Despoiling Harry

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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.

The Many Charms About You
by Amanuensis

Summary: No, you really don't want to be a test subject for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Trust me on this one.
Pairing: Harry/Fred/George
Categories: Dark, non-con, PWP.
Kinks/Warnings: Non-con. Threesome.
Notes: For the Pornish Pixies Fantasy Fest request made by [info]gmth "Harry/Weasley twins, evil!twins, bondage and non-con a plus."
Thanks to betas [info]florahart, [info]fabularasa, and [info]desdomonda.


"It's brilliant," said Harry.

It was. True, the size of the flat made the Burrow seem like luxury, but there was room to sleep and room to work--barely--and Fred and George took prospective clients out to lunch, so, what did it matter if the arrangement screamed starter business squalor. It was theirs, and Harry would have given anything to have had the same.

Granted, Fred and George did call him the "silent partner," but that wasn't the part he envied. Their tiny flat didn't even boast a guest room, and there were so many half-completed projects in the kitchen that the idea of cooking food there was a bit frightening to think about--empty curry take-out boxes filled an entire corner--but Harry had never been so eager to visit. And he'd fought hard for it--a summer day, out of the protection of the Dursleys', or even the unplottable safety of 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry knew there'd be at least three members of the Order on the lookout nearby, clucking their tongues over his foolhardiness. Harry didn't care.

Fred was grinning at him over his beef curry (George kept badgering Fred over that--the idea that one could have "beef curry" meant it was as far from authentic as one could imagine, and Fred kept telling him to get stuffed, as George favored a dish called "Chicken Caesar Salad Curry," so he was hardly one to talk about authentic). "We've got loads of projects in the works. The second wave of Skiving Snackboxes'll be out before the school year starts--"

"Had to think of some new illnesses, so the teachers don't catch on too quick, y'know."

"This batch has Laryngitis Lollies, Migraine Mints--"

"The sugared lice are my faves. After the nurse lets you off, you just pick them right out of your hair and eat them. Fred came up with those. Find him a handful to try, Fred." Fred was up and searching through the numerous bowls, trays, and jars on the counter. It seemed a miracle he could find anything in all the clutter. "And we've started holiday products. The Hallowe'en line's already sold out on preorders."

"George has the Christmas and Valentine's day lines in planning already. Ah, found 'em." Fred seized an open paper box from the center of the counter; as he did so, his arm jostled a flask of pink liquid at its edge. Harry saw it wobble; he reached out a hand to steady it just as Fred did the same thing. They collided, the flask started to tip--and Harry grabbed it and righted it just before it would have fallen. Pink sloshed onto his sleeve.

Harry extended his arm. "Do I have to get this off quick before it burns into my skin?"

"Uh--don't think so." Fred took Harry's arm, peered at the stain. "George, which one is that again?" This didn't make Harry feel confident, and he wondered if he should just get the shirt off anyway.

"That's supposed to be for Valentine's, but I added too much saxifrage. Was keeping it around to see if I could salvage something out of it. Don't know what it does right now."

Right. He should definitely get the shirt off.

Fred hadn't let go of his arm, though. His hand slid down until he had Harry's hand in his. Harry looked up and saw that Fred was staring at him with the oddest look. It was as if Harry'd just contracted something fatal with that pink liquid.

"Harry," said Fred. "You know we're...really glad you're our friend, don't you?"

He blinked. It was the kind of moment he didn't expect from either of the twins. The sentiment, yes, but not the look and not the handclasp. And it was a handclasp, not just a grip, fingers interlaced between his.

George stood up. "He's right." Harry looked and saw the same look of odd...longing, was the only way he could describe it, on George's face. "We care about you so much, Harry."

Harry didn't know what to say.

George stepped closer and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Something was wrong. Harry was not the touching kind and the twins knew it.

And then George kissed him.

And Harry waited to turn into a frog, or a twelve-foot budgie, or to break out in giant purple spots, and for Fred and George to fall to the ground laughing at their latest successful invention of joke lipstick or whatever it was, and at Harry's embarrassed expression.

None of those things happened. Instead, George slipped his tongue inside Harry's mouth.

Harry jerked away, too shocked to spit or swear.

Fred's hands were at his back. "Ssh. Don't be scared."

"What the fuck--" His voice had returned.

"No! No, really, Harry, it's okay. It's just...we both--"

"--love you--"

"--so much--"

One set of hands was on his arms, the other holding him from behind. George was trying to kiss him again. "No! Fuck, get off me--"

"It's all right, Harry."

"Wouldn't hurt you. Don't be angry." But they were still touching him, still holding him, and George had kissed him on the jaw before he could duck away, and had hold of the front of Harry's shirt.

"Stop. Just stop it!"

And that was when George said, "Get his hands."

