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The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and others, and are used without permission. No profit is being made from the use of these characters and situations; these written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as authorized materials of these owners.
Learning From Orpheus
Summary: One Time-Turner and one desperate Harry. And three Marauders.
Kinks/Warnings: Threesome/Foursome, Incest.
Notes: For the Pornish Pixies Fantasy Fest request made by suyari -- "HP/SB/RL/JP any way you want. But please, no necrophilia or rape."
Thanks to betas fabularasa and cluegirl.
It was nothing like his first trip with Hermione. Not
that he knew what he was doing this time, mind; he was flying by the
seat of his pants and a worldful of good intentions, and that was
fuck-all when it came to useful plans.
But this Time-Turner went back by the year, not the hour. And Harry would be going far back enough to avoid any of that messy "don't let yourself see you" intrigue--plus, this time he had the Invisibility Cloak.
So all he had to do was find the people he needed to speak to, get them alone, tell them what they needed to do and not do, and make sure they believed him.
He was so fucked.
But there had been almost no time to think, and none to debate; seizing the Time-Turner had been a do-or-die moment, and the plan had sprung fully formed into his mind at the same moment when he realized he could snatch it and use it to escape. He could do better than escape.
Or he could do much, much worse.
But there was a lot he was willing to call acceptable losses in trying. He could die. He might end up stuck in the past. There was a not-unanticipated risk that he might do something to prevent his ever being born. None of those gave him real fear. Swapping innocent lives for those he was trying to save--that gave him the leaden sensation in his guts. But there was a chance. A grain of faith telling him he could succeed.
Stupid, idiotic, ballsed-up faith.
And he thought the air should smell nineteen years older, but it was the same Hogwarts springtime air--wet and chilly--and the Whomping Willow, only six, seven years old, had been planted when it was already huge, so not much difference there, and though he couldn't keep the Invisibility Cloak on the whole time, he stood less of a chance of looking odd if he kept his robes on, Wizarding fashions not changing anything so fast as Muggle attire. Though--maybe his odd clothing would add some credibility to his story?
Or it might make him look a right nutter.
His plan, such as it was, involved him speaking to either Sirius or Remus. He knew them. He didn't know his parents, and the thought of explaining his resemblance to his father, to his father, put him in a cold sweat. Bad enough, him excusing it away to Remus or Sirius. And he hardly knew what to say to girls at all--how was he supposed to make his mother believe him?
Gryffindor Tower was no difficulty to get into, using the cloak and a shred of patience that he managed to dredge up, waiting for a student to give the password and enter. Bypassing the common room--no one he recognized being there--was equally straightforward. But when he reached the seventh-year boys' dormitory, he found both Remus and Sirius there, alone, Remus rummaging for something in his cabinet, and Sirius on his bed, calling for Remus to "...forget the textbook; I've got six exploding Viper Nests left from last Hogsmeade weekend, and I'm dying to try them out--preferably in the girls' lav."
Seeing them, hearing that, stopped Harry dead; neither looked much older than they had in the Pensieve memory: faces so carefree, attitudes so careless, no older than Harry himself. He recalled that his plan was to speak to only one of them. Was it better this way? Should he wait for one to go? No. The opportunity was here; he shouldn't waste it or skulk about. Besides, what if they saw him on the Map?
He let the cloak drop, knowing if he waited to get up his courage he'd just stand there under it 'til doomsday. Sirius caught the movement, started to sit up. "Prongsy. You said y--" He blinked, mouth hardening. "Thought you were--who are you?"
Yes. So far everything was right. They were animagi. Sirius and Remus were still speaking to each other after the prank on Snape. "I need--I need to talk to you."
Remus was staring. Sirius repeated, "Who are you? And how'd you get in here?" His hand was moving to his chest towards the same spot Adult Sirius had kept his wand. Harry had to answer.
In all this he hadn't even thought of an alias. "Harry." It slipped out automatically. But that was all right. They didn't know who Harry was. Yet.
"Just Harry. Look--can you spell the door? Or is it all right if I do?" He had no idea where Peter Pettigrew was, or how long away. "I've got something really, really important to tell you and it has to be just you, no one else can hear."
