Title: Favorite Memory
Author: Florahart
Based On: Trinity by pre_raphaelite1
Characters/Pairings: Albus Severus/James Sirius, Charlie/Bill/Fleur
Rating: NC-17
Content/Warnings: anal sex, incest, threesome, voyeurism, assumption of masturbation
Word Count: ~3175
Summary/Description: Albus Severus only gets called in when the incident involves memory re-integration. It's just as well he's the expert they call in this time.
Author's Notes: There are a few lines, mostly dialogue, lifted directly from the inspiring piece. It should be clear which these are. Otherwise, this may stretch the concept of a remix a little, but I had fun with it.

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Favorite Memory

It's a good thing this whole thing went down here at the new colony; Albus can only imagine how it would be going if it were happening during a family gathering or event, with Grandma Molly hovering and questioning, alternating between asking him whether he doesn't think this is too much for him (because he's five, obviously; that's why they gave him the flashy badge and robe--not that he's wearing the robe in this mess) and sobbing quietly into a handkerchief (this is never distracting. Not at all), possibly with some wailing about her sons and their dangerous professions, or some berating of said sons regarding their dangerous professions, thrown in for seasoning. But she has no official reason to be on-site, and there's not a lot of flexibility about allowing strangers in for unofficial reasons, so he's pretty sure that won't be an issue.

Unless she bullies her way in, which isn't exactly outside the realm of the possible. Well, he'll just hope he can deal with this quickly, is what.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and remains where he is, crouched amid the fragments of loose-floating memory and charred glass and clay with one hand on Uncle Charlie's still form. No, he can't think of him as his uncle right now--that's the part that would be too much. Just Charlie, then. He's not dead (or in imminent danger of becoming), but he's very much not whole, either, and Albus's job here is to work out, first, whether he can safely be moved, and second, whether the destination will be a long-term care ward where he'll never recover, or someplace a whole lot more cheerful.

If it's the first of those destinations, there's going to be an accident en route, of course, not that the locals know that or ever will. Albus knows Charlie more than well enough to be absolutely certain that he'd arrange the accident himself if the other choice was sixty or seventy years in a bed at St. Mungo's, but he's sensitive to the fact that a lot of people would have a big problem with a healer who kills someone, mercifully or otherwise. But it's not on the table yet, anyway. There's a lot of work still to do. He wonders where Charlie's wand is, but a quick survey of the area doesn't find it, and it's not that high a priority; there's no indication of deliberate self-harm (and Charlie's one of the most-stable people Albus knows; it's not likely anyway).

There's a faint -pop- behind him, at which Albus doesn't turn. It'll be James, coming in outside the radius; no one else would just show up inside the house. He's surprised James wasn't here first, actually, given the explosive nature of the incident, but then, Aurors are more constantly in the field than someone like Albus is; his specialty is, well, special, and there aren't all that many cases where his expertise in memory reintegration is required in the middle of pudding. But it wouldn't be anyone else; it's always James, when Albus is called in. They work well together and since it's often delicate stuff, there's just no good reason to mess with that.

"Al," James says, low, just a murmur to make sure Albus is in fact aware of his presence.

Albus nods, his free hand coming up, one finger indicating just a moment. He puts it back down and does one more careful examination of the flashpoint, where there are outlines of bubbling memory scorched into the floorboards. Whatever Charlie was playing with, there are certainly going to be some aspects which are irretrievable.

Finally, he turns his full attention back to Charlie. The backlash has sent him into a state of shock, as is apparent from his shallow breathing and fluttering pulse. He's slumped over, from where he must have been sitting on the floor leaning back against his bed. His eyes open and close on an irregular schedule that is probably something like his battered mind's attempt to blink while sleeping, and periodically his left hand lifts slightly and clenches as though he's trying to grasp something. Albus watches through a few cycles of blinking and groping, attending to the race of the pulse and the involuntary intermittent gasp, then glances down to mind his feet as he shifts to stand and move back toward James.

