Love Thyself

Title: Love Thyself
Pairing: Harry/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Warnings: Abuse of time-travel, Slash (with one’s self), very AU, PWP?

Notes: I do realize that what Harry does in this fic is not very logical. This is why the fic is AU, and that that’s all it is, is fictional. This fanfic is just for fun (and smut); so don’t worry about the technical details, ok?

I started writing this back in October, but got sidetracked by other fics and forgot all about this one (I think you can tell where I stopped and started again). I give thanks to Coo-bear for helping my muse along and giving me a boost with finishing it. You might even say that she helped write some of this. ;)

Also note: When I first started writing it, I thought I was going to be making it into a multi-chapter fic (it felt that way), but it didn’t work out the way I planned. So, if I’m ever in the mood to do more with this universe, than I’ll be adding another part. For now, this is all there is.

Summery: Harry from the future ends up on the doorstep of number 12, Grimmauld place. He arrives with his invisibility cloak, map, wand, and the clothing on his back. Future Harry comes to tell past Harry about something he wants his other self to not do.

.-.

He looked up at the house that now stood before him: Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. With his Invisibility Cloak wrapped tightly around him, he reached out slowly and rapped on the door. His mission was simple enough, but he knew that if he screwed it up, that would be it. Of course, he could always just Obliviate the lot of them and start over. . . .

The door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges, but it stayed open only a crack.

“Who’s there?” called a familiar voice.

“It’s me,” he said, moving a bit of his Invisibility Cloak away from his face. “Don’t worry.”

“Harry?” said Mrs. Weasley, confused. She looked at him as if she had never seen him before, and Harry guessed that she was right. In a way. “But, you… wait, is it really you?”

Harry understood what she meant and began telling her stuff that only he would know.

“My corporeal Patronus is a stag, which is also the Animagus form for my father, and Sirius’s Animagus form is a big, black dog. Want to know more? Mr. Weasley calls you Mollywobbles in private, and Ron is afraid of spiders because his brothers turned his teddy bear into one when he was little.”

Mrs. Weasley’s mouth hung open in shock for a moment, and then she whispered, “It is you.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “May I come in, please? I must—it’s very important.”

“But you’re—you’re upstairs with Ron and Hermione!”

Harry sighed, not wanting to stand there and argue about things for much longer. “Mrs. Weasley, I will explain all in due time, but you must let me in. I don’t want anyone seeing me standing here… plus, you should know that it is me because I know where this place is located. How else could I know about this place if I’m not Harry?”

Molly chewed on the inside of her cheek as she stared at him, pondering. Finally, she nodded and led him inside. “In the kitchen with you, then. Nobody’s in there because I haven’t told them that dinner’s ready just yet…”

“Thanks, Molly…er, Mrs. Weasley.” He was used to calling her by her first name, but he wasn’t sure if she’d be used to hearing him say it.

Harry slipped off his Invisibility Cloak and started to fold it as neatly as he could into a square so that he could stuff it into the pocket of his travel’s cloak. He looked around the kitchen area the moment he stepped in, taking it all in, inhaling the familiar scent of Molly Weasley’s cooking, the way everything was done up; he remembered everything that had to do with this house.

“Have a seat, dear,” Molly said in that too kind voice. Immediately, he sat.

“I’m starved, actually,” he said. “Is it all right if I have something to eat?”

“Of course, dear, of course,” she said. She was quick to getting him food, but she still looked very confused. Harry understood her confusion since he, the other him, was still upstairs with Ron and Hermione. He wasn’t sure just how much he should tell her yet; his only objective was to find his other, younger self and explain what he must do, and don’t do, and hope for the best.

“They’ll be down soon, you know,” she said suddenly. She dished up some stew and placed the bowl in front of him, along with a plate filled with sandwiches and a cup of pumpkin juice.

“I figure they would be,” said Harry.

“You’re…” she paused, staring at him. “You’re bigger. Taller. Much older, I take it?”

Harry took a bite of his sandwich and nodded, not sure if he should say much more.

“Oh dear…” she sighed, sounding disappointed. “Don’t tell me you’re from the future. Time travel is a very risky business. It doesn’t do any good to see yourself. You’ll go mad!”

“No, I don’t think I will,” said Harry. “I have great confidence that I won’t go mad seeing my future self.”

She stared at him, knowing deep down that this Harry was different, so much more mature… and had probably seen a lot more as well.

