Fic: Christmas in Cornwall, 1/2 (Harry/Viktor/Ron, et al., NC-17) for certifieddork Author:bookofjude Recipient:certifieddork Title: Christmas in Cornwall Rating: NC17 Pairing(s): Harry/Viktor, Ron/Viktor, Harry/Ron, Harry/Viktor/Ron, Ron/Hermione (mentioned), Harry/Ginny (mentioned), Harry/Charlie (suggested), Viktor/OMC (mentioned), other canon pairings. Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. Summary:Harry groaned. Why did everyone seem to think that he was the one taking it up the arse? Warnings: Highlight to read: Wanking, anal, oral, rimming, canon pairings (mentioned), infidelity (Harry/Ron, Ron/Viktor) Word Count: ~12,500 Author's Notes: This rather turned out to be a monster, but I hope that you, certifieddork, enjoy it! I think I've ticked most of the kinks that you requested. I'm sorry that I'm unable to do a passable imitation of Viktor's accent (Fleur gives me enough trouble), so unfortunately it will need to be imagined. Extended notes and clarification to follow the story. Thank you to K and D for the beta and suggestions.
One of the odd things, but definitely not the strangest, about that Christmas of 1999 was that it was held at Shell Cottage in Cornwall, instead of the almost ritualistic location of the Burrow.
'I don't know how they convinced Mum,' said Ron, 'but she's all for the idea now.' His face took on a slight tinge of worry and, casting his mind back to their sojourn there from their year of Horcrux hunting, Harry understood it.
'How are they going to fit everyone in?' Harry asked. How many bedrooms had there been? Two, maybe three? He couldn't really remember. Were they all going to have to share beds or camp on the living room floor?
Ron threw his hands up in the air, and said, almost exasperated. 'I have no idea! I asked the same question, but they both said, "Don't worry, Ronald!" I left after I managed to wrap poor Teddy instead of Hermione's books...'
'Hopefully we won't have to share beds, then,' Harry finally said. The kettle chose that moment to sing out "The water's boiling!" in a high pitched screech, and Harry fumbled for his wand in an attempt to shut it up.
If Harry hadn't turned to the kettle at that minute, he might've caught the strange look that ghosted across Ron's face at his words.
On Friday, the day before Christmas, Ron and Harry arrived in Cornwall. The path from the Portkey landing area to the cottage had recently been cleared, though Ron still complained about having to walk. 'Why couldn't they at least key it in to the garden or—' His voice trailed off.
'Wow.' Ron came to a halt with a jerk. Harry managed to stop himself from slamming into his friend's back, and instead peered around Ron's well-insulated shoulder.
'Wow,' Harry repeated.
Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected to see at Shell Cottage, but brightly coloured tents and strings of magical lanterns were certainly not it. It was a far cry from the lonely cottage they'd spent the April of last year in, though there was a stillness that hung over the place.
''Arry!' came a familiar voice, and a half a minute later, Fleur Weasley wrapped her arms around him and gifted both cheeks with a kiss. 'Did you 'ave a good trip?' She didn't wait for a response, instead spinning to Ron and, on tiptoes, kissing his cheek. 'You 'ave grown again,' she said, her tone almost disapproving.
Ron blushed and Harry nudged him with his shoulder and whispered, 'Don't let Hermione see you, she'll get jealous,' in his ear. Ron blushed even harder, but thankfully Fleur had already turned towards the house. 'Come, come!' she said. 'Ze ovvers are inside.'
Upon stepping through the doorway, Harry realised that his memory of the house had been correct: it was really that small, and it seemed even smaller with the amount of people that had been stuffed into it. Thankfully, though, the body heat warded away the chill of the afternoon air.
Ron, listening intently to Fleur's chatter ('Bill will put your trunks away,' she said, 'just leave it at ze door!'), followed her into the kitchen, where Bill and Arthur were busy opening a bottle of wine, and Molly was tending to something on the stove. Harry hung his coat on the hook by the door and took a step into the living room.
'You'll have to stop right there!' a familiar voice called out.
Harry sighed. It was George, and that tone was the same smirking tone he had when someone had accidentally eaten a canary cream. 'What is it?' he asked, glancing around the faces gathered. Charlie was tending to the fire, Hermione was deep in an animated conversation with Percy, and George was perched on the edge of the armchair next to them.
'Mistletoe!' George cried out. He fell back into the chair with a laugh, his face disappearing and his feet flying up into the air. Percy shot him a disapproving glance.
Harry looked up, sighed and took a step forward, and then abruptly found that he couldn't move. George's laughter continued from the armchair. 'Some help would be nice?' Harry called to him, wondering how many drinks he'd already imbibed.
'It's part of their Christmas line,' Charlie's voice washed over him. Harry was thankfully able to turn on the spot towards him. 'You can't get away from it unless you kiss someone.'
'Hey, Ronniekins,' George had finally sat up in the chair, and was gulping from a glass of pale liquid, 'your boyfriend's stuck under the mistletoe; come and get him out!'
Harry felt a blush form on his cheeks: did George honestly think that? Ron was straight (the crush on Viktor Krum aside), Harry was dating Ginny, and Ron was most definitely dating Hermione. At the thought of his other friend, Harry turned towards her. She was shaking her head, and gave him a little wave before returning to her conversation.
'Piss off, George,' Ron's voice came from the kitchen.
A half a second later Molly's raised voice called out, 'Ronald Bilius Weasley!' and an argument began.
Harry strained pointlessly against the mistletoe. 'It's no use,' Charlie whispered to him. Harry turned back to him and felt the blush on his cheeks heat up even further when he realised how close Charlie actually was. 'The twins are awfully good at what they do; best to just get it over with...'
