This is a translation of a German fic I wrot a few years ago.
HarryXFredXGeorg-fandom's got me back! Yihaa x3
They had always been there.
The constants in his crazy life.
The ones he could always count on.
The whole damn world (who, frankly, should not care)was convinced that it was Ron and Hermione who were holding him, helping him up when he stumbled, steadying him. Nobody ever saw the two who are literally always there for him. Since the moment Harry had been sorted into Gryffindor and met those two – they had never left his side, not for one second.
The had always believed in him, and supported everything he might do.
It was them who helped him make his way through this world and his merlindamn destiny, and who put him back together whenever he fell apart.
Is has always been them, and always will be.
Actually it was rather strange that no one ever noticed what they mean to him – who they were to him: Two pairs of helping hands. Two pairs of shoulders to lean or cry on. Two souls he could count on. Two people who, according to the situation, would always know the right words to say – whether that would be reassurances, curses advice or jokes.
They were his persons.
And still those two were forced to watch – unable to intervene – as Dumbledore and Voldemort kept breaking the boy, tearing him down, destroying him. (Of course the Dursleys gladly offered their help in that matter.)
They could not protect the innocent boy – no, young man – from being pushed into a position in which he had no choice but kill his teacher when only eleven years old. Or from sacrificing himself for saving a friend at age twelve. He had not known that Fawkes would come. They had to watch Harry having to save his godfather, the last of his family, from being executed, and they could not keep him out of the Tri-Wizard-Tournament. They were unable to prevent that Voldemort came back, or that Cedric was killed. They could not take his pain when he was tortured in his dreams, and there was no way to save Sirius.
Their hands were also bound when, in his sixth year, Harry was finally being formed, trained and sent against Voldemort, as the weapon he had been made by Dumbledore.
Nor were they able to keep the headmaster from forcing the hero back to his abusing relatives after the battle – for his own safety of course.
However, they acted as soon as they could.
The second they found out that the younger one had been sent to Privet Drive (which was almost a week after it had actually happened) they wasted no time and apparated to that place they remembered so well, finally no longer condemned to stand back and watch.
They had set their minds on saving Harry from that living hell, and they did.
And so what if they almost killed Vernon Dursley when they found him moments from crossing the last line? So what if they had to blow up half the garden to destroy the wards that should keep Harry in ? So what if they used magic in front of muggles, collecting all of their friend's personal items (which were disturbingly few)?
They would have done anything for him.
They had always offered a steadying hand whenever he had stumbled.
Now that he fell they caught him and took him away.
When Harry awoke it was… warm.
Warm and soft and comfortable.
It had been a long time since he had felt that way, so he forced his mind to push away that pleasant afterglow that came with waking up after a good night's sleep. Careful not to show that he was awake he let his magic run through his body, doing a full check, and at the same time tried to feel what was around (or rather underneath) him.
… a mattress?
Yes definitely, however, it was not one that he knew. It was nothing like the old, raddled one he had been given by the Dursleys thanks to their endless generosity, nor was it the one way too soft in his bed in the dorm room in Hogwarts, the one you would almost drown him.
No, it was a mattress he had never slept on (and he remembered those kinds of things thanks to his childhood.)
Only moments after he had come to that conclusion his magic was done and he realized, surprised, that he was almost perfectly well. That, for the first time in weeks, he did not feel any pain at all.
Madam Pomfrey had healed those of his injuries that were life-threatening after the battle, but Dumbledore had kept her from taking care of the rest, claiming that Harry would be looked over by a St Mungo's healer.
Instead he had been shipped off to the Dursleys. Where he would be "safe from all those Death Eaters still running from the aurors, and wanting nothing but to see him dead". Well, Dumbledore certainly dreamed about the last one as well.
It took all of Harry's self-control not to snort.
He had found out about the headmaster's real intentions and all the manipulations after Sirius' death, when he had learned about the prophecy, more than a year ago, but the bitterness was still there. He had trusted the old wizard, believing him every word and being ready to die for him. Only in his fifth year he had begun to question things, and been punished immediately.
Harry forcefully tore his thoughts away from those depressing topics. He was far from getting over his godfather's death, or Dumbledore's betrayal.
Time to think about something else.
The matters at hand, for example.
So, his wounds were obviously healed now, the old ones that came from the cruel training and the battle, as well as the newer ones those mental relatives of his had left to him.
Well, most of his wounds, anyway. His magic found some that were still healing.
Which meant that he was under the influence of a potion, considering that he felt no pain.
Drugs, was his first thought, followed by a short panic before he managed to calm back down. No one could know that he was awake. Especially not when he had been given potions.
Taking a deep breath he concentrated on finding out what was going on again.
He was feeling peculiarly safe.