It sounded so feeble. He'd bollocksed it up royally; Sirius was going to take out his wand and hex him into a tadpole and he'd flop about on the stone floor and maybe, just maybe they'd take pity on him and toss him into the lake where he could grow into a frog and live a peaceful froggy existence and make friends with the Giant Squid.
Sirius had his wand out. But Harry had forgotten: where others would be simply suspicious or mistrustful, the Marauders--Sirius especially--had not been able to resist the promise of intrigue. A charm zinged at the door; there was a click of a lock. Sirius didn't replace his wand, but let his arm fall to his side. "So, talk."
Harry found that he couldn't; now that the moment was here, he was gulping air too quickly to speak. Remus was on his feet. "God, he looks just like James. What is it? D'you want to sit down?" Harry couldn't protest. Didn't think it a bad idea. They brought him to the edge of Sirius's bed, sat down on either side of him.
Harry sucked in his breath, tried to think about where to begin. His heart was pounding in his throat but he had to get the words out. "Okay. Something really, really bad is going to happen in the future."
Sirius snorted. "Oh, Merlin. We've got some wanker who believes all that rubbish they teach in Divination."
"No, ease off, Pads, look at him. He knows something." Harry's pulse was no slower, but now it was from relief. Remus got it. Got something, anyway. Remus brought his face closer to Harry's. "This is...one of those things we have to know about? So we can do something to stop it from happening?"
"Yeah." He nodded repetitively, looked at Sirius to see if he was accepting this. "Rather, you have to not do something."
Harry had to be careful. Peter was their friend--he was a Marauder. If Harry just blurted it out, they might refuse to believe him, and then it'd be Frog And The Giant Squid Are Friends time all over again.
It was so hard to think of anything, with Sirius and Remus sitting next to him like this. He became aware that he was staring at Sirius, looking into his face, having thought at first to get courage from it, but now just staring at the young, easy-going Sirius with a heart-squeezing ache that made him want to grab him and cling, as if that alone would keep him safe. And Remus too; Remus with the scars that were not so faded, hair lacking even a strand of grey, clothes that were nothing expensive but not patchy with poverty, either. Remus touched his hand. Harry didn't merely take it, he clasped it.
"Give him a minute," Remus said quietly. "You should feel his pulse under my hand. He's really nervous."
"The way he's staring..." It should have unnerved Harry, to hear them talking about him as though he weren't there. But it didn't. "He's staring like he can't believe it's us."
"You are James, aren't you?" Remus pushed a piece of hair out of Harry's eyes. "You're some kind of alternate reality James, crossed over somehow to come talk to us."
"It's..." That got Harry speaking. "It isn't quite that. It's..." Complicated, he wanted to say. Difficult. But it was so hard even to speak of it. His other hand groped for Sirius's hand, needing, almost unconsciously, the parallel grip on that side to ground him.
But once he had it, clasped in his, it was like the completion of an electrical current. He couldn't say another word, but pushed his face against Sirius's shoulder, unable to resist the need any longer. He felt the slightest of startles go through Sirius, but then there was a hand upon his arm, quite gentle, and then Harry heard him murmur, equally gently, "Well. It seems there's one way he's like James, even if he isn't him."
"I'd say--" Sirius took the hand that had been on Harry's arm and moved it to his chin, tipping it up just far enough to look him in the face, "--that Harry fancies us."
"Oh, Sirius, don't--" But Remus stopped. "Oh," he said, as if it hadn't been the most absurd thing for Sirius to say. Harry sensed Remus was waiting for Harry's denial. Maybe a laughing one, though. Not one as if he thought the idea appalling. "Um. Is that. Is that part of it, Harry?"
Harry couldn't answer him. Couldn't possibly. Like his father? His father? Us?
Why wasn't it appalling, for that matter?
Sirius leaned in and kissed him.
He was as speechless and stunned as when Cho had done the same to him. Except this time he had better words to describe it than "wet." It was dizzying, it was breathtaking. It was honest and it was shameless. It was impossible and it was everything right.
