Terra Conturbo

~~~~ TERRA CONTURBO ~~~~

“Hurry up, Ron!” he calls to me, gesturing wildly with his right hand. He smiles crookedly, as he always does, and I melt a little. How can I refuse that?

Harry rolls his eyes and continues up the staircase, hunching down as he hugs the wide banister. It’s really funny actually, the way he looks scurrying about like that. I’d laugh, save for the quick stab of memory of him in almost the same exact posture, hunkering down and dodging hexes and curses in the Forbidden Forest.

It’s been five years and that sort of thing still happens. Funny that.

I follow him as closely as I can, constantly looking about as if some stray Death Eater is going to waft down on a spider web and Avada Kedavra us or something. But this is Hogwarts for harpie’s sake, the War is over, and I’m lurking about the halls with Harry, feeling for all the world like a second year out after curfew instead of a junior healer at St. Mungo‘s.

Harry reaches the top of the staircase, and I’m so busy staring at how wonderful his arse looks in those entrancingly tight black denims of his that I don’t notice that he’s stopped dead in his tracks.

He really does have a fine arse. Ask anyone.

I crash into him, and with a distressingly shrill “Ooooomphf!” we tumble to the flagstones, my face buried in his ever-untamed mop of hair. Sandalwood. With a hint of bacon from breakfast. Gods.

He sniggers. I groan and roll off of him, offering a hand and pulling him back to his feet.

“Nice move, Weasley,” he says, all smiles, his expression so bright and full of mischief it’s nearly blinding. He notes my expression, reaching up and giving one of my nipples a tweak. “C’mon, almost there!” He chuckles again and launches down the wide, empty seventh-floor corridor.

I follow, watching as he hugs the wall and peers around the battered statue of Aloyisus the Alarmed. I idly note that half of Aloysius’ head is missing. Yeah, still a lot of unrepaired damage. I look about while Harry scans the hall, taking in all the charred and seared areas of wall. The craters and cracks and holes that still remain are a mute testament to the various and sundry battles that raged through the Castle.

Not surprising that nothing above the third floor had been repaired. It had taken nearly three years to complete that much work, while an entire team of cursebreakers worked nearly full time to nullify all the booby traps left by the Death Eaters after their retreat to Little Hangleton. The damage done during the War had been mind-boggling. Some things you think are forever, immutable. Right nasty shock to find out otherwise. I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that Gryffindor Tower no longer exists…

It would still be a few more years before students could return to the Castle, but The Ministry was intent on making a show of things. No surprise there. Diggory was by far a better bloke than Fudge or Scrimgeour, but he still had his moments. To say that McGonagall didn’t care for Diggory’s plan for the overblown festivities commemorating the fifth anniversary of the end of the War was an understatement. The Headmistress vehemently argued against the Minister’s plan to hold said celebrations at Hogwarts.

In the end, bureaucracy won out over reason. Per usual.

Harry taps my forearm and jerks his head down the corridor. I sigh, jogging after him.

“What’s wrong?” he huffs, glancing about the dim hallway.

“Nothing,” I reply as nonchalantly as I can.

“This was your idea,” he reminds me.

I hate it when he does that. I make an idle statement, muse off the top of my head, and viola! He jumps right in, and everything that happens afterward is my fault. That’s why we have a lounge full of Chudley Cannons limited edition furniture. And why we took a holiday to Antarctica. All I said was that it might be neat to see all those penguins. I’ve really got to watch what I say. We still haven’t found someone to take that bloody orange unicorn off our hands…

I clear my throat as I skid to a halt. “I merely said that I was curious as to whether the Room of Requirement still worked.”

He turns around, smiling that smile again. Bloody hell! He knows I’m powerless against it. The bastard.

“So here we are then.”

I fold my arms across my chest. He rolls his eyes. And smiles wider. He knows he’s got me. I try my best to defend myself.

“I didn’t say a word about sneaking away from the reception, skulking about the Castle, dismantling safety wards and exploring restricted areas, now did I?”

He licks his lips and crosses over to me, snaking his arms about my waist and pressing his hips into my thighs. I can feel his hardening cock as he shamelessly grinds against me.

“No, you didn’t say that exactly,” he murmurs, “but I know what you meant.”

I snort. “Right. I forgot. Captain Legilimency to the rescue.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Ooooh, you‘re into that today, eh? Here I was thinking you just wanted the usual Quidditch thing.”