He wondered if Charlie was deliberately referring to 'the twins'. Harry guessed it must be habit. Harry pulled against the enchantment with his shoulder, and then opened his mouth to speak, but he was given the shock of his life when Charlie's chapped lips touched his.
The blush on his cheeks burned harder, and Harry felt it course down his neck towards his chest. Charlie gave a quiet laugh, and the lips—warm and so unlike Ginny's—slid away. 'Merry Christmas, Harry,' he said.
Even though the charm was now broken, Harry stayed standing in the same place. His eyes followed Charlie's as Charlie, grinning, found a seat by the fireplace. George cooed with laughter, 'Got designs on little Ginny's boyfriend, have you Charlie?' he asked.
Charlie flashed two fingers at George, though this only seemed to encourage George further. Harry wondered if the ground might at that moment choose to swallow him up, and, as Percy decided to involve himself in the conversation, slipped into the chair closest to the door.
'Oi Ginny,' George's voice called again. Harry groaned and closed his eyes. 'Better keep an eye on your boyfriend!'
Ginny appeared then, striding down the hallway from the kitchen and into the living room (without so much as a glance at the charmed mistletoe, which struck Harry as odd), and Harry's heart quickened.
'For the last time,' she yelled at George, her hair disarray and her hands covered in flour, 'I'm not dating Harry Potter!'
Percy and Hermione's conversation came to a shuddering halt, and both George and Charlie looked at Ginny with open mouths. Their eyes darted in Harry's direction, then back to Ginny. It took perhaps ten seconds for Ginny to realise, and she spun on her heel and said, 'Oh, Harry! You're here!'
Finally, she clapped one flour covered hand to her mouth, and then turned and stalked out of the living room, muttering under her breath and leaving a cloud of dust behind her before Harry could even croak out 'Hello, Ginny.' The sight of her flaming hair disappearing up the hallway left ice in his chest.
He was dating Ginny, wasn't he?
Harry wasn't given much time to mull over this latest event because a short while later Bill summoned them all into the kitchen and out to the (magically warmed, apparently) patio that led off it. Fleur and the others, including Ginny (still looking slightly shamefaced) and Ron, were already there, filling glasses and refusing to take more with hasty expressions like, 'No, no, that's plenty.' Harry took the seat closest to the door, wondering if he could maybe head back to Grimmauld Place...
'Here's to a new millennium, free of evil, and full of hope.' Bill raised his glass towards the endless, but now darkening sky.
The atmosphere of the toast might have been solemn, but there were nods of agreement, and all of them raised their glasses in the same gesture. It was the first Christmas that the spectre of evil had not hung over Harry, and that did a little to bring some lightness back to his heart.
Harry raised his own glass and then, wincing, took the smallest possible sip of red wine. He'd tried to convince Fleur not to fill his glass to the brim, but she would hear nothing of it. At that moment, his eyes decided to fall on Ginny's, and they shared a glance that seemed to last an age.
Something passed between them, and suddenly Ginny flinched and looked away, out towards the dark, flickering waves in the shadow of the cliff. As Bill sat down at the table, conversation seemed to start again, and Harry was glad, as the quiet seemed to make everything worse.
'It's not really the new millennium,' he heard a familiar voice say in a tone that spoke of an oncoming lecture. Ron had apparently managed to drag Hermione away from Percy, but he was looking as though he regretted it. 'In fact, that won't be until next year!'
'You're right.' Percy suddenly appeared, as though he'd Apparated, though there was no resounding crack. Ron sighed and apparently gave up. Spotting Harry on his lonesome, joined him by the kitchen door.
'This is turning into a nightmare,' said Ron.
Harry, eyes still on Ginny, her red hair glistening in the dying, afternoon sunlight, replied, 'I'll say.'
When Hermione found the two of them a half an hour later, they were sitting on a stone bench looking out at the sea. Neither Harry nor Ron were talking, though the silence was comfortable rather than awkward. 'There you are!' she said. 'Bill was looking for you, said he wanted to explain the sleeping arrangements.'
'Sleeping arrangements?' asked Ron, his voice slightly sleepy, but his eyes bright.
Apparently the look on Ron's face was familiar enough to Hermione to make her blush. Ron started to say something else, but Harry chuckled and gave Ron a gentle nudge with his elbow to remind him that he was in company.
'What are they?' Harry asked her, instead, shoving across on the bench to give Hermione room to sit down. Ron slung his arm over Harry's shoulder, fingers trailing across Hermione's neck.
'What are what?' she asked, brow furrowing slightly.
'The sleeping arrangements,' Ron called out. 'Are we sharing a bed?'
Harry nudged Ron with his elbow again as Hermione's blush deepened. 'No!' she responded, though her tone seemed rather disappointed. 'No, you two are sharing a tent with Viktor.' The moment the word 'Viktor' left Hermione's lips, Harry felt Ron stiffen up beside him. Groaning internally, Harry quickly interjected, 'Oh, is Krum coming?' before Ron could say anything to make the situation worse.
'Yes, of course,' Hermione said. 'Didn't you know? Fleur invited him because she felt bad about what happened at the wedding.' The glower on Ron's face was growing deeper, but Hermione seemed either not to notice it, or not to care as she continued. 'Fleur also invited Luna and Dean and Mr Ollivander, everyone that stayed at Shell Cottage during the war&mdash'
Hermione laughed. 'No, no. Only Luna's coming, anyway.'
