In Your Skin

Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe is property of JK Rowling. I, sadly, make no money from my fanfiction.

“He really Banished Malfoy into the lake?”

“Yeah! It was brill! You should’ve seen the look on his face!”

“I always miss everything.”

“That’s because you spend too much bloody time in the Greenhouse, mate! If you’d hang about us more, you wouldn’t miss so much!”

Ron blinked a few times, rolling over onto his side. His head felt like it was trying to implode and Dean and Neville’s not-so-hushed whispers were not helping one ruddy bit. Screwing his eyes shut, he willed the two of them to shut their gobs but quickly had his fears confirmed that he was not skilled in the way of the Jidi Brain Gag or whatever it was that Dean went on about when discussing his favourite Muggle film. Groaning, he pulled his pillow out from under his head and crammed it over his face, pressing it against his ears.

“I do not—I think we’ve woke him up, Dean!”

“Ah, don’t feel bad, Neville. It’s nearly half eleven anyway!”

Unable to take it anymore, Ron sat up with a start and whisked the curtains back on his four-poster. Still not quite awake, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and tossed his pillow in the general direction of Dean and Neville.

Dean burst out laughing as Neville caught the pillow with his face, placing a hand on one of Ron’s bedposts. Looking down at Ron with a bemused expression on his face, he commented, “Boy, you two got ruddy pissed last night, didn’t you?”

“What?” Ron asked, confused. “No more than you!” Feeling a headache coming on, he groaned again and sank back onto the mattress, closing his eyes.

“At least,” Dean replied wryly, “I managed to find my own bed all right.”

Now that piqued Ron’s curiosity. Stretching and speaking around a yawn, he asked, “Who didn’t find their bed last night?”

Chuckling, Neville answered pointedly, “You, for starters!”

“Me?” Ron snorted, sitting up. He tried to give Neville an “are you MAD?” sort of look but quickly forgot about doing so as he couldn’t really focus on Neville at all. He was all blurry—as was Dean when Ron shifted his gaze to the other boy—and Ron couldn’t figure out why.

“Oy, maybe I’m still a bit pissed,” he muttered to himself as he wiped at his eyes again, figuring he mustn’t be fully awake yet or something.

Nodding, Dean agreed, “I think you’reo soo something there, mate.”

Just then a low moan came from the bed next to Ron’s. “Shurduuuuuuuuuup.”

“Merlin, someone’s cranky,” Neville remar sou sounding as though he was glad he finally wasn’t missing out on something after all.

“’M not cranky,” Harry mumbled, whisking back the curtains on his own bed.

Ron, who was far too busy rubbing and massaging his eyes in an attempt to get himself to un-blur Dean and Neville, didn’t bother to look over at Harry. Dean and Neville, however, apparently found something about Harry’s appearance to be quite hilarious.

“Merlin,” Neville exclaimed, “I sure missed a great partyt nit night!”

Dean, for all his valiant attempts to do otherwise, could not manage to get a word out. Instead, he doubled over laughing, pointing in Harry’s direction.

Not fully awake and getting more than a little annoyed at his two dormmates (and praising Merlin that Seamus was apparently out and about already or else it would really be getting obnoxious up in the Gryffindor boys’ seventh year dorm), Ron swung his feet off the mattress and planted them in the floor, standing up. “Can you two shut the—“

The power of speech absolutely floored him when he caught sight of Harry—who clearly wasn’t Harry—and he promptly toppled over, falling back onto his bed. There was a bit of a commotion directly after that—Dean and Neville blathering and then suddenly someone was leaning over him.

“Um…”

Warily Ron opened one eye and found that he was clearly still pissed out of his gourd and picturing things.

“Go ‘way!” he sed aed at Harry, screwing his eyes shut.
Ron could sense Harry leaning in close to him, could feel his breath warm on his cheek.

“Open your eyes,” Harry demanded and Ron thought he could detect more than a hint of panic in his voice.

Oh fucking hell.

Not really wanting to but morbidly curious just the same, Ron slowly opened his eyes, meeting the blue eyes he saw every morning in the mirror. Fumbling, he scooted back and flailed his arms a bit wildly.

Not phased in the slightest, Harry—who definitely looked exactly like Ron just with Harry glasses—leaned over and put a hand on Ron’s shoulder.

