Good Things

Harry knew. Harry had known for years, and the truth was that it boggled him a little that nobody else seemed to. It was nearly impossible to miss, Harry thought, if one watched their bodies closely. Then again, he thought, perhaps nobody watched their bodies as closely as he did.

It was in their hands. It was in the way that George’s fingers would skim over Fred’s hips as he slid by his brother to get behind the register, or through a narrow aisle, or to reach something on a shelf. The motion itself did not betray anything, precisely; it was the ease of it; the nonchalance. It was the undercurrent of affection.

It wasn’t brotherly; not even twin-brotherly. It was the same way Ron touched Hermione when he squeezed past her in their tiny kitchen. Perhaps it was a Weasley thing, but it was a Weasley-in-love thing, and it had been present, in some form or another, for as long as Harry had known the twins.

He remembered watching them at Christmas in Grimmauld Place, side-by-side on the creaky old floor, their shoulders pressed against one another despite the heat from the fireplace and the spaciousness of the sitting room. He thought about the way their foreheads came together and their eyes crinkled when they laughed; the way they held eye contact for several seconds longer than necessary.

Their intimacy was practically palpable, and Harry supposed they had gone undetected (or at least un-spoken-about) for so long because that intimacy could be dismissed as a twin thing by people who, not being twins themselves, could not comfortably call it anything else. But it was not a twin thing. It was a lover thing, and Harry imagined they had probably been lovers for much of their lives.

It was a strange thought, but it was one that Harry had gotten used to over the years. Well, to be truthful, he had done more than gotten used to it. He sort of liked it. A lot.

He liked their bodies – all lean muscle and narrow hips; unpredictable movement and casual grace – and he liked their bodies together: the way they played off of one another, seemed to punctuate each other’s sentences and anticipate each other’s gestures.

More than once, he had imagined how that all translated when they were alone together, sliding his hand down the front of his pyjama pants and rolling onto his belly, his face pushed hard into his pillow, his hips frantic and his heart pounding like a mad Bludger as he brought himself off to their voices in his head.

_______________

"Fred! Fuck, Fred! Oh, buggering shite!"

"What?" Fred panted, a little breathless and a lot disheartened, as he pulled out, his fingers digging into George’s shoulders with irritation as he pushed backwards. Those words, depending upon George’s voice as he said them, could either be very good or very bad. This morning – as seemed to be the trend recently – they were very bad.

"Your bloody angle’s all off, and you’re too bloody fast, you greedy sonofabitch." George rolled over onto his back and glared into Fred’s tense face. "For fuck’s sake, it’s my arse, not a roasting chicken. You can’t just shove in like a bleeding troll."

Fred scowled. "Well I beg your pardon, your majesty. Didn’t realize you had such a delicate backdoor. I can’t do anything properly, can I? If it isn’t Ow, Fred, you bastard! it’s Oh, harder, Fred! Put some muscle in it!" His voice rose in falsetto imitation.

George sighed. "Yes, well, I seem to recall a time when you didn’t require so much instruction."

"Right. And you’re the Percy Weasley of shagging, are you, Georgie? That’s why I had to clean your spunk off my chin; couldn’t even hold your wad long enough to get it in my sodding mouth."

"It’s the morning. I had a dream. It isn’t my fault."

"Well, maybe I ought to have a Dream Sucker before bed, then, hm? At least that way I’d have something to do with this." Fred gestured at his flagging erection.

"Have a go by yourself in the shower, why don’t you? I’ve had enough trauma for one day, and it isn’t even nine a.m."

"Think I will." Fred heaved himself over the side of the bed and padded off to the bathroom, the fingers of one hand wrapped around his cock, the fingers of the other digging into the side of his thigh.

Leaning heavily against the pillows and sighing, George watched him go.

When the bathroom door shut (when had they started closing doors on one another?), George stretched and made his way slowly to the kitchen, distracting himself with the task of breakfast-making.

Fred emerged to find a plate of pancakes, a mug of coffee, and a still-naked George waiting for him. He smiled as he sat down. "Cheers," he said, lifting his mug and arching his eyebrows.

George tipped up his mouth in a half-smile. "Cheers. Made you coffee."

"Thanks, mate."

It was serious business when George brewed coffee, as he never drank it himself. George took a gulp of his tea and leveled his eyes across the table. "This is bollocks."

Fred sighed and wrapped his long fingers around his mug. "It’s rubbish."

"Piss-poor."

"Absolute shite."

"When was the last time we had a proper shag?"

There was a pause as they both considered, and the silence said enough. They had been shagging properly since they were fourteen, but recently, it had all gone pear-shaped: stilted and awkward and out-of-sync, with jabbing elbows and kinked necks and dubiously reliable erections.

It wasn’t just the shagging, either. The disconnection had spread like venom into every avenue of their lives. They argued at the shop over details large and small – merchandise placement, pricing, bookkeeping, inventory – and they hadn’t come up with a new product since the end of the war nearly six months ago. Business was, for the moment at least, still healthy, but it wouldn’t be long before the juvenile wizarding population grew tired of Canary Creams and trick wands and started demanding innovation. And innovation was, suffice it to say, sorely lacking on all fronts.