Ron breathed a sigh of relief. 'Maybe Krum will bring his girlfriend, and I won't have to defend your honour.'
'My honour?' Hermione laughed, then she shook her head. 'Obviously you haven't been keeping up-to-date with the latest Quidditch news—'
'Have so!' Ron exclaimed.
'—Oh really?' Hermione's tone was sardonic. 'Then you'd know that he was dating one of the chasers from the German Quidditch team.'
'So?' asked Ron. 'You said "was!" He might still be lusting after you.'
Hermione rolled her eyes. 'One of the male chasers from the German Quidditch team.'
Ron seemed stunned into silence. He peered around Harry to stare at Hermione, his eyes blinking quite a bit. It took Harry a minute or two to actually get what she said, but it was Ron who beat him to the question: 'You mean he's gay?'
'I don't think so,' Hermione replied, a thoughtful look on her face, 'I mean he certainly never seemed to dislike it when we...' Her voice trailed off and the blush returned to her face in full force. Ron's own features screwed up, but Harry managed to poke him in the ribs before he said anything to make the situation worse.
'Who are the other tents for, then?' asked Harry, trying to move the conversation away from discussion of Krum and Krum's boyfriends (or girlfriends).
'I'm sharing with Luna and Ginny—' Ron let out a little whimper, though certainly not one of pain. '—at least until Saturday, and I think George, Charlie and Percy are sharing the other one.'
'What do you mean, "at least until Saturday"?' asked Harry, before Ron could.
Hermione stared at him, then went, 'Oh! I'm meeting Mum and Dad in Madrid—' She dropped the final 'd' at the end of the word, and it took Harry a few seconds to realise she was talking about the city '—on Christmas Day. We had it all planned ages ago, but then Fleur invited me, and I told Mum and Dad that I had to come at least for Christmas Eve.'
Her voice rattled on like a steam train. Ron sighed, and as his head was resting on Harry's shoulder, the exhalation went straight down his ear. 'Oi!' exclaimed Harry. 'Don't do that, it feels horrible!'
He shoved at Ron, and Ron shoved back. Hermione continued to chatter on about how they were going to visit a place called 'Pen-ye-sco-la' and how there was an amazing Wizarding Community in some other city. Harry didn't catch the name of it because he was busy attempting to wrestle Ron into submission.
'You fucker,' Ron finally complained, his words strained with laughter, as Harry held him down (though not with brute strength, instead he'd resorted to dirty tactics which involved dancing his fingers along Ron's ribs) and blew in his ear.
'Well don't do it to me, then,' said Harry. He continued to subject Ron to the torture, never having realised exactly how ticklish Ron was at exactly that bit of rib just there—
Hermione's voice cut off. 'Viktor!' she exclaimed. 'You're here!'
Harry's fingers fell still, and Ron stared up at him with a forlorn look in his eyes.
Unfortunately, there was no cheering Ron up.
Harry finally bummed two (albeit small) glasses of firewhisky and eggnog off Fleur without Molly seeing him and was trying to convince Ron to take one when Viktor appeared and called out, 'Harry! I was looking forward to seeing you.'
'Hullo, Viktor,' said Harry with a little sigh. Ron glared at him, yanked the glass out of Harry's hand, and then he turned and stalked off.
'Is there something wrong with Ronald?' Viktor sat down on the bench next to him and, for a moment, there was silence as the two of them watched the others: Fleur and Bill were dancing in the middle of the patio, and most of the others were sitting or standing in a circle around them.
Ron was busy attempting to pull Hermione away from a vivid conversation with Luna (who had arrived an hour or so earlier) and Ginny, which involved lots of gesticulation, and screams of laughter from Luna.
'I dunno,' Harry said. He stopped, then, and finally decided to confront it. 'Well, actually, he's a bit jealous of you.'
'Jealous?' Viktor said. 'Of me?' He laughed. Harry was surprised to discover that Viktor's thick accent had faded considerably, though the voicing of 'w' and 'v' was still slightly noticeable.
'He thinks you're going to steal Hermione away from him,' Harry explained further, wondering if Viktor had maybe gotten the wrong idea: of course people would be jealous of an international Quidditch star...
'Hah!' laughed Viktor. 'I doubt this would happen very much. Hermione—' though said correctly, each syllable was stressed equally, and drawn out over two breaths '—has made very clear that she and I are no longer...' His voice trailed off, and his brow furrowed, as though he were searching hard for a memory, or perhaps a phrasing. '"an item".'
'Ah,' Harry said. 'Well, I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it.'
'What about you?' More couples were getting up to dance, though Luna and Charlie were performing something that looked more like a pair of hippopotami mating than dancing. Viktor turned to Harry, his dark eyes catching the final rays of sunlight, and gave him a rather small smile.
'Me?' Harry squeaked. His eyes followed the beard that traced Viktor's jawline from temple to temple, and then he realised that he was staring at Viktor's lips and pulled his eyes up to meet Viktor's. 'What about me?'
Viktor gestured in the general direction of Ron (still trying to drag Hermione into the shadows for a quick snog, by the look of it), Ginny, and the others. 'Are you still dating Ginny?'
Harry gulped. 'Apparently not,' he whispered.
'Ah,' said Viktor. 'Perhaps—'
Fleur appear then. ''Arry! Let us dance!' and before Harry had a chance to find out what was going to follow "perhaps", Fleur had grabbed him tightly with one hand, and was pulling him towards the makeshift dance floor.
The rest of the night passed in a blur.