“You really don’t know that, do you?”

Harry had a feeling that Molly was just as confused by his confidence in what he was doing as she was in his being there. Harry hid a smile behind his cup of pumpkin juice—he knew he was acting like Dumbledore, but he was Albus Dumbledore’s man through and through.

Before Harry could say anything to her, there were the unmistakable sounds of footsteps thundering down the stairs. In a matter of moments, Harry knew that his friends and his younger self would appear in the doorway, and he was about to be grilled with questions.

Molly, however, quickly walked over to the kitchen doorway and stood in front, blocking their view of the table where future Harry sat. Or at least tried to.

“Dinner’s not quite ready yet,” she said, but got interrupted by Ron.

“Who’s that at the table eating, then?”

“It’s no one, dear!” she said, laughing as if Ron were seeing things. “Just go back upstairs…”

It was really no use; Ron was just tall enough to look over his mother’s shoulder and peer around to see the other person sitting at the kitchen table, eating his mother’s stew as if he were a part of the family.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” he said loudly. He danced around his mother, as did the others, and they stared, dumbfounded, at the new arrival.

Harry sighed, staring into his bowl. He knew this would happen soon, but he wasn’t sure if he were quite prepared for it just yet. He knew he had to get his other younger self alone and explain things, but it didn’t seem like he’d be able to for a while.

Mrs. Weasley stood there with a frown, obviously confused about the events, but she didn’t force the trio away anymore. Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight of the older looking Harry, Ron looked like a fish out of water, and Harry—fifteen year old Harry—looked as if he were staring at a ghost of a dead relative.

Molly, however, seen this straight away and tried her best to keep things normal as possible. “Now, Harry, dear,” she addressed the younger Harry. “Don’t start shouting or … or fainting or going crazy or…”

“Who are you?” he said, although his voice wasn’t raised, it still had a bit of a bite to it.

Future Harry stared back at his younger self. It was quite strange indeed, to be staring into the eyes of a younger him, a seemingly more innocent him. He wanted to say something, to let him know that things would be just fine and that he wasn’t someone that was to be feared, but words were failing him.

“Let’s just sit down and eat, since you’re all down here now,” said Molly.

She ushered them toward the table to have a seat and began to spoon up three more bowls of stew and another plate full of sandwiches. Ron and Hermione sat on the other side of the table so that they were looking right at the older Harry, but his younger self was still standing there staring at him in what future Harry guessed was shock. He couldn’t blame the lad, actually. He’d probably be just as disturbed. But he had a feeling that his past self wouldn’t go crazy seeing him; he had already seen himself from the future during third year, although at the time he thought he saw his father. When he realized that it was himself, nothing had happened to his mind, so he figured he was safe.

“You can come sit by me,” he said, smiling. He hoped he didn’t come off as creepy. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

Younger Harry came out of his trance abruptly and snorted. “I know that!” He said it defensively, but older Harry wasn’t really fazed. He understood just why he, his younger self, was acting this way. He remembered being fifteen all too well.

Molly pursed her lips in that no-nonsense way as she watched Harry walk heavily, almost stomping but not quite, to the other side of the table and sat down gruffly next to the older Harry. He didn’t make eye contact at all—just stared into his stew as if he were contemplating on whether he was going insane or not.

The table was quiet for about ten minutes. There was mostly eating and looking back and forth from one to the other, except for young Harry who just kept his eyes on his food. Mrs. Weasley tut-tutted at the behavior, but was secretly glad that there were no assumptions of evil at work. She didn’t think she’d be able to take any more yelling for the day—she had just told off Mungdungus for bringing in those stupid cauldrons.

What none of them had predicted, however, was a sudden crack in the middle of the kitchen; the Weasley twins had just Apparated from upstairs, possibly because no one was there to talk to anymore. Well, that and they were hungry.

“Oy, mum, what’s for dinner?”

“We’re starving.”

They stopped suddenly at the sight of future Harry and their eyes grew comically wide. They blinked for a moment, as if they were trying to decide if what they were seeing were real or not, and then they finally spoke.

“Hey, you… you’re—”

“—Harry, aren’t you?”

Harry looked up and gave them a lazy, lope-sided smile. “That I am,” he said, and then he slowly stood up.

He heard Hermione (and Ron?) gasp softly when he stood. He guessed it was because they had never seen him that tall before. At fifteen, he was still a bit short; he won’t have his growth spurt for a while yet, so his height must be quite the surprise to them. The twins had also noticed the difference.