Harry couldn't believe he'd heard it. Not until Fred had seized his wrists and pulled them behind his back, leaning forward as he did so to kiss Harry's cheek from behind, and George's fingers were on the buttons of Harry's shirt, and Harry's stomach felt as if his just-eaten curry dinner had transfigured itself to lead. It couldn't be happening.

"Need him--"

"--so fucking sexy--"

"--God, yes--"

Harry's shirt was unbuttoned, and George was shoving it off his shoulders. "Look at you. Fuck. So pretty--" He ducked, and Harry was pushed backwards into Fred as George pressed his face to Harry's chest and licked his nipple. Then he drew it into his mouth, his eyes flickering up toward Harry's as if to ask if he liked this.

"You fucking queer!" Harry wrenched at his trapped wrists. "Let go of me, fuck!" The stuff on his sleeve. He had to get the shirt off. It would stop then. It had to stop.

"Don't name-call, Harry."

"'S not nice," said George, licking. He moved his mouth to Harry's other nipple, moaning as he sucked.

Harry wasn't moaning. He was sick. These were his friends. These were his friends and they were trying to--no he wouldn't think it no.

"Shoes first. Then trousers," said Fred.

"No!" Fred had braced himself against the wall, Harry's wrists in his hands, and none of Harry's attempts to kick George off were able to unbalance Fred. George had the shoes and socks off in moments, was already moving on to Harry's zip.

Harry wrenched again; all it did was push his hips closer to George's hands. "See, he does want it, Fred."

"'Course he does. We wouldn't hurt him. Wouldn't do it if he didn't want it." Fred's voice at Harry's ear was breathy. Eager. Harry made a sound in his throat that he'd never imagined would come from him, didn't believe had just come from him, even as George hooked his fingers into the waistband of the trousers and Harry's y-fronts both, and yanked them down to his knees.

"Jesus fucking Christ, is he gorgeous." George wasn't touching him. Wasn't touching him yet, oh fuck. Just looking. "Have to get the rest of this off him. Want to see him naked."

"Binding spell. Quick."

"Yes." George was fumbling in his sleeve for his wand.

"NO!" Harry screamed. "FUCKING LET GO OF ME!"

"Silencing spell, too," Fred said.

"Fuck Silencing spell." George, resourceful as ever, grabbed one of Harry's discarded socks and stuffed it in one unpleasant-tasting wad into Harry's mouth. Harry choked, tried to bite, did so too late. George stretched the other sock across Harry's mouth to block him from expelling the wad. He had to stand to tie the ends of it behind Harry's neck, but Harry's legs were trapped in his half-removed trousers, and the knee he was trying to bring up into George's groin missed.

"Don't, Harry," George said soothingly, as the last of Harry's clothing was jerked away. "You're being rather a wet blanket about this, you know."

"Binding spell," Fred confirmed, and silvery ropes shot out of the end of his wand and encircled Harry's torso, trapping his arms at his sides, and formed a ring about his ankles. Harry tried to yell behind the gag. "Mmmph!"

George stroked his hair. "Ssh. Don't be scared. You'll love it."

So much for the idea that the potion's effects would be gone when the shirt was off. Fuck fuck fuck.


"Bedroom. Mobilicorpus."

Harry was pulled by the spell into the bedroom, where George canceled it and let Harry fall to the bed with a thud and a bounce. Instantly the twins were on him. Fred was hovering over his groin, breathing, "Christ. So pretty. Have to..."

"Taste him. I know."

"Let's both at the same time."

One of them was pinning his legs; Harry wanted to thrash and he couldn't, and all he could do was crane his neck up to see what they were doing. Mistake. Harry saw them press their mouths to the base of his cock, tongues extending in two swirls of pink to lick along the shaft, and Harry shuddered. He couldn't look any more, dropping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see the faces of his two friends as they tongued him. But it didn't help, didn't help at all, he could feel them and he could imagine what they looked like, mouths open, tongues extended, their own eyes closing in response to those ecstatic little moans they kept moaning as they licked him.

"Mmm," said George. "'M gonna have to suck him off."

"We both will. Take turns."

"He tastes so good."

No, Harry tried to yell through the gag. There was no way the noise he was making could be taken for anything else. But they weren't stopping; one of them was laughing.

"There he goes."

There what went? Oh, fuck. Harry realized--impossible that it should have taken him this long to realize it--that he was getting hard. Even as everything in him screamed that it was only a reaction, a physical reaction, goddammit, the nausea gripping him doubled, particularly as the twins couldn't stop talking about it.

"So sexy."

"Shouldn't get him off too fast, y'know."

"No. Keep him stiff for hours. Want to see him aching like this."