Ron provided the highlight of the evening by becoming stuck under the mistletoe with Fleur; George, Charlie and Bill had all been chanting, 'Kiss, kiss!' when Molly came in to see what the fuss was about. She had promptly given them all a piece of her mind and then forced them to take the enchantment away.
It got quieter after that, and a short while before midnight, Harry found himself calling goodnight and then trying to work out which tent he was sharing with Ron and Viktor. He dismissed the first of them (George was busy having a quiet conversation with Charlie in it), and then the second one (frilly pillowcases and the colour pink splashed liberally in most directions) before falling onto the bed closest to the door in the third one.
It took him a minute to decide that he was probably in no fit state to shower (there was a bathroom—or at least, Harry assumed the door into the cubical feature led to a bathroom). There was lead in his feet. How many glasses of wine had he gulped down?
He pushed his jeans and t-shirt off (leaving them in a ball at the side of the bed) and tossed his glasses onto the bedside table, before sliding into the bed. A charm warmed the air, as well as the sheets, and he fell asleep almost instantly.
He awoke twice that night: the first time was when Ron stumbled in through the tent door. Harry reached for his glasses and stared into the darkness. Ron stumbled past the bed, swore, then giggled.
'Ron?' Harry asked.
''Arry!' Ron replied. He fell over the bed, smelling strongly of whisky and sweat. He repeated himself, and then a heavy hand landed on Harry's backside and squeezed tightly. ''S should've stayed,' Ron continued, 'had... had... whishky!'
Harry shook the sleep from his head and managed to extricate himself from Ron's grip. 'Come on, into bed,' he said. Ron giggled and fell onto the bed, laughing. Harry sighed and manged to somehow, with a little bit of difficulty, get Ron under the blankets.
It took him another minute to try to remember banishing spells ('You will face a month's detention if any of you attempt to use this spell on your fellow students' clothes,' McGonagall said. Most of the class had either giggled or gulped, but Harry didn't doubt the seriousness of McGonagall's words.), and then two attempts to actually get it to work.
'Oooh!' Ron chirped. 'Ticklesh my ballsh!' He started to laugh again, and then a few seconds later, was asleep.
'Stupid git.' Harry shook his head and climbed back into his own sheets.
The second time was when a beam of light fell across his bed. He opened his eyes and was surprised at how sharp the room was, until he realised that he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on.
He reached up to pull them off, and then he noticed the figure standing in the light. Viktor was naked, his arse muscles clenching as he bent over to retrieve something from the open trunk at the bottom of the bed. Harry tried to swallow the sudden dryness out of his mouth.
Viktor turned towards the light, and Harry followed with his eyes; the same dark hair that formed a line on Viktor's jaw made a line from the patch of hair on his chest to the patch of hair on his stomach.
Harry wasn't paying attention to this, though; the thing that made his breath catch in his throat and threatened to make him cough was the fact that Viktor's cock was half hard, and covered in a light sheen of water. Harry gulped.
The cock disappeared from sight underneath a towel; obviously Viktor had decided to do what both Ron and Harry had not, and had take a shower. Viktor was still skinny, though, as his hand towelled his groin dry, Harry could trace the muscles in his arm as they bulged and rippled.
A half a minute later, Viktor walked back into the bathroom. When he returned, the towel was gone, and his hand gently played along the length of his cock. Harry bit his lip to stop from moaning. The hand continued its passage up and down, and if anything, Viktor's cock became even harder.
Viktor stumbled onto the bed and raised his wand, and the last thing Harry saw before the tent plunged back into darkness (leaving scattering spots of blue and red for minutes) was the dark red colour of the head of Viktor's cock as he gently tugged the foreskin back.
It took Harry a lot longer to get to sleep the second time, and the bitten-back moans, the wet slapping sounds, and the final, guttural groan as Viktor came made it almost impossible.
Christmas Day—Saturday, and rather chilly—dawned with two things on Harry's mind: a throbbing headache, thankfully relieved by a spell that Viktor cast on the three of them, and the vivid image of Viktor's cock from the previous night.
The morning was filled with gift-giving, though primarily between Hermione and the others, as she was to leave by Portkey to Madrid shortly after breakfast. She left a light kiss on Harry's cheek and managed to embarrass Ron in front of the others by slipping her tongue into his mouth when he went for a "chaste" kiss.
Ron's blush lasted until long after she had disappeared into a ripple in the air, but it was soon forgotten as the rest of them began to open their presents, drank more wine, ate and danced in the crowded living room, far away from the crisp, icy air of December.
Harry spent most of his time attempting to avoid Viktor's odd looks and strange glances, though every so often he'd find himself staring at Viktor's crotch (apparently he had a penchant for excessively tight black jeans similar to Charlie's) and would blush when he realised that Viktor was staring right back at him.
After one such occasion, his cheeks flaming and his breath caught in his chest, with the image of Viktor's cock overlaying everything, his mind was suddenly distracted by Ginny saying 'Ooh!' He turned towards her and felt a grin plaster its way onto his face, as she was opening the gift he'd bought for her. Thinking back to earlier, the grin faltered and became some plastic.
It had been a difficult choice; Hermione was easy to buy for, though it was difficult to find a book that she hadn't read (Harry now resorted to asking her what book she wanted), but Ginny was something entirely different. What sort of gifts did you buy your girlfriend? (Even if she was apparently not currently his actual girlfriend.)
After frantic searching and much deliberation, he'd finally settled on a crystal bottle of (rather expensive) perfume, shaped like a horse and enchanted to canter gently on the spot, from an out-of-the-way but assuredly (at least, Hermione assured him it was) up-market store called Callidora Perfume. Thankfully, the experience had been quite short: he distinctly remembered the shape of Ginny's Patronus and had spotted the small bottle a few seconds after going through the door.