“Here,” he said in an eerily calm manner, taking off his glasses and thrusting them into Ron’s hands, “I must’ve taken these off of you last night when we stumbled back in the room.” Turning toward Dean and Neville, who were watching the two with fascination, Harry added nonchalantly, “We were right pissed, but likely not as pissed as Seamus. Git’s probably passed out in the common room, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Neville confirmed, “he is. He fell asleep with a bottle of butterbeer in his hand.”

Ron, who had no idea what in the bloody hell was going on, put Harry’s glasses on and gasped. Everything was so clear all of a sudden. No more were Dean, Neville, or even Harry-him blurry.

“Stone me,” he said, feeling a bit dazed.

“Malfoy nearly did yesterday,” Dean commented, “but that was some really wicked wand work you had going there, Harry!”

Harry didn’t say anything to that, just looked at Ron pointedly and cleared his throat. Ron looked back at him, meeting his own eyes and feeling more than a bit out of sorts. iousiously getting frustrated, Harry jerked his chin, looking pointedly at Ron’s hair. Frowning, Ron raised a hand to his head and went to smooth his hair down.

It didn’t feel like his hair.

It was shorter than his and coarser and--bloody hell--he couldn’t get it to lay flat.

Ohhhhhhh fuck.

And then he knew.

Ron knew.

Ron alnew new that Harry knew.

What the hell was going on?

“Uh, thanks Dean,” Ron replie he he darted out of his bed. Crossing over to Harry’s trunk and rifling through it, Ron changed jumpers and went back over to his own trunk. Tossing a fresh jumper at Harry, he gasped, “Late. Lunch. Hermione.”

Barely giving Harry enough time to shrug out of the jumper he’d slept in and pull the new one over his head, Ron grabbed him by the elbow and headed off in the direction of the library.

If anyone knew what the sod was going on and what they could do about it, it would be Hermione.

_______________________________________________________________________________

They found her in the back of the library at her usual table, surrounded by stacks of books and scrolls of parchment. Ron silently thanked Merlin that she preferred to revise in the least-trafficked section of the library, slumping into a chair across from her. Harry removed her satchel from the chair next to Ron and sat in it, clearing his throat to get her attention.

Setting her quill down, she glanced up at the boys, giving them an inquisitive look.

“Hullo,” she greeted, craning her neck around a tower of Arithmancy books, obviously looking to see if Ron and Harry had brought things to revise with her.

“Hermione--” Ron started, his voice sounding odd in his own ears.

“Hermione we--” Harry spoke over him, his hands gripping the edge of the table, knuckles turning white.

“We aren’t--”

“He’s not--”

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed, interrupting them both, “I can’t understand a word you’re saying when you talk over one another!”

“Sorry,” Harry and Ron said in unison, turning their faces in towards each other, brows furrowing briefly and then looking back at Hermione.

“Well?” she asked impatiently. “Have either of you actually got something to say or can I go back to my charts?”

“Bloody hell, Hermione!” Ron shot back, “Give us a sodding minute here, won’t you?”

A brow raised at that and she gave Ron a rather condescending look. Hermione sniffed, “Really, Harry, you’ve not got to be so crude. What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m Harry!” Harry protested immediately.

“I’m Ron!” Ron added a bit loudly, nodding emphatically.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione shook her head and tutted. Pulling her Arithmancy book closer, she muttered, “I’ve no time for pranks. I’ve got to finish this chart. It’s due on Friday and I’ve got a lot to do. I’ll talk to you back in the common room.”

“No!” Ron bellowed, slapping his fist on the table. “This isn’t a fucking PRANK, Hermione!”

“It’s not!” Harry added, reaching across the table and tipping Hermione’s chin up with a hand.

“No,” Ron agreed, speaking in a more subdued manner, “it’s not.”

Something in their tone must have gotten to her, for Hermione’s annoyance disappeared almost instantly and her eyes flickered from one boy to the other.

“Look at me, Hermione,” Harry said softly. “Just look, okay?”

Ron watched as Hermione did look at Harry. He could see the second it completely registered with her that Harry wasn’t actually Ron. She gasped, pressing her fingertips to her mouth and then dropping her hand back to the table. As she leaned over it and closer to them so she could properly inspect the two, Ron could see a smudge of ink just above her upper lip, left there from her fingertip only a moment ago.

“You’re Harry,” she said quietly, reaching a hand up and ruffling Harry’s ginger Ron-hair. “I can tell. It’s the eyes. They’re Ron’s but at the same time… it looks like you in there.” Turning her attention to Ron and brushing aside the hair that was falling into his—no, Harry’s—glasses, she added, “And I can see you in Harry’s eyes.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron breathed, immensely glad that Hermione wasn’t about to dismiss them or continue to assume they were pulling a gag on her.