Okay, I like it when Harry wears his Quidditch leathers. And only his Quidditch leathers. So sue me. The Captain Legilimency deal, well, I’d rather not talk about that right now…

I can’t help but whimper the slightest bit as he leans up to suckle and nip at my neck. “How about we just wait until we’re back at the flat,” I manage to gasp out. “Besides, I’m sure Minerva has missed us already. Not to mention everyone else.”

Harry makes a rude noise. “She’s far too busy being the good hostess to notice. We’ve done our bit, listened to the speeches, and it’s all over but the schmoozing.” He swipes his tongue along the line of my jaw. “C’mon, mate. I know you want to.”

I swear he could convince a skrewt to fart the Hogwarts anthem with that throaty, rumbly voice of his…Merlin on a crutch!

His fingers untuck my shirt and plunge down the back of my denims. “We’re practically there, love,” he hums against my skin between nibbles. “I can’t wait to see what the Room comes up with, if it’s still working, that is.” With a final squeeze to my arse, he pulls away and bounds down the wide corridor.

I adjust myself enough to walk relatively normally, feeling the slightest bit better about the possibility of an imminent shag in the Room of Requirement. Sure, I’d wondered aloud as to whether the charmed space had survived the attacks. After all, it had been the setting for more than a few of our more imaginative Hogwarts-era shags.

But there was still something a bit off about being here now. I’d been on the seventh floor hundreds of times, of course, so it was as familiar to me as the pattern of freckles on the backs of my hands. Then again, it seemed completely different now, like we were intruders or something. I suppose just knowing what had happened here was enough to make anyone feel a bit jumpy. Okay, it makes me feel jumpy. Harry’s always been the brave one.

“Lumos!” Harry had pulled out his wand and was waving it along an expanse of bare wall. “It used to be here, I think,” he muttered, studying the damaged stonework.

“I thought the doorway was on the other side,” I say.

He nods, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he contemplates the cracked and burned wall. “It is. I’m trying to figure out exactly where the tapestry used to be.” He kicks up the wand light a few notches as he runs his fingers over the rough stone. “Yeah, I think it was…right…along…here.” He steps back to stand next to me. “There. You can just see the outline of where it used to hang.”

I can barely make out the faint differences in shading on the wall. There is definitely a large squarish spot much lighter than the surrounding areas. “Yeah, I see now,” I say. “Wonder what happened to old Barnabas and his trolls?”

Harry runs his fingers across my stomach as he turns around. “Gone for good by the looks of those blast points.”

That’s a real shame. I really liked that natty old tapestry. The trolls in tutus were one of my favourites.

“Right!” Harry calls out loudly enough to make me jump.

I turn about to see him pacing back and forth in front to a section of wall. He’s grinning as if he’s just won the Quidditch World Cup.

“That it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, and suddenly the old, familiar doorway materializes. He grins that grin, winks, and my cock stirs in my jeans. Gods, he’s gorgeous. Of course he is; everyone knows it. But I don’t mean just on the outside. No one knows my Harry like I do. And he’s just as bloody beautiful on the inside. More so. I wrap my arms around him as he lifts the latch and pushes the door open.

We both take in the scene before us. He starts laughing instantly.

“Brilliant,” he barks as he turns to kiss me, all tongue and hot, wet lips, his hands cradling the sides of my head. He pulls back, licking his lips in a most deliciously obscene manner. He strides across the room, arms wide. “Still works, I see,” he says, moving over to the huge bed in the middle of the room. Before I can say a word, he’s toed off his trainers and his shirt is arcing through the air. “Nice choice,” he says with a wink.

I swallow hard, shutting the door and struggling to remove my own shoes. Yeah, the Room is still in working order. In rare form, too, from what it’s conjured for us. A real blast from the past, as Dad might say. By the time I shuck my shirt, Harry’s down to his boxer briefs and sitting on the bed as he yanks off his socks.

We’re in the Chudley Cannons locker room. Or a version of it, anyway. Okay, how I’d like it to be. It’s huge, row upon row of lockers and benches, Quidditch leathers and towels and discarded flannels all over the place. And the aroma: leathery and grassy, intermingled with a riotous melange of soaps and colognes, all atop the wonderfully arousing tang of sweat.

Gods, I’m as hard as a rock and haven’t even gotten out of my jeans. Because of Harry, of course!

At the far end, steam billows from what must be the showers, the faint sounds of splashing water and muffled, low voices echoing to us. Naturally there’s a bed plopped in the middle of everything. And yeah, the duvet and sheets and pillows are all Chudley orange. There wasn’t a bed in here at first, but trying to snog and shag on those bloody narrow benches is a real pain in the arse.