He stretched a hand out for them to shake, and after staring at him and his hand for a moment, the twins smiled widely and both took a turn pumping his arm wildly in greeting.

“To what do we owe the pleasure—”

“—Of this visit?”

“Or is it not a pleasure visit?”

“Is it serious?”

At the use of the last word, Harry stilled for a moment. He knew they hadn’t meant to say Sirius’s name, but it did sound just like it, and it made him think of his godfather… whom he knew was still here somewhere… still alive…

“Not too serious,” he managed to say, and surprisingly his voice wasn’t shaking. “I need to…” he looked back over at the other Harry, whom still wasn’t looking at him. “To talk to my younger self there about something important.”

The whole room went dead quiet, and at the same time, fifteen-year-old Harry finally looked up from his barely touched stew with an odd expression. Harry knew that look; he had a feeling that his other self was determining just what exactly he would need to do, to change, to make the future better. His younger self had gone into Gryffindor-mode in .001 seconds.

“I—I need to do something, or stop something, from happening, right?” young Harry said quietly.

“Sort of,” said older Harry. “It’s not so much as something you need to change for the future to be better or anything, just something in your—our—personal life.”

“It better not be something that will change the course of history!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “You know you’re not allowed to do that. You’re old enough to know better, I’m sure.”

Harry blushed softly, nodding. “Yeah, I know that I can’t let my own selfish needs get in the way with things…”

“You said that you needed to talk to Harry… er, yourself… about something personal. Isn’t that being selfish?” Hermione asked.

Harry glowered, but he wasn’t looking at Hermione while do it. He knew that in a way she was right, but what he’d really meant by not letting his own selfish needs get in the way was that he had thought about finding a way to make sure that Sirius didn’t die. When he looked back on it now, he knew that what happened in his life was for the best, even though it still hurt a bit to think about it. He also concluded that if he did try to save Sirius from going through the veil, Sirius would probably die some other way instead. Fate was definitely a tricky fiend on that sort of thing.

No, this visit wasn’t to bring back Sirius, no matter how badly he wanted to. He needed his past self to NOT do something; to not get involved with something—or should he say, some ONE.

It was to save a life, and also to stop himself from making such a horrid mistake. He knew that if he did things only slightly different, things would turn out much, much better. That was what he kept telling himself. That wasn’t really selfish, was it?

“This is different,” he finally said to her. “But it’s not like I’m going to say much—just drop a few hints for him, advice to follow, you know? Nothing too detailed.”

Hermione pursed her lips in the same manner as Molly always did, but she didn’t say much more. It was probably because she had a feeling that he was more capable of doing this sort of thing than his younger self. Either that or she figured that her future self must have nagged him over and over about it before he left, so there was no point nagging him now.

One of the twins slung an arm around his shoulder. “Well, Harry old bean…”

“And we do mean old,” grinned the other twin.

“How about we get…”

“…Reacquainted?”

Harry blinked, not sure if he liked where this was going. He had always trusted the twins, but the way they were staring at him…

“What do you mean?” he said. “I’m not testing anything out for you, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, no, Harry,” grinned Fred. Harry figured it was Fred because he always had a slight dimple in his right cheek when he grinned. “It’s nothing like that. We know that you’re not some squirt we can bully around.”

“I never was a squirt you two could bully around,” he said, and then he gave a brief glance at his younger self and winked.

“True,” said George.

“You were just a squirt,” said Fred.

“Hey!” piped up the other Harry from the table. The twins, and even Ron, sniggered at that.

“I wasn’t that … squirty,” said older Harry. Then he laughed at his choice of word.

“Too right I’m not some little squirt!” said young Harry. Fred and George raised their heads to grin at him, as if they were about to comment.

“I really should do what I came here for,” said Harry before the twins could continue their teasing.

“Why the rush?” asked Fred.

“Yeah,” said George. “You just got here.”

Harry stood there for a moment as he thought it over, but then he ducked out from the twins’ arms. “I think I better finish eating,” he said, and then sauntered over to the table, sat down, and proceeded to eat.

The twins gave him identical frowns, but then smiled in a knowing way and said, “Sure, Harry, we understand,” and then Apparated.

“Honestly,” said Mrs. Weasley, “I wish they wouldn’t do that. You’d think walking up the stairs is too much energy.”

.-.

