This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Not for the first time, Harry Potter lay awake on his four poster in Gryffindor Tower, painfully aware of the throbbing erection straining to escape from his pyjamas. He resisted the urge to take the problem in hand, to provide himself some much needed release, because the ragged breathing and the occasional moan coming from across the room told him someone, probably Neville Longbottom given the direction of the sound, was doing just that. Somehow it seemed too weird, or even a little perverted, that they’d be doing it together; after all, that isn’t something a guy does with just anybody. He wished Neville had thought to use the silencing charm Professor Flitwick had taught them early last year, but Neville probably hadn’t expected anyone else to be awake at that hour.
Harry grinned in spite of his present discomfort. It was quite nice actually to be awakened from a particularly vivid dream and have to deal with an ache in his groin, rather than the usual pain on his forehead and the burn of his scar caused by his frequent nightmares. Instead of the slitted red eyes of Lord Voldemort, his dreams now were often filled with visions of a fiery redhead, and the salty-sweet taste of their first kiss in the common room after the last Quidditch match, or the leisurely afternoons they’d spent down by the lake, bodies pressed together as they snogged.
A soft grunt from the bed next to Harry’s made him feel slightly guilty about his present condition; the redhead sleeping there was his best friend, Ron Weasley, and it was dreams of Ron’s younger sister, Ginny, that had gotten Harry into his present state. He didn’t think Ron would be too pleased if he knew the kind of thoughts he was having about Ginny right now. Not that either Harry or Ron had really had any girl experience to discuss, but before Harry had even realized himself that he fancied Ginny, he and Ron had generally been able to discuss the girls they sometimes fantasized about, which kind of helped them ease the tension caused by all that unrequited teenage lust. Gratefully, since his thoughts were doing nothing to ease his present situation, Harry noticed the sounds coming from Neville’s bed had ceased, so he slipped quietly out of his own bed and headed for the bathroom where he could wank comfortably in the shower, allowing the water to caress his body while pretending it was Ginny’s gentle fingertips tantalizing his heated flesh. Lost in this blissful thought, Harry didn’t notice that Ron too was awake, or he might’ve made some effort to suppress his grin and camouflage the protrusion in his pants as he walked past Ron’s bed towards the loo.
Ron struggled with his own feelings as he watched Harry pad across the dorm, the front of his pyjamas clearly leading the way. He knew what Harry was going to do. After sharing the same dorm room with him and the other three Gryffindor boys for nearly six whole years now, they really had few secrets from one another. He knew, as they all did, the sounds that each of them made when they pleasured themselves, and he knew the general rhythm each preferred, because until they’d learned the silencing charm in fifth year, they’d all been bold enough or thick enough to wank in their beds at night, thinking either that no one was awake or that they could be quiet enough that no one could hear. They all spared one another’s dignity by never talking about it, but all of them knew, and even without that, Ron would know about Harry.
Harry had been Ron’s best mate since the train ride from King’s Cross in their first year, and they shared a closeness that often let one know what the other was thinking or feeling, even when no words passed between them. Ron knew that Harry had a hard time with his feelings about Ginny in the beginning, and he was actually quite touched when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Championship a few weeks earlier, somehow leading to a very public kiss between Harry and Ginny in their house common room afterward, and Harry had looked to Ron for his approval before leading Ginny out through the portrait hole. Admittedly, Ron was a bit overprotective of his baby sister, but if she was going to be snogging anyone, he was glad it was Harry. Of course, Ron knew that snogging alone was not enough to satisfy a randy sixteen year old boy, and that was why Harry was now wanking in the shower. As far as he knew, Harry’s relationship with Ginny was still in the snogging stage, and that was probably all he wanted to know if he was honest with himself, so unlike if Harry had been going out with some other girl, Ron didn’t ask too many questions.
Pushing Ginny from his mind, Ron got out of bed and tried the bathroom door. Clearly Harry had remembered the silencing charm as there was no sound coming from the room, but he’d not bothered with a locking spell, which Ron added as he entered the warm, steamy room. Harry was already in the shower, the hard lines of his body softened by the semi-transparent shower door. It made Ron feel happy to see the look of intense pleasure on Harry’s face, even though it pained him slightly to know that it was undoubtedly caused by indecent thoughts of Ginny. Harry’s life outside Hogwarts had offered him precious little happiness and above all else, Ron wanted Harry to be happy. He knew the trials that still lay ahead for his friend, that it was prophesied that it was he who must ultimately kill You-Know-Who, or be killed by him, and if Ginny could make Harry smile, then Ron would have to make himself okay with that. Ron grimaced a bit when he realized he himself couldn’t even think Voldemort’s name, let alone say it aloud, yet Harry would be expected to face him in a battle to the death.