Still he did not dare to open his eyes. It could be due to the potion, after all. (Yes, he was paranoid. However, he had every right to be, after what he had already gone through in his short life.)
He concentrated on blocking out the sounds of his own breathing, trying to hear what was going on around him.
Finally he could make out what seemed to be one more person breathing in his proximity. He could not send his magic outwards to find out how big the room he was in would be, or whether there were any other living beings there apart from that one person. Strong wizards would be able to feel it.
He tried to decide on what to do next when he heard someone open a door (quite close to him) and entering the room, apparently trying to be as quiet as possible. What for? Not waking him? Soft footfalls approached his bed and something was carefully put somewhere next to his head.
Harry almost flinched when he felt a hand touch his head.
He tried to steel himself, ready for the pain, when careful fingers softly combed through his stubborn locks, stroking his head. Words, clearly worried, were whispered into the direction of the other person:
"How is he?"
Harry gasped for air and tore his eyes open, his torso rushing upwards.
Two heads whipped around, two pairs of brown eyes staring into his own. The concern and affection clearly written in the depths of those eyes took his breath away.
Then the tears came.
"You saved me," he whispered. Not surprised. Just… happy. Relieved.
Suddenly there were hands carefully pushing him back onto the mattress, while one face was graced with a mischievous smirk while the other one began to show pure indignation.
"What else did you expect?"
He knew he did not have to answer. They knew him better than anyone else, better than he knew himself. He was feeling safe and light and content. Like always when he was with them.
Two hands softly caressed his cheeks, wiping away the tears that had not stopped flowing yet.
"How are you?"
The smile was back.
"Better than I've been in a long time," he answered honestly. There was no use trying to hide anything from those two. "I'm in no pain, and you're here – how could I possibly feel bad?" A lopsided grin now.
The two older wizards snickered.
"Yes, how could you?"
"Are you hungry?"
Harry was laughing now. Never expect them to stay with the topic. Then he nodded slowly. "A little."
He was being beamed at.
While one of them went to get a bowl of soup (from Dobby, of course the elf would be here if he knew that Harry was) the other helped him sit up.
Still even as he sat the supporting hands never left his shoulders.
Well, he certainly was not about to complain.
Then his soup arrived and he ate almost half of the (admittedly) small portion, not minding that he was being watched the whole time. When he was done he leaned back, putting the bowl away before letting his gaze travel back and forth between the two faces.
"And how are you?"
"Yes, nothing to complain about."
"After all you're here," they returned his compliment.
Harry laughed softly, before he reluctantly let the serious questions come to the front of his mind.
"What happened since I was… sent into exile by Dumbledore?"
Both faces suddenly showed a great deal of fury.
"He… is being pushed to finally accept the job of Minister of Magic. He's pretending to be reluctant, like he's only giving in heavy-heartedly, because there's no other possibility."
"Well, what else could be done?" the other one asks angrily. "There's no one who's got the balls to go against him and the money to finance an election campaign."
"And since we saved-"
"-you about a week-"
"-ago people have-"
"-been telling that he keeps blowing-"
"-up stuff in his-"
"-rage. However, the two of-"
"-us seem to be the only-"
"-ones who know-"
Harry listened to them fondly. When they were done he sighed, though. It was about time someone took matters into one's hands. Someone other than Dumbledore. "Would… would your father run for the post if he had enough money?"
They exchanged an uncertain glance. "We… think so. Why?"
"Then… could you tell him that I'm going to fund his campaign?"
Their eyes went wide. "Are you serious?"
"Of course! Would I lie to you?"
Another exchanged glance, this time a fond one.
"No, Harrypoo, you wouldn't. However, you-"
"-would make fun-"
"-of us." Twinkling eyes. "And we know, we keep-"
"-telling you that, but you're most-"
"-terrific! And lovely of-"
Now the two of them were grinning at him mischievously, obviously hoping to make him blush.
Harry just laughed. "If I'm terrific, then what are you? I wouldn't know what to do without you. Where I'd be."
Suddenly the seriousness was back on the atmosphere.
Their intense gazes went directly for his eyes and for a few minutes they were just staring at each other. Then the two older wizards sat down onto the bed on either side of him, awkwardly and slightly clumsily wrapping their arms around his torso.
The smaller one let his gaze sway between the two identical faces once more, than a huge happy smile found its way to his own face and he buried it in the waves of red hair bobbing up and down in front of him. The owners of those thatches cuddled into him, now, and sighed contently.
Harry had to fight back the tears.
"Would you… fulfil me a wish?"
They raised their heads again.
"Whatever you ask for," they answered sincerely, with one voice.
"Never let go of me again!"