Harry’s finished with his socks and is testing the water of the whirlpool tub just to the left of the bed. I yank at my own socks, hopping my way toward him, my heart thudding in my chest. I can’t wait to run my hands over his back, his sides, his arse. I swear I’ve never felt anyone so smooth and silky. Sounds daft, but Harry’s skin feels better than Lavender’s or Hermione’s ever did, and they worked at it.

I finally traverse the space between us without falling over, and he turns to me, his eyes bright, his expression so bloody open and filled with desire that I almost can’t catch my breath. I moan slightly at the sight of his erection through the fabric of his undershorts. I fumble with the fly of my jeans, and he chuckles, reaching out to help my clumsy hands. He presses his lips to mine as he rips the buttons open and shoves the Muggle Levi’s past my hips. My briefs go with them, and I gasp as my aching cock is finally freed.

He turns me around and I flop down gracelessly on the edge of the tub. Harry laps and laves his way across my jaw, down my neck and chest, licking a trail down the centre of my stomach. I card my fingers through his hair as he pauses to swirl his tongue around the head of my cock. I moan his name and lean forward, kissing the top of his head as he removes my jeans and undershorts, tossing them away with a flourish.

“Feeling a bit better about our excursion, I see,” he says huskily, nodding to my erection.

“Uh-huh,” is all I can manage at the moment.

Harry stands up between my legs. I run my hands across his furred chest and down his sides, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs. He presses into my spread thighs as I yank the shorts down, his heavy prick bobbing invitingly right in front of my face.

Merlin, but Harry’s got the nicest cock I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen all that many, mind, at least not this close up. I’ve been around the block once or twice, sure, and I’m not some sort of slag. What I’m saying is you don’t have to sample every brand of scotch to know that Oban is the best after you’ve had it. Oh, bugger, you know what I mean.

Harry kicks off his shorts while I reach up and fondle his balls, my tongue tracing the underside of his shaft. My other hand wraps about his hip and I pull him closer, taking him into my mouth, sucking and pulling in as much of his length as I can. I’m careful to keep my teeth behind my lips, but sometimes I slip, like right now, and he gasps and jumps as my teeth graze his hyper-sensitive flesh. He’s rocking back and forth ever so gently, carefully pushing himself into my mouth, and I allow my fingers to roll across his balls, probing, feeling, teasing the crevice of his arse until one fingertip brushes the edge of his entrance.

“Fuck, Ron, fuck,” he groans.

I pull back along the length of his cock, stopping to suck deeply on the head of it, using my tongue to mercilessly tease his weeping slit there. I can taste the first drops of pre come as Harry whimpers my name. The next instant, he pulls back, clumsily crawling on top of me and pushing me backward into the tub. Our lips meet as we fall into the warm, roiling water. I bump my arse on one of the little water jet things but I don’t care.

His mouth is all over mine, his tongue pushing over my teeth. I groan in response as our cocks brush together, the sensations of his slick skin, the hot swirling, water and his mouth nearly overwhelming.

Gods, I’m glad I thought of this.

I’m barely aware of a barrage of laughter off to our right. Probably some of the buff, always-starkers Quidditch players the Room creates for this scenario. They never seem to mind that we’ve invaded their locker room…and they’re all bloody hot, too.

We shift about in the tub, Harry’s hands cradling my neck as he devours me. I’m caressing his hips and arse, the oil-infused water making our skin so wonderfully smooth and slick. Harry grinds into me with increased fervour, his hard cock sliding against mine, and I grab his arse and move his hips faster.

He breaks our kiss and smiles possessively at me, bracing himself with one arm on the side of the tub. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, his scar a deep red, barely visible between the locks of black hair pasted to his forehead. He’s bloody gorgeous.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, reaching under the water to grasp both of our erections with one hand.

“So do you…bloody hell,” I gasp.

“Ready to get out?”

I nod, suddenly unable to form words. He knows I’m about ready to go. I always go first. Can’t help it. Sometimes I come in my undershorts before we can even get them off. Like I said, he’s so fucking, well, Harry.