Harry opened his eyes, sending as furious a glare as he could in their direction. Fred saw, but nothing changed. George was closing his lips around the end of Harry's cock, and Fred gave him the most wicked of smiles before diving down to swipe his tongue against Harry's balls, pulling them up and into his mouth with another sound of satisfaction. Harry mmphed again, desperate, but Fred only began sucking and George took his mouth away long enough to say, "Ah, careful, Harry--wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Maybe he'd like that," Fred said in the pause between releasing one of Harry's balls and getting the other into his mouth.

"Maybe he would. We should find out." George's mouth slid down over Harry's cock all the way to the root, sucking it so hard into his throat that Harry couldn't help it; his buttocks clenched and his hips rose, and his cock was achingly hard, he couldn't will it away. Not for all the laughter the twins had in their throats, it seemed.

A sudden pain at his groin, like a bite, but nothing so intense. Fred had pinched the skin of his scrotum, hard, but only the skin--nothing so bad as it could have been. "Does he like that?" Fred asked.

"Mmm." George slid his mouth off Harry's cock with a great show of slowness. "Must have. Still hard as a rock," he said, eyeing Harry's unwilting, traitor erection.

No! thought Harry, accompanying it with another noise and even angrier glare, even as Fred pinched him again. "Even if he doesn't think he likes it, he responds so nicely. We should make sure to keep him interested."

George pushed himself up the bed. "Oh, Harry. You like that? Like being hurt a little? Hmm?" He ducked his head, and his mouth closed over Harry's nipple. Harry moaned and tried to twist away, but what began as a suck quickly turned into a bite, and George only bit harder as Harry fought. Fred's mouth was still on his balls, and Harry had no idea when Fred might decide to try biting there as well. Whimpering, he stopped.

George didn't. The bite relaxed, but then it became chewing--short little bites that ranged from irritating to cruel, and Harry kept protesting around the gag, trying to find the tone that would cut through the spell and make Fred and George understand that he was not enjoying this, didn't like it rough, and wanted out of there so badly he'd promise never to leave the Dursleys again if only he could get out of there now.

Such a tone didn't exist. Fred evidently decided that his twin looked to be having an asymmetrical time of it, and shifted up the bed to give the same attention to Harry's other nipple. Fred, Harry found, bit harder. Hard enough that Harry started thrashing again, but the twins were pinning him down with their bodies and he was only managing to tug his nipples against their teeth even harder. He collapsed, angry and sick, wondering if they would take the bindings off him soon, and give him a chance to break free.

He wondered if he'd have a better chance of their doing so if he stopped fighting. If he...if he pretended that...

No. This wasn't the Fred and George he knew. It was that fucking pink stuff doing this, and he wasn't going to make them be reasonable by anything he did.

And he knew he couldn't pretend to like it.

Fred had one hand at Harry's groin, fondling him, and it was nothing designed to get him off just yet--clever little fingerings, instead, up and down his prick and grazing over the slit--oh, fuck, he was leaking, he could feel it, Fred was getting the stickiness on his fingers and it was smearing under his hand. He didn't want this, didn't want this; he couldn't have stopped this reaction any more than he could have kept from bleeding if they'd cut him. It didn't mean that he wanted it. No matter what they were saying.

And they were saying it, oh, yes. "Look how stiff he is. Purple with it."


"Let's give him what we promised."

They moved off him as one, and rolled him to his stomach. A hand cracked down on his arse. "How about that? That get you harder, Harry?"

He could shake his head--he did, hard enough to give himself a concussion--and he could nnng all he wanted behind the gag, but they weren't paying any attention. "Let's take a look."

He felt a tugging at his ankles, and then the band about them split, was gone. Harry instantly tried to pull up one knee, needing leverage to launch himself off the bed, but Fred and George were having none of it. Harry's legs were pushed apart, and his calves pinned by each of them sitting on one. Hands fondled his balls, pulled at his erection from beneath his belly with an uncaring speed that made him groan. A hand interposed into that space worked his foreskin back and forth in skillful fingers, and Harry once again clenched his buttocks and felt the surge run all the way from his hips through his cock.

"Fuck, yes," sighed George. "Harder, Fred."

Fred spanked his arse again. And again. Each slap was like ice, driving the blood in his flesh away from that palm-sized stretch of skin, which returned in a throbbing burn a heartbeat later. Harry groaned again, tried to drag his legs free, failed. Another slap. Another. The fingers on his cock kept pulling, kept stroking.

"Watch him blush. Oh, yes."

"I'll watch; you have a turn. My hand's already hurting."

They swapped. Fred's hand on his his prick was less fingering and more tugging, and George had a way of keeping his hand pressed to Harry's arse for a second after each slap. Neither way seemed less painful.

The slaps moved to the tops of his thighs, and Harry's protests and struggles increased with the pain of that. It was fucking worse. Fred and George seemed to come to the same observation at the same time--that they could have each hand occupied and have twice the fun. Each had a hand teasing his tight, aching balls and his cock, and slapped his arse and thighs in hard blows with the other--rapid spanks that had no rhythm, and were impossible to brace himself for.

