the one Harry had sought for pleasure, for instruction, for the first introduction into the world of giving and receiving bliss… was Harry done with him now that his curiosity had been curbed? And furthering that note, why did that thought bother him, at least a little?
It wasn’t as if he was a stranger to one-night stands, in fact, he preferred them. Emotional attachment was a sticky, messy thing, particularly for one who traveled a lot, lived by the seat of his pants, and had no inclination, what-so-ever, for the cliché white picket fence, dog, cat, house elf and little wizarding children running around, lifestyle. His parents had pretty much cornered that market, and as a result he had plenty of brothers to carry on the family name, which pretty much left him free to live life as he saw fit.
So he wasn’t exactly sure why it ‘mattered’ to him, necessarily, that Harry had seemingly moved on without a backward glance, but he couldn’t sleep nonetheless, and his stomach did sort of twinge in an unfamiliar way, and so, quite noticeably, did his libido. In fact, he was extremely frustrated just thinking of Harry: the breathless moans, the green eyes dark with feral lust, the beads of perspiration on his forehead as his body rocked in passion and as his youthful face contorted with climax.
The kid was good… a natural. Capable of getting under one’s skin and saying there, branded, like a tattoo.
And just when he had decided that a little self-inflicted release wouldn’t be amiss, a soft tap on the door and the slow creak of door hinges signaled the arrival of the dark haired personification of his recent fantasies.
“Bill,” an uncertain, almost lost sounding, voice whispered into the night, “are you up?”
“Yes, Harry, I’m up.”
And he was, in more way than one.
“Come here,” he continued, scooting over to make room for his lover, purposely not pausing to ponder or question the relief that jolted his heart.
*****
He had been lying when he had told himself, in clear, certain terms, that once Harry went back to school, he would let the little imp go, both literally and figuratively, and thus be free to return to boisterous, carefree bachelorhood and all it’s appealing glory; he knew that now.
One did not simply let Harry Potter go, it went against the very rules of the cosmos. No, Harry was more than a brand, more than a mark, he was a fever: unquenchable, volatile and ravenous. He crept into Bill’s heart with his endearingly multifaceted nature while Bill’s emotional immune system was distracted by Harry’s more blatant physical prowess… or so his slightly drunken mind thought, through its slightly blissful, rather poetic, daze.
Bill had tried, and wholeheartedly at that, to forget the younger man and lay the rapidly dying summer to rest.
He had tried when he watched the Hogwarts Express disappear from sight that morning, carrying Harry with it. He had tried as he got dressed to go out that night. He had tried when he had more than one drink at the bar, and he had tried, with exaggerated gusto, when he had allowed himself to be picked up in a much more traditional fashion by someone who wasn’t the savior of the wizarding world, and wasn’t, (the worst of Harry’s sins by far), a student who actually had to go back to school.
He was clearly an idiot. That or the drunken, nameless man rutting against him with little notice to the fact that Bill couldn’t work up the ambition to participate, was just that repulsive… and Bill had lied to himself too much already to put full bank on the latter.
Damn Harry Potter to hell anyway.
Harry with the faux innocence, and lithe body… Harry with the sharp intensity and the bedroom eyes… Harry with the sweet uncertainty and brash boldness... Harry with the youthful, reckless passion, and the blatantly appealing eagerness…
Harry: green eyes, mused, silk-spun hair, and that - that smell: so appealing, so dear… Finally Bill felt his desire stir, lost to his mind as his body was lost to emotionless passion.
It wasn’t until Bill was alone, back in his own room, that he allowed himself to contemplate how thoroughly and truly fucked he had become. There was no going back, he had known Harry, touched him, and had been touched by him in return, and now… well, now he wanted him back, both literally and figuratively.
A tapping at his window drew his attention from his fearsome contemplation, and his heart raced even faster when he caught sight of a familiar white owl.
The small slip of paper Hedwig delivered bore the simple message, “I miss you already,” and it was all Bill could do not to shout exclamations of equal parts joy and pain into the night.
*****
Some things never changed, Bill thought, the appeal of Hogsmeade being one of them. As a student Hogsmeade symbolized an escape, a place to leave school behind, if only for a while and have a good time with friends and foe alike. As an adult, meeting Harry there for a private rendezvous had it’s own zealous appeal, as if they were enacting covert operations, providing an alluring thrill on top of already cresting circumstances.