Harry found himself in the room he remembered sharing with Ron. Said redhead, Hermione, and his younger self were in the room too, staring at him in a most peculiar way. He supposed he couldn’t blame them, seeing how he was now technically an adult. He was still rather untrusting of some adults at age fifteen, and suddenly here he was: the adult--the odd ball out.

He knew that Ron and Hermione wanted to know about this as well, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea that they knew. For one, it would probably piss Ron off, as well as Hermione; plus, he didn’t need this extra pressure. He was already feeling the weight of others’ hopes on his shoulders.

“You two should go,” he said, looking at Ron and then Hermione. “I really should just talk to my younger self here… hopefully it shouldn’t take too long.”

“I still think what you’re doing isn’t right,” said Hermione. “You really shouldn’t try changing anything, no matter how badly you want to.”

“There are so many things that I want changed, Hermione,” he said with a soft growl. “Don’t even start with me about it. I came here for a reason, and I’m going to do it. Now, please leave.”

He crossed his arms, waiting. Finally, Ron sighed and stood, grabbing Hermione by the arm. “Let’s go, Hermione. This is Harry’s privacy and we really should respect it.”

“But, Ron,” she said. She definitely looked as if she wanted to argue the matter, but Ron had shushed her in a way that older Harry found familiar to his Ron and Hermione and in a way that was new to the younger Harry. “All right,” she finally said, and then followed Ron out the door. Harry then quickly placed an Imperturbable Charm on the door.

“It’s about fucking time,” he sighed, startling his younger self. Oops, that was right: he never said anything worse than hell, damn, or crap when he was this age. Oh well; the boy will learn to start speaking like this soon anyway. “Now, what I’m about to tell you is something you can NOT tell Ron or Hermione because one: they will flip their lids—especially Ron—and two: they will try to stop you from doing what I say. At least, I think Hermione would. Do you understand?”

“Um, I guess so,” said the boy (which older Harry will think of him as from now on, since it will be too confusing if he kept thinking of him as his younger or past self). “But what if Hermione’s right and something worse happens?”

“Worse?” said Harry, eyes gleaming. “What’s worse than saving a life?”

The boy’s eyes widened considerably, blinking in astonishment. “I was right. You are saving someone’s life! Who is it, then? Ron’s? Hermione’s? Dumbledore’s?”

Harry frowned, staring down at the carpet; oh, how he desperately wanted to save Dumbledore’s life...But no, he told himself that he wouldn’t do it, that he wouldn’t try saving them, just… the one.

“No, it’s none of them,” he finally said. “What you have to do is… not do something. You must make sure not to do something.”

“Not do something… because if I do it, it will kill this person?”

“Very good chance, yes,” said Harry. He combed his fingers through his hair. “Har—er, listen. You must promise me,” he lowered his voice, “not to ever start going out with Ginny Weasley.”

The boy blinked, looking incredibly shocked. It was expected.

“Don’t go out with Ginny? Why would I even do that?”

“Trust me, Harry,” he said, smirking in amusement at addressing himself, “you will want to when you’re older. But whatever you do, don’t do it. Don’t start noticing her pretty red hair, don’t kiss her, and do NOT start making out with her by the lake. Just… just don’t, ok?”

The boy kept looking at him as if he were mad, but finally nodded in understanding. Harry hoped that his other self would do as he asked; otherwise it would really have been a wasted trip.

“Great. Let’s get to bed then, shall we?” he smirked.

.-.

There really was no other way to do it, since there was no place else to spare at the moment. Harry figured that he did come unannounced, so of course there wouldn’t be any spare beds for him to sleep in. Even the couch wasn’t an option because it suddenly developed a case of doxies sometime that night and there wasn’t time to spray them all. Mrs. Weasley swore that she had everything double-checked for any sign of doxy eggs in the house, but she must have somehow missed some. Harry didn’t really mind, and he hoped that his younger self, the boy, didn’t mind either.

“It might be a bit of a tight squeeze,” she said to him. Harry just shrugged and smiled at her.

“Well,” he said. “What does it matter? Me and…” he looked at the boy for a moment and grinned. “Young Harry here, are one and the same. It’s not really a horrible thing, is it?”

“I suppose not,” Molly sighed. “Just don’t stay up too late talking… to yourself,” she couldn’t help adding, smiling a little. Harry rolled his eyes, as did his younger self, at her little joke. He guessed that Arthur wasn’t the only one that the twins got their sense of humor from.