Harry bit his lower lip, and his muscles tensed, as the slow and steady rhythm of his hand stroking his cock moved him ever closer to release. Ron knew this, and subconsciously wet his lips with his tongue, as he allowed his eyes to travel the length of Harry’s body, then focus on the droplets of water which fell from Harry’s dark hair, onto his shoulder, then slithered leisurely across his muscled chest. A particularly delicious drop of water paused at Harry’s nipple, while Ron imagined catching it with his tongue, before it dripped yet again onto Harry’s abs and slipped quickly down into his nest of dark curls, where it was crushed by the downward stroke of Harry’s hand as he continued to bring himself off. Ron sensed instinctively that Harry was close.
Ron supposed all the boys in their dorm had started touching themselves experimentally at some point during their third year. He’d watched Harry often, just as Harry had watched him, first in the dark of night through the hangings on their beds, youthful curiosity to see if everybody did it the same way, and of course, to see who was bigger ... there. And then, towards the end of third year, after they’d both finally realized they were watching each other, they gave up the pretense of not knowing, and wanking together became as comfortable between them as anything else (between Ron and Harry that is, not with their dormmates, because that was just too twisted). They never actually set out to do it together on purpose, at least not at first, but if one happened to catch the other at it, it was accepted between them that it was okay to join in. Watching somehow seemed to create "that" need, and Ron knew that Harry took his greatest pleasure from an unhurried wank, just like Harry knew Ron wanted it hard and fast, almost wild, with just the occasional slow stroke or two thrown in to let him keep himself in check, so he could hold out as long as possible. He also liked knowing Harry was watching him, which was usually what made those occasional slow stokes necessary.
It wasn’t until just before start of fifth year, mere weeks after Harry had witnessed a fellow student murdered by one of Voldemort’s followers (the very one in fact who betrayed Harry’s parents to the Dark Lord and ultimately caused their deaths), that Ron had slipped into Harry’s bed at Grimmauld Place in an effort to comfort him during one of his particularly bad nightmares and help him get some much needed sleep. It’s what his Mum always did when he or Ginny had nightmares growing up, after all. And it was the right thing to do, Ron decided, because Harry’s breathing slowed and he stopped thrashing about, once he felt the security of Ron’s arm draped casually across his waist.
Clearly, Harry had been more than a little surprised the next morning when he awoke to find himself nose to nose with Ron, their normal teenage morning erections bumping together from the sheer closeness of their bodies. His sharp intake of breath had woken Ron, who brushed off Harry’s embarrassment by telling him he’d done it so Harry would shut up and let him get a good night’s sleep. He knew Harry would feel ashamed of himself if he thought he’d sounded so frightened during the night that he’d needed protecting from his nightmares, so Ron didn’t mention he knew Harry was having nightmares. He made it sound as if Harry had just been snoring too loudly and Ron had crawled into his bed so he could nudge him each time he tried to start up again.
Ron was, in many ways, jealous of Harry’s fame, but still felt very protective over him because Harry had not grown up in a proper home with the kind of love he’d always known from his own parents and his many siblings. Harry was raised by his Mum’s sister’s family, who made no bones about letting him know what a burden he was to the happy couple and their precious "Dinky Duddydums" (his Aunt Petunia’s pet name for his obnoxious cousin, Dudley). In that way, Ron felt very sorry for Harry and wanted somehow to share the love he’d always had from his own family with Harry.
Ron climbed into Harry’s bed on several more of Harry’s restless nights in the few weeks that remained before their return to Hogwarts for fifth year, and Harry even found his way into Ron’s bed on a couple nights when the nightmares had been bad, but not bad enough that he’d woken Ron. They didn’t really talk about it by daylight, because they never really acknowledged that snoring wasn’t the cause of their sleeping arrangements, and because it would have been too embarrassing for Harry to admit that having Ron hold him helped him let go of his fears, or for Ron to admit that he liked holding Harry, because it was one of the few things he could do that truly seemed to help his friend.