Grinning wryly around his mouthful of pancake and still looking charming – as only Fred could do – he garbled, "I hate to say it, mate, but I don’t mind so much you working out your sexual frustration in the kitchen. These are brilliant."

"Fuck off, you bloody wanker."

Fred shrugged, still grinning, and swallowed thickly. "Didn’t have much of a choice about the wanking, did I? Least you got your rocks off."

George flicked his wand and sent a stick of butter flying at his brother’s head. "Clean this shite up. I’m hitting the shower."

Without a second thought, George pulled the bathroom door closed behind him.

_______________

The front door to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes opened with a hippogriff-grunt (courtesy of George's charmwork), and Audrey looked up from her seat near the counter.

"Morning, Harry!"

"Hi, Audrey! How’re you feeling?"

Audrey grinned and patted her belly. "Huge. Constipated. Tired. Oh, and glowing, too. I’m glowing, right? Please tell me I’m glowing. All that rubbish."

Harry laughed. He adored Audrey; he had right from the start. When he had spoken with Percy after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had asked him what made him come back to fight. Percy had not even hesitated before saying, I had something to fight for. He had just found out two days earlier that Audrey was pregnant.

After meeting Audrey, Harry completely understood. She was Percy’s perfect counterpoint: she was clever and perceptive, and she could match him fact-for-fact. Where he could be rigid and stubborn, however, Audrey was open and easygoing. She also possessed a wicked, ribald sense of humour that was known to stop even the twins in their tracks on occasion.

"You’re positively radiant," Fred lilted, ruffling Audrey’s hair as he walked by balancing an overlarge box on the tip of his wand. "Don’t you think so, Harry? That Weasley spunk is good stuff, innit Audrey, love? Even Percy’s."

Audrey swatted playfully at Fred’s behind as he passed. "Better his than yours. Our offspring would be something straight out of Hades."

Fred grinned and swept back into the stock room, calling over his shoulder, "If I were the impregnating sort, you’d be at the top of my list."

Audrey snorted as the door shut behind him. "The impregnating sort." She rolled her eyes at Harry. "Don’t think for a minute that if he could figure it out, he wouldn’t stuff George with some mini hellion clone, just to torment the rest of us."

Harry stared.

Audrey looked incredulous. "Oh, come on, Harry. Don’t tell me you don’t know. You’re always staring at the two of them, for Merlin’s sake."

Harry swallowed. This was dangerous ground. He wasn’t sure what to say, and she was looking at him, eyebrows quirked, clearly awaiting a response. Could she possibly mean what he thought she meant? Well, could she possibly mean anything else? Harry could feel himself turning red. He suddenly felt more like a fourteen year-old boy than the Hero of the Wizarding World. "I… well. Well, I sort of suspected, but…"

Audrey grinned. "I knew you did. Really, Harry. You couldn’t be any more obvious if you’d attached your eyes to their arses with a permanent sticking charm. And if you’re looking that closely, you surely can’t miss it."

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by several loud bangs, something that resembled scattering marbles, and the sound of bickering coming from the stock room. Another bang quickly followed, punctuated by even louder bickering and topped off with a fucking clumsy git!

Audrey sighed loudly as Harry’s eyes darted anxiously towards the door. "They’ve been at it since I got here," Audrey said, shaking her head. "It’s really rather strange. From what Percy told me, they never argue."

Harry shook his head back at her. "No, they never did. Not like that, anyway."

Audrey chewed her lip. "What, precisely, happened to Fred in the war? I’ve asked Percy, but he clams up tight about it. I think he feels responsible, and I don’t want to push him. The whole thing was just…" She stopped.

"You don’t have to tell me," Harry said quietly.

"I know I don’t," Audrey answered. She reached out and brushed her fingers against Harry’s.

"Rather nasty head injury. They thought, at first, that he’d died. Nobody could find a pulse ‘til Luna had a look. She insisted he was alive. She could see his wrackspurts." Harry stopped, smiling drolly, and took a deep breath. "They couldn’t even get George to look. He was hysterical. Three weeks in St. Mungo’s before Fred opened his eyes."

"That I remember," she said quietly. "Percy wouldn’t let me come with him; wouldn’t say a word. Even when he woke up, that’s all he said. Fred’s awake."

Harry nodded. "Sounds like Percy."

"He’s relaxed a bit, now that Fred’s up and around and causing trouble again."

"Good on him," Harry said. "Or, I should probably say, good on you. You’ve been good for him, I think."

Audrey laughed. "Yes, well. It goes both ways. I just wish the good cheer was spread all ‘round," she added, as another chorus of angry clattering came from behind the door.

"Me, too. I didn’t realize it’d been like this."

Audrey’s eyes suddenly turned sharp and took on a glint that reminded Harry very eerily of Fred and George. "Getting his head knocked around like that… I think it did something to his magic, Harry. Short-circuited something between him and George. A good blow to the brain can do that. It's documented. Spell-backfiring, diminished or increased magical power, disruption of all kinds of shite. I think this might be reversible, though. He doesn't seem to have any trouble with his spellwork. It's just the connection that got interrupted." She paused, looking pointedly into Harry's face. "I think they need some help."

"… Help?"

"Help," she said firmly. Her clever blue eyes raked over Harry, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"What sort of help?"

"Harry…" she began tilting her head sideways. "What do you know about the number three?"