He kisses me on the forehead before he hoists himself up and out of the tub. I catch my breath as he bends down to pick up one of the many towels strewn about all over. I sit up, pushing the hair out of my face. Harry’s sitting on the bed now, drying his hair when I notice it. Way down the aisle, near the shower room. Beyond where two of the Quidditch hunks are towelling each other off.

I blink and rub my eyes. Yeah. It’s still there.

A penguin. Sure as shite, standing there like it had every right to. I swear the bird looks straight at me before it waddles off into the mists of the showers.

“So are you going to leave me all high and dry?”

I start at the sound of Harry’s voice. He’s splayed out on the bed, propped up against the masses of orange pillows. One hand behind his head, feet flat, both legs bent at the knees and spread wide. His other hand is stroking his cock, and I can see that he’s pulling on it rather firmly.

Fuck the sodding maybe-penguin.

I launch myself out of the water, scrambling over the edge of the tub and across the damp floor. “Wish it wasn’t so wet in here,” I mutter, hoping the Room will pick up on the not so subtle hint.

Harry stops stroking himself long enough to flip me his towel. I miss it, and the towel ever so neatly wraps about my face. I hear Harry’s chuckles as I attempt to make it look like I wanted to dry my hair first, anyway. I finish with my hair and head, quickly towelling off the rest of me while Harry works his cock with an admirable attention to detail, just like all those blokes in every Muggle queer porno video that Seamus has ever shown us.

I finally reach the bed, my own cock aching and ready to explode. Harry’s biting his bottom lip, his eyes closed, his hips lifting off of the duvet with each upstroke. I crawl over to him, and he cracks open one eye, that crooked smile gracing his lips again.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

Well, yeah. Don’t need to tell me twice.

I glide over the silky duvet, running a hand over each of his knees, down the inside of his thighs, burying my face in his groin. The vaguely woodsy scent of the bath oil lingers on his skin as I nose my way down his cock. I snake my arms under his hips, licking my way across his balls. He starts to writhe and buck about as he fists his dick, and I plunge my tongue under his heavy sac, hefting him up so I can tease his opening.

Harry lifts off the mattress further, offering me better access to his entrance. I swipe the tip of my tongue along the crevice of his arse, barely grazing the tight ring of muscle.

“Gods yes, Ron, yes,” Harry murmurs breathlessly.

The next instant a tube of lube bounces off of my shoulder and lands on the duvet next to my right arm. Okay, so much for the foreplay.

I sit up, twirling off the cap and slathering the cool, viscous lube all over my fingers. I work my hand around Harry’s cock, coating it thoroughly. He moans as the slick substance increases his ecstasy, and he strokes himself faster still. I squirt some more of the lube on my fingers, working a generous amount about Harry’s entrance. Another hefty squeeze of the tube and I coat my own erection, stroking it in rhythm with Harry as I plunge a slicked finger into his heat.

He gasps as I bury my digit to the knuckle. I pull it in and out a few times before I add another, working both fingers in a circle. I can tell he’s just about ready, and I know I’m on borrowed time. I yank my fingers out and spread Harry’s legs wide, pressing my cock against his hole.

He’s gibbering now, thrashing his head from side to side. I plunge into him, and he yelps, his palms slapping the mattress. I don’t know how long I’ll last, so I dispense with the slow build and immediately start slamming my length into his wonderful tightness. Harry manages to grasp his neglected erection again and starts pulling on it furiously. I concentrate on my technique, in out, in out, in out, pausing slightly on each inward thrust. I’m pretty certain he likes it when I do that…

I’m vaguely aware of a large splash. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the two buff Quidditch boys have plunged into the whirlpool tub, a tangle of arms and legs. The next moment, Harry yells my name. Good thing, as I can’t hold it any longer, either.

I drive deeply one more time, emptying myself into him. Harry’s still pumping his cock as I bend down to capture his lips. I smother his moans of release as his come coats our bellies and chests. He reaches up and clamps both of his hands to my arse, and he wiggles his hips against my groin. He always does this, and it drives me even further over the edge. I gulp in air as he clenches his arse around my spent prick.

Shuddering, I withdraw, gracelessly flopping down onto him, rubbing my cock against his, revelling in the slickness of our rapidly drying spunk. Merlin, but this always feels so good. He always feels so good. I sigh deeply as he wraps his arms around me. I nuzzle and nibble at his neck. He chuckles.

“Good idea, Ron.”

“I know,” I say.

He gives my arse a good pinch.

“Keep going,” I whisper, licking his ear lobe.