By the time he'd been accosted by a rather formal looking Witch who smelt of summer breeze, he was able to answer her question of 'Looking for anything in particular?' by saying, 'Yes, I'd like that, thanks.'
She had seemed quite surprised by this fact, but her eyes did the usual flick up to his forehead and then back down to his eyes. 'Certainly, sir,' she had responded. 'Would you like to test the fragrance before purchase?'
He had blushed at that and acquiesced; the scent was (pretentiously, Harry thought) titled 'Spring' and was a menagerie of smells unlike any perfume his Aunt Petunia had ever worn. There were delicate flowers, the scent of fresh water, and something that—odd as it might have seemed—reminded him of a bright beam of sunlight on a warm day.
In all, the experience had taken perhaps twenty minutes from start to finish, and before he knew it he was back into Diagon Alley, albeit less twenty galleons.
The horse set forth a canter around the coffee table as Ginny read the card enclosed. Fleur cried, 'Careful of ze 'orse! It would be tragic to break eet, non?' and floated it back into its box with her wand.
'Oh, oh!' Luna exclaimed. 'Who's it from, Ginny?'
Ginny looked up, then, straight at Harry, and at the very least had the decency to blush a deep red. She put the card back into the box and picked it up carefully, and as silence fell in the living room, crossed it to drop a kiss on his lips. 'Thanks, Harry,' she said.
The words, 'You're welcome, Ginny,' were stuck in his throat until she turned back from the hallway. Her eyes caught his, and she smiled strangely, and then turned and disappeared out the front door.
Luna broke the awkward, ensuing silence by clamoring, 'Come back, Ginny! You didn't open my present yet!'
Ginny returned for lunch, which itself was a large production involving roast varieties of several animals, more sauces than Harry could poke his wand at, vegetables of all shapes (including enchanted reindeer, which Harry thought was a bit kitsch), though she disappeared during the chaos caused by Viktor's rather violent removal of a leg from a roast chicken.
Harry didn't have an opportunity to talk to her, either, because shortly after he had cleared his plate and leant back in his chair, Ron was handing him an envelope and staring at him with an expectant look on his face.
Inside it were tickets to three Chudley Canons matches. 'Thanks, Ron,' Harry said, grinning at him; at least his spirits seemed to have perked up, though Harry wondered how much the alcohol had been responsible for it. Harry looked at the tickets again, and counted: six. 'Why'd you give me two tickets for each match, though?' Harry asked without thinking.
'I dunno,' Ron replied, too casually, 'maybe you might want to take a friend?'
Harry laughed, shook his head in amusement, and pulled Ron into what he hoped was a manly hug. It lingered a bit too long, though, and as Harry pulled away he tried not to think about the similarities between Ron and his sister.
The others were apparently too concerned with opening the rest of their own gifts, or the telling of stories, and didn't seem to notice their flushed cheeks. Harry took the opportunity to duck outside and promptly ran into Ginny.
'Ginny!' exclaimed Harry.
She stared at him for a minute and then turned in the direction she'd come and set off towards the garden. Harry stood there and watched her go, and then, finally deciding it was now or never, set off after her.
He found her near one of the trees at the end of the garden, a short distance from Dobby's grave. She was sitting on the ground, leaning against the tree, with the crystal horse dancing lazily on her outstretched palm.
Harry steeled himself past a moment of uncertainty and took three steps past her and turned on his heel. Even though his shadow fell upon her, she was intent on the crystal. Harry waited a few moments and, finally coming to the realisation that she wasn't going to start a conversation, said, 'Hullo, Ginny.'
She looked up at him with a faint smile. 'Hullo, Harry.'
'Mind if I sit?'
'Depends,' replied Ginny. 'What's the likelihood of you getting up and stalking off once we're finished arguing?' There was a slight bitterness to her words that stung Harry's mouth, and he sighed. So, she wanted an argument...
'I guess not,' he said. 'Look, I don't want to argue—I just want to talk.'
She cocked her head at him, then nodded once. It took her a half a minute to put the horse back in its box, and then to stand and brush the dust from her legs and backside. Finally, though, she was standing in front of him, eyes staring up into his.
'Well?' she asked.
'Well what?' Harry stared back. Ginny's eyes were brown—though at the minute, in the twilight, they seemed even darker, almost black. They reminded him a bit of Viktor's eyes, though he pushed that image away because he didn't want to think about Viktor Krum while he was having a discussion with his girlfriend.
Ginny clenched her jaw. 'You said you wanted to talk.' There was a sound almost like teeth grinding, and Harry took an awkward step backwards. Ginny, however, stood her ground. 'So talk!'
'Okay, um,' Harry said. He stopped. 'How about we talk about what you said earlier?'
Her face took on a slight tinge of pink. 'What do you mean, what I said earlier?' she asked, even though her eyes told him that she knew exactly what he meant. He sighed inwardly, because all she was really doing was delaying the inevitable.
'Oh, I don't know. "For the last time, I'm not dating Harry Potter!" seems to be about what I remember you saying.'
She flushed even deeper, and for a split second her eyes swung away from his. When they returned, though, they were full of fire. Harry took another step backwards, though his feet brushed against sea-washed stones guarding a lightly frosted flower bed. 'Well, am I?' she exploded. 'It's not like we are!'
Harry stared at her. Okay, this was one reaction he hadn't anticipated. 'What do you mean, it's not like we're dating? I didn't realise there was any question to the matter!'