Harry had been more amorous than ever, deprived in the months since school had started, and gifted with a youthfully awakened libido. He had approached Bill with an eagerness and concentration that left any and all thoughts of them having to part ways in the morning, or the ever dawning presence of war, to the wayside. And Bill found himself even more enthralled than he had been previously, with this wild, unkempt, and aggressive young man who showed no fear, and longed to explore any and all aspects of whatever it was he was focused on.
When it was over he curled, sweetly and trusting, into Bill’s body, burrowing as deep as space and matter would allow, before sighing in tired satisfaction - from tiger to cub in one fell swoop.
And all Bill could think to do was chuckle, wrap his arms more securely around Harry, marveling at the release and joy he was able to find with one so much younger than he, beloved by all, and coveted by more than one member of his own family. Fate had a decidely odd sense of humor, so much so that it was frankly startling, but he couldn‘t give Harry up, and wouldn‘t, now that he had him. For better or for worse he had been sought out by Harry, though he still couldn’t begin to fathom why, and was just starting to realize that it didn’t matter.
Harry was what mattered, most profoundly.
A slight movement and a slow intake of a deep breath informed Bill that Harry wasn’t, in fact, asleep and that he was gearing up to broach a subject he didn‘t think Bill would like... Harry always took a deep breath before testing the waters; a sign Bill had learned to fear, while he simultaneously found it endearing.
“Bill,” Harry whispered, as if he were afraid someone might overhear them within the private confines of their Inn room, “do you love me?”
And at that Bill felt his heart freeze and then rush again, this poignant fear, one he could only associate with Harry, firmly gripping his core.
Love, that four letter word, one he had had lavished on him in that familial way all throughout his youth while Harry had had none, yet still managed to carry an abundance of it within him. Love that Dumbledore believed could save the world, and love that could bring a grown man most firmly to his knees, pleading for more while wondering why he had allowed the equal parts torment and harmony of it into his soul to begin with.
He had never thought he wanted to give someone that much power over him. He had never thought he had the courage or ambition to face it, but the sorting hat did, after all, place him in Gryffindor, and it was now, more than ever, apparent why.
“Yes, Harry, I love you.”
And he did. Harry was a fever he didn’t want broken, a gift he wasn’t about to question, but enjoy, for as long as Harry would have him. It was a blessing that Harry had chosen him, of all people, to share in this wild, crazy journey, but now that he had traveled the road a bit, he had gained too much knowledge to turn back, unscathed.
“Oh good, I had wondered what love was, and if this was it. I thought it might be, but I wanted to be certain. I really didn’t know what to compare it to,” Harry replied, his nose still pressed firmly into Bill’s chest as he spoke, ever brazen, ever bold, ever marveling, “anyway, I love you too.”
The redhead wondered how he could be so truly moved yet also so devastated at the same time.
*****
Bill was fairly adamant that he did not want Harry to face off with Voldemort. In fact, given the choice he would take Harry, tie him up, place him in a crate, and send him, muggle express, to the island of Aruba, far away from potential danger. The only thing preventing him from following through with that particular ambition was the fact that Harry would resent the hell out of him for doing it. And truly, Harry in a tiff was a frightening experience. Not even Bill was spared the dark-haired boy’s occasional anger and he found the best way to weather Harry‘s tirades was with a raised eyebrow and a burgeoning erection. After all, that much passion burning in such a little package, it was too much of a temptation no matter what the cause.
He would be damned to all layers of hell if he let that snake-faced bastard singe one hair on Harry’s adorable head.
Which was why, when the time did come, he could scarcely move from anger, and barely think aside from his pleading with fate, any existing deity, the stars, hell, even the universe at large, for more time… More time with Harry, more time to prepare, more time to focus, just time in general. After all, Harry was still just a teenager, no matter how many times Bill and others forgot that fact. And Harry was also too bent on trying to save mankind to care much about saving himself.
But Bill did care and was overcome with hurt as a result of it.
He wondered if it was selfish to think that the world could go to hell as long as Harry was safe. And then, just as morosely, he questioned the intelligence of getting involved with Harry to begin with, before remembering how far gone he had been on Harry long before the younger man had initiated their relationship.
It was all just too fucking much, he couldn’t take it - he couldn’t feel such a large amount at once; it was suffocating him. He wanted to yell, he wanted to howl, he wanted to find a hidden cave somewhere and force Harry to stay in it, even as he watched Harry fight with the ferociousness of the lion he was - this boy with a force like the North Wind, the emotions of a raging ocean, and a heart large enough to encompass the entire British isle - this boy destined to save them all; his lover.