He slaps my arse then, and I know that’s my cue to roll over. Hey, eight years sleeping with a bloke, and you figure things out.

He snuggles against me and I trace the line of his jaw. “Hey,” I say, trying to sound cool.

“Git.”

I nod. He’s right. I am a git. Good for me that he’s into that sort of thing.

He mouths the words, ‘Love you.’

I mouth back, ‘Me too.’

Yeah, I know. Really nauseating, isn’t it? Well, you go ahead and take down a Dark Lord and most of his slimy minions, and then you can get as schmoopy as you like. There’s gotta be some perks involved for doing that sort of thing, yeah?

He murmurs a cleansing spell and I’m just about to nod off in a lovely, post-shag nap when the splashing gets louder. I crack open an eye and see that Harry’s watching the Quidditch blokes again.

“Um, have they ever done that before?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

Harry cocks his head sideways. “Wow, they’re rather talented.”

“Yeah,” I say. Double jointed, more like. Um, maybe triple. I realize that I’m rather thirsty and that my mouth feels about as fresh as a skrewt’s bum. “Hand me that glass of pumpkin juice, will you?”

Harry nods, reaching over and grabbing the juice from the small table next to the bed. I gulp it down, feeling much better. I hand the glass to Harry, but he’s staring at me as if I’ve done something wrong. “What?” I say as innocently as one who is completely starkers can manage.

“Are you that thirsty?” He jerks his head to the sidetable, which is now covered in glasses of pumpkin juice.

“Um, no, I’m fine,” I answer, suddenly alarmed as I notice even more glasses of juice covering a good portion of the floor. That’s when I see them. “Bloody hell,” I say.

Harry turns to follow my stare. There are at least a dozen pairs of muscley, mostly naked Quidditch players rolling about in various states of arousal. You know, ranging from aroused to really aroused.

“Is that you?” Harry asks, as if.

“Not me,” I say, shaking my head. I point to one particularly imaginative pair of blokes. “I’m not even sure that’s physically possible.”

“Or comfortable,” Harry agrees. “Um, what’re all these penguins doing here, then?”

I peer over the edge of the bed. Sure enough, an army of penguins are now waddling about, knocking over the glasses of pumpkin juice.

“I think something’s wrong,” I offer.

“Really? What was your first clue?” Harry snaps back.

“No need to get pissy.” I sit back against the pillows and pull the duvet up to my chin. Harry snuggles against me, taking in the ever-changing, increasingly bizarre tableau unfolding in front of us.

“Must not’ve gotten all of the bugs out,” I say as a herd of orange unicorns splashes through the milling throng of penguins. Harry wipes the drops of pumpkin juice from his face.

“Obviously not.”

One corner of the locker room has morphed into some sort of heavily foilaged rainforest. I can barely make out tiny figures amongst the trunks. After a few moments, they emerge. My mouth falls open. “Um, Harry, what exactly are those things?”

I can feel Harry press tighter against me. “Well, off hand I’d say they look like a tribe of house elves, all with Hagrid’s head.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say as an ice floe covered in penguins floats by the bed. “Um, notice anything odd about the penguins?”

“Yep,” he nods. They’ve all got Flitwick’s face now.”

“I don’t suppose we could make a break for it.”

“I think we’d best stay put,” Harry replies. “No telling how deep the pumpkin juice is. Besides, that herd of persimmon hippogriffs seems to be parked right in front of where the door used to be.”

I nod just as our bed begins to float. “Do you reckon someone will come after us?” I duck as a flock Millicent Bulstrodes dive bombs the bed. “Oy, look at that, will ya? I know that’s not me!”

Harry grins sheepishly. “Maybe not, but kindly explain what’s coming up on our left, please.”

I clear my throat as we drift by a small island populated entirely by Draco Malfoys in tutus. “Can’t help it if I had a crush on him. Once.”

“Tutus?” he asks, folding his arms.

“I think it’s best we just let all this flow on past without further analysis.” We bounce off the now floating whirlpool bath and the two Quidditch blokes wave cheerily. A few penguins have taken over the foot of the bed, and the ceiling of the locker room has been replaced by a cloudy sky. I squint to try to make out some tiny forms flying toward us.

“I don’t want to know,” Harry groans. “I really just want my jeans.” He bats at an especially annoying penguin. “I think they’re looking a bit hungry.”

“Harry,” I say, pointing at the mass of cloaked figures heading straight for us.

“Oh shite,” he moans. “Just what we need. A flock of green Umbridges on brooms.”

“Could be worse,” I say.

“Oh? How?”

Before I can say another word, a rumble of thunder shakes the bed. The first drops plink onto the Duvet. “Well, rain never hurt anyone,” I observe bravely.

“It’s not water,” Harry says, poking at a rather thick drop and gingerly tasting it. “I think it’s orange marmalade.”