He wasn't even aware when the kiss broke, until he heard Sirius speaking. "Oh, Moony. He's...nice."
"Let me." Fingers under his chin. Remus pulled him 'round to face him. Oh, this kiss was just the same and yet different in all the ways that it needed to be. Because it was Remus. Harry hadn't the words to understand how the technique of the two differed, no, but he was dimly aware that it wasn't about technique; technique was the stuff you went on about if it you didn't care about the person doing the kissing. This...this was about the person. Persons.
"Oh, he is." Remus had that same breathy tone that Sirius had had. "And he's sweet."
"Figured you'd like that."
"He didn't kiss back." This, with Remus's fingers under his chin again, to hold his attention. "Are we wrong, then? We're not about to take advantage of you."
"Unless he wants that! You always leave that part out."
"Pipe down, Sirius." Remus took Harry's hands in his. "Look. I think it's safe to say we both rather fancy you. And you haven't told us to sod off yet. So. We're not doing something that's got you too scared to tell us to stop, are we?"
"Maybe he doesn't like kissing," Sirius said, ever so cheery. "We can go straight for the mutual tossing, if you like."
"You are no help at all." It was an intimidating glare, but Sirius looked no less cheery. "Look. Let's get this answered. Are you about to disappear in an hour, or something, message untold, if you don't tell it now? Or can we have the pleasure of your company a bit longer?"
Harry found his voice. "No. I've got...all the time in the world."
Sirius laughed. "Aren't we the lucky ones, then." And he brought Harry around to face him again. "Let's try this one more time."
This time Harry kissed back. He tried not to worry about whether he was doing it right. If he could understand all that stuff about technique that quickly, surely Sirius and Remus already knew it. And they liked him. Fancied him.
Clearly he wasn't putting Sirius off, because he had no idea how much time had passed when Remus--patient, careful Remus--tapped Sirius on the shoulder and said, "All right, you're convinced. Let a bloke have a turn, won't you?"
"Bloody hell, yeah," said Sirius, sitting back, looking as dazed and breathless as Harry figured he himself must look. "Oh. He's...Christ. My trousers are already tenting."
"That's never news, Pads." And Remus kissed Harry, and there was nothing patient or careful about him now--Harry barely had time to start kissing back before Remus's tongue was pushing between his lips, and that was startling, but nice, definitely nice, and Harry thought it would be nicer if he pushed his own tongue against it. It was immediately a hundred times better than the meagerness of nice, and Remus groaned, and that was a hundred times better than even that.
They passed Harry back and forth between them, and that had him so head-swimmingly occupied he almost didn't notice when they'd pushed him back, so that he was lying across Sirius's bed. Sirius had his hands on Harry's shoulders, and murmured something about Harry's robes being in the way, which Harry decided was so, and so it wasn't anything disconcerting when those were pushed off over his head. And when his shirt followed, a little later, it hadn't really been in the way, but he didn't mind that going, either.
And both Sirius and Remus were shirtless by that time as well. They were...gorgeous, really; handsome didn't cut it. Remus was thinner but not more so than Harry himself, and Sirius had a darker tan than either of them. Harry couldn't say why he thought they were gorgeous, except that seeing them so young and fit overwhelmed him.
Of course this meant he wanted to touch them, and this was no problem as they were interested in the same thing. Strange how few doubts he had about this: no silly worries over what it might mean concerning his preferences. That was easy to turn off. Less than an hour ago, he'd been facing his own death--funny how that made some perspectives seem so...miniature.
Oh. The warmth of another person's skin underneath his own hands, and the feeling of other hands touching him like that...That was when it went from something slow and rapturous to sudden and needful. He was tenting his own trousers now, if either of them cared to look, and he didn't doubt that they would.
They didn't josh him for it, though, as he would have expected seventeen-year-old boys to. Remus simply cupped his hand over that aching prominence and rubbed, setting his mouth against Harry's shoulder as he did so, while Sirius went to work on his zip, murmuring, "We can take of that for him, can't we, Moony..." Sirius got Harry's y-fronts down just far enough to free his cock, and said, "Now, don't worry about a thing," just before he bent and sucked the head of Harry's cock between his lips.