_______________

Harry tossed and turned, restless and wired. Audrey's words kept replaying in his head like the tinny Christmas music his Aunt Petunia would play on a loop during her and Uncle Vernon's wretched holiday parties.

The number three has very powerful magic. Think about it. The Christian god has three incarnations: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. The Goddess has three faces: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. There are three divisions of time: past, present, future. Three primary colours. Three heads on Cerebus. Three Hallows. Three is the number that represents the real, the solid, the complete, the entire. Three is what makes things whole. Three has restorative qualities. Healing qualities. The third side of the triangle is what brings the other two together.

Her eyes had been gentle but straightforward. There was absolutely no way he could have misunderstood what she had been suggesting.

He had just stared at her, mouth agape, as she smiled that knowing smile of hers and then called over his shoulder to greet a customer, effectively ending the conversation.

Harry liked the idea alternately more and less the harder he pondered it. The interested twitching of his cock seemed to argue in favour, while Hermione's voice somewhere in the back of his mind argued against, citing the fact that they were brothers, and Ron's brothers, at that!

But, Harry argued back (he seemed to be biased in favour of his cock in this matter, despite his attempts to convince himself otherwise), they're already doing it! And if it'll stop that incessant bickering… I mean, Audrey's pregnant, for Merlin's sake! That can't be good for the baby!

Harry groaned aloud at the feebleness of that last thought, but it did nothing to stem the tide of images that raced madly though his mind: George, flat on his belly with his legs spread wide, and Fred, long-limbed and graceful sliding in between them, and… and himself, a shock of dark hair in a sea of red; himself, fingertips gripping at freckled skin, and…

Harry threw his head back against the pillow. It had been entirely too long since he had been touched by someone other than himself, and it was growing ever more useless to argue against the merits of that.

Audrey was a reasonable witch, wasn't she? She had to be. Percy would never have settled for anything less, not even for a fling (Was Percy the fling type? Harry somehow doubted it), let alone for the mother of his children. No. Audrey was sensible. Audrey was intelligent. And Audrey was, Harry thought, absolutely brimming with brilliant ideas.

And it wasn't like he hadn't thought of it himself. Since he was fourteen. At least once a week. Sometimes more. And Fred and George needed him. He could fix them. If there was one thing that Harry could absolutely not resist – other than a pair of lean, muscular, twin bodies that were obviously boffing one another – it was the impulse to fix, to help, to resolve, to make right.

Yes, Harry decided. He was going to make this right.

His cock throbbed its agreement, and in his mind, Harry shot his come across two identical, freckled bellies rather than his own before drifting off to sleep.

_______________

Yawning, George pulled his shoulders back into a stretch and promptly elbowed Fred in the side of the head. Fred grunted sleepily in protest.

"Sorry," George muttered, stretching the rest of the way.

Fred rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. "Morning? Already?"

"'Fraid so." George watched as Fred went through his morning ritual of knuckle-cracking and eye-rubbing, and when he finally pulled himself into an upright position against the headboard, George placed a hand at his brother's slender wrist. "Freddie, do you think Audrey was right?"

"'Bout what?"

"That we need some help at the shop."

"She is our bloody help at the shop."

"Well, she won't be for long. Once she pops the little ankle-biter out, she'll be busy trying to keep the bloody thing quiet so Percy doesn't give it a citation."

Fred snorted. "True. I dunno. What do you think?"

George shrugged. "Couldn't hurt, could it? She kept prattling on about how we need a third person. Thinks having somebody else there is going to solve our problem."

Fred looked sharply at his brother. "What problem?"

"Bugger if I know." George paused. "Is it really that obvious, do you think?"

"Well, you were running your bloody mouth loud enough at me yesterday, weren't you? Wouldn't be surprised if all of Diagon Alley heard us having a problem."

"…Sorry."

"'Sall right. Let's get moving, yeah? We're late."

When they got downstairs, they were both surprised to see Audrey already there, engaged in a rather animated – though quiet – conversation with Harry.

"Morning, Audrey, love. Thanks for opening up for us. And two days in a row, Harry! To what do we owe this pleasure?" George asked, sliding across the front counter to place himself between the two.

Harry smiled. "Break in Auror training. Conferences or some nonsense. Thought I'd check in and make sure you two haven't burned the place to the ground yet."

"Still working on it," Fred said, sliding into place beside George. "But George here's gotten to be rubbish at new and exciting methods of destruction, and I've been concentrating on… well, mostly on remembering how to add and subtract, yeah?" He laughed, tapping at his head with the tip of his wand.

"Right," George muttered. "Don't let him fool you. He's fine enough with maths to know when I've nicked from his sweet stash and rip me a new arsehole over it, aren't you Fred?"

Fred grinned and slipped off the edge of the counter, heading for the stockroom. "Never let it be said that I don't know my priorities."

"I'm sure you'll have them all straightened out soon, sweetheart. Priorities and arseholes," Audrey said with a smile as Fred disappeared through the threshold.

Startled, George cast a sidelong glance at Audrey, and he swore that he saw her exchange a meaningful look with Harry before she rose to rub a spot off of the front window with the hem of her robes.