“What happened?” she asked.

“If we knew, we wouldn’t be sodding asking you, now would we?” Ron blurted, frustration bubbling up again.

Raising a hand in a placating manner, Harry interjected, “That’s not what she meant, Ron. I think she’s asking what sort of things we remember before we, er, became each other.”

Rewarding Ron with a glare for his tone, she then nodded at Harry’s words. “Exactly, Harry. Tell me everything you can recall.”

“Oh,” Ron muttered sheepishly. “Sorry.” His face screwing up in concentration, he thought back to the last couple of hours. “Well,” he said slowly, “We woke up like this, if that helps.”

Nodding encouragingly, Hermione said, “Yes, I suppose it does… I just need a bit more than that, Ron.”

“Like what?” he demanded. “Don’t you know of any middle-of-the-night spontaneous body-switching happenings? COS THAT’S WHAT BLOODY HAPPENED!!!”

Jabbing Ron hard in the side with his elbow, Harry hissed, “Ron, shut your gob. D’you want everyone in the library to know?”

“No,” Ron retorted heatedly, “but I’m fucking frustrated, mate! I can’t--”

Calmly, Hermione broke in, “Do shut your gob, Ron. Harry, why don’t you tell me what else you can remember?”

“Last night we had a party in the common room—you were there. You got cross with Seamus for singing those Irish drinking songs and went to bed early,” Harry started.

“Well they were awfully inappropriate!” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms about her chest. Ron snorted, which earned him yet another glare.

Harry laughed at the little exchange and then sobered quickly, continuing to recount the past evening’s events. “Seamus and Dean arranged the party cos Ron and I beat Malfoy and Zabini in the wizard’s duel yesterday afternoon.”

Ron couldn’t keep silent at that, bursting in with, “The nerve of those sods, claiming they won when Harry Banished Malfoy into the lake and I gave Zabini boils and Gin’s Bat Bogey Curse!”

“Wait,” Hermione protested before either boy could continue, “Why did they claim they won?”

“It was stupid, really,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “Be glad you missed the whole thing.”

“Yeah,” Harry seconded, “it was pretty stupid. Malfoy tried some hex on us but it didn’t work so Ron and I didn’t wait for him or Zabini to cast another hex—we just Banished and Bogeyed.”

Chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully, Hermione asked, “What hex did he try to cast?”

“What does it matter?” Ron replied. “It didn’t work anyway!”

“It just might matter,” Hermione riposted calmly.

Shrugging one shoulder listlessly, Ron said, “I dunno. One I’ve never head of, that’s for bloody sure.”

“Muta-something-or-other,” Harry offered.

Hermione’s eyes widened at that. “Mutarum Corporalis? Was that the incantation?”

“I think so?” Harry returned, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sounds familiar.”

“That was it,” Ron confirmed, narrowing his eyes and pushing his—Harry’s—glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Honestly mate,” he grumped at Harry, “how the sod do you stand these ruddy things? They’re always falling down!”

“They’ve never fit well,” Harry shrugged. “I’m just used to it.”

“Nothing fits you well,” Ron countered, “and it’s all their fault. I swear to Merlin, if I ever lay eyes on them again, I’ll--”

“Ron,” Hermione said diplomatically, “now is not the time to complain about the Dursleys. Now is the time to figure out why you look like Harry and Harry looks like you.”

“But--”

“No,” Hermione cut him off firmly.

“It’s okay,” Harry murmured, taking hold of Ron’s hand and twining their fingers together. “They don’t matter. Soon I’ll get away from them for good.”

“I can’t ruddy wait for that day,” Ron grumbled, squeezing Harry’s hand back.

“Nor can I,” Hermione concurred. “Now, you’re certain it was Mutarum Corporalis?”

After exchag a g a glance, Harry indicated with a nod of his head that he was positive.

“Give me a few moments.” And with that, Hermione got up from the table and disappeared down an aisle. Ron turned in his seat to watch her walk away, righting himself when he spied her coming back to their table with a thick book cradled in her arms. Squeezing Harry’s honceonce more, he waited until Hermione had leafed through the book and began to study a page before speaking again.

“Well?” he questioned. “How do we fix this?”