Harry opened his mouth to say Hey, aren't-- or I didn't expect-- or Does this mean-- when he realized that Sirius had said that for a reason, and he should take his advice. And then his mouth couldn't do anything except gasp, as Sirius sucked a tight circle about the cockhead, sliding up the shaft with the flat of his tongue against the underside. "Oh, fuck," he breathed.
Remus was behind him. He slid an arm beneath Harry's shoulders, supporting him as Sirius's mouth crawled its way up his cock, and when the lips formed that tight circle about the very root, nested all the way into the dark curly hair at the base, Sirius's eyes closed in serene satisfaction at Harry's response--that was when Harry reached out a hand to clutch at the bedclothes beneath him, because he felt quite sure it was not the done thing to grab someone's hair at that moment and pull. Very hard.
Nothing could have kept him from arching into that lovely suction, however, and he didn't try to hold back. Sirius mmmed and gave him what he wanted, sliding his mouth up and down along Harry's cock until he pulled back and then off--there was a popping sensation that almost drove Harry over the edge right there--and began to tongue the base of Harry's cock, delving lower, his tongue swiping the skin just in front of his balls. Harry sucked in his breath and clutched at the bedclothes harder.
"You're being greedy again," Remus said. "Let a fellow have a turn."
"Stop--mmm--whinging. You'll get one."
"Before he comes, Sirius."
Sirius murmured something annoyed. "He's our age, for Merlin's sake. Got to be good for two or three."
"Yes, you say that all the time, and then you're snoring in two seconds. Budge over."
Another annoyed noise, but Sirius did, and then flung himself down next to Harry, grinning into his face. "Ignore him, Harry. I don't snore."
Remus gave Harry's cock a subtly different treatment, picking it up in the fingers of both hands as if it were an instrument, and then beginning with flickers of his tongue over the head, until he had Harry trembling, and the hand that wasn't clutching the bedclothes was balled into a fist and was in his mouth. Next to him Sirius was wriggling out of his own trousers, tossing them away and taking Harry's hand in his. "Here. Just touch. You don't have to use your mouth yet. Or if you don't want." And he wrapped Harry's fingers firmly around the hard length of his own cock. "Oh, yeah. Nice. Don't worry about doing anything--not while Remus is doing that bit of tongue-lashing there--just squeeze a little."
Sirius was right; it wasn't possible to focus on anything more than a bit of squeezing while being sucked off like that. But he couldn't stop looking at Sirius, laid out at his side, tan except for the whiter skin of his hips and arse, smiling, eyes closed as Harry held the hardness of his cock in his hand, feeling its whole length pulsing, and the little trickle of wetness at its tip. When he could bear to tear his eyes away from that amazing sight, it was to look at Remus, who was licking him with casual concentration, not smiling but contented, his expression so like the adult Remus Harry knew that it hurt and healed, all at once.
And that was when the door opened.
Of course they all bolted upright; it was a reflex. The voice of the newcomer registered before the sight did. "Studying, my arse! You two are like fucking rabbits; I can--" It stopped. "Wait, who the hell's that?"
All Harry could think to do, to say, was to cling to the waistband of his trousers and croak, "I thought you spelled the door."
Sirius, who was not trying to cover himself, snorted. "Yeah, but it's not going to keep out James."
"What the hell...?" James began to repeat, in sentiment if not in the exact words.
Harry couldn't say another word. His father. The version-of-him-with-deliberate-mistakes.
"Spell the door again, Prongsy." Sirius continued to smile. "You're not too late."
"Fucking hell." James's eyes were wide now, not narrowed in suspicion, and Harry knew it wasn't just for the sight of his best mates naked on a bed with another boy. "Who are you?"
"Harry, James. James, Harry. He came to give us what sounds like a rather important message, but we," and here the corners of Remus's mouth curled up, "got a little side-tracked."
"He looks--" James was having trouble completing a good number of his sentences. "He--"
"Come here, Prongs. Look what we have for you." Sirius ruffled Harry's hair. "Ever have that fantasy of wanting to do yourself?"
James's mouth dropped open.
