Gryffindor Investigations

Luna was as good as her word. Two days after Harry’s visit, The Quibbler featured an interview with Harry on the front page, in effect providing free advertising for Gryffindor Investigations. Three days after Harry’s visit, the owls started arriving at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Unfortunately for Harry and Ron (who, at Harry’s insistence, had moved in), the overwhelming majority of them brought “problems” of the most trivial and ridiculous nature. That Saturday afternoon found them sitting in their living room with a tremendous pile of letters on their coffee table.

“Listen to this one,” Ron muttered. “She says Dumbledore left her Hogwarts in his will, but it’s been stolen—the will, not Hogwarts, and she wants our help in finding it. I know how Luna’s got the paper going so well, she’s selling it at St. Mungo’s.”

“I’ll say,” Harry said with a disgusted look on his face. “This bloke wants us to prove that he and Viktor Krum were switched at birth. And THIS one—no,” he handed Ron the letter, “I’m not even going to say it. Read what she wants.”

Ron took the parchment and scanned it quickly—and blushed redder than his hair. “Is that even possible?!?”

“I’m sure as Circe not going to find out with her,” Harry shuddered. “Especially not if her grandmother is in the mix.”

“Harry, this is insane!” Ron cried, flinging letters around the room. “How are we going to answer these people? We can’t just tell them to sod off, can we?”

“Actually, you can.”

Harry and Ron started at the voice, then spun around to stare at the fireplace. Sure enough, Ginny’s face was there, grinning so wide Harry thought it might split.

Ginny nodded at the pile of parchments on the table. “So have you counted them? My office has a pool going on—the one who guesses the closest number without going over wins. If you’ve got between seventy-five and eighty-seven, you’ll net me a few hundred Galleons.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, looking at the letters in disgust. “There’s at least a hundred here.”

“Bloody. Oh, well, Shiro went high, picked a hundred and thirty-seven—we’re still in the hunt.” Ginny shook her head in mock disgust. “At any rate, I knew you two would be swamped with nonsense posts when I read that article.”

“Can you tell us how to answer them?” Harry begged.

“Easily,” Ginny assured him. “‘Dear Whatever-Your-Name-Is. Thank you for your recent letter detailing your problem. We regret that, due to the large number of responses involved, we have had to prioritize our investigative schedule.’ You might want to write this down, by the way.”

Harry quickly crossed to his desk and rummaged through it for a quill and parchment. He scribbled furiously for a moment, then looked up at Ginny expectantly.

“‘For the near future, we are limiting our investigations to those involving imminent danger to life and limb. We are sorry that your problem does not meet these criteria, but we’re sure you will agree that the preservation of human life is the paramount responsibility of all Britons, whether wizard or Muggle.’ You also might want to think about referring them to their local Auror station—or even Saint Mungo’s,” Ginny finished with a wicked grin.

“Ginny, you’re a lifesaver,” Ron groaned. “Name your price, it’s yours.”

“Goodness, Ron, you’re too easy!” Ginny teased. “But if you really want to know what you can do for me……”

“Anything!” the two men said in chorus.

“Tell Mum about the two of you.”

Harry and Ron stared stupidly at her, their mouths dropping open in matching expressions of surprise. “Ginny……how do YOU know about the two of us?????” Harry blurted.

“Harry, did you really think Hermione wasn’t going to tell me?” Ginny asked. “And before you ask, I’m the only one she’s told. After all, the four of us have special circumstances, don’t we?” She looked at both of them very directly, and Harry could see awareness slowly dawning on him even as he himself finally understood.

“Gin……I hadn’t……you know……”

He couldn’t find the words, but Ginny could. “No worries, Harry. I never thought you had. I just knew something was wrong, but couldn’t understand what until much later. Now, getting back to Mum……she Floo-Calls me every night, and Harry’s name always comes up in the conversation. I’m surprised your ears haven’t burned off by now, Harry.”

“Y-you two talk about me?” Harry asked, shocked.

“No. She does. I try to talk about Shiro, and she doesn’t listen and goes back to asking if I don’t really think that you and I couldn’t try again to make a go of it.” Ginny shook her head, half in sadness, half in exasperation. “If you two come out to her, as poofters AND as a couple, it’ll take a lot of the heat off of me. So find a way of getting yourselves invited to Sunday dinner and do it!”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Well?!?”

“We’ll do it,” Ron said firmly. “And not just because you wrote a form letter. We’ll tell her because she needs to know, and so does the rest of the family.”