Ginny groaned. 'Harry!' she cried, exasperated. 'I've seen you once since I left Hogwarts—once! You never wrote me any letters—'
'I sent you a card on your birthday! And a gift!'
Her eyes softened just a little bit. The card had featured the all-female Holyhead Harpies, and the gift had been a broom servicing kit something like the one Hermione had given him all those years ago.
'One card, then,' she said. Her tone of voice was calm and quiet. 'One card. No letters, no Floo calls, not visits, no invitations, no dinner dates, nothing! God, Harry, even Ron takes Hermione out on dates. Neville sends me letters, and all he did was ask me to the Yule Ball!'
Harry's heart deflated like a popped balloon. Maybe she was right, he thought. Unfortunately, that was not enough to stave off the rage that was building up in his heart. He looked once more at Ginny's face, and then said, 'Well, fine, go fuck Neville then.'
He didn't wait for her response. Instead, he strode off past the house, towards the cliffs. It was a split-second decision made a few moments later, as he wondered whether Ginny was following after him, that made him raise his wand and say, 'Accio Firebolt!'
She was nowhere in sight as he turned and caught the broom, and then a few moments later he was free from it all, off into the sky. After that, all his cares and worries seemed to drop away in the euphoria of flight.
When Harry finally shrugged off the last of his temper and coaxed his broom out of the air—a decision made by the fact that his arms and legs were aching, and his face had been rubbed raw by the cold air constantly rushing against it—he found himself considerably further from Shell Cottage than he'd expected, and with more company than he desired.
'Ah,' Viktor said to him, shoulders hunched into a dark, Durmstrang-suited cloak. 'I was wondering where you were.'
'Were you?' Harry asked, slightly distracted. He surveyed the little stretch of pebble beach: he didn't really remember how far he'd flown, but, seeing as Viktor had found him, he couldn't be that far from the cottage... The cliffs weren't quite as high as the ones near the cottage, though certainly high enough to allow for a dark opening that appeared to be the entrance to a cave—Harry's mind was filled with memory images of a similar cave, and he shuddered. Viktor's voice brought him back to the present, and away from Dumbledore's last hours.
'Ginny was worried; she wanted someone to go look for you when you did not come back...'
Harry felt the spectre of rage rise in him once more. Had Ginny told everyone what Harry had said, then? Were they all laughing at how incompetent Harry was at dating anyone? He scrunched the hem of his jumper in his fists and decided then and there that he'd rather just Apparate back to Grimmauld Place and spend the rest of the holiday in solitude.
'So I offered,' Viktor continued, apparently not noticing Harry's discomfort, 'to come and look for you...' He stopped, and his eyes fell from Harry's face to Harry's hands, which were busy in an attempt to tear the hem of his jumper apart.
Groaning, Harry said, 'Oh, don't act like you don't know—I know she told everyone—'
'Know what?' Viktor interrupted. His eyes were bemused, though the look of concern on his face seemed genuine.
'Come on, Viktor!' Harry tried not to yell, but his voice certainly rose enough to scatter a few stray, shrieking seagulls. 'Did you all have a good laugh about it—Harry Potter, he can kill Voldemort, but he can't have a sane relationship—Harry Potter—'
'Harry.' Viktor's voice was calm, but loud enough to make Harry falter and turn towards the hand that was placed carefully on his shoulder. 'Ginny just said that you went for a nice flight, nothing more.'
Deflated, Harry sighed, said, 'Fuck,' and kicked a cloud of fine pebbles into the air. 'Sorry to yell at you.'
Viktor's hand gently squeezed his shoulder, but then slipped up to his neck. Harry's breath caught in his throat as warm fingertips traced his jaw, his cheeks, and finally rested on his bright red nose. 'You are freezing!' he exclaimed. A wand appeared from somewhere, and Viktor conjured a rather extravagant fur coat with it.
His eyes glanced about. 'Let us go into the cave, yes? I will start fire.'
Though it had been phrased as a question, it was clearly not; unbridled panic rose in Harry. He didn't want to go into that cave—or any cave—under any circumstances. Viktor had other plans, though, and his arm lingered over Harry's shoulders after pulling the coat over them, using the weight of his body to guide Harry towards the entrance.
'I don't like caves,' Harry whispered meekly. Viktor gave him a strange look and cast a lighting spell.
'There is nothing to be afraid of, Harry,' Viktor said. He gestured expansively with his wand, and Harry felt himself calm slightly. To be honest, Viktor was right: there were no similarities between this cave and the cave Voldemort kept his Horcrux in. In fact, apart from the scent of damp and seaweed, the small cave was quite innocuous.
Viktor sat him down on an outcropping of rock and turned towards the open expanse of ground, a collection of fine sand, small pebbles from the beach outside, and crushed shells. Several spells in an unfamiliar, guttural language and a minute or two later and a large fire was crackling merrily.
He met Harry's quizzical look. 'What, did you think they only teach the Dark Arts at Durmstrang?' Viktor laughed, though it was a strange laugh made even stranger by the echoes of the cave.
Harry shook his head. 'No, I was wondering what language you were casting in—we seem to use Latin a lot, but I didn't recognise it.'
'Ah,' replied Viktor. 'Old Bulgarian.'
'Oh.' Harry's brow furrowed. 'I thought it might be German or something.'
Viktor laughed again, though this one was a much warmer laugh than before. He sat down on the outcropping of rock next to Harry and returned his arm to Harry's shoulder. 'I am from Bulgaria, and we are Slavic peoples. Why would we use German for our spells?'