Harry's didn't, but only because he'd closed it and his jaw, not to mention his throat, had completely locked up.
"We think he's you, from an alternate universe. Or at least it's better than his explanation. Which he hasn't given, but we still like our version better."
"James--" Remus, next to Harry, slid his arms about him fondly--or protectively, Harry wasn't sure which-- "you've got him at a disadvantage. All of us, really. Get some clothes off and come sit with us on equal footing."
"Oh, stop it, Pads."
One side of James's mouth quirked up.
Then he turned, took out his wand and spelled the door shut.
James had both jumper and shirt off in one motion, seemed to deliberate about the trousers, compromised and kicked his trainers off instead. Harry could only watch in a state of speechless rising something that wasn't excitement and wasn't horror either.
It was James. He didn't know James like he knew Sirius and Remus. There was nothing to him but pictures, a vision in a mirror, a few words from a ghostly shade. The memory of him that he had best wasn't his own memory at all; it was Snape's, and James had been fifteen and not his father yet.
This was...him. More than it was his father-to-be, it was him. It was more than bizarre, but the idea that James was disrobing and joining them on the bed was not the skin-crawling heebie-jeebie moment it should have been. It was overwhelming, but not terrifying.
Harry suddenly realized he hadn't even lost his erection.
"All right," said James, clad in trousers only, settling onto the bed next to Sirius, "so are we talking, or are we picking up where you left off?"
"Talk's overrated. Besides, I mentioned 'doing yourself' and you practically spent right there."
"Be nice." Remus still had his arms about Harry. "Prongs, Harry's a bit shy. Give him a second." He kissed Harry on the temple. "Harry, would you like it if James had a bit of a turn? He's awfully good with his mouth. And ignore that "like rabbits" rubbish; he's randier than the both of us put together."
James leaned forward, and if Harry had thought Sirius could produce a wicked smile, it was nothing compared to the grin on James's face right now. "Seeing how I arrived a bit late, it would be a fair way for me to apologize." He glanced down at Harry's erection, grin undiminished. "Curious to know if that tastes anything like mine."
"How the fuck would you know?" Sirius laughed.
"Oh, be quiet, dogbreath, you're a fine one to talk. As if Padfoot doesn't spend half the night showing us he can do that. All right, then, Harry?"
And Harry didn't want to say no, for more reasons than he would ever have believed. He told himself that the most important one was because there would have to be some explanation why he was willing to drop trou and cavort with Remus and Sirius, but not James. (Though he wasn't sure that was true.) And could he? Would they listen to him after; would he have to tell it all, and--and maybe watch them recoil from him because he'd had to tell too much truth?
And he heard himself say, "Actually...could I do it to you?"
James blinked. Sirius laughed again. Even Remus chuckled. "Well. Not so shy anymore. That was fast."
And Harry tore his attention away from his own erection and shifted forward, opening James's belt and zip and pushing trousers and pants down in the same way Remus had done to him.
James's cock sprang free, and, oh, yes, it was already hard. Hard and getting harder, now that it was free of his clothing, and that Harry was approaching it with his mouth, looking at it while wondering where to begin. He tried an experimental lick to the underside, was rewarded with a musky, salty flavour that was not at all unpleasant, and a twitch from the cock that was even nicer, and a hiss from James that surpassed both.
He licked again, began to trace lines down the cock with his tongue from base to tip. James groaned and his hand came to rest on Harry's head, fingers sliding into his hair and curling into it slightly, encouraging Harry to stay but not gripping. Oh. So that was the proper etiquette, then.
He couldn't say why this had felt like the only possible answer. Only that he knew it was likely that, if the outcome of all this went the way he was hoping, James would one day realize who Harry had been. And if...if James had to think back on this, what he'd remember was that he didn't actually do anything to Harry...Harry'd done it to him. Why was that better? Wasn't, maybe. But at least James wouldn't have to have that added guilt.
"Moony, I know that look on James's face. I think our taking turns session is over."
"Looks like. Well, he deserves it, after a fashion. Come on, Padfoot, we orchestrate four players all the time. Piece of cake."