_______________

For most of the morning, Harry wandered around Diagon Alley, trying to keep himself busy. His stomach kept doing funny flip-flops, and he was utterly distracted. He could barely count out his Galleons when he bought himself an ice-cream cone from Florean Fortescue's son, which was probably just as well, seeing as he promptly dropped it on the sidewalk and all over his shoes.

As the hours crept closer to noontime, he slowly made his way back towards Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, his heart fluttering madly in his chest.

He had debated back and forth about letting Audrey in on his plans, and at last he had decided that it could only help things. She was, after all, the one who had suggested he do this, and she had just a wide enough streak of schemer in her to invite Harry's confidence (she reminded him strongly of Hermione in this, and perhaps that was why he trusted her so.) With a wink and a cat-like grin, she had promised to take care of things on her end.

Therefore, it came as absolutely no surprise when Harry arrived back at the door just in time to see Audrey bustling through it, her arm linked through Fred's.

"Oh, hello again, Harry!" she said brightly. "I just had this urgent craving for Indian takeaway, and Fred volunteered to go with me to grab some. Are you hungry? We could bring some back for you, if you'd like."

"Samosas all around?" asked Fred, bowing in imitation of a server.

"No, I'm all right," Harry replied, trying to keep his insides from twisting into fiendish little knots. "I was actually just thinking I could go for a… an Edible Dark Mark."

Fred gestured extravagantly towards the door, his eyebrows arched. "By all means!"

When Audrey had led Fred down to the end of the sidewalk, Harry walked quietly through the front door (as quietly as one can, anyway, when a hippogriff grunts every time it's opened) and flipped the sign from Open to Closed. Mercifully, the store was empty. He could hear rustling sounds coming from the stock room.

"Oi, George!" he tried to call, but his voice stuck. He coughed and tried again.

"Harry?" George called back.

Harry took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders as he made his way towards the open door at the rear of the shop. "Just me! I… I just ran into Fred and Audrey. Heading out for lunch, yeah?"

"We'll see what comes back with them," George said with a laugh. He was reorganizing the shelves in the back, ducking as his wand twitched back and forth and inventory darted all around his head. "I wrote down the bloody order, but ten to one that git mucks it up. Good thing I'm not picky about my Indian, yeah?"

"Good thing," Harry agreed, leaping sideways as a box flew by, a centimetre from his ear. "What's… I mean… George?"

George cocked his head, looking at Harry quizzically. "Hm?"

"What's… is everything all right? With you and Fred, I mean. You guys have been…"

"Arguing like Ron and Hermione?" George finished, a sad smile playing at his lips.

"Well… yeah. Except. Well. Not as cute."

Harry felt himself turning red as George laughed in earnest. "Don't think I'll ever be able to compete with my little brother and his bird in the cute department, Harry. 'Specially since they've both got two ears."

"I don't mind it," Harry answered a little too quickly. "It gives you character."

"Right," George said. "I needed more of that."

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly. "In any case. You know. I was just wondering."

For a moment, they just stood and looked at each other. Harry's heart was in his throat when George finally spoke. "No, you're right. It's been strange, since… well, since Fred got his brains knocked around. Nothing's really working properly."

A lump was forming in Harry's throat. He could feel his palms blooming with sweat. "I… I know, George."

"Rather obvious, is it?"

"No, I mean… I know." Harry took a tentative step towards George, whose forehead was creased in confusion. Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to speak before he nanced out. The words came out too fast, and he felt as though he were tripping over them as he spoke. "I know about you and Fred. About what you are. I mean, what you do. I mean… it's okay! It's just… I always knew, and… and I haven't told anybody!" he blurted out, as understanding suddenly dawned across George's features.

George's body shrank back against the shelves as he surveyed Harry cautiously. One of his hands worked at the side of his robes. This was going all wrong. Harry took another step forward.

"No, it's okay, it's just… it's just that you guys are arguing. And… and it's sort of sad. And… I'm sorry."

George stood silent, but Harry could see something in him soften a bit. Taking heart, Harry drew close enough to reach out his hand and brush it against George's arm. To his relief, George didn't pull away. Harry held on. "I really am, George."

George's face seemed to waver as he stood there. Under Harry's hand, his muscles jerked a bit. He coughed. "It's rubbish, Harry. Complete rubbish. Everybody can see it, and it's just interfering everywhere. We can't run the shop properly. We haven't come out with a new product since the war. We can't even…" He stopped short.

Harry raised his eyebrows. This was it. He had to act now. He took another small step towards George and brought his other hand to rest against George's hip. "Can't even what?" he murmured, looking up into George's tense face.

"We can't even shag properly! We can't even touch each other! It's bollocks!" It came out in flood, as if the words had been damming up George's heart for months and were just now being let through. "Nothing works! It's either too fast, or it's too bloody slow, or it's the wrong time, or it's the wrong angle, or…"

Harry's heart was hammering now, flying back and forth against his ribs like a Bludger gone mad. George had moved his own hand to rest atop Harry's, and his face was shot through with both anguish and relief, and it was just centimetres now from Harry's own.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, hoping George couldn't feel how anxious he was. "That's got to be frustrating, yeah?"

"Bloody fuck, it's frustrating," George said. He stopped for a moment, and they held one another's gaze. "I miss it, that's all. I miss him."