"What the fuck, Al?" James is looking past him at Charlie, and it occurs to Albus that where he's been all focused on symptoms and circumstances specifically related to the memory issue, James's eyes are seeing the criminal potentials. And it might be relevant that Charlie's naked, and also hard.

"Dunno yet," he says. "It's good his floor is relatively well sealed, though; there are strands all over, but I don't think anything's actually gone except what burned. That's going to be bad enough to work around." He pauses and squeezes James's shoulder. "Don't think of him as your uncle."

James gives him a withering look. "Have we met? I'm James. I'm an Auror, not an idiot."

"Okay, shut it. You looked freaked out, is all."

"Yeah, but because of the fact that I've never seen a Pensieve explode during, what, he must have been alone; anyone else would also have gotten hit, and even so, there's no outward trail. So I guess Pensieve porn?"

Albus shrugs. "I can't imagine whatever he was looking at was that hot. In any case, it evidently wasn't… wandless."

James groans and shoves at Albus's shoulder. "God. That was awful, and I am so glad my boss isn't here to hear you say shit like that. Also, you know we're going to have to look at it, just in case."

"Us, watch porn together? How novel."

"Don't be a git."

"Can't help it. Probably a recessive George gene or something." Albus glances over his shoulder. "But yeah, clearly. I suspect it's probably just a matter of a fault in the bowl itself--or possibly an unrelated magical attack--but I have read of cases where an unexpected Unforgivable Curse in a memory sent the watcher into backlash, so." He wrinkles his nose. "There should be enough to get some idea, anyway. I hope. And that's the easiest to check for."

"Yeah, yeah." James waves a hand in the direction of the beads and slowly-merging rivulets of silvery fluids that didn't scorch. "Just start figuring out what's what. I'll keep an eye on him and look for any hints of that unrelated attack."

"I was just waiting for you. Didn't want to leave him unattended, even if there's no reason to think you'll need to do anything special. Though he seemed a little easier with a hand on him." Albus moves back toward the door and picks up the satchel he left away from everything until he'd had a chance to do at least a quick examination. It's not like most of what's in the bag is all that special, but as with any other magical artifact, working with his own Pensieve is just more comfortable.

It's a matter of five minutes to pull all the loose fluid into the bowl, but it's clear there's still a lot missing, and Albus doesn't think he can make sense of anything with the structural gaps he can see from the surface, so he sighs and starts the works of pulling up residue from the floorboards, the fragments of the shattered Pensieve, and the fringe of the bedspread grazing the floor. When that's looking dodgy, he pulls out what he can also of the drops that had been afloat in the air as bubbles and wound up in the fabric of his denims, that same bedspread, and Charlie's skin.

He sets the Pensieve down, then glances at Charlie again. He's hesitant to do anything more than a basic stabilizing charm until they're truly certain there's nothing malicious in the threads of memory in the dish, but he also thinks that Charlie has far too much common sense to be sent reeling by something he knows is only memory, even if it's not what he expects to see. He's still twitchy and weird, though Albus thinks the grasping motion has become less frequent, and his blinks are reverting at least a little bit toward normal. That's actually a really good sign, as far as long-term outcome.

"James?"

James has the cleaned shards gathered onto a cloth, but he hasn't tried to put the thing back together yet. Repair of a magical object is never as simple as unbreaking a teacup; the charms have to be re-integrated too if they want it to function, so it tends to require one's full concentration. "Yeah, you ready?"

"Ready." James lifts his hand off Charlie's bare forearm--that gets more twitching, but nothing that seems immediately alarming--and joins Albus on the couch with the Pensieve before them both on the table.

"Okay, remember. They're just memories, and they're likely to be jumpy or jumbled, which might be a bit disorienting."

James scowls at him again, but gives a curt nod, and they both lean into the swirl.