In the end all he could do, all anyone could do, was watch. It was Harry’s destiny to destroy Voldemort. It was Bill’s destiny to pick up the pieces afterwards, to be Harry‘s bedrock; the older, strong mate Harry had instinctively chosen to lead him through this unchoice piece of hell.
Two words were uttered, and entirely meant, by Harry when the time came for him to say them, and as a result, and in a flash of green similar to the color of Harry’s own eyes, a Dark Lord fell. It was only afterwards, while various Order members watched on with great sadness and blinding hope, that Harry turned to Bill and asked, “do you love me now?”
“Yes, Harry, I love you.”
*****
Bill developed a healthy hatred of reporters, particularly those who camped out in front of his and Harry’s flat more than a full year after Voldemort’s defeat, and would envision scenarios, in explicit detail, where he’d line them up atop a fence and then knock them down with pebbles, like he and his brothers used to do with any odd object they could find when they were younger. In fact his hatred of them was so pronounced that even Harry, who was nursing his own life long grudge against their chosen profession of annoying the crap out of people, couldn’t help but laugh at Bill’s intensity.
“You think this is bad, you should have seen them during the Tri-wizard tournament, or when no one believed me that Voldemort was back, or after it was announced that Voldemort *was* back and…”
Harry’s voice trailed off as Bill pressed his lips against his, his overwhelming passion for the younger man still all-consuming, just as it had been that first, glorious time on the couch at Grimmauld Place.
“My anger at them has developed on your behalf. In fact, I may just kill them for you,” Bill teased, pulling the younger man’s shirt out of his jeans to tease the flesh of his stomach with his fingertips.
“Really? You’d do that for me?” Harry asked with a gasp, his breath hitching in his chest as his desire rose.
“That and more,” came the distracted reply, the redhead finding it hard to speak through his mouthful of Harry’s neck.
“I hate to break this up, but we do need to get going. We promised your mother we’d be on time and I, for one, don’t want to cross her,” the younger man joked, his fingers splaying through Bill’s hair.
“You’re definitely right about that,” Bill said with a sigh, taking in a breath of Harry’s scent, before righting himself and stepping away, “ready to face that horde of vultures out there on our front lawn?”
“I’ve got the curses on stand by,” Harry returned, squaring his shoulders as he stepped outside of their home, leaving the safe parameter of their wards in order to apparate to the Burrow, Bill very closely on his tail, always alert and ever protective.
As they were prepping for apparation, a single, brazen reporter managed to fire off…
“Mr. Weasley, our readers would like to know how it was you won the heart of the Boy Who Lived?” a voice called through the rapidly fading scenery.
“I’m just damn lucky,” Bill purred in response, more to his lover than anyone else, as he disappeared from view, Harry by his side.
The End!
Author: Jaylee
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Bill
Summary: “No one who knew Harry Potter would assume him capable of actively seeking out companionship of the adult variety or being capable of plotting to seduce said companion, until the touches supposedly meant in passing grew bold, and the silent examinations lingered longer than mere fascination would allow.”
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the world in which they live. I’m just having a little non-profit geared fun.
Special Thanks: This fic is dedicated to Nirnaeth Arnoediad for requesting it, Honeycakehorse for encouraging it, and Hazel for being one hell of a fantastic beta and support system. Hugs go out to you all! :-)
*****
The first time Bill met Harry Potter he wasn’t overly impressed.
Harry had been cute, that much was true, stuck somewhere between a boy and a man: all gangly limbs and that awkward adolescent posture that was half slouch, half developing confidence. He was also far more quiet and introspective than a child should be at the tender age of fourteen, but otherwise he didn’t really carry any distinguishing features or traits that separated him from the hordes of other boys his age. In short, he was simply his kid bother’s best friend, and by extension, an honorary little brother himself, since it was apparent upon their first introduction that Bill’s parents had all but adopted the poor lad.
He hadn’t quite known what he was expecting, that much was true. He knew who Harry Potter was, of course, everyone did, so he supposed he was expecting the child to simply exude ‘hero’. The type that dominated the attention of a room when walking into it, and that carried themselves in a suave, Lockhart-type fashion. Certainly his siblings’ descriptions fueled that vision. Everything from Ron’s ‘He’s the bravest, most tremendous mate I’ve ever met. Nothing scares him, nothing. And he’s the best flyer in our year, possibly even in the entire school,’ to Ginny’s blushed confession ‘he’s the loveliest boy in all of Gryffindor,’ to the twins’, ‘Harry’s a great chum with a wicked sense of humor. You’d think he had Weasley blood in him,’ had served to build up a false ideal of a young Hercules, man of the people, blessed by the gods, and all other such nonsense.