“Good night, then,” she said to both Harrys. “Good night, Ronald,” she said to her youngest son. Ron rolled his eyes; as if he would get mad that she wouldn’t say good night to her own son.

“Good night, Molly,” said Harry just as the younger Harry said, “Good night, Mrs. Weasley.”

The moment the door shut, the boy turned to future Harry with a questionable look.

“Why do you call her by her first name?” he asked.

Harry took off his glasses, placed them onto the nightstand next to the boy’s glasses, and then slid himself under the covers. “Because, I grown out of calling her Mrs. Weasley. It’s just too confusing if I call her that during my time because… well, er…” he glanced over at Ron, but then looked back at his younger self. “It just gets confusing for me after a while, even though most people already know that I’m talking to, or about, Molly.”

“She’s not like a mother to you anymore?” the boy asked, also getting into bed. There wasn’t too much room separating them, but there was just enough room to get comfortable.

“Oh, she is,” sighed Harry. “It just feels a bit weird to me now. I’m more used to calling her Molly, just like Remus is used to calling her that, and the others my age too.”

“My mum is still alive in the future then?” said Ron. He had also crawled into his own bed, which was a bit smaller than the one the Harrys were using.

“She’s still alive and kicking, yeah,” grinned Harry. “And so is Remus, so don’t worry about them.”

“What about…” the boy started, but Harry shushed him with a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t ask me, because I won’t tell you.” He took his hand away; still feeling the warmth of his other’s breath on it.

“But you just told us about my mum and Remus,” Ron pointed out.

“That’s different,” said Harry, somewhat irked. “Just don’t ask me anything more about the future. It’s too risky.”

“Yeah, right,” said Ron, lying down, staring at the ceiling. Harry decided not to worry about how Ron was feeling at the time, otherwise he’d never get any sleep. He lay back also, putting one hand behind his head, and looked over at the boy.

Young Harry was just settling in on his side of the bed when his elbow accidentally knocked into Harry’s. “Sorry,” he mumbled, turning red, and then straightened himself out better so that nothing of theirs was touching. Harry sighed, forcing himself not to roll his eyes.

“It’s okay, you know,” he said. “I’m you; you’re me. No big deal, right? We touch ourselves all the time, anyway.”

At this, the boy blushed bright red. Future Harry understood why he blushed the second he had finished his own sentence; it did sound a bit dirty, didn’t it?

He rolled over onto his side and stared at his younger self. “You know what I mean,” he said softly. Slowly, the boy turned his head to look at him. He was still sporting pink cheeks, but his eyes were looking determined, and Harry had no idea why. He tried to think back to this time, what he had to do back when he was fifteen. There was the dementor attack, the pack of owls, finding out that his Aunt Petunia knew more than she let on, the advanced guard, seeing Sirius and meeting his mother…

“Sirius,” he suddenly said, startling the boy. “He’s here, right?”

“Yeah,” said young Harry. “He’s been in a meeting all day or something, that’s why he hadn’t seen you yet. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” said Harry. He bit his lower lip. He so desperately wanted to warn them, somehow… but he knew he couldn’t risk it. He suddenly felt a small headache coming on and he rubbed at his forehead.

“A-are you all right?” the boy asked, looking worried. “Is your—is it hurting?”

“Huh?” said Harry, confused, but then understood after a moment what the boy meant. “Oh, no, it’s not my scar. I’m just getting a small headache… I’ll be ok…”

Ron’s snores pierced through the room, and both Harrys grinned. They knew that Ron was now fast asleep and it would take a good amount of stomping and noise to wake Ron up now.

“If it was my scar,” continued Harry softly, “you’d feel it too.”

“I guess…”

“Well, I don’t know if my scar would hurt for the same reasons. Mine might only work for my… I mean, the other Voldemort…” he trailed off.

“Oh,” said the boy. “You may be right…”

They stared at each other, and then Harry couldn’t resist raising a hand up and placing a finger over the boy’s scar. He traced the scar, getting the boy to shiver. Harry stared deeply into his younger self’s green eyes. They were so… bright, green, innocent… beautiful.

“Had the trial, yet?” he whispered. The boy nodded, and then continued to stare. “I wish I could warn you about things, but it wouldn’t be a good idea.” He moved his hand down from the other’s scar and slowly touched the side of his face with the back of his hand. It was smooth—smoother than he could remember; he had a feeling that the rest of the boy’s body was smooth, too—smoother than his. He had battle scars, little souvenirs from his enemies throughout his encounters. His hands were rougher too, from fights and flying and other activities that made more calluses. He bet he had more hair in certain places than his younger self as well.