It's immediately clear that there's still a lot of fragmentation. Entire areas are dim or muddied, and much of what Albus can see is uneven, with some areas brighter or darker, and not in any manner that resembles ordinary shadows or glare. Albus squints and glances over at James to see that he's having just as much difficult discerning usable images. There's a lot of golden-orange that's resolving somewhat; perhaps the quality will improve. Albus has done a lot of work toward repairing an individual's access to his memories, and it's often the beginnings of individual threads that are the most frayed--in fact, his primary area of research has been into finding a method of clipping off the bad start and giving the owner a less-fragile gripping point. So far, he mostly only has theory.

"Al?"

"Hmm?"

"I think this is a memory of Charlie." James points at blurry motion, and if Albus works under the assumption he's right, he can see it: Charlie, as naked as he is in real time across the room, broad shoulders glinting as though he's sweaty, head bent forward, body rocking…

"A memory of Charlie having sex," he agrees.

"With people we know. Look." Albus doesn't follow James's finger right away this time; he looks at James's eyes, where he sees a familiar expression of burgeoning lust.

"You think--" Just as he's about to ask, the memory flickers into perfect resolution and full color, and Albus gasps. "Oh, fuck me."

Before them are both Charlie and Bill, Charlie filling Bill's arse as Bill whimpers about his entrapped cock between languid and thorough licks of his wife's cunt. Albus looks at James. "Jesus. Entrapped…"

They both bend for a better angle, gazes flicking back and forth between Bill's cock, caged and angry, and each other. Sweat is running off both of their uncles as Charlie pounds into Bill, and they can hear Fleur encouraging everything in both French and English (probably; now the visual is clear, but understanding individual words is a little iffy).

"He's wearing a cage," James says, awed. "Christ, Al."

"Yeah, I see it." Given this is the nature of the memory, it seems profoundly unlikely to have been the cause of the shock, unless-- "It is actually Charlie, right?" Albus knows all the tricks for altering memories themselves, and this is unaltered, but it's remotely possible this is someone Polyjuiced into Charlie, that this is Bill's memory, or Fleur's, and they don't know.

James presses his lips together and considers. "If it's not, then whoever it is is really fucking good with mannerisms. I mean, it's hard to remember details whilst banging someone, especially in a filthy scenario such as this."

"Good point. Damn, I had no idea they were so depraved," Albus says. He can hear the admiration in his own tone, and he tries to tamp down on it at least a little before adding. "Then, we should go."

"We should." James is staring helplessly, though, making no move to leave the scene, and Albus knows if he looked down James's body, the bulge would be evidence of how much this is turning him on.

Albus briefly considers dropping to his knees here in the memory and unfastening James's belt, but before he has a chance to decide, the memory goes sideways and snaps into place again, Charlie bare-chested but not yet sweating. The room is the same, so Albus concludes this is an instance of the fragments having got disordered, and he stares.

“I want to see you suck his cock.” Fleur points at Charlie. “You have done that for many years, yes?”

“Nearly twenty years.”

“Then you should know what you are doing. Show me.” Fleur steps back from Bill and crosses her arms over her chest once more and waits.

“Come on, Billy Boy. What are you waiting for?”

Albus glances at James again, then makes his decision. He crouches, palming the half-hard length through James's trousers, and stares at Bill, slipping his tongue through the ring in Charlie's cock. "You should get one of those," he murmurs. James shudders.

A moment later, Charlie's got his hands in Bill's hair and his cock fully engulfed in Bill's mouth, and Albus stands abruptly. "We need to get back to work," he says.

The scene jumps again, though it moves forward this time, and they can't have missed much. "--on his knees to use his mouth on me.” That's Fleur, issuing directions again. Albus's cock twitches and he wonders where they're going to find someone to do this with them. Because fuck, they are definitely, definitely doing this. He doesn't think this is going to even require any consultation.

“Please. Ma coeur.” Bill sounds needier and more desperate than Albus would have guessed he was capable of, but Fleur isn't moved. She looks down at him and starts to unfasten her robe.

“Oui? What is it you want?