~~~~~~~~~~


“Well, Remus? Are they in there?” McGonagall gestures to the blank expanse of wall.

Remus nods. “I’m not entirely certain, although I can’t imagine where else they’d be. Everyone else has been accounted for, Ron and Harry haven’t left the grounds, and we found their robes on the sixth floor landing.” He glances at the wall. “Only one way to find out.” The werewolf paces back and forth three times, his brow furrowed in concentration.

McGonagall yelps and clutches at her bodice as the door to the Room of Requirement materializes. “Very good, Remus! Very good!” She reaches out for the latch.

“Minerva, you might want to step back!” Remus warns.

The next instant, the door bursts open and a flood of what appears to be pumpkin juice pours out into the corridor. A fair number of penguins and odd-looking house elves tumble out as well, all slowly fading away as they get further and further away from the door.

“Heavens,” McGonagall gasps as she peers into the room.

“Hell’s harpies,” Remus says, immediately covering his mouth to muffle the impending laughter. “You all right in there?”

Ron and Harry nod sheepishly from their marmalade encrusted bed.

“What…oh…well!” McGonagall huffs. “Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley! You knew this floor wasn’t completely cleared! You could have been seriously injured! Come along out of there!” The Headmistress motions to them impatiently.

“Um, well, we’d like to, but,” Harry says meekly.

Remus sniggers, takes a few steps into the room and tosses their robes to them. “Yes, well, we’ll be just down the hall, um, waiting.” He not so gently turns a huffing McGonagall about and ushers her down the hall. “Let’s get a move on, fellows!” he calls over his shoulder. “Not entirely safe up here! Meet you both on the sixth floor.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so…sticky,” Ron grimaces as he pulls on his robes.

“Not even the strongest cleansing charm will get all of this off,” Harry agrees, gingerly tiptoeing across the rather slushy floor.

Once in the corridor, they both turn and watch as the Room assumes a more traditional Gryffindor motif.

“Very funny,” Ron snorts.

The door swings shut with a loud bang and disappears.

“That was mortifying,” Ron says, picking at his matted hair.

“Good thing they showed up when they did,” Harry counters. “The marmalade was starting to get pretty thick in there.”

“Ugh. I can’t wait to get this stuff off. The quicker we get home, the quicker we can clean up.”

Harry takes a few steps down the corridor before stopping abruptly.

“Harry?”

He turns to Ron, his eyes ablaze with mischief. “You know the Prefect’s Bath on the fifth floor? I’ll wager the password still works! Let’s give it a go!” He waggles his eyebrows before trotting off down the corridor.

“Just remember,“ Ron calls out after him, “this one was your idea!”

~ fin ~

* * Terra Conturbo transltates roughly as ‘Land thrown into confusion’ * *