And Harry--who had James's cock in his mouth now, trying to be very careful of his teeth and finding it interesting, how the head was poking into his cheek from the inside like that--found hands pulling his trousers the rest of the way off, and then pushing him back up onto his knees and nudging them apart, and someone--Sirius--was sliding headfirst between Harry's thighs, face up, and leaning up to pull his cock into his mouth. Harry moaned around his mouthful, and then James moaned louder, apparently liking that, so Harry did it again, setting his voice to a series of groans that were more than heartfelt, given what Sirius's amazing mouth was doing to his cock, sucking, tonguing, doing that little tight circle of lips about the head again. And James continued to get louder, pushing his hips to Harry's face, hand in his hair tightening but never too painful--kind of nicely hurting, actually. And then there was another body wriggling up to Harry's side, and in mid-moan James twisted his upper body just a bit so that he could lean down to suck Remus's cock into his own mouth--
--and Harry realized that Remus must have been sucking on Sirius at the same time, all of them contorted together in one hungry circle of bodies, and fuck, he'd never dreamed of something like this, it was insane, it was fabulous, it was going to completely ruin him for sex with just one person for the rest of his days, and he was going to have those days, dammit, they all were, and he'd have this, this memory even if he had a completely different future, and it had been worth it coming back, it had it had, and Sirius was teasing his balls with one hand, oh fuck, he was coming, he held onto James's cock and sucked for all he was worth because it was all he could do, he was coming in a rush, waves gripping his balls and his belly and his cock as he erupted, wrung out, empty, filled in return with James's own spurt into his mouth, holding on, feeling the heat of all of them around him in a cushion of flesh that surrounded him, supported him, held him in.
It was a falling together that they did, not a falling apart, even as they separated.
And it almost broke Harry that the first words spoken by any of them were:
"Fuck. Wormtail's going to be sorry he missed this one."
It was too much of an opening to be ignored. Harry almost wept to have to end the moment. "Um. This is something you can't tell him about. Ever."
They were still, then James said, "What've you got against Peter?"
As Harry bit his lips, wondering how he could counter that suspicion in James's voice, Remus came to his rescue. "Does...is this part of what you have to tell us? Is it about Peter?"
Harry nodded against the bedclothes, not able to look at them just yet.
Remus kicked Sirius. "Don't go to sleep, Padfoot. Harry's got to tell us what he's on about."
"Wasn't asleep," Sirius said, yawning hugely. "Go on, then."
And so he told them. Not all of it. Nothing remotely like all of it. He had never intended to tell them who he was, nor of all the evil turns of fate that awaited them--death, Azkaban, isolation. Nor had he planned to reveal things that were pleasant or neutral, but best left unspoken. Had it been him, he wouldn't have wanted to know all the surprises of his life either--whom he was to marry, what he'd do for a living, all that. He'd have hated that.
But he got the key element across to them, and gave them what they needed to know, to hear, until they were convinced of it--James and those he loves will need to go into hiding, in a few years. Do not make Peter the Secret-Keeper. You will think it is a clever idea, because Sirius would be the obvious choice--but if you do this, terrible things will happen. He remembered to share what Sirius had told him, that night in the Shack--that Peter had begun his betrayal a year before the--before the terrible things happened, and that their friend might be salvageable even now, but that the Secret-Keeper was the most deadly turning point.
And they believed him. There was no humoring of him in their attitudes, no derision. They saw his dead seriousness, and James was somber, and Remus thoughtful, and Sirius all boldness and trust. And all of them, accepting. They promised to remember what he said, and abide by it.
And that was all he could do. All he could think to do. Anything more might destroy what he'd done--it was now up to fate.
And, when the good-byes were said, Harry, not needing to conceal his actions from them for this, took out the Time-Turner and began its nineteen turns.
He was halfway through when he remembered the invisibility cloak, still in a heap in the corner.
Oh, hell. --No, he couldn't try to go back, not in mid-turn; he didn't know what might happen.
But what did it matter? The cloak--James's cloak--would be waiting for him, nineteen years from now. The thought surprised a laugh from him.
And, with that laugh, he went to face his future.
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