It wasn’t until Bill watched Harry perform in the third tri-wizard task that he caught the first indication that Harry might exceed his own reputation one day. The power was there in droves. The whole audience felt it; knew it. The charisma was also there… in this little fourteen year-old-boy, no longer slouching, chanting hex after hex, curse after curse, charm after charm; holding his own in a maze of horrors as if he knew exactly what he was doing and had every right to be there. The shyness and awkwardness Bill had witnessed in Harry upon that first introduction had disappeared, and while the kid was still skinny, still small, he was every inch the potential Don Juan, for nothing was more heady than unfailing courage, quiet intensity, and unpremeditated ingenuity combined with large, beautifully deep green eyes.
For the first time since he had escaped it, Bill wished he were back in school.
At the very least, his admittance into the Order insured that he got a front row seat, as it were, of Harry’s transition from child to adult - a metamorphosis that took place far faster then it did with Harry’s peers, either because of all he had been through in his young life, or by his own volition. All Bill could really say for certain was that within the space of a heartbeat Harry went from a juvenile to a grown man: tall, and slender - with eyes, aged far beyond his years, that spoke of hidden secrets and wizened truths - and a demeanor that both threatened and cajoled.
Yet despite the unmasked allure Harry exuded, Bill, like everyone else could only admire him from afar, for he remained indefinitely untouchable, the last of his innocence entirely safeguarded by those who surrounded him, perhaps even more than Harry was aware.
Which is why it was easy, almost too easy, for Bill to pass off the early signs of Harry’s growing interest with his own burgeoning sexuality as his imagination.
So Harry seemed to brush past him, laying a palm against his back, or lightly tapping Bill’s arm along the way, more than he had in the past. There were a lot of people occupying one house, and Grimmauld Place was only so big…
And true, Harry’s eyes had been on him more often than not, but then Bill figured that might have something to do with his new tattoo on the back of his neck depicting the eye of Isis, the Egyptian god, or the new dragon tooth earring dangling from his right ear. After all, it wasn’t so far fetched to believe that perhaps the little mite just had a hidden appreciation for fashion and was looking towards the older and wiser Bill for an idea of how to spice up his own image.
No one who knew Harry Potter would assume him capable of actively seeking out companionship of the adult variety or being capable of plotting to seduce said companion, until the touches supposedly meant in passing grew bold, and the silent examinations lingered longer than mere fascination would allow.
After a week of this increasingly brazen behavior Bill could no longer deny that Harry Potter had matured in more ways than one. And what’s more, he really didn’t *want* to deny it. The temptation Harry presented was almost painful in its appeal… a young, untouched virgin, mere weeks over the age of consent, who exuded intensity, and who possessed undeniably quick and smooth reflexes just waiting to be focused in areas beyond dueling or Quidditch… it was every healthy, bi-sexual male’s fantasy come to life and Bill had already been considerably weak-willed when it came to Harry Potter.
Only the specters of his mother, Dumbledore, and Remus Lupin prevented him from calling Harry on his behavior and then showing him, in exquisite detail, just what testosterone induced euphoria would feel like. But even specters, large, imposing and powerful though they were, could weaken under the continued strain of Harry’s persistence.
And when Harry Potter resolved himself to something, the world couldn’t help but stop and take notice.
“Did that hurt?” Harry asked him on the cusp of a new summer morning, when the rest of the house lay sleeping and only the two of them, the resident insomniacs, remained up and alert - a situation that spelled doom from the get-go but one Bill didn’t have the strength or doggedness to walk away from and one he was actually pretty excited about… alone time, at last, with Harry.
“Did what hurt?” Bill asked, distracted by the closely looming presence of the dark haired youth on the living room couch, as he reached behind Bill with a slightly shaking hand to goose his fingers across the ink stained flesh of his neck.
“The tattoo,” Harry breathed, his whisper hitching in his chest as his night-chilled fingers made contact with the exothermic heat generated by Bill’s skin.
Electricity shot through the older man, though whether it was the temptation the young hero made, or the shock of the coldness of Harry’s hands, Bill couldn’t say. What he could attest to with certainty, however, was that the dark-haired youth smelled of wind, soap and the last lingering scent of dinner, that even though his hands were cold, the rest of his body radiated heat that Bill could feel through the small space that separated them. That Harry’s eyes were even larger and even more impossibly green up close, and they shown like two luminescent jewels in the night - cat’s eyes.
Their close proximity also showed, in exquisite detail through the outline of thin cotton pajamas, that young, sixteen-year-old Harry, just brimming in youth and passion, was hyper aware of Bill in turn.