It was on the last night before leaving Grimmauld Place that their circumstances took an unexpected turn. Harry was always slower falling asleep than Ron, and was having trouble sleeping at all over Ron’s snores that night (yes, Ron really did snore quite a lot actually), so Harry had gotten out of bed and headed for the kitchen, hoping that some of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent fried chicken was still in the fridge. But he’d stopped short of opening the door because he heard voices coming from within the kitchen, the familiar voices of Sirius and Remus talking and laughing congenially, apparently reminiscing about their own days at Hogwarts and their sexual escapades with some of the girls who were there then. Harry knew he shouldn’t listen, but his curiosity got the better of him, because these were his father’s best mates and he wondered if they might mention either his Dad or his Mum while they talked. Although the only mention of Harry’s parents was at the end of the conversation, when Remus sighed and said softly, "Yeah, but James was the lucky one, because he was the one who got Lily in the end," Harry had heard enough, in rather vivid detail, from the two Marauders about the girls they’d bedded in seventh year, to leave him with a raging hard-on to go with the rumble in his gut from having failed dismally in his search for a midnight snack. He walked uncomfortably back to his and Ron’s room and climbed into bed, turning his back to his friend, who was still snoring in the other bed, so he could wank and at least relieve one of his problems.
After a few minutes of frantically humping his own hand, Harry was so focused on himself that he failed to notice the absence of Ron’s snores. He’d gotten so worked up listening to Remus and Sirius talk about the time Sirius had been the benefactor of having both the Mitra twins going down on him at once because Remus had missed their double date, which unfortunately fell at the full moon, that he’d abandoned his usual leisurely approach, thinking Ron’s more frantic tactics might do the better job. Ron, who knew Harry’s leisurely wanking rhythm so well by then he often secretly mused he could probably get Harry off as well as Harry could himself, failed to recognize the true cause of his friend’s erratic breathing and the jerking motions of his body, and instead mistook them as signs of a particularly nasty nightmare.
Both boys were more than a little surprised when Ron quickly plopped himself into bed behind Harry and dropped his arm protectively over Harry’s middle, only to realize that this time the previously comfortable position now left his hand competing with Harry’s, which was wrapped firmly around his cock.
For a moment, it was as if time had frozen.
Harry’s hand ceased its pumping motion. He didn’t turn to look at Ron, nor did he even dare to breathe. He knew Ron hadn’t known what he was doing, but his brain refused to work out a simple solution to the predicament they’d found themselves in. Ron’s eyes came dangerously close to popping from their sockets upon registering what he’d just done, but his hand didn’t seem to know how to let go of Harry’s cock and his brain wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge that he was now gripping his best mate’s erection, and that he kind of liked it. In fact, the only movement at all in that bed came from Ron’s own cock as it woke rapidly from its slumber and poked, rather insistently into Harry’s hip, making Ron wish he could spontaneously combust right there on the spot.
The seconds ticked by like hours until Harry finally did the only thing a brave Gryffindor could do; he moved his own hand and wrapped it firmly over Ron’s, and used it to stroke himself until he spurted cum all over the both of them. Then he rolled over to face Ron, whose very embarrassed face was clashing spectacularly with his flaming red hair in the moonlight. He untied Ron’s pyjamas, reached in, and grasped Ron’s now rock hard cock with more confidence than he actually felt, and began pumping, slowly at first, then becoming encouraged when Ron began thrusting into his hand. Harry didn’t release his grip until Ron spilled between them, his mouth slightly open as if lost somewhere between pleasure and shock. It wasn’t until Harry leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips and lightly brushing his tongue across the inside of Ron’s jaw, that Ron’s brain really clicked into gear again. He looked nervously at his friend, "Harry, I’m umm," but Harry cut him off, "It’s okay, Ron. Go to sleep." And they did.
After that, Ron and Harry would sometimes reassure one another that they were not poofs, because they did both fantasize about girls on a regular basis, and neither of them could even think of doing what they sometimes did together with any other bloke without feeling literally as if they would retch, but neither was making a sincere effort to find himself a girlfriend, either. Each was content with what they did together, sometimes just watching, sometimes helping, both acknowledging that sometimes it just takes the touch of another person to really make "that" need go away.