"I'll bet," Harry said softly. Working up his nerve, he rose a bit on the tips of his toes until his mouth was right at George's ear. "George," he whispered, his voice shaking just the tiniest bit, "…what do you know about the number three?"

_______________

Fred hitched the bag of Indian takeaway up under his arm and leaned in to push open the door. Noting that the sign had been changed to Closed, he frowned slightly. "George?" he called, stepping inside and setting the bag on the counter. "Where are you? Everything all right?"

From the stockroom, George's voice called back. "In here, Freddie."

Fred paused. Freddie. And that tone in George's voice… he knew that tone. He knew it well. What in Merlin's name was George playing at, in the middle of the day? In the shop? Not that they hadn't done it before. They had. In fact, they used to all the time. But that was before, and this was… now. Now, and… interesting. Fred smiled to himself. It had been entirely too long.

Making his way towards the back room, Fred said, "Audrey wasn't feeling well, all the sudden. I told her to go home and give Percy a hard time, so she…" He stopped dead in the doorway.

"Sweet cunting fuck George. What the bloody hell is…" For what was very likely the first time in his life, Fred was struck dumb.

"Look what I got you, Freddie."

Fred took a deep breath and mentally shook himself off. "Too late for our birthday. Too early for Christmas. What's the occasion, Georgie, love?"

George shrugged and carded his long fingers through Harry's dark hair. "Harry's idea. Really, Fred. Could you say no to this face?"

The face to which George was referring was currently tilted up towards Fred from the floor, gazing at him with dinner-plate sized pupils through a fringe of unbelievable eyelashes. Briefly, Fred wondered how he had never noticed them before, then decided that it must be the glasses, which had been removed and set aside on one of the shelves. "'Spose not, no," Fred murmured in response. "But…"

"It's okay, Freddie. He knows. And perhaps you've already noticed, but he seems to be all right with it."

Fred's eyes darted back and forth between his brother and Harry. Harry was utterly naked, kneeling on the floor in front of George, hands almost demurely folded in his lap. Well. It would have been demure, had Harry's very noticeable erection not been standing proudly up from his fist, and had two of the fingers on George's right hand not been in his mouth.

"Looks like he is."

Harry grinned up from his place on the floor, and Fred almost laughed aloud at the sight of the smile spreading open around George's fingers. George took his other hand from Harry's hair and held it out to Fred, the gesture heavy with a startling sweetness. "C'mere, Freddie," he said softly. "I've been making our young hero wait, and I think he's a bit impatient. See?"

"Sorry 'bout that," Fred said in Harry's direction. "He's been making me wait for nearly six months."

George rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to him, Harry," he muttered. "He's been a prat about the whole thing."

"I'll tell you who the prat is, Harry," Fred said slyly, dropping into a crouch at Harry's side.

Harry tilted his head sideways, exposing his ear and the side of his throat. George began to rake his fingers through Harry's hair again and stared down as Fred leaned in towards Harry. "The prat here, I'm sorry to say, is George," he murmured quietly, his lips grazing the bones in Harry's neck. "He's got you bare-arsed on the floor with his ruddy fingers in your mouth, and he gets to stand with his clothes on. Sorry sight you are. Can't even talk properly. That brother of mine has got no manners. None." Fred turned his now heavy-lidded gaze up to George.

George's hand drifted over to Fred, and he twisted a lock of copper hair through his fingers. "What do you want Harry to tell us, Freddie? I bet he's got some interesting ideas."

"Bet he does." Fred ran his tongue along the cords in Harry's neck, and Harry's shoulders jerked back in response. "Tons of them. And I bet I can guess some of them. Let me think. Harry, you just nod if I'm on the right track, yeah?"

Harry's eyes fluttered and he nodded, his hand squeezing around his cock. Fred's smile pressed into his skin. This was how he had pictured them; this was the Fred and George who lived in his fantasies; this was how they should be. He had a fleeting thought that perhaps this number three business was more than just a good excuse.

"Mmmkay. When was the first time you thought about us, Harry? I bet you were… what, thirteen? Fourteen?" Fred leaned in to nip at Harry's ear. "Did you wonder if we were identical everywhere? I bet you did."

Harry arched his neck and nodded, and George slipped a third finger between his lips. Harry sucked in hard, and George's knuckles curled around his mouth.

Fred's voice dropped to a whisper, and he leaned in until his lips were directly against Harry's ear. "We are. Head…" Fred brought one hand up to tug gently at a handful of Harry's hair, and then dragged his fingers down Harry's back, stopping to cup his arse before tracing the arch of his bare foot. "To toe. We sound alike, too. Did you wonder about that? At night, under the blankets in your cozy little bed, did you hear us? One thick cock in each of your hands – yep, they're thick, Harry – and one mouth at each of your ears, sliding your hands so fast you couldn't even think, needing to hear us, needing to know… did you do that, Harry?"

Harry's eyes were squeezed shut, and his hips were rocking almost involuntarily, thrusting his cock through the tunnel of his hands. He nodded frantically as Fred leaned in to bite his shoulder. Behind him, George had both hands in his hair now, tugging back firmly. He could feel George's cock pressing against the back of his head.

"Could you tell us apart when we came?" Fred whispered, dragging his nails lightly down Harry's arm.

Harry shook his head, biting down hard on his lip.