The two redheads blinked a few times, surprised, before their grips around his torso tightened. Then two pairs of deep brown eyes locked with the green ones of the boy-who-lived, blocking the rest of the world out. Like in a muggle-movie their faces slowly drew closer, always giving him the chance to back away, until – finally – their lips brushed against his in the same moment.
Harry sighed contently and let himself be claimed.
"We… we've been in love with you for a very long time, Harry."
The younger wizard smiled happily. "I know," he answered, and he did know now. "Just like I've been in love with you."
The two redheads exhaled in obvious relief. Then their overly cheesy smiles began to match Harry's.
The comfortable bed in the small apartment above the joke shop may have been narrow, but it was certainly big enough for the three wizards who slept that night for the first time huddled together, holding each other even deep in their dreams.
The redhead turned around and could not help but chuckle when he spotted Harry, the dark locks after sleeping even more tousled than usually, pad into the kitchen, eyes still half-closed.
"Morning," a drowsy voice mumbled.
He chuckled again. "Good morning to you, too, Harrypoo."
For a second Harry pouted, then reasoned that he would not get rid of that nickname anyway.
He had never said that he would not take revenge, though.
"He's downstairs, in the shop, grabbing a few of our newer products. We can't visit our empty-handedly, now can we?"
It was Harry's time to chuckle.
Fred, in the meanwhile, returned his attention to the scrambled eggs in the frying pan, not wondering for a second that the younger one had immediately known who he was. The green-eyed wonder had always been the only one who had been able to keep them apart effortlessly. Maybe it was because he spent more time with them than everyone else (they had always tended to retreat as a pair, leaving their family be whenever they were not busy pranking them) and he was the one who knew them best, maybe it was because he was special, or – if you asked the twins – maybe they were just meant to be together.
The younger one had asked them once how they knew who was who, if not even their mother could tell them apart (because that either of them had a name he identified with he could tell), and they had told him – grinning – that they had just picked a name when they had been about three years old and stayed with it. (Not that anyone but them and Harry knew that.)
George stepped into the kitchen in the second the frying pan was put onto the table, in passing pressing a soft kiss onto Harry's lips, and then dropping into a chair, immediately helping himself to breakfast.
Shaking his head fondly Fred took a seat as well, exchanging an amused glance with Harry who was pouring orange juice into the cooking twin's glass.
George had already begun eating.
Three hours later – just in time for dinner, as George had made sure – the three of them went the last metres from just outside the anti-apparation-ward to the front door of the Burrow.
"Ready?" Fred asked.
When Harry nodded he pushed the door open and as they stepped over the threshold wearing matching mischievous grins, three hands on Molly Weasley's clock turned to point at Home.
The motherly woman scurried around the corner immediately, beaming at them and pulling all three into a bone-crashing hug. Her sons by blood were released faster than the one she had virtually adopted. Worried eyes travelled over the slim body, trying to make out possible injuries. When she found none she hugged him again, before letting him go.
"Where have you been, Harry? We were so worried! And you're much too thin! Haven't you eaten anything?"
Harry had no chance to answer, for he was ambushed immediately after first by Hermione and then Ginny. The two girls tried to match the older woman in their attempts to break Harry's ribs.
The young wizard did not care, though. He was just happy to see them again.
Then their worried eyes drilled into his and he knew that he had to say something.
"I'm fine now, don't worry!" Of course everyone heard the now. However, he knew, there was no use lying to them. "Gred and Forge took care of me." He tried to smile reassuringly.
Apparently not reassuringly enough.
However, Fred and George were there to safe him once more. They grabbed one of his upper arms each and escorted him towards the living room, leaving three women with bilious green hair in their wake. The men's, Fleur's and Luna's welcomes were much less painful and shorter, but the latter still decided to cling to Harry, an amused spark behind the dreamy blue eyes.
Fred cleared his throat.
He waited until he had the attention of all the Weasleys as well as Hermione, Luna, Fleur and Viktor, before he began:
"We wanted to let you-"
"-know that we decided to force-"
"-Dad to run for Minister of-"
"-Magic. Since we can't-"
"-afford an election-"
"-campaign our Harrypoo-" (general snickers)
"-here set his mind-"
"-on paying for it."
The last sentence was – quite drily – said by Harry who was now producing a golden Gringotts key from the depths of his Jeans pockets, giving it to Arthur.
"There's no way I'm going to let Dumbledore assume power over the whole ministry. So, please, would you throw your hat into the ring? People like you, and you've got the right… attitudes towards numerous things to finally do something good for this country. Britain's Ministry used to have influence in the ICW. It's about time we do again."
The young wizard's voice was unusually serious. He did not give Arthur the chance to object, closing the older man's fingers around the key.