It was like that now, as Ron untied the string on his own pyjamas and reached inside, knowing his current hardness was not from thinking of Hermione - although she was usually the subject of his fantasies - or of any other girl at Hogwarts, but merely from watching Harry. Ron loved the way Harry’s body had matured over the past two years, more hard lines and angles, taller and more muscled from Quidditch, and from his tireless defense practice in preparation for this inevitable battle with Voldemort. And he loved the way the little droplets of water from the shower trickled down Harry’s body, slipping into crevices that Ron had sometimes explored with his fingertips and with his tongue. He wondered now if they would still share that since Harry had started seeing Ginny, part of him thinking that they shouldn’t because it wasn’t really fair to her, but all of him knowing that he’d miss Harry’s touch if they didn’t. Ron licked his lips again as Harry came, and he spilled onto his own hand just as Harry was sliding the shower door open.
Harry started when he saw Ron, and blushed a little, certain that Ron knew what he’d been thinking about. "Bloody hell, Ron," Harry exclaimed in a effort to convince him otherwise, "you could’ve told me you were there, or you could’ve just come in and helped."
Ron, who was still holding his now sticky member, looked a bit uncomfortable but felt it was time to say something. "Look Harry, I know you were thinking about Ginny in there, and I’m okay with that, I think. I mean, I’m not excited about her sleeping with anybody, but if she has to, I guess I’d rather it be you than some of the other blokes she’s gone out with. But I’m not sure I want to know details since it’s Ginny, which is kinda disappointing really since I’d hoped you could tell me what it was like if you got any before I did." He hesitated just for a second, then blurted out, "You haven’t yet, have you?"
Harry stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel, water still dripping seductively from his body. "Ginny’s still a virgin far as I know, mate. Course, she did go out with Dean and Corner before me. Merlin, I hope she didn’t give it up to one of them, ‘specially not Corner. I kind of want to, to . . . you know, but it’s hard (both boys grinned at each other stupidly from the implication) err, yeah, umm, with her being your sister and me knowing all your brothers and your parents. I keep worrying that your Mum would hex me if she found out. I doubt she’d be too pleased, and she scares me more than your Dad. ‘Course, I doubt your Mum would be too pleased if she knew about us, come to think of it." Harry’s words were the truth, and he didn’t really see the need to tell Ron he had a pretty fair idea of what Ginny’s breasts might feel like from the way she pressed her body firmly against him when they kissed, or that she probably had a pretty good idea of the size of Harry’s cock from the way it always responded to her presence.
Ron began to laugh, "We’re pretty pathetic mate. I can’t get a date, and you’re too scared of my Mum to take advantage of the one you have. Ron frowned before he continued, "I guess I did always think we’d at least be able to wank together."
Harry wanted to reassure Ron that nothing had changed between the two of them. He didn’t want things to be different with them, but he didn’t really think it would be fair to Ginny to see her and have a physical relationship with her brother at the same time. "Ron," Harry began tentatively, "Why don’t you just tell Hermione you fancy her?"
"Hermione?" Ron feigned confusion, although if he were fooling anyone, it was only himself, "I don’t fancy Hermione. I mean, I love her and all, just like you do, but she’s our best friend."
Harry knew better. He had suspected Ron fancied Hermione Granger even before the two of them had saved her from the troll in first year. Of course, if Ron hadn’t hurt Hermione’s feelings for showing him up in Charms class, she might not have been trapped in the loo by the troll in the first place, and she wouldn’t have needed rescuing at all, but somehow the incident had transformed their relationship from being that of two awkward first year boys who were annoyed by the bossy, know-it-all, first year girl to one of a solid three-way friendship that, without question, would last a lifetime.
Ron was absolutely right . . . Harry did love Hermione, and she loved him, just like they both loved Ron and he loved both of them, but that wasn’t the same kind of love Harry was talking about. He was certain Ron fancied Hermione when he saw how Ron reacted to Hermione showing up at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum in the trio’s fourth year. But even now, nearly two years later, Ron refused to admit it even to himself.
"Yeah right, only we’re each other’s best friends too, and that doesn’t seem to keep all our clothes on," Harry said jovially, as he finished dressing, "Let’s get back to bed before the others wake up, or they’ll think we’ve been wanking together." Ron tucked himself back into his pyjamas, and the two of them slipped back into their dorm room and into their own beds.