“I doubt a simple Finite Incantatum will work,” Harry added.

“No,” Hermione replied, looking up from the yellowing page, “it won’t. Mutarum Corpalis is a very unusual and rare hex. s ons one of the few Hexes that cannot be reversed by an Ending Spell. Actually, I take that back. It can be ended only by the caster of the hex.”

“Oh shite,” Ron gasped, “We’re buggered. Absolutely buggered.”

“No way Malfoy will perform an Ending Spell!” Harry exclaimed, wearing Ron’s familiar sour look. “What are we--”

“Will you calm down and let me finish?” Hermione snapped. “I know you’re nervous but, Merlin, do let a witch carry on, won’t you?”

“Sorry.”

“All right then.” Satisfied that there would be no more immediate disruptions, Hermione went on. “I know as well as you that Malfoy will never perform the Ending Spell but there is another way around this. There is a potion… it’s listed right here. Hmmm… it doesn’t look too terribly difficult. I have most of these ingredients, actually. The others I suspect I could get from Madam Sprout’s greenhouses.”

“A potion?” Ron asked. “Oh sweet Merlin thank you!”

“Hey!” Harry protested.

“What?”

“Is it really that bad being me?”

“No, but… I feel all dodgy. You’re all short.”

“You’re all tall!”

“There’s nothing wrong with being tall!”

“There’s nothing wrong with being short!”

“Would you two stop behaving like toddlers and pay attention?”

Both boys stopped their bickering and gave Hermione an apologetic look for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Sorry.”

“That’s better,” Hermione said approvingly, intent on getting back to the topic at hand. “I’ll brew the potion for you. I’m quite sure Moaning Myrtle wouldn’t mind my company for a few hours.”

“A few HOURS?!” Ron cried out.

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione answered patiently, “a few hours. The mixture will have to simmer for five hours before I can add the last three ingredients.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Er, I guess we’ll just have to lay low for a while till the potion is ready then,” Harry commented.

“I think that’s best,” agreed Hermione.

“Right then,” Ron said, standing and pulling Harry up witm. m. “Meet you in Moaning Myrtle’s at half six?”

After Hermione confirmed the time, the three parted ways—Hermione heading off to the greenhouses and Ron and Harry back to Gryffindor.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Boooooooooooooooooooreeeeeeeeeeed.”

“I know, Ron.”

“How much longer till half six?”

“About an hour.”

“Boooooooooooooooooooreeeeeeeeeeed.”

“I know, Ron.”

Ron rolled over on his side, peering across the way at Harry. Although he’d had a few hour get get used to the fact that looking at Harry was like looking in a mirror on any normal day, it still jarred him a bit to see himself laying there in Harry’s bed.

When they’d first returned to the dorm, Dean was still puttering around. Ron and Harry had to sit on one another’s beds while they talked about Quidditch, not wanting Dean to start in on them again about getting too pissed the night before. He left after an hour or so of doodling, saying he was off to rouse Seamus from the common room and Neville had gone to do extra credit with Madam Sprout. As soon as Dean had shut the door behind him, Harry and Ron returned to their rightful four-posters.

“If you know, one would think you’d come up with ways to entertain me and make the hour go faster,” Ron complained.

“I can think of a way or two,” Harry said casually.

“Oh?” Ron asked, interested. Sitting up, he caught the mischievous twinkle in Harry’s—no, his-- eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry said, sitting up as well and patting the mattress beside him. “Come ‘ere.”

Not having to be asked twice, Ron bolted right out of his bed and claimed the offered spot next to Harry. His arse had barely hit the mattress before Harry’s hand has found his, applying gentle pressure, while his other slid under Ron’s jumper. Closing his eyes, Ron leaned back and exhaled sharply, breath hissing through his teeth as he felt Harry’s hand warm on his skin.

Wait.

“W-w-wait!” Ron panted suddenly, eyes flying open, staring at Harry in horror. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Don’t!”

Removing his hand from beneath the jumper, Harry scooted back on the mattress a good number of centimetres. “What’s wrong, Ron?” Although Ron knew Harry was likely trying to hide the hurt from his voice, Ron knew better.

“I—I’m sorry, Harry. I am. It’s just—you look like ME and your hands feel like MINE and--”

“And it’s making you feel a bit dodgy,” Harry finished slowly.

Nodding emphatically, Ron said, “Yeah. It’s not that—It’s not that I don’t, you know, want to… it’s just… I’d be shagging myself!!!”