“That’s okay,” the other said. “I understand.”

Harry knew that. When it came to important things like this, he knew that he was understanding about it. What he said to him about what not to do, though, he hoped that the boy would follow through. The question was: what sort of life would he, the future Harry, have to look forward to in his own time? How different would things be? How different would he be? Or would he suddenly not exist? This Harry and himself are, technically, one and the same—so, would he remember any of this? No matter how much Harry thought about it, he knew that it would remain a mystery until he got back to his original timeline.

When he moved his hand lower and started to trace the lines around the boy’s lips, the boy quirked an eyebrow at him, swallowing quietly.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Harry said, still moving his hand, his fingers, gently over the boy’s mouth. It was softer than he thought. He wondered… was this how his own mouth felt?

“It looks like you’re flirting with me,” said the boy, his eyes glittering with what Harry figured was mirth. “Is that normal—to be flirting with yourself, I mean?”

“Perhaps not,” said Harry, slowly. “But, then again, when are we ever normal?”

The boy shivered beneath Harry’s touch, and it was oddly erotic. It was not as if he were narcissistic or anything of the sort, but he could secretly see just what made this boy… this young man… so appealing. He was more innocent; more pliable, in a way; more alluring. He wasn’t sure what to think of this weird, new development.

The boy reached for him, cautiously bringing an arm around his middle and pulled him close. Harry laid a hand onto the boy’s lower back and snuggled them together so that one of Harry’s legs were between his younger self’s. The boy wedged his face into Harry’s neck. Harry placed a soft kiss onto the boy’s forehead as his hand traveled lower, tracing it down past the boy’s hip, and rubbed at his thigh.

“We’ve touched ourselves before, anyway,” said the boy, a playful smile on his face. No doubt he was finding this amusing. Harry, somehow, felt enamored with this younger version of himself. It was very odd, seeing the light shining in his younger eyes, the pink flushing his younger cheeks, the shaky hitch in his breath; it didn’t feel like the boy was like a twin, or little brother.

“Do you reckon it’s safe?” the boy asked softly. Harry thought for a minute what he meant, and then understood; he was talking about Ron, or the whole Weasley family for that matter.

“I think so,” he whispered into the boy’s hair. His hand strayed from the boy’s thigh over to his stomach, rubbing at it gently before bringing it lower. It was odd to touch himself this way, since he hadn’t really done it before. Whenever he had masturbated, he never really caressed his own skin, or inhaled the scent of his own hair, or nibbled at his own ear—most of those things were just impossible. But here he was now, doing just that; his hand finding its way into his younger self’s pajama bottoms and wrapping around the growing length. Younger Harry hissed.

“Feels nice, yeah?” Harry breathed in his ear. The boy inhaled sharply, biting his lower lip, nodding. He moved his mouth from the ear down to his neck, kissing softly, tasting it for the first time, amused and curious. His hand tightened around the boy’s cock, tugging gently. The boy moved from his side to his back and spread his legs wider, giving his future self more room to stroke him.

“Oh,” he said in a half whisper. Harry couldn’t help feeling smug by the way he was making the boy feel. Granted, it was himself he was doing this to, but it still felt wonderful knowing that he could make another feel like this. ‘Good practice, really,’ he thought to himself. He shifted so that he was now straddling his younger body, kissing and licking his way down, the heat between them building, and his erection growing heavier. He brought his hands down to quickly shuck his bottoms off before doing the same to his younger self and then pressing their cocks together. The boy groaned almost a bit too loudly for Harry’s tastes, so he moved forward to take his lips with his.

Just how messed up did one have to be to like kissing one’s self? Very much so, Harry guessed, but he didn’t wish to dwell on that thought. The wet, inexperienced mouth under his was more of a turn on than he thought. Gently, Harry showed his younger self just how to kiss properly, how to move his lips in time with his and how to stroke his tongue just so. Their kisses turned fiercer the more the boy got used to them. He congratulated himself on being such a fast learner.

The boy hissed softly at the feel of the older Harry’s mouth over a nipple. Harry’s hands roamed lower, stroking the boy’s sides softly before spreading those legs wider so that he could snuggle his cock up against the groin area and rub himself against whatever he came in contact with. He finally found the boy’s cock and gently slid up and down against it.