And just like that, with the proof of the younger man’s lust so obvious and blatant, any control Bill had left snapped like frayed ribbon.
“You’re playing with fire, kid,” Bill gasped, his voice deeper than normal as his body tightened with awakened lust.
“I’ve played with fire my whole life… I don’t know any different,” Harry responded, his own body shaking with obvious nervousness, and yearning, bellied only by the determined and feral look in his eyes. “There are things I want to do before I die, and I want you to be the one to show me.”
The ominous undertone to the dark haired youth’s words caused a painful lurch to Bill’s heart. He knew of the prophecy of course, the entire Order did. Dumbledore had seen fit to call a special meeting to inform them of it at the beginning of the summer. Yet no one, even those, such as Professor Snape, who weren’t particularly fond of Harry, could imagine or even think to imagine an outcome where Harry wouldn’t prevail in the end… the idea simply too horrific.
And horrific not only because it would mean that Voldemort would triumph, bringing with him dark, foreboding times, but because of the idea of the bright, brilliant flame that was Harry Potter being snuffed…
That bright, brilliant flame who even now ran his hand tentatively down Bill’s chest, from neck to bellybutton, undeterred and wanting.
“Why me?” Bill croaked. His own lust was beginning to overpower his morose thoughts.
A triumphant grin flashed across Harry’s face, so brief that Bill almost missed it, but present enough that the older man couldn’t help but question the sorting hat’s placement of Harry into Gryffindor house all those years ago. Yet with this new insight into Harry Potter’s more devious and determined nature, Bill’s want for him seemed to grow further still.
Duality, on Harry, was as sexy as hell.
“Because I trust you. Because I know that you’ll know what you’re doing and because most people my own age don’t. Because I’ve had a bit of a thing for you for awhile... you’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. And because I’ve been watching you, watch me back, and I didn’t think you’d be opposed to…”
Harry’s answer, which started off firm, driven and laden with throaty undertones, trailed off at the end, hesitant and uncertain. The younger man pulling back just slightly, as if it had occurred to him just then that his advances might be rebuffed and he could very well be unwanted.
Bill wondered how it was that he could go from entirely willing prey one minute, to the older and experienced protector in the next, wanting nothing more than to encase Harry in his arms and reassure him of everything and anything: showing him love, showing him need...
The spike and decline of emotions only served to fan the flames of desire coursing through him, and Bill knew that he was losing a helpless battle; one he was no longer sure it was important to wage to begin with; after all, Harry did make some very convincing arguments. And technically, despite their age difference, the younger man was old enough to make such a request. Besides, wouldn’t it be better for Bill, someone who had Harry’s best interests at heart, to lead him through such experiences rather than someone who wouldn’t show true appreciation or concern?
Any further contemplation was cut off by the feel of lips, silky soft and oh so tentative, delicately brushing across his own, accompanied by a light, needing whimper. And in a moment of hormonally driven clarity, Harry Potter was all that mattered and all Bill Weasley could see.
He moved quickly to enclose the remaining space between them, taking Harry firmly in his arms, and squeezing the other boy to him impossibly tight, as he bore them both to the couch, Bill on top, and rained a dozen kisses all over Harry’s face and neck, and any other patch of skin he could find, while his hands fumbled eagerly with Harry’s clothes.
And then he was lost entirely.
*****
Throughout his childhood Bill had been convinced that his mother had the power to read the minds of her offspring. Even after he had grown, well skilled in the art of Occlumency, he still held firmly to the belief that her sixth sense when it came to the moralistically questionable actions of her children knew no opposition. Which would definitely explain why, the morning after that dizzying, sweltering, absolutely wonderful night of reckless, vigorous passion, Bill could scarcely meet her eyes.
Harry, however, was a pro.
To his credit he did not seek out Bill’s gaze, or give any open indication that it was Bill who had put the large, beaming smile on his face. But he had walked into breakfast with a new, proud swagger and had not attempted, even once, to remove the grin just teasing the corners of his mouth.
The adults all noticed… how could they not? Here was the a previously moody and depressed child, one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and who had only recently lost someone very close to him, suddenly smiling. It was more than a little unnerving… except to Bill, who couldn’t prevent the jolt he felt in his heart the sight of that beautiful smile caused, or his pride in the knowledge that he had put it there.
Luckily it seemed as though most of the occupants of the room chose to pass of Harry’s newly pleasant demeanor as a sign that he was healing, at last… except for Dumbledore, who had stopped by to talk with the Order that morning and had not taken his eyes off of Bill since.