His fingers were tracing a lazy pattern on Harry's arm that made Harry feel surprisingly uncomfortable, though not in a way that was necessarily bad. 'I dunno,' Harry said. Quiet fell between them, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore a short distance away filled it.
'So, do you write it like Russian, then?'
It took Viktor a few seconds to respond to the question, though his fingers still continued to run up and down Harry's arm. 'Write it?' he asked.
'The funny looking letters,' Harry continued. He couldn't remember what they were called, if he had ever known what they were called. Viktor's next laugh was a deep-throated chuckle; Harry wondered if that was the extent of his repertoire, or if there were more to come.
'Yes,' Viktor finally said, 'we write in Cryillic, but it is different—' He seemed to struggle to find the way to explain himself. 'It is like English, yes?'
Harry shook his head. No, he didn't understand that. Thankfully, Viktor explained further. 'You write English with the same letters that you write French, or German—but they are not the same language. You write Russian and Bulgarian with the same letters, but they are not the same language, yes?'
This Harry understood. 'I see,' he replied slowly. The fingers were now a hand, carefully rubbing his upper arm, curving up over his shoulder blade to touch his neck, and then back down again. Harry gulped three times, trying to push the insistent image of a naked Viktor out of his mouth.
The fur coat may have been warm when it was first put over his shoulders, but combined with the ambient heat from the fire, and not to mention the awkward feeling that rushed through his body with every stroke of Viktor's hand, Harry felt as though he was roasting like one of last night's chickens. 'The fire's doing a great job of warming me up,' Harry finally said. 'I feel practically boiled.'
'It is a good fire,' Viktor agreed. His dark eyes seemed to catch the shadows in an almost sinister fashion, but the smile seemed to chase all of that away. 'Are you too hot?'
'A bit,' Harry admitted.
'Perhaps...' Viktor's voice trailed off, and his face seemed to move a little bit closer to Harry's. His eyes were unreadable, and all of this just made Harry feel even more uncomfortably hot, as though his clothes were on fire and burning his skin.
'Perhaps?' Perhaps you could tone the fire down a bit, or take the fur coat off, or... Perhaps what?
'Perhaps,' Viktor continued, 'we could take some of our clothes off.'
Harry did a double-take, and then wondered if he'd perhaps misheard Viktor. He opened his mouth to say something, but his breath hitched in his throat, and all that came out was a bit of a raspy sigh. Viktor's smile deepened, and he moved as though he were about to close the distance between their faces—mere inches.
'It's true, then?' Harry asked. Viktor's lips were so close that his eyes were unable to focus properly on them.
'Is what true?' Viktor asked. His lips were close enough that the exhalation of breath on each word fluttered across Harry's lips like the butterflies in Harry's stomach, though they did not get closer.
It was difficult to breathe, but Harry managed to get enough to say, 'You—and that chaser.'
Viktor gave a little laugh and whispered, 'Yes, it's true.' His lips grew closer, and then suddenly they were on Harry's, warm and smooth and slicked with saliva, and Viktor's hand was climbing Harry's neck to clutch the back of his head. A tongue pushed between his lips and against his teeth, and Harry opened them.
This seemed to be Viktor's cue for drastic action; suddenly, they were moving. Viktor spun them sideways, and with a gentle nudge of Harry's chest with his spare hand, had Harry lying upon the outcropping of rock and was kneeling between his thighs. The warm hand behind his head stopped it from slamming into the rocks, and the fur coat provided some protection from the sharp stone.
All of this was lost on Harry, though, because Viktor's mouth had disengaged from his and was tracing kisses down his jaw line, down his neck; a hand pushed the neck of his jumper and shirt to one side, and the lips followed Harry's neck to his collar bone, kissing, tasting, licking.
'Fuck,' Harry said. He repeated it three times, like a mantra, and then tried to push Viktor away so he could sit up.
Viktor stopped suddenly, as though petrified, and his face was suddenly in front of Harry's again, eyes cold instead of warm, jaw tensed. 'I am sorry,' he said, 'did I ... misunderstand?'
Harry stared at him and said, 'Fuck. I'm not— I'm not— are you gay?'
There was a soft laugh, and though his jaw relaxed, Viktor's eyes were still hard with something. Harry tried not to think about the hand that was sitting in his lap, curled on his thigh, and so very close to his rock-hard erection; he hoped that it wouldn't start those lazy circles again, growing closer and closer.
'I am not gay, no,' Viktor replied, 'but I do not... discriminate against beauty. I like—' and then he bent forward to trace Harry's jaw with his tongue '—both women—' and the hand was moving, too; Harry tried to scramble away, but his back was to the cave wall, and there was nowhere to go. Suddenly, though, the hand was clamped down over his cock, through his jeans, and Viktor quirked both his bushy eyebrows. '—and men,' he finally concluded.
'I'm not gay either!' Harry squeaked, unable to stop himself. The squeak turned into a deep moan, though, as Viktor's fingers traced the outline of his cock in his jeans, squeezed and fondled. Viktor let out a low laugh, and his eyes were suddenly warm again.
'Harry,' Viktor said, and then he laughed again. 'You are quite beautiful, yes?'
Harry gulped. The fingers didn't stop squeezing, and suddenly Viktor's lips were on his again. This time his heart was racing as he opened his mouth, as Viktor's tongue slid gently between his teeth and touched his own tongue. All he could do was whimper, 'Oh, god.'
Giving in to the sensation seemed to make time speed up, Harry found; his jumper was suddenly discarded, shirt pushed up, and Viktor's tongue was tracing the line of hair from chest to navel as his fingers undid Harry's jeans. Another blink, and perhaps another minute passing, and his jeans and underpants were around his ankles.