The boy gasped, thrusting his hips upward harder into his. Harry bent down to kiss right below the boy’s neck, making his younger self shiver. “Oh, god,” the boy said. “I can’t—I’m going to—oh GOD!”

Hot, clear come shot out from the young cock, coating stomach and the sides of his body, along with his older cock, which was pulsing with the need to come. He forced himself into a faster pace, thrusting harder against the boy’s spent cock, and then came in almost the exact same hot bursts, but there was more… a lot more.

Panting, Harry laid his head down on the other’s chest, inhaling the heavy scent between them. The boy wound his arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his face against his older self’s forehead, basking in the afterglow.

All of a sudden, they burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe that just happened!”

“But it did,” said Harry. He buried his nose into the boy’s neck, dark hair falling around his face. “Didn’t you like it?”

“Yeah,” said his younger self. “I loved it; it was the best wank I’ve ever had.”

Harry’s heart suddenly felt heavy with emotion, and his stomach clenched in the way it used to when he saw a pretty face.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed.

.-.

Two years later:

Harry was walking toward the loo when there was a sudden attack from behind. Somewhat gangly arms and legs wrapped themselves around him and a chin poked him in the shoulder.

“Miss me?” said the younger voice, kissing his neck.

Harry snickered under his breath and hoisted his younger self better on his back. He continued to walk toward the bathroom, giving the younger Harry a piggyback ride. For the past year, after figuring out how to see one another with a time spell and promising everyone that they won’t be discussing the future or anything illegal, they had been secretly (or not so secretly) meeting one another. Sometimes they planned it, and sometimes they would surprise the other. His younger self enjoyed surprising him most of the time.

“Always,” he answered, his strides getting longer.

“Need to pee?” said the younger one, digging his heel into Harry’s gut.

“Yes,” said Harry, “and if you don’t stop that then I’ll pee all over you.”

“Pfft.” Lips on Harry’s neck again, then a tongue found his earlobe, making him shiver. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Watch me,” said Harry. He opened the bathroom door without hands or a wand, and then strode inside, his younger self still attached to his back. Hermione had said one time that because they kept meeting each other, the younger version’s timeline probably became another universe altogether (which explained why Ginny was still dead and he couldn’t remember seeing an older version of himself in his own time period). Hence the reason why his younger self seemed to act slightly different from him.

“Need help aiming, old man?”

“From an inexperienced little runt like you? I don’t think so.”

“Well,” said the boy cheekily, “you may need some help seeing where to go…”

“Watch it or I’ll dump you in the bath… with your clothes still on.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” young Harry said, but he was smirking. He, no doubt, didn’t seem to believe the older Harry.

Harry started to relieve himself then looked over at the other, whom was still clinging onto his back and trying to look innocent. The boy was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans… and that was it. He didn’t even have socks on.

When Harry finished, he slowly began to walk backward toward the self-filling bathtub.

“Don’t you dare,” said the boy, and began to tickle him to try making him drop him to the floor.

“Hey!” Harry laughed. “If you don’t stop—I’m going to drop you for real!”

But the boy wouldn’t listen and kept on tickling, and it caused Harry to lose his grip, and his young self slipped out of his grasp and into the bathtub, warm water sloshing over the sides.

The boy sputtered indignantly, his white shirt becoming see-through as it stuck to his body. He took off his glasses to shake the water from them, placed them back on his face, then looked up to scowl at his older self, whom was wearing a slight smirk and glittering eyes.

“Bastard,” he hissed softly.

“I told you not to tickle me,” said Harry. “It was your own fault.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but then stopped when he noticed how the other looked. Wet. Wet, clingy t-shirt on a well-toned torso. “Damn,” he breathed.

“Pardon?” said the boy, cocking his head to one side, wet strands falling around his face.

“You look—” Harry began, but couldn’t finish. He stared at the other’s soaked body for a moment before taking his own shoes off and slipping into the water with him. He straddled that young body and leaned in close, running a hand down the boy’s chest. He gently laid his forehead against the other’s.

“You’re getting yourself wet,” said the younger Harry, but he tilted his head up and gently took the other’s lips in his.

“I don’t care,” Harry said softly against those shiny, wet lips. He ran a hand down the boy’s chest and found a nipple. The boy jerked and moaned, bringing his hands up to tangle in black locks and pulled his head closer for a deeper kiss.