"I'll tell you a secret, Harry," Fred said, reaching around to grip both of Harry's wrists. He pulled them away and held them loosely in one hand at the small of Harry's back. He cupped his other hand beneath Harry's chin and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Georgie always comes more. Don't you, Georgie? Enough for both of us, really."

Fred tipped his head back and met his brother's gaze. George smiled lazily down, stroking Harry's cheek with a wet finger. "Mmmhmm," he murmured. "Every time. You should've seen the mess I made of Freddie's face yesterday, Harry. But I bet you've imagined that a thousand times. Probably old news for you, innit?"

Harry made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and George laughed, low and sweet, and ran his thumb over Harry's lips.

"You're teasing the poor thing, George," Fred said, sliding his hand down over Harry's chest, brushing the back of his hand over the head of Harry's cock. To Harry, he muttered, "Told you he was a prat. Just for that, I think he needs to go sit in the corner. Hear me, Georgie, love? Go sit in the corner."

To Harry's surprise, George obeyed without hesitation. First, however, he curled his long fingers underneath Fred's chin and guided him to his feet. Fred dropped Harry's hands and rose, leaning on Harry's bare shoulder for support.

George took Fred's face gently between his hands and drew him close. From the ground, Harry watched as their bodies moved together, catching flashes of pink from between their lips as their tongues tangled. They pressed their thighs between one another's legs, and it looked to Harry as though they had never had an argument in their entire lives. Briefly, he felt uncomfortable; like some creepy voyeur. The intimacy of the kiss practically choked him, and he felt as though perhaps he ought to turn away. Before he could, however, their bodies slipped apart, and George pressed a kiss to the back of Fred's hand before loping across the room to lean against the doorframe.

Harry looked quizzically up at Fred.

Fred smiled. "Georgie doesn't mind," he said. "He likes to watch. Don’t you, Georgie love?"

Harry turned to George, who was sliding the button of his denims apart. "Mmmhmm," he said, slowly drawing the zipper down. Harry watched, wide-eyed, his pulse thrumming wildly, as George shrugged out of his robes and withdrew his cock. Harry swallowed hard. Fred had not been kidding.

"What do you think, Harry?" Fred asked, reaching down for Harry's hand. Harry took it and let Fred pull him shakily to his feet. He felt as though his knees might give out on him at any moment. Fred turned him and wrapped both arms across his bare chest, resting his head on Harry's shoulder. His breath ghosted Harry's ear as he whispered, "Nice, yeah?"

Harry nodded, watching George as he spat into his palm and ran his hand over his cock. His eyes were squarely on Harry's, and they were hot and hungry. Despite the warmth from Fred's body behind him, a shiver went through him.

In his ear, he heard Fred chuckle. Fred reached down and slid his hand up Harry's entire length, then paused to close his fist tightly around it. Over Harry's shoulder, he watched George as he found a slow, steady rhythm, and then matched the pace, holding Harry tightly to his body. In time with George's hand and his own, he gently rocked against Harry's body, brushing his own cock against Harry's arse through his trousers.

"Spread your legs, Georgie," he said, and George bit his bottom lip, moving his legs apart. "Gorgeous. Slide down a bit." George obeyed, and Harry watched, fascinated and painfully hard and half dizzy from all of it.

In his ear, Fred murmured, "See? He likes it. Do you want to see what he tastes like?"

The answer was out of Harry's mouth almost before it entered his mind. "Yes!"

Fred laughed. "You got me a live one, here, George. He wants you in his mouth. What do you think?"

George's answer was breathy and ragged. "I think that's brilliant."

"Go on, Harry," Fred urged, pressing gently between Harry's shoulder blades and dropping his head to nip at his neck.

Harry began to walk towards the door, and Fred walked with him, pressed hard against his back the whole way. "Wait til you taste him, Harry," he murmured. "You won't fucking believe it. He's so good. Are you gonna let him come in your mouth?"

"Mmmhmm," Harry answered, drawing his fingers along his own cock as he walked.

"Tell him," Fred whispered. "Tell him what you want him to do."

They were in front of George now, and Fred nudged Harry back down to his knees. Over Harry's head, Fred leaned forward, his palms on either side of George's head. They began to kiss again, hard and wet and deep, and Harry leaned in and licked a stripe up the inside of George's thigh. The muscles there jerked, and he heard George moan into Fred's mouth.

Fred broke the kiss just long enough to say, "Tell him, Harry," before capturing George's lips with his again.

Harry began to kiss at both of George's thighs, nipping lightly with his teeth. "Want to taste you," he hummed against George's skin. "'M gonna make you come. 'M gonna make you come so hard…"

George's hips jerked forward, and Fred rubbed his knee against Harry's back in encouragement. One of George's hands fell loosely into Harry's hair, and he scraped his blunt fingernails lightly across Harry's scalp. Harry sighed and leaned in to take just the head of George's cock into his mouth. It was salty and heavy on his lips, and he ran his tongue in a slow circle around it. George's hand tightened in his hair.

Over his head, Harry could feel George's other hand reaching for Fred's fly. He heard the slippery, scraping sound of the button coming free, and then the metallic sound of the zip close to his ear. He crowded in closer to George, taking more of him into his mouth, as Fred and George worked together to push Fred's trousers to his feet. Fred stepped out of them, and Harry reached back with one hand to throw them aside.