Pulling a face, Harry groaned. “When you put it that way… dodgy makes complete sense. God, I-- I need you right now, Ron..”

“Fuck,” Ron mumbled, feeling warm all of a sudden, “don’t talk like that. We can’t—it’ll just be an hour or two and then things’ll be back to normal and we can--”

“We don’t have to wait,” Harry said, something of a wicked edge in his voice.

Ron swallowed hard, not understanding where he was going with this. “We don’t?” he asked dubiously.

“No,” Harry returned confidently, “we don’t.”

“Oh.” Ron felt more than a little stupid.

“Watch,” ordered Harry, undoing the zip of his trousers.

“Um,” Ron stammered, getting an inkling of where Harry was headed with all of this and finding that he getting quite anxious for some reason.

Laying back on the mattress, Harry raised his hips slightly and pushed the denim down a good bit, the fabric bunching up at his knees.

“Harry?”

“Mmmmm?” Harry garbled in response, his hand dipping beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts.

Ron suddenly felt as though he had cotton mouth. There was a tightening in his balls and he licked his lips, watching Harry’s hand move around underneath the thin fabric of his shorts.

Harry was openly moaning now and Ron didn’t think he could sit idly by and watch this without doing something. This was—this was without a doubt the hottest thing he’d seen in ages. He was watching Harry jerk off (something that certainly wasn’t new) but Harry looked like him so it was like watching himself wank.

“God,” Ron breathed, unable to take it anymore. Following Harry’s suit, he quickly undid the fastenings of his own trousers and pushed them, along with his shorts, over his hips. The cool air hit his cock and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. It isn’t as though it would have mattered if Ron had though, as Harry was grunting and whimpering a good bit right next to him.

Wrapping a hand around his cock, Ron squeezed lightly and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Of course he knew what Harry’s cock felt like; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t ever touched it—let alone sucked it—before. This was a bit different, though. Ron knew what Harry’s cock felt like and how it responded-- when it was Harry himself. Now that Ron was temporary owner (he hoped only temporary!) of Harry’s body, he was owner of Harry’s cock and it felt both bloody dodgy and fucking fantastic attached tm. m. All of Harry felt fucking fantastic. He was getting a liking for being in Harry’s skin.

The mattress beneath him was shaking, jerking up and down in time with the thrusting of Harry’s hips. “Slow down,” Ron gasped, putting his hand to his mouth and spitting in it, “and let me catch up, you ruddy wanker, you.”

Harry laughed, the noise combining oddly with a grunt. Ron got even harder at that, writhing as he wrapped his hand around himself again.

“Shut your gob,” Ron grunted, unable to hear nearly anything in his head at all save for the sound of skin slapping against skin.

His hand, wet from his saliva, moved up and down the length of his shaft as the other kneaded his testicles, rolling and pinching them between his fingers. He remembered that Harry seemed to like it whenever Ron would pinch him in this one little spot… so Ron gritted his teeth and did it to himself in that very place.

OhMerlinfuckingbloodyhellohnowonderHarryalwaysscreamswhenIdothattohimohGodshiteshiteshiteyesssssssssssss

“Ngggg,” Ron moaned, his head falling back on the mattress, lolling to one side. Finding himself staring directly into his own blue eyes, a look of sheer ecstasy on Harry’s—no, his-- face, Ron came right then and there. His hips bucked once, twice, three times off of the mattress as he emptied himself, feeling a sticky warmth rain on sto stomach. Beside him, Harry came as well, his moans loud in Ron’s ear.

The boys stayed like that in Harry’s bed for a long time, letting themselves come down slowly. Ron didn’t think he ever wanted to move from Harry’s bed again and wasn’t really planning on doing so anytime soon. However, his plans to become a permanent part of Harry’s mattress were foiled when Harry caught sight of a clock.

Nearly half six.

Nearly time to meet Hermione and take the potion so things could get back to normal.

_______________________________________________________________________________


“You’re late,” Hermione said reprovingly as the two boys crept somewhat guiltily into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Artfully dodging that little observation, Ron asked, “Where’s Myrtle?”

“She got cross with me and dove down the u-bend. That was some time ago. I think she may have wandered off to the Prefect’s bath since then. She’d asked where you were, Harry, and I told her that Ron was sneaking you in there.”

“Er, thanks, I think?” Harry replied, looking less than chuffed about Myrtle and he desire to see him starkers.