It was all the redhead could do to remind himself that he was an adult, long graduated from Hogwarts, and that Dumbledore had no real say in anything he did, save his work for the Order, but he couldn’t help but feel like a child awaiting punishment. As if he should be ashamed, which, upon reflection, he really wasn’t.
It had been beautiful, spiritual as well as physical, and oh so tender. Harry, despite his inexperience, had been very eager, and so awed by the littlest caresses or words: as if starved for affection, as if aching for anything and everything Bill could give him. The older man couldn’t help but be inspired and stirred by the memory of their time together. In fact, if Harry pursued it, and wanted it as he did, Bill would do it again… in a heartbeat.
The little imp had proven himself to be downright addictive.
“How are you feeling Harry?” the wizened wizard asked over breakfast, his eyes still piercing through Bill’s body and into his soul.
“I’m doing good, Professor, I even managed to sleep some last night,” came a muffled response from a mouth preoccupied with making its way through a slice of toast.
“I’m very pleased to hear that,” the Headmaster replied, his eyes adopting his customary twinkle as he suddenly gave Bill a wink, finally turning his head towards his young charge, and pointedly missing the eldest Weasley brother coughing up some of his orange juice in shock.
Surely the elder wizard, and Harry’s fiercest protector, didn’t just bestow some sort of… ‘approval’? Surely he didn’t just grant his blessing…
Bill shook his head, wondering if he had imagined it all, wondering if last night had been nothing more than an erotically intense dream, and wondering if Harry would ever come to him again.
*****
He had been struggling with his disappointment for half of the night, a little bit hurt and a little bit concerned when Harry had announced to the house that he was going to bed without even a glance in Bill’s direction.
It wasn’t, he knew, that he had any claim on Harry. For who could really claim the Boy Who Lived as his own when his unfaltering spirit was, in fact, quested for by so many? But he had been the one Harry had sought for pleasure, for instruction, for the first introduction into the world of giving and receiving bliss… was Harry done with him now that his curiosity had been curbed? And furthering that note, why did that thought bother him, at least a little?
It wasn’t as if he was a stranger to one-night stands, in fact, he preferred them. Emotional attachment was a sticky, messy thing, particularly for one who traveled a lot, lived by the seat of his pants, and had no inclination, what-so-ever, for the cliché white picket fence, dog, cat, house elf and little wizarding children running around, lifestyle. His parents had pretty much cornered that market, and as a result he had plenty of brothers to carry on the family name, which pretty much left him free to live life as he saw fit.
So he wasn’t exactly sure why it ‘mattered’ to him, necessarily, that Harry had seemingly moved on without a backward glance, but he couldn’t sleep nonetheless, and his stomach did sort of twinge in an unfamiliar way, and so, quite noticeably, did his libido. In fact, he was extremely frustrated just thinking of Harry: the breathless moans, the green eyes dark with feral lust, the beads of perspiration on his forehead as his body rocked in passion and as his youthful face contorted with climax.
The kid was good… a natural. Capable of getting under one’s skin and saying there, branded, like a tattoo.
And just when he had decided that a little self-inflicted release wouldn’t be amiss, a soft tap on the door and the slow creak of door hinges signaled the arrival of the dark haired personification of his recent fantasies.
“Bill,” an uncertain, almost lost sounding, voice whispered into the night, “are you up?”
“Yes, Harry, I’m up.”
And he was, in more way than one.
“Come here,” he continued, scooting over to make room for his lover, purposely not pausing to ponder or question the relief that jolted his heart.
*****
He had been lying when he had told himself, in clear, certain terms, that once Harry went back to school, he would let the little imp go, both literally and figuratively, and thus be free to return to boisterous, carefree bachelorhood and all it’s appealing glory; he knew that now.
One did not simply let Harry Potter go, it went against the very rules of the cosmos. No, Harry was more than a brand, more than a mark, he was a fever: unquenchable, volatile and ravenous. He crept into Bill’s heart with his endearingly multifaceted nature while Bill’s emotional immune system was distracted by Harry’s more blatant physical prowess… or so his slightly drunken mind thought, through its slightly blissful, rather poetic, daze.
Bill had tried, and wholeheartedly at that, to forget the younger man and lay the rapidly dying summer to rest.
He had tried when he watched the Hogwarts Express disappear from sight that morning, carrying Harry with it. He had tried as he got dressed to go out that night. He had tried when he had more than one drink at the bar, and he had tried, with exaggerated gusto, when he had allowed himself to be picked up in a much more traditional fashion by someone who wasn’t the savior of the wizarding world, and wasn’t, (the worst of Harry’s sins by far), a student who actually had to go back to school.