Harry kept teasing his younger self’s nipple, enjoying the way it looked through the thin fabric as it hardened. The boy lifted his head up and Harry moved his mouth down to kiss and suck at the skin there right below his chin. Their chests met, and the boy moaned at the feel of their hard nipples brushing against one another’s. Harry hissed low in his breath at the feeling; rubbing himself wantonly against that wet, tight body.

“Want you,” he whispered into the other’s ear, licking at the shell.

“You have me,” said the boy, wrapping his legs around his older self’s waist to draw them even closer.

“God,” Harry moaned, feeling his trapped erection find the other’s. He rutted against it a few times before moving it down to find the curve of the boy’s arse and began to thrust against that, as if he were actually fucking him. The boy moaned in such a way that he could no longer contain himself and he drew away to find his wand.

With a flick of his wrist, Harry had cut an opening into the boy’s trousers with his wand, exposing balls and arsehole. He had just made the boy’s trousers crotch-less.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Harry whispered huskily. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.” He snaked a hand down between them to slip his cock out from his pants, a pearl of come sliding down the slit.

“Yes,” the boy moaned.

Harry teasingly ran the head of his cock around the boy’s puckered hole, which had become slick from the water and more open from the position, and pushed it in gently and then back out again, over and over. As he moved the head of his cock in and then all the way out again, his lover’s hole became more and more loose.

“You’re teasing,” the boy huffed, but that huff turned into a moan when Harry pressed the head inside him again. This time he kept it in and slowly pushed further as the boy thrust down, wanting more of his counterpart deep inside him.

“I want this to last,” Harry panted.

“There will be other times,” said the boy, clenching around his lover’s cock. “A lot more.”

“There better be…” Harry said, his breath hitching as he felt the other tighten around him. He couldn’t stop himself from sliding more and more into that hot, tight body until his balls were resting snuggly against the curve of the other’s arse.

“There will,” the boy said, tossing his head back so the ends of his hair touched the water. Harry moved them in a better position so that the boy’s feet were in the air and most of his upper body was submerged, except for his face. He wiggled his arse as he tried to move on Harry’s cock himself. “Move. Please.”

“Is that begging I hear?” said Harry, tilting his head slightly as if trying to listen.

The boy squeezed himself around Harry’s cock. “Do not make me say it again.”

“Say what again?” Harry smirked, still not moving.

“Will you just… MOVE, DAMN IT!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Harry snickered. Slowly, shallowly, Harry slid his cock in and then out. He thrust an inch out and then back in again, over and over.

“Faster,” groaned the boy, and slowly Harry complied. He meant to make it last, but it was building up inside too much and his lover kept squeezing him just the right way, so he gave in and pulled his hips back and then slammed them forward. Younger Harry threw his head back, hitting the wall of the tub with a soft thump, and cried out, his body quivering. He snaked a hand between them, took out his own hard length, and fisted it and rubbed the head of it against Harry’s stomach, dripping with precome.

The thighs around his ribcage tightened as he jerked his hips faster, thrusts elongating with every snap of his hips. Their lips crushed together in a wild and messy kiss while they slammed against each other, water slopping over the sides of the tub.

Harry thrust forward one last time and held himself in as he found his climax, filling his lover. Toward the end, Harry slowly moved his hips again, hissing at the sensitivity, but it drove his lover over the edge and made him spill his seed over his fist and their stomachs.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, water slowly cooling around them. Then Harry sighed aloud, feeling too sated and comfortable to move.

“Up,” demanded the boy. “I’m completely soaked… and it’s all your fault.”

Harry wiggled his hips in a circle, his spent cock moving slightly inside the other. “It’s your fault for tickling me.”

“Your fault for tossing me in the water,” retorted the other, bottom lip protruding just a bit.

Reluctantly, with a heavy sigh, Harry slid himself out of his lover’s arse and then made his way out of the water. He helped the younger one out as well, and then they shucked out of their wet clothes.

“You’re a prat, you know that?” said Harry as he toweled himself dry.

“Am not,” said younger Harry, sticking out his tongue.

“Don’t make me spank you,” older Harry warned, shaking his wand at the other.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” the other said, and then promptly ran out of the bathroom.

Harry rolled his eyes, but was smiling. He tossed the towel into the corner of the bathroom and took off after his cheeky lover.

After all, loving one’s self was never easy.