“That’s my Ron!” Ginny crowed. “Well, gotta go, boys—Shiro’s taking me dancing tonight. Stop looking like that, Ron, I’m not fourteen anymore—you can’t go about wanting to beat up every boyfriend I have.”

Ron looked sheepishly down at his fists, which had involuntarily clenched. He relaxed them, and Ginny nodded in approval. “That’s better. I’ll call you guys next week and see how things are going.” Her face became slightly sad. “I really miss you—big brothers.”

And she was gone.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

“Well, that’s one member of your family on our side,” Harry said finally.

“Don’t you mean our family?” Ron asked pointedly.

Harry laughed. “Yes, I guess I do at that.”

Ron’s face clouded again, and he looked away from Harry. Harry asked, with a little exasperation of his own, “NOW what’s wrong?”

Ron sank back onto the couch. “It’s just……Ginny made it sound like we were partners. Equals. And we’re not, Harry. I’ll never be your equal, and we both know it.”

“Ron……”

“Let me finish. You’re richer than I am. You’re more famous. You’re in better shape. You’ve had a real career. What do I have? What could possibly make you interested in me?”

Harry sat down on the couch next to his lover. “You have yourself, Ron. You have the tremendous courage that allowed you stand by my side when we faced the most horrible things Voldemort could throw at us. You have the fire and the passion that makes me look like a dried up old man next to you. You have the generous spirit that opened your home to me every summer when we were in school, saving me from having to spend my entire summer with the Dursleys.”

His hands were on Ron’s shoulders as he looked the other man square in the eye. “I could also say that you’re amazing in the sack—but I won’t. Not because you aren’t, but because I could go out right now and pick up any of a million lads who could shag me as senseless as you can—but I’ll never find anyone else that I can love. Not in all of London, not in all of Britain, not in all the world.”

Tears filled Ron’s eyes. He caressed Harry’s cheek softly with one pudgy hand. “I……I never realized you felt that strongly.”

“Then do. Realize it, and believe it,” Harry said, before he ended the conversation—or began a new phase of it—with a kiss.

Their mouths opened as one, and their tongues waltzed back and forth in a dance of pure sensuous joy. Harry ran his fingers through Ron’s luxurious, thick hair, even as his other hand was sliding under Ron’s shirt to the soft skin underneath.

“Not……here……”Ron whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Someone else……might call……Floo.”

Harry broke the kiss. “You’re probably right,” he agreed. He stood up slowly, his hand sliding away from Ron’s body and down his arm to take the other man’s hand. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”

They did.

As they sank down upon their shared bed, they picked up again where they left off, kissing each other and gliding their hands across each others still-clothed bodies. Ron rolled on top of Harry, moving from the other man’s mouth to his neck and throat, covering them with soft kisses and nibbles.

“Mmm……feels nice……” Harry murmured. “More………”

Ron obliged. One hand pulled Harry even closer to him, while the other hand traveled down the Man Who Lived’s muscled torso to his legs. Ron’s fingers delicately stroked Harry’s thigh, occasionally brushing against the rock hard member, bringing a gasp of delight from Harry every time he did.

Ron moved down from Harry’s neck to his chest; Harry had gotten his shirt pulled up to expose the hard nipples underneath. Ron’s tongue darted out, flicking first one, then the other, and Harry spasmed in ecstasy every time he did. He spread his legs even wider, and Ron, taking the hint, positioned himself between them, even as he moved back up to Harry’s face to kiss him again.

Even as they kissed, Harry was undoing his pants and Ron’s, fumbling with the belt buckle. Both men had already lost their shoes and socks, kicked off to lie forgotten on the bedroom floor.

“Enough of this,” Ron grumbled. He sat back on his haunches and pulled at the cuffs of Harry’s pants. They slid off without incident, and Harry sent his underwear to follow. Ron lowered his mouth to engulf Harry’s cock, bobbing up and down in easy, practiced strokes and twisting from side to side, working the shaft with his tongue and lips. Harry moaned in pleasure and buried his hands once again in Ron’s wonderful hair.

He slid his hands down past Ron’s furiously bobbing head to pull at the redhead’s shirt. “Hold on a minute, love,” he whispered. Ron looked up, flushing—he was still a little self-conscious about being overweight—but he obediently allowed Harry to slip his shirt off and toss it to the floor before going to work on Harry’s balls.