He was clearly an idiot. That or the drunken, nameless man rutting against him with little notice to the fact that Bill couldn’t work up the ambition to participate, was just that repulsive… and Bill had lied to himself too much already to put full bank on the latter.
Damn Harry Potter to hell anyway.
Harry with the faux innocence, and lithe body… Harry with the sharp intensity and the bedroom eyes… Harry with the sweet uncertainty and brash boldness... Harry with the youthful, reckless passion, and the blatantly appealing eagerness…
Harry: green eyes, mused, silk-spun hair, and that - that smell: so appealing, so dear… Finally Bill felt his desire stir, lost to his mind as his body was lost to emotionless passion.
It wasn’t until Bill was alone, back in his own room, that he allowed himself to contemplate how thoroughly and truly fucked he had become. There was no going back, he had known Harry, touched him, and had been touched by him in return, and now… well, now he wanted him back, both literally and figuratively.
A tapping at his window drew his attention from his fearsome contemplation, and his heart raced even faster when he caught sight of a familiar white owl.
The small slip of paper Hedwig delivered bore the simple message, “I miss you already,” and it was all Bill could do not to shout exclamations of equal parts joy and pain into the night.
*****
Some things never changed, Bill thought, the appeal of Hogsmeade being one of them. As a student Hogsmeade symbolized an escape, a place to leave school behind, if only for a while and have a good time with friends and foe alike. As an adult, meeting Harry there for a private rendezvous had it’s own zealous appeal, as if they were enacting covert operations, providing an alluring thrill on top of already cresting circumstances.
Harry had been more amorous than ever, deprived in the months since school had started, and gifted with a youthfully awakened libido. He had approached Bill with an eagerness and concentration that left any and all thoughts of them having to part ways in the morning, or the ever dawning presence of war, to the wayside. And Bill found himself even more enthralled than he had been previously, with this wild, unkempt, and aggressive young man who showed no fear, and longed to explore any and all aspects of whatever it was he was focused on.
When it was over he curled, sweetly and trusting, into Bill’s body, burrowing as deep as space and matter would allow, before sighing in tired satisfaction - from tiger to cub in one fell swoop.
And all Bill could think to do was chuckle, wrap his arms more securely around Harry, marveling at the release and joy he was able to find with one so much younger than he, beloved by all, and coveted by more than one member of his own family. Fate had a decidely odd sense of humor, so much so that it was frankly startling, but he couldn‘t give Harry up, and wouldn‘t, now that he had him. For better or for worse he had been sought out by Harry, though he still couldn’t begin to fathom why, and was just starting to realize that it didn’t matter.
Harry was what mattered, most profoundly.
A slight movement and a slow intake of a deep breath informed Bill that Harry wasn’t, in fact, asleep and that he was gearing up to broach a subject he didn‘t think Bill would like... Harry always took a deep breath before testing the waters; a sign Bill had learned to fear, while he simultaneously found it endearing.
“Bill,” Harry whispered, as if he were afraid someone might overhear them within the private confines of their Inn room, “do you love me?”
And at that Bill felt his heart freeze and then rush again, this poignant fear, one he could only associate with Harry, firmly gripping his core.
Love, that four letter word, one he had had lavished on him in that familial way all throughout his youth while Harry had had none, yet still managed to carry an abundance of it within him. Love that Dumbledore believed could save the world, and love that could bring a grown man most firmly to his knees, pleading for more while wondering why he had allowed the equal parts torment and harmony of it into his soul to begin with.
He had never thought he wanted to give someone that much power over him. He had never thought he had the courage or ambition to face it, but the sorting hat did, after all, place him in Gryffindor, and it was now, more than ever, apparent why.
“Yes, Harry, I love you.”
And he did. Harry was a fever he didn’t want broken, a gift he wasn’t about to question, but enjoy, for as long as Harry would have him. It was a blessing that Harry had chosen him, of all people, to share in this wild, crazy journey, but now that he had traveled the road a bit, he had gained too much knowledge to turn back, unscathed.
“Oh good, I had wondered what love was, and if this was it. I thought it might be, but I wanted to be certain. I really didn’t know what to compare it to,” Harry replied, his nose still pressed firmly into Bill’s chest as he spoke, ever brazen, ever bold, ever marveling, “anyway, I love you too.”
The redhead wondered how he could be so truly moved yet also so devastated at the same time.