His skin was on fire from his tailbone to his knees, and he thought it could get no worse, when fingernails were dragged all the way down his buttocks to his knees, dragging runnels in his skin slowly as they went. Harry was growling his protests through a raspy throat by that point, and howled a fresh wave of them.

"Got him all warmed up for us."

"Feels nice." That in response to the hand caressing his arse.

"Think it's his first time?"

"Bet it is." Two thumbs pushed Harry's buttocks apart. Then the thumbs moved deeper into his crack, side by side into the tight pucker of his anus--which he tried to make tighter, spine arching, shoulders lifting off the bed as the thumbs pushed into him there.

"Nnnn!" Harry screamed. No. They weren't going to...they really weren't going to do that, were they?

There was breath, and then there was fuck there was a tongue there, worming its way inside him, withdrawing and licking all around his arsehole and then joined by a finger, wet as if it had been sucked, which pushed inside him, wiggling as it went and hitting something inside which set his entire skin to shuddering.

"Oh, feel him doing that. I'm going to have him. Want to feel him doing that around my cock."

"Pleasure's all yours. And his, of course. Speaking of which, don't want him to come until we've both had a turn, do we?"

"Fuck, I don't think we want him to come until next week."

"Brilliant. Got just the thing."

Harry thought he'd been pinched again, but then it got tighter. And tighter. Fred had cinched something--one of those magical bindings, probably--around the base of his cock, and around his balls. If he softened, he thought he might be able to slip free of it. But being magical, he didn't doubt it would get tighter if he did go soft. Fuck.

"Accio oil." Something smacked into a palm a moment later, and Harry barely had time to wonder what kind of oil it was before it was being slicked into his crack. It didn't sting, and that was all he had time to notice before George's bare knees were pressing into the backs of his own. Harry couldn't think how he'd gotten his trousers off so quickly. Thumbs had pried his buttocks apart again, and he could feel George's hand and what had to be George's prick fumbling at him, and clenching didn't help at all, the spongy head was pushing inside him, and it was all wrong and he felt too full before it was in him more than an inch and George pushed harder and fuck, it was stretching, burning, had him yelling through the gag for him to stop and he wasn't fuck fuck fuck...

There were moments when that skin-shuddering feeling hit him again, as George's cock moved past that same spot inside him as his finger had before, but George fucking his arse seemed not much kinder than George putting his eye out with his thumb. Harry's cock went soft, not towards orgasm, as they'd bragged--and the binding about his balls and prick tightened as he did so. Coming was the furthest thing from Harry's mind. Or body.

But then George was done--Harry couldn't even tell that he'd come, except that he stopped thrusting--and pulled out, leaving Harry feeling as though his arsehole was still gaping wide--and Fred and George both turned him over and went to work on his softened prick. Hands, mouth--teeth and tongue both--everything they could to have his cock standing at attention in that silvery magic ring, balls nearly as hard as his cock and completely unable to be anything else, because of the binding. And then he was flipped over again, legs spread and held, as Fred happily took his turn raping Harry's arse, George urging his twin on and calling Harry the most gorgeous, wanting little slut ever.

When Fred was done, George had recovered. And was ready for his turn again.

The twins had fallen asleep before Lupin arrived.

It had been hours. Hours during which Fred and George had used him and spanked him and sucked him and had him in every position possible, and some that Harry hadn't thought were, telling him how much they loved him the entire time and how Harry'd like it all the better if they kept him from coming just yet, just yet, oh, certainly not yet. Until they'd collapsed atop him in total exhaustion, two freckled dead weights of flesh securing their toy for later play.

Harry hadn't dared to move. If they woke, they'd want more. He knew it.

But they didn't stir as Lupin pushed the bedroom door back, wand in hand.

"Fuck." Harry'd never heard Lupin say that. He lifted his head, mmmphed at Lupin weakly, and felt something give within his chest as Lupin knelt next to the bed--stuffing his wand away--and pulled the sock free of Harry's mouth.

Harry expelled the soaking, wadded second sock, with his tongue and with a little more help from Lupin. "Harry," Lupin said, touching Harry's face with the back of his hand like a parent checking for fever.

"Help," was all Harry could manage.

"Nrf?" Fred was rolling over, but didn't wake. "Whz..." A moment later, he was still again.

"Yes. Yes, of course," Lupin said, hushed as if he understood the need not to wake them. "Of course I'll help. You know I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, Harry."

And he bent his head and kissed Harry on the mouth.

Harry froze.

As if from a long way away, he heard George's voice. "Oh, hullo, Remus. Come to join us?"

"Yes," murmured Lupin, his eyes just a bit glassy, and utterly horrifying. "I think I have."


Despoiling Harry

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