'Fuck,' Harry said again.
Viktor, open mouth hovering above the head of Harry's cock, tilted his eyes upwards. His breath was hot and warm, and the feel of it on Harry's shaft made him shiver and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 'That next, yes?'
Not leaving a chance for a reply, Viktor's lips descended and covered Harry's cock. Harry moaned, bit his lip so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth, and found his hands scrambling for Viktor's head.
However much he pushed and shoved against Viktor's head, though, it was not enough to spur him to move quicker. The lips wrapped around his head, then slipped further down, around his shaft; a hand on his groin kept him from thrusting uncontrollably. 'Fuck,' was Harry's mantra, repeated over and over by himself and his echoes.
Suddenly, and surprisingly, Viktor swallowed, the head of Harry's cock slipped down his throat and his lips touched Harry's groin. Rapid breathing through his nose tickled thick hair, but Harry's response was first, 'Shit', then secondly, 'Oh fuck, he's done this before,' and then thirdly—and verbally&mdash 'Oh, fuck.'
Viktor began to chuckle, and the sensation made Harry's toes curl. Finally, Viktor slipped off again, and Harry stared down at him, fingers clenched tightly in his hair, panting softly. 'Fuck,' Harry said. 'Oh, fuck.'
'Have you—' Viktor tilted his head to one side, a hand lazily sliding Harry's foreskin up and down his shaft '—never had this done before?'
Harry shook his head as rapidly as he could, not really trusting himself to speak and say anything more than, 'Fuck.'
'Ah,' said Viktor. He lent forward, placed a kiss on the head of Harry's cock and then stood. Harry could do nothing more than watch and try to calm his breathing as Viktor stripped. Jumper, shirt and jeans disappeared quickly into the same pile as Harry's own clothes, and then Viktor was helping him up and tugging off Harry's t-shirt, holding him balanced and steady as he tried to step out of the jeans pooled at his ankles.
Harry shivered. His eyes followed the hair from Viktor's chest to where it disappeared under the band of his underpants. He gulped and shivered again, and Viktor kissed his temple and whispered, 'Do you want to touch me?' in his ear.
'Y—yeah,' Harry whispered back. A hand took his own, and suddenly Harry's was upon a warm, hard piece of flesh. His imagination and the memory of Viktor's cock from the night before was nothing like the real thing: hard and hot, slightly sticky with precome, and certainly longer than Harry's own. 'Fuck,' Harry said. He made a fist and squeezed, and it was so easy to fall into the familiar, rapid pumping movement.
Viktor moaned something that Harry didn't understand and bucked against his hand. 'Stop, stop,' he finally said. Harry did, though only reluctantly. He gave one last tug, and Viktor shuddered all over and pushed his hand away. Viktor kissed him again, and this time it was entwined limbs and tongues, teeth catching against other teeth, hands roaming wildly and frantically, until Harry pulled away.
He said, 'Fuck.'
'Yes.' Viktor grinned back at him. 'Yes, we shall fuck now.' He kissed Harry again, and for a little while, time passed.
Whatever earlier freneticism there had been, there was now calm in both of them. Harry had felt a strange calmness fall over him as Viktor had first cast a charm that made his fingers slippery—something like oil, but thicker—and then directed Harry's fingers in something he called 'stretching'.
The position was strangely awkward, and the sensation of sliding his fingers inside Viktor made Harry's heart fluctuate and pound in his chest. Viktor hissed and shifted himself (and the fur cloak) so that his back formed a triangle between the rock outcropping and the cave wall, then spread his legs wider. Harry followed, fingers apparently trapped in Viktor's arse.
'No,' Viktor finally said, after a second or two of aimless twisting on Harry's part. 'Not like that, like...' He held up two fingers and made a slight scissoring motion. 'Yes? Like this. Do not twist.'
'Okay,' Harry whispered. He tried to follow the motion that Viktor had indicated, but another half a minute later, Viktor swore in Bulgarian, and reached down to slip two of his own fingers inside himself.
'Like this, yes?'
Strangely enough, Harry blushed bright red and nodded, though his cock started to throb in time to his pulse. 'Okay,' he croaked out, and then Viktor pulled him forward and kissed him again, and Harry snaked out his free hand to squeeze Viktor's cock.
Viktor pushed Harry's hand away. 'Just wait, you are doing fine—we are almost ready, now...' He raised his wand—Harry tried very hard not to think about the fact that he was using the same hand with the same fingers that he'd just had up his own arse—and muttered another charm. He laughed as Harry jumped and glanced down at his cock, suddenly slicked and glistening with reflected firelight.
'Now what?' Harry asked, quietly. He was a smart boy, and could make the next connection, but the idea of Viktor describing in oddly-phrased English the exact details turned him on more than he could imagine.
With a sigh, Viktor tugged Harry's two fingers from him, and then reached down to take a firm hold of Harry's cock and guided it towards himself. 'Push,' he said. 'Push slowly.'
'Okay,' Harry said. Then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes went cross-eyed for a moment and he thrust against Viktor's hand. 'Fuck.' With Viktor's hand guiding him, it was a quick and easy process; a few seconds later, he was balls deep inside Viktor, his hands clutching Viktor's thighs and his eyes rolled back into his head.
'Yes,' hissed Viktor, 'yes—' and then let out a groan that echoed loudly.
Harry instead said, 'Fuck,' and promptly lost all control over his hips. He fell face-first into Viktor's chest and moaned and groaned as he thrust wildly, and then, with a mouthful of chest hair, came so hard that he blacked out.