Ron cackled and sunk down to the floor beside Hermione, crossing his legs and watching as her tiny hand deftly stirred the contents seven times counter-clockwise and then ladeled out the cauldron’s contents in two tall glasses.

“Here,” she said, handing each boy a smoking purple glass. “Bottom’s up.”

Ron leaned over his glass and took a whiff, nearly passing out as a result.

“Bloody hell, that’s dreadful,” he spat out around a grimace.

“I never said it would smell like Honeydukes, Ron,” Hermione replied primly. “Now drink up so you can switch back to you and Harry can switch back to Harry.”

Waving his hand in his face a few times for practical as well as dramatic purposes, Ron pinched his nose, brought the glass to his lips, and drained the contents as quickly as possible. As though it were happening far away, he heard Harry’s glass shatter as it dropped to the floor, his own doing the same seconds later. The purple liquid went down his throat like honey, all sweet and sticky and he had to swallow a few times to get it to go down all the way. The warmth quickly faded to an icy sensation, his entire stomach becoming chilled from the top all the way to the very bottom… and then everything went black.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Ron. Wake up, Ron.”

“Go ‘way.”

“No, you git. I won’t go away till you give me my glasses.”

Ron opened his eyes at that, wincing as Harry’s blurry face appeared in his line of sight.

“What the--”

“Gah, never mind,” Harry said, reaching down and removing his glasses from Ron’s face. Putting them on, he sighed in relief and sat down next to Ron. “Much better.”

Everything unblurred again, Ron sat up, noticing they were still in Moaning Myrtle’s loo. “Where’s Hermione?” he asked, glancing around.

“She left a few minutes ago. I woke up maybe an hour ago and we had a bit of a talk while you were snoring away there. She had to meet with Su Li about their Runes presentation.”

Pressing his hands to his face, he spread his fingers out and grinned when he felt his familiar old Ron-shaped face under hands that were definitely his own.

Harry laughed.

“What?” Ron asked defensively, dropping his hands to his lap.

“Nothing, just… you.”

“Oh, so I’m funny, am I?”

“Sometimes.”

“And others?”

“Insufferable.”

“And others?”

“Irresistible.”

“And oth—irresistible?”

“Yeh,” Harry said slowly, nodding. “Like now.”

“Like now?”

“Merlin, Ron, did someone Mutarorpoorporalis you with a parrot?”

“No!”

“It sure seems that way.”

“It sure seems that way?!?!”

Harry laughed. “There you go again.”

A slow, naughty smile crept up on Ron’s face. “We could go again, you know.”

Harry’s lips curled up in an identical smile. “We could,” he agreed.

“I think you ought to be put in your place, mate, for waking me up like you did just now.”

“You might be right. If I were you, I’d be good and hacked off.”

“Oh,” Ron nodded, “I am. You’re going to have to accept the consequences of your actions.”

“Damn,” Harry said, feigning disappointment, “I reckon I will if I have to.”

“You do,” Ron returned, placing hands on the hem of Harry’s jumper, divesting him of it in one swift motion.

Harry, for one, seemed rather eager to accept the consequences of his earlier actions. Not waiting for Ron to start working on the closures of his trousers, Harry undid them himself, wriggling out of trousers and shorts in record time.

“Well,” Ron said in amusement, tossing his own jumper to the floor, “someone’s interested in their punishment.

“Stop teasing and start scolding, you git,” Harry gasped, his hands grabbing onto Ron’s shoulders first and then sliding to the nape of his neck.

Ron opened his mouth to protest but found himself being pulled against Harry, their chests warm and solid against each other. He could feel Harry’s hardness digging into his thigh and it this only served to make him hard as well, moaning as Harry’s lips brushed across his. His own cock was straining against the fabric of his shorts and trousers and Ron found himself torn between wanting to part from Harry to shuck off the last of his garments and wanting to keep snogging the daylights out of him.

Snogging, for now, won out.

Ron loved nothing more in the world than snogging Harry. He loved how Harry tasted faintly of butterbeer and Cadbury. He loved how Harry’s lips were soft and pliable, moving beneath his own as though they were made for that purpose and that purpose alone. He loved how Harry’s tongue would slide against his own for a long moment before Harry would gently suckle Ron’s tongue in his mouth. He loved it all, but what he loved perhaps the most of all about the whole Harry-snogging situation were the sounds that Harry would make while they snogged. Harry always sounded as though he were trying to force his heart to leap out of his chest so he could hand it over to Ron. That was how Ron liked to think of Harry’s noises, anyway. Maybe one day he would tell Harry that… but right then and there wasn’t the time.