“You. I want my mouth on you. But please, free me first. So I can pay full attention to you and not this.” Bill's hand goes to his trapped cock as the scene flickers again.

“Fuck, but look at you, Bill." Charlie's watching them hungrily. "Your face all pressed between her thighs, and your arse- just here, begging to be fucked. Aren't you?”

He's behind Bill, pressing fingers between his cheeks and making little circles that are clearly driving Bill mad. Bill widens his knees and whines as Charlie speaks again. “Where's your lube, Bill? Fleur?”

Albus glances at James. "We're going." He grabs James's hand and yanks them both out of the Pensieve. "Fuck, fuck, holy fuck." He glances out the open front door, to where the other colony staff are milling around and James's usual partner--when it's not a memory thing--is gathering information. "Fuck. Fix the Pensieve. Let's find the flaw so I can see how it hit him." He doesn't add, so we can wrap this up and go back to my flat and get your cock in my mouth. That's probably a given.

James nods, eyes glazed, and discreetly adjusts his crotch, then goes back to the fragments on the cloth. "Do you need the spell?"

"Just the bowl, I think."

James presses his lips together and takes a moment to center himself, then spins his wand in his hand and speaks the incantation. As the bowl reforms, minus tiny bits of dust, it wobbles and shudders, and then, before James can react, it shatters again, leaving the cloth covered with dust, in the middle of which lies Charlie's wand. "Oh. Well. I guess that explains what happened. He must have got… distracted, dropped it in, and, what do you think, was reaching for it? And just then it fucked up the memory, shattered the Pensieve, and disrupted everything." James picks the wand up gingerly. It doesn't appear to be damaged, but he hands it to Albus, who agrees with his assessment, and rummages through the rest of the remains.

Albus wipes the wand clean and looks it over carefully, then shrugs and waits for Charlie to grope again. Of course this is what he's looking for in there, and if he's actively looking, then there's a decent chance it will help.

Still, he asks James to back off a bit, and has his own wand at the ready when he lets Charlie grab it. As soon as it's in his hand, Charlie's body relaxes and he drops into unconsciousness, his breathing regularizing and the twitches ceasing. "Huh." Albus takes the wand away again with no trouble, and starts in on the same series of diagnostic charms he began with an hour ago. As he expected, Charlie is halfway to stability on his own, and it's mostly a matter of reinforcement and restoration, toward which he takes the first steps.

Together, he and James wrap Charlie, who has warmed up considerably, into a blanket, and then Albus pushes him further into unconsciousness. They'll transport him by broom, because shock and Apparation don't mix well, and it never goes well when someone wakes up in mid-air.

It occurs to Albus Charlie would probably handle it all right, that he's probably awoken in the air with the dragons before anyway, but he doesn't want to take any chances. They strap him onto one of his own brooms, with James behind him to steady him. "You carry, I'll watch?" Albus asks. James is a little better at flying with a passenger, and with two of them, Albus can fly back and down a bit just in case something weird happens.

Albus bottles and corks the memory strands and puts his Pensieve away, then takes another of Charlie's brooms--he has like six, naturally--and they move out the door. With a few words to James's partner, Albus kicks into the air, and a moment later, James (with Charlie) follows.

The trip to St. Mungo's in uneventful, and it takes only half an hour to get Charlie settled in and arrange for post-shock treatment, with notes that Albus will be by in the morning to follow up and discuss treatment plans with Charlie.

When he comes out, James has gone, but Albus doesn't think he'll have any trouble finding him. He tries his own flat first, then shrugs and goes to James's.

"Who knew we had so much in common with them?" James asks. He's waiting with a drink and a hard-on, and Albus grins.

"Thanks for not starting without me," he says.

James snorts. "Not that flexible," he says.

Albus sets the drink aside and drops his satchel off his shoulder, then grins. "Protocol suggests we really ought to watch the rest, just to be sure," he says. "I think when we left off, it was cocksucking time."

He doesn't expect, nor get, any disagreement. They can find a third party later.