Harry heard a swish of fabric and knew that Fred's robes had disappeared, as well. He could feel Fred's legs, bare now, against his back, and Fred's cock was brushing against the back of his ear.

Suddenly, Fred reached down and pulled Harry gently backwards, his hand across his forehead. Harry made a startled noise, and George's cock slipped wetly from his mouth. George made a whinging little sound, and Fred sucked briefly at his neck. "'S'okay, Georgie," he said. "Harry'll let you come in a minute. Won't you, Harry?" Fred's hand stroked the back of Harry's head, and Harry nodded.

Fred nudged George's shoulder, and George slid down the wall until he was sitting against it, his legs spread wide. He met Harry's eyes, and his smile was feline and content. "Lovely," he said, as Harry ran his tongue over his lips. They tasted like George's precome, and his cock twitched. "You're a brilliant little cocksucker, yeah?"

"Is he?" Fred asked, and Harry turned his eyes up to look at Fred. The expression on his face was identical to the one on George's, and Harry had the brief, fleeting thought that this was a dream. It had to be a dream. It was exactly as he had imagined it a thousand times – no, a million – and it couldn't possibly be this good, could it?

It was. It was this good.

"He is," George answered, and Fred grabbed Harry's head and pulled it roughly towards him.

"Show me," Fred said, and Harry did not need to be told twice. He took Fred's entire length into his mouth at once and hollowed his cheeks around it. From behind him, he heard George groan.

As Harry sucked, Fred threaded his fingers through his hair and rocked his hips. Harry closed his eyes and reached down with his free hand to fist his leaking cock in time with Fred's shallow thrusts. He had just thought, They even taste the same, when he felt George moving behind him.

George drew himself up onto his knees behind Harry and began to trail kisses across his shoulders and down his back. Under the feathery sensations, Harry's body shivered, and George seized him by the hips. He felt George's cock, huge and hard and wet with Harry's own spit and George's precome, press into his arse. George leaned in close to his ear, just as Fred had done. "Who tastes better?" he teased, licking along the curve of Harry's ear.

Harry hummed his inaudible answer around Fred's cock, and Fred's hips canted forward in response. George laughed into Harry's shoulder. He took his own cock in his hand and began to draw it up and down along the cleft of Harry's arse. Harry shuddered and lost his rhythm, and Fred grunted and pulled at his hair.

"Fred, stop being so selfish," George chided, nudging at the small of Harry's back with the blunt head of his cock. "It's always all about him," he murmured, sucking a love mark into Harry's neck. "Get him all wound up, and forget it. He'll fuck you til you scream and won't think twice. Of course…" George paused, reaching around to add his hand to Harry's, sliding it up and down, "if you like that sort of thing…"

Harry moaned around Fred's cock now, and he could feel George's smile at his back. "Do you like that sort of thing, Harry?"

Harry nodded frantically, sucking as hard as he could.

George leaned forward to whisper into his ear. "So do I."

Suddenly, Fred yanked back on Harry's hair, and pulled his hips away, panting. "Not yet," he said, as Harry looked up at him, surprised. Using Harry's shoulders to steady himself, Fred came down to eye level. His gaze was hooded and mischievous and demanding all at once, and he whispered, "I want to come while you fuck me."

Harry almost came right there, not a sodding hand on him. It must have showed on his face, because Fred broke into a cheeky grin. "Sound all right to you then, mate?"

"Yes." It was a whisper.

"Lovely."

Lovely wasn't really the word Harry would have chosen as George leaned down over his shoulder with a wand (It was Harry's. Where had that come from?) to conjure a pile of messy blankets out of thin air, and then cast a charm over Fred that made him arch his back and tug at his bollocks. No. Not lovely. The appropriate word, however, seemed to escape Harry at the moment, as George took Harry by the wrist and guided his hand towards Fred's arse.

They moved together, sliding their fingers inside, and Harry let George show him what to do. Soon, they each had two fingers working, and Fred was panting and pushing back against them, his eyes screwed up tight. Finally, he gasped, "For fuck's sake!" and George chuckled lightly against Harry's ear.

"Think he's ready, Harry. Go on." George took one last lick of Harry's neck before pressing his hips forward. Harry leaned down onto his hands and stared down into Fred's perfectly disheveled face, a mess of sweat and freckles and heat.

Harry felt George's hand close around his cock, and Fred pulled up his knees to rest against Harry's shoulders. Harry grit his teeth; George muttered a gentle go on, and Harry slid, inch by maddening inch, into Fred's arse. Over Harry's shoulder, George watched his brother with an expression of rapt attention, one hand absently cupping Fred's heel. Harry could feel George's breath moving his hair, and he bit his lip and did his best to stay still and let Fred adjust.

"All right, Fred?" Harry asked, his voice taut and choked.

Fred answered with his hips, and George's palm pressed against the small of Harry's back, and then Harry began a slow and halting rhythm, George's tongue at his back.

Harry tried to be gentle, but Fred was making it nearly impossible, squeezing himself tight and throwing himself into Harry's body trying to get the right angle. Harry shifted and thrust and shifted again, until a half-sob – capped off in gasp that made Harry's bollocks ache – let him know that he had found the right spot. A moan in his ear from George was all the encouragement Harry needed, and then they were fucking in earnest, skin and sweat and a hard, desperate pitch.