Harry moaned against Ron’s mouth, wrapping his legs around Ron’s waist and drawing him closer still. Gnashing his teeth against Harry’s lower lip, Ron felt dizzy with desire. Sometimes he could go for hours just kissing Harry but other times—like now—he had to have him, had to feel him inside quickly, desperately.

“Fuck,” Ron groaned, batting a hand at Harry’s legs, waiting until Harry disentangled himself to roll off Harry. Getting rid of the rest of his clothes in mere seconds, he crawled up the length of Harry’s body again. Their erect cocks rubbed against one another , eliciting whimpers from both boys.

“Please,” Harry pleaded, tangling his fingers in Ron’s hair while his other hand traced circles on his nipples.

Wearing a predatory grin, Ron pressed two fingers to Harry’s mouth, closing his eyes and humming softly as Harry took them in his mouth. A tingling sensation started up in his balls and Ron had to bite his lip so as not to cry out when Harry tongued the soft juncture between his two digits. Ron let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding when Harry released his fingers with a soft pop.

“Tease,” Ron gasped, trailing his now-wet fingers down Harry’s stomach, moving over the nest of coarse public hair, lightly brushing over his cock.

“You love it,” Harry returned, rocking back slightly, the fingertips of one hand dancing over Ron’s forearm.

“I do.” Inserting one finger and then the other, Ron leaned up and claimed Harry’s mouth once more, tongue duelling with his while Ron’s fingers scissored inside him. He could feel Harry’s arse clenching around the intrusion and then how Harry relaxed around him.

“Roooon,” Harry whined, bucking his hips against Ron’s fingers.

“All right,” Ron said hoarsely, withdrawing his fingers and shifting so that the head of his cock was at Harry’s entrance. “Relax.”

Propelling himself forward, Ron spread Harry’s legs wider with his knees, grabbing at Harry’s waist and pulling him towards Ron, impaling him on his cock. Harry shuddered, a low moan escaping his lips. Encouraged by this, Ron pushed himself ie ofe of Harry to the hilt and then stilled his motions, allowing Harry to get used to the feel of him.

When he felt Harry relax around him, Ron withdrew in an agonisingly slow manner. Nearly pulling out completely, he waited until Harry whimpered, imploring him to fuck him, and slammed back into him. Their skin make a smacking noise as it slapped together, turning Ron on even more than before. Groaning, he repeated his motions, pulling out and then pushing in roughly, meeting Harry’s hips again and again.

At some point he became aware of the fact that he’d grabbed ahold of Harry’s cock while they were shagging, his fist moving over Harry in time with their thrusts. Because he’d just wanked Harry’s cock only a few hours earlier while he had been inhabiting Harry’s body, Ron reckoned he could feel just what Harry was feeling with Ron’s hand around him. The thought nearly made him come. He didn’t, though, although he was getting very close. Fingers trailed down to Harry’s sack, rolling it between the pads of his digits, squeezing that one little spot.

Harry screamed, his body shaking from head to toe as the orgasm hit him. Ron couldn’t holdafteafter that, rocking his hips against Harry one last time before he, too, came. Moaning, Ron collapsed against Harry’s chest, trembling as he felt the last of himself pour into Harry.

“Merlin,” Harry mumbled, his chest heaving as he wrapped his arms around Ron. “It’s never been like that before—not that I minded at—“

Nuzzling Harry’s neck, Ron murmured, “S’pose we should thank Malfoy.”

Harry made a choking sound, his hands digging into Ron’s hips. “Thank Malfoy? What for?”

Speaking around a yawn, Ron replied, “For forcing me to in your skin for a while… in more ways than one…not that the last bit was forced, mind.”

Harry took a moment to consider this, then chuckled. “Think he’s appreciate a card thanking him for helping us to have the best shag ever?”

“Probably not,” Ron snorted, rolling his hips against Harry for emphasis.

Harry moaned softly, the moan tapering off to a silence as Ron slid out of him. Cleaning them off a bit, Ron then draped himself over Harry’s body once more, grinning sleepily down at him while he thought about Harry’s words. Harry’s green eyes met his blue and they nodded in agreement.

“A card it is,” they said in unison, sharing a laugh before drifting off to sleep.

The card would be sent later that evening.