*****
Bill was fairly adamant that he did not want Harry to face off with Voldemort. In fact, given the choice he would take Harry, tie him up, place him in a crate, and send him, muggle express, to the island of Aruba, far away from potential danger. The only thing preventing him from following through with that particular ambition was the fact that Harry would resent the hell out of him for doing it. And truly, Harry in a tiff was a frightening experience. Not even Bill was spared the dark-haired boy’s occasional anger and he found the best way to weather Harry‘s tirades was with a raised eyebrow and a burgeoning erection. After all, that much passion burning in such a little package, it was too much of a temptation no matter what the cause.
He would be damned to all layers of hell if he let that snake-faced bastard singe one hair on Harry’s adorable head.
Which was why, when the time did come, he could scarcely move from anger, and barely think aside from his pleading with fate, any existing deity, the stars, hell, even the universe at large, for more time… More time with Harry, more time to prepare, more time to focus, just time in general. After all, Harry was still just a teenager, no matter how many times Bill and others forgot that fact. And Harry was also too bent on trying to save mankind to care much about saving himself.
But Bill did care and was overcome with hurt as a result of it.
He wondered if it was selfish to think that the world could go to hell as long as Harry was safe. And then, just as morosely, he questioned the intelligence of getting involved with Harry to begin with, before remembering how far gone he had been on Harry long before the younger man had initiated their relationship.
It was all just too fucking much, he couldn’t take it - he couldn’t feel such a large amount at once; it was suffocating him. He wanted to yell, he wanted to howl, he wanted to find a hidden cave somewhere and force Harry to stay in it, even as he watched Harry fight with the ferociousness of the lion he was - this boy with a force like the North Wind, the emotions of a raging ocean, and a heart large enough to encompass the entire British isle - this boy destined to save them all; his lover.
In the end all he could do, all anyone could do, was watch. It was Harry’s destiny to destroy Voldemort. It was Bill’s destiny to pick up the pieces afterwards, to be Harry‘s bedrock; the older, strong mate Harry had instinctively chosen to lead him through this unchoice piece of hell.
Two words were uttered, and entirely meant, by Harry when the time came for him to say them, and as a result, and in a flash of green similar to the color of Harry’s own eyes, a Dark Lord fell. It was only afterwards, while various Order members watched on with great sadness and blinding hope, that Harry turned to Bill and asked, “do you love me now?”
“Yes, Harry, I love you.”
*****
Bill developed a healthy hatred of reporters, particularly those who camped out in front of his and Harry’s flat more than a full year after Voldemort’s defeat, and would envision scenarios, in explicit detail, where he’d line them up atop a fence and then knock them down with pebbles, like he and his brothers used to do with any odd object they could find when they were younger. In fact his hatred of them was so pronounced that even Harry, who was nursing his own life long grudge against their chosen profession of annoying the crap out of people, couldn’t help but laugh at Bill’s intensity.
“You think this is bad, you should have seen them during the Tri-wizard tournament, or when no one believed me that Voldemort was back, or after it was announced that Voldemort *was* back and…”
Harry’s voice trailed off as Bill pressed his lips against his, his overwhelming passion for the younger man still all-consuming, just as it had been that first, glorious time on the couch at Grimmauld Place.
“My anger at them has developed on your behalf. In fact, I may just kill them for you,” Bill teased, pulling the younger man’s shirt out of his jeans to tease the flesh of his stomach with his fingertips.
“Really? You’d do that for me?” Harry asked with a gasp, his breath hitching in his chest as his desire rose.
“That and more,” came the distracted reply, the redhead finding it hard to speak through his mouthful of Harry’s neck.
“I hate to break this up, but we do need to get going. We promised your mother we’d be on time and I, for one, don’t want to cross her,” the younger man joked, his fingers splaying through Bill’s hair.
“You’re definitely right about that,” Bill said with a sigh, taking in a breath of Harry’s scent, before righting himself and stepping away, “ready to face that horde of vultures out there on our front lawn?”
“I’ve got the curses on stand by,” Harry returned, squaring his shoulders as he stepped outside of their home, leaving the safe parameter of their wards in order to apparate to the Burrow, Bill very closely on his tail, always alert and ever protective.
As they were prepping for apparation, a single, brazen reporter managed to fire off…
“Mr. Weasley, our readers would like to know how it was you won the heart of the Boy Who Lived?” a voice called through the rapidly fading scenery.
“I’m just damn lucky,” Bill purred in response, more to his lover than anyone else, as he disappeared from view, Harry by his side.
The End!