And then Harry stopped, his hips jerking to a halt as Fred trembled and moaned around him.

He stopped because there was suddenly something warm and wet and slippery working its way across his tailbone and into the cleft of his arse. Oh, sweet fuck; it was George. It was George's tongue, and it was in-fucking-credible.

Beneath him, Fred made a frustrated noise and tried to wriggle himself harder onto Harry's cock, and Harry tried to reciprocate, but he quickly discovered he could do nothing but arch himself down and groan Oh, fuck, George. George responded by flicking his tongue faster. Harry bit his lip and dug his fingers into the blankets hard.

Fred's eyes fluttered open, and a hazy smile broke over his face. He met Harry's gaze and said, "Innit he brilliant at that?"

Harry nodded fiercely, and he could feel George smile a self-satisfied smile against him, pushing his tongue harder. Fred's hand had wandered between them, and he was now fisting himself in time with Harry's shallow, back-and-forth rocking against George's mouth.

Just when Harry thought that he might be about to come just like this, bollocks-deep inside Fred with George tonguing his arse, the warmth of George's mouth suddenly disappeared. It was replaced by two slicked-up fingers that slid inside him with one smooth motion. Harry gasped and jerked forward, and Fred made a surprised noise beneath him.

George's free hand roamed over Harry's back and stopped to pet Fred's ankles, hooked around Harry's neck. "Good, Harry?" George asked, but before Harry could answer, a third finger was inside, and he found himself involuntarily pushing back against it, desperate for more.

George let out a low chuckle. "Ready, then?"

Harry could not make himself speak; the words tangled around his tongue, and all he could do was groan. Fred answered for him. "Get to it, Georgie."

Harry heard George spit into his hand, and then he felt the blunt head of George's cock pressing against his arse. For a moment, everything burned and stretched, and Harry gasped and tried to force himself to relax. George stroked his hips and murmured to him, "Good, lovely, brilliant," and Fred reached up to pet his cheeks in an absurdly protective gesture.

Harry sucked one of Fred's fingers into his mouth as George pushed all the way in, and the three of them stilled, breathing and opening for one another in the silence.

Finally, George, speaking through gritted teeth, asked, "Good?"

Fred and Harry answered together. "Fuck!" The silent tension broke into three separate chimes of laughter, and then George began to move.

It was awkward at first, as Harry tried to move both forward into Fred and back against George, but he soon discovered that if he gave himself up entirely to George's thrusts, they could move in sync. George pushed forward, angling hard against Harry's prostate and driving him into Fred, whose needy moans were competing with George's.

Through the haze of sensation; of both fucking and being fucked; Harry thought, They do sound the same, and soon the sounds were all around him. They seemed to skim off of his skin like sparks, to travel along his spine, to settle somewhere at the base of his tailbone and reverberate through his body like a current.

Then, suddenly, he realized that there was a current coming through him. It was coming at him from both directions; this gorgeous, buzzing, hot sensation under his skin and in his ears and eyes and mouth, and Fred's and George's hands were twined together against his thigh, holding tight, and they seemed to feel it, too, because soon all three of their bodies were moving frantically in this bizarre, perfect harmony.

Out of nowhere, Audrey's words floated through Harry's mind, and he thought, She was right; this is magic.

In his ear, George was gasping and panting. "Freddie first. Make him come, Harry. Do you want to watch him come?"

"Yes." And he did. "Fred, hold your cock against me."

Fred complied, pushing himself into Harry's belly and trapping his cock between his hand and Harry's skin. Harry murmured, "Faster, George," and George rutted harder against him, driving him down against Fred's cock as Fred's thumb worked circles into the head.

Fred keened and his hips jerked, and Harry felt all of his muscles squeeze tight as he came hard, all over his own hand and Harry's stomach. The pressure on his cock sent Harry right along with him, and George's tongue slipped wet and hot into his ear: "Come on, Harry."

Harry's body pulsed and hummed, and George grabbed him roughly by both hips and grunted with each thrust, coming inside of Harry as Harry slumped forward against Fred's warm, boneless body.

George collapsed over Harry with a sigh, and both he and Fred reached to wrap their arms around him; one big, messy tangle of limbs and sweat and come on the floor of the stock room.


_______________


Audrey came striding out of the stock room, three boxes hovering in the air beside her head. Harry was leaning against the counter, counting out the drawer.

"Thanks for your help, Harry," she said brightly, as the boxes' contents began to circle around the store and settle into their places.

"No problem," he said. "Count's spot-on."

"Knew it would be," she smiled. She stopped, and cocked her head as if listening to something. "Hear that?"

"What?" Harry asked.

"Not a blessed thing," Audrey grinned. "They were huddled in the corner back there when I stepped out, whispering like a couple of ickle first years. Been doing it all day. I think they're up to something."

Harry caught her eye and arched one eyebrow. "It has been a bit quieter around here, hasn't it?"

"Dangerously so."

Harry laughed. "Situation normal, then."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Audrey reached to ruffle Harry's hair playfully. "You seem a bit more relaxed, too, young Master Potter."

Harry shrugged, his expression arch. "What do the Muggles say, then, about good things…" he coughed. "Err… coming in threes?"