Chapter Text
It was all the twins's fault. Of course. It was a canary cream of an idea, a ton-tongue toffee’s worth of madness and in any normal year Harry would have laughed it off as he trudged up the tower stairs to his nice dull dorm room bed.
The problem was that Voldemort was dead. Well, that wasn’t a problem, that was bloody marvelous, and he was thrilled the Second Wizarding War was won, but it was just. You see. A bit boring now. They were all back here for their final year, set to the task of attaining the approved academic certificates, the twins included. The Ministry, it seemed, frowned on people concocting new charms and potions when they hadn’t so much as a single NEWT to rub between them. All of them, back to being treated as feckless students rather than the adults they legally were. It rankled.
Also, he was horny. Couldn’t forget that part of it. Ginny was back with Michael Corner, who’d suffered together with her all last year, and hadn’t ever broken up with her to go hunting Horcruxes. Harry hadn't minded, to be honest. The thought of getting a hand down her pants--well, wasn't that something else that seemed a little uninteresting?
Worse, he didn't even have an exciting job to look forward to. Sure, he was going to be an Auror—they couldn't exactly refuse him—but Dawlish had made it extremely clear that Harry was going straight into the paperwork division. Too important to risk in the field, Dawlish had said. Harry had wanted to argue but he also wanted to be useful and good and do whatever the department needed, so he'd kept his mouth shut and just nodded.
Six years of escalating terror culminating in a duel to the death with a mad shite of a wizard and here he was. A normal, safe life just didn't seem to fit. Made him feel like he'd been stuffed into a suit a couple of sizes too small, buttoned in and left to sweat and itch. Which is how he ended up sitting on the rug by the fire, listening to the twins instead of faffing off like a sensible bloke.
“Filch told you that?” Ron’s face scrunched in disbelief. He was lounging on the Gryffindor sofa, manspreading in a way he would never have dared if Hermione and the rest of the girls hadn’t already gone to bed. “Over tea and crumpets then? Just offered him a biscuit and he started dishing on the dirty sex secrets of Olde Tyme Hogwarts?”
“It was firewhisky, not tea, and Chattering Chewies, not crumpets, but yes. We dosed him up, a little liquor, a little candy, and he spilled the dirtiest of the dirty.” Fred was sprawled out in front of the common room fire, looking pleased with himself.
“First he talked a good lot about hanging students by the thumbs—“ George put in, leaning over Fred.
“Bit afraid he's got a thing for thumbs—“
“Then we got him onto the good stuff—“
“Onan’s Relief, The Fair Sex’s Honor Guard, The Eater of Sin,” Fred finished triumphantly. “They had a lot of fancy names for the job, but basically it boiled down to one chap each year taking care of the rest, in the oral way.“
“They used to think wanking was terrible for you. Turned you into a werewolf, ruined your eyes, all that nonsense—"
"And if you weren't wanking, you'd be bothering the girls for sure—"
"So to save everyone, one poor git each year got chosen as the official dorm room cocksucker.” George’s eyes shone. “They really were the good old days, weren’t they?”
Seamus snorted right into his butterbeer. “Who’d volunteer for that? Even the biggest poof in the world wouldn’t want to be on call night and day to suck off us lot. Have to be mad to go for it.”
“Here’s the thing.” Fred sat up and looked conspiratorial, something he did very well. “It’s a lottery type situation. Everyone signs the magic contract and the loser is chosen at random. If you want to get free blow jobs for the year, then you have to take the risk of being the blower instead of one of the blow-ees. The odds are on your side, though. Everyone wins but one.”
Neville ran his tongue around his lips, looking a little more interested than a genuinely nice guy should. “What’s to stop the poor sap who gets picked from refusing to go through with it? Other than conscience and keeping a promise and all that?”
“Magic contract, I said, right? We snitched one of the originals they really used and there’s a nasty little clause in there about non-compliance—“
George reached into their bag and pulled out a yellowed scroll that smelled like the inside of Filch’s filing system. “Basically, your balls get magically squeezed harder and harder until you give in, open up, and start sucking.”
Harry reached over for the scroll, running his eyes down it as it unrolled. Sure enough, it was a magic BJ contract, circa the turn of the century. He handed it back to Fred, who had a smile like the devil selling buttered biscuits.
He looked the others over: Fred, George, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, and himself. Oh, and McLaggen, who’d scuttled back to finish up now that it was safe. There was only a one in eight chance of being the wretched sod who had to suck the others off. That meant a seven in eight chance of all the BJs he wanted and Merlin knew his dick was absolutely desperate.
Hell, he’d already been the Chosen One once. It had to be time for someone else’s number to come up. “I’m in,” he said, before the saner, more sensible part of his brain could stop him.
Plus, okay, there was the little matter that it would be a bloke sucking him off. This would be the perfect chance to find out—well, he liked girls okay which meant he had to be straight, right?—but well, hadn’t he wondered? Thought about Neville’s lips, Ron’s hands, the twin’s bright, malicious eyes? Malfoy's—
Okay, he wasn’t going to think about Malfoy but anyway, with this everyone was going to be getting sucked. He wouldn’t have to come on to a bloke, try to guess who was or who wasn’t into that, get marked out as some poof when he didn’t even really know what he wanted. He could get his cock down another fellow’s throat and still be exactly like all the others.
“I’m in too,” said Neville. He shrugged and didn’t look even the slightest bit abashed. “I don’t want to push Luna, of course not, but—“
“Fair daughter of the moon won’t put out?” Fred sniggered.
“It’s more that she, well, gets distracted. We’ll get to a certain point, a really good point, you know, and then.” He shrugged again. “She’ll just wander off, talking about Nargles or something like that.”
“I’m not sure I ever needed to know how blue your balls are,” Dean said, from the floor next to Seamus. “But fine, I’m in too.”
“Are you out of your nut?” Seamus goggled at him. “What if you lose?”
“Escaped the Snatchers. Lived through the Battle of Hogwarts. Got an O in Potions. Clearly I’m a lucky guy. I’ll risk it.”
“Fine, then, I’m in too.” Seamus rolled his eyes. “Don’t think I can suck a dick sober. If I lose at least I'll have an excuse for spending the whole year soused.”
“That leaves you, little brother.” George reached up and ran a hand over Ron’s knee.
Ron batted it off. “I know what you two are like. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.”
George pointed at Harry then back at Ron. “Harry's your best friend in the whole world and he’s in. You followed him all the way from the Chamber of Secrets to the battlefield. You going to let him do this little thing alone?”
Ron looked shifty. “What about the girls? Are they going to find out?”
“Oh, that’s the problem, is it?” George wrapped an arm around Fred. “Don’t worry. Part of the contract. Only the dorm’s lads know. Can’t talk about it to anyone unless they’re male, of age, and in our dorm.”
“Fine then.” Ron caught Harry’s eye. “I’m still saying it’s a bad idea though.”
Yeah, okay, it was. Harry knew that. It didn’t stop the thrill that was building in his belly and tightening his balls. It was a bad, terrible, utterly non-boring, stupid, thrilling, fantastic idea.