As Harry lazily stroked his swollen member, Ron’s tongue slid gently back and forth along the shaved orbs, tracing lazy patterns on the skin. Then Ron was back on Harry’s dick, sucking on it like it was mother’s milk, before moving back to his balls for a brief visit—and then moving a little bit lower.

“Oh, fuck, Ron!” Harry gasped in sheer delight as Ron’s tongue found his hole. “Don’t stop, whatever you do, don’t stop!!!!”

Ron’s tongue was everywhere, first circling the hole, then thrusting into it, then lapping at it like a child would an ice cream cone. Harry squirmed in languid pleasure as Ron thoroughly lathered Harry’s hole with his spit. They usually took it in turns to be top and bottom, but Harry could definitely figure out where this one was going!

At last, Harry’s hunger could wait no longer. He took Ron’s head in his hands and gently lifted him away from his arse to face him. “Kiss me,” he pleaded. “Please……”

“You don’t even have to ask, mate,” Ron sighed back. As their lips and tongues met once again, Harry was easing Ron’s pants and boxers off.

*Every time we do this, it’s the same,* Harry thought to himself, even as he and Ron traded tender, loving kisses. *It’s like he’s a part of me that was missing and that I never even noticed was gone, until I found it. Does he know? How could he possibly know how much I ache when he’s not with me?*

Harry broke off the kiss and looked deeply into Ron’s surprised eyes. “What?” Ron asked.

“I love you, Ron Weasley,” Harry replied firmly. “I love you so much.”

Ron smiled that beautiful smile that made Harry’s heart melt. “I love you, too, Harry Potter,” he said. “I always have, and I always will.” He looked down at his raging erection. “Are you ready?”

“For you? Always.”

Ron pulled open a drawer in the bedside table, and rummaged through it for a condom and the lube. Finding them, he slipped the condom onto his dick, then applied the lube to it and to Harry’s hole. He bent over to meet Harry’s mouth in a kiss—and slid inside Harry as easily as if they’d never been apart.

Ron immediately began thrusting furiously into Harry. The bedsprings groaned and squeaked in time with his motion, and Harry, after a moment’s hesitation, matched his rhythm stroke for stroke, bringing his arse up to meet Ron as he drove into it.

“Faster, Ron!” Harry begged. “Faster!”

Ron didn’t reply, but he obliged, moving his hips faster and faster. Harry’s brain went into overdrive as Ron pounded into him!

“Ungh………can’t control it………coming!!!!!” Harry’s cock erupted with thick, white, cum, splattering his chest and his cheek!!! Ron slowed down, taking it easy until the force of Harry’s orgasm was spent and his spasms subsided, then went right back to his blindingly fast, powerful thrusts.

“Here I come, mate!!!!!” Ron cried. “Mgh………ngh……AH!!!!!!!”

Harry couldn’t feel the shot itself, since Ron’s cock was covered with the latex protector, but he could feel Ron’s cock get just that little bit harder before an orgasm! Ron bucked and thrashed wildly, sweat flying off his forehead in all directions, his head shaking wildly!

And then Ron collapsed to land on Harry’s sticky chest. Harry could feel Ron’s cock softening, and then receding from his hole.

He lay there, contentedly stroking Ron’s hair. “Ron,” he said quietly, “I was wrong. Before.”

Ron’s head jerked up, his eyes wide with fear. “What?”

“I was wrong about finding a million blokes who could shag me as senseless as you. You, my love, are in a class by yourself.”

“Aw,” Ron smirked, “you’re just saying that because it’s true!”

“Well, it is,” Harry agreed. “Unfortunately, it’s also true that we should get SOME work done today. Let’s get cleaned up.”

They spent the next forty-five minutes in the shower, carefully cleaning each other as the water flowed gently over their bodies. Clean in body (but not in thought!), they dressed and went back to the mountain of letters.

Ron picked one up at random and began to read it with the air of someone who knows his time is about to be wasted. As he read, however, a frown crept across his face. “Harry,” he said, holding out the letter for Harry to take, “take a look at this.”

Harry took the letter from his hand and began to read.

“Dear Mr. Potter,” the letter said, “I read your interview in The Quibbler, and I find that I am in desperate need of your services. My brother’s life and sanity are at stake. I would like to call on you in London at your earliest convenience.”

The letter was signed. “Miss Catherine Cryne.”

“What do you think?” Ron asked.

“I think,” Harry said softly, “that we’d best clean the place up a bit. We don’t want Miss Cryne to think we’re bad housekeepers.”