"Everything I put into that vault you can use for your campaign, and if you should need more – just tell me. I've got a whole lot of that damn stuff. And no, there's no use objecting, I've got way-"
"-too much money, it's-"
"-definitely about time-"
"-someone spent it. So-"
"-please run for Minister and give-"
"-this land a chance," Harry ended grinning. His and the twins' eyes were sparkling while they were being stared at by everyone.
Well, it was not every day you heard someone talk twintongue so effortlessly.
Hermione was the first one to shake off the shock. She beamed at her best friend, clearly happy that he had finally found someone (or rather had been found) as well, before she looked at Arthur.
"I think that's a superb idea!"
She was not only the first, but also the only one who understood the meaning of Harry tuning in with the twins.
However, she did break the metaphorical spell and everyone went to crowd around Arthur, telling him that they, too, thought it was a superb idea.
With a huge grin Arthur later sat at the head of the table which was almost bending with Molly's delicious dishes.
"Thanks to all of you! And now –enjoy your meal!"
George was already eating, as well as Ron and Charlie.
The others took their time and Hermione was the only one who realized what the treats occasionally appearing on Harry's plate meant. The twins were looking after him, and they obviously knew how to do that. Well, she was not about to complain.
The atmosphere was loud and cheerful when they later sat in the living room – Hermione on Ron's lap, Luna leaning against Ginny, Fleur with Bill and Viktor next to Charlie.
Everyone but the muggleborn Gryffindor genius was wondering how Harry had ended up between the twins on a sofa meant for two, arms around his knees and head resting on George's (of course nobody knew that ) shoulder. He looked quite comfortable there, and everyone was staring but no one dared to ask.
Well, Hermione would have. However, she knew already. No need to spoil all the fun.
Luna probably knew as well. She, though, was currently staring at Ginny with dreamy, admiring eyes. No help to expect from her, either.
In the end it was Fred who broke the silence.
"Listen up, guys," he grinned, sneaking his arm around Harry's shoulders and letting his fingers get lost somewhere in George's locks. "We should probably tell-"
"-you," Harry effortlessly took over once again "that the three-"
"-of us will be off and-"
"-away to Italy for a-"
"-week since we obviously most"
"-desperately need a-"
"-tan. All-over pallor just-"
"-doesn't work for us. Could any-"
"-of you take over the-"
"-shop for the time-"
"-being? We do need a time-"
Now everyone was staring and gazes kept switching between them as if they were watching a Quidditch match when Harry continued the two older ones' sentences without a break as if he had done it for years.
Again there was silence in the Burrow. This time, however, it was rather baffled than curious.
Hermione then nudged Ron. Hard.
"Uh… I guess… I could take over the shop… until you're back?" the clearly womanhandled wizard answered slowly, his brain visibly working overtime. "Uhm… could you… are you… the three of you…-"
"Together? Yup," Fred answered with a cheerful grin, unruffled. His hand had untangled itself from George's hair and was now tousling Harry's dark locks.
"Hey!" the green-eyed wizard complained, "No wrecking my hairdo!"
The last word sent Fred into a fit of giggles, for which he had to pay with George tousling his hair as a punishment.
Fred pouted, pretending to sulk, and Harry found himself unable to not kiss those tempting inviting lips.
Now it was George's time to complain. "He wrecks the hairdo and gets a kiss for it? I want a kiss, too!" he claimed, one hand tousling Harry's hair even more and the other pulling at the younger one's arm, trying to make him break away from his twin.
The rest of the family now observed – quite amused – as the two red-haired wizards fought over their boyfriend.
"At least he can tell them apart," Ron noted, obviously already making plans how to make use of that.
Bill raised an eyebrow. "You don't really think that he will use that against them, do you?"
Harry took a moment to break away from George's lips. "Definitely not!" he announced and went back to kissing his boyfriend, before breaking away again. "Well, at least not to help you. I may just make use of that knowledge myself." The dangerous glint in his eyes made the wolfish grin all the more unsettling.
The twins seemed to be torn between being turned on and being frightened.
Three months later Arthur was actually sitting in the comfortable armchair in the Minister of Magic's office, literally clearing the place.
His first official act was to dismiss every employee (and that included the aurors) loyal to Dumbledore or Voldemort, instead of Britain.
The second was to inform against the headmaster.
Child assault, incitement to the latter, as well as malpractice were accusations serious enough to justify the use of Veritasserum.
And then the old man sang like a bird.
So did the Dursleys.
The night after all four of them (yes, the muggles, too) had been sent to Azkaban (the twins had taken the opportunity to cheer the prisoners up with throwing some of their joke articles at them) Harry was lying between his boyfriends in that comfortable bed in the apartment above the joke shop, both of the older ones having wrapped a possessive arm around his hip, and fell asleep completely at ease. Probably for the first time in his life.
They had always been there, and always would be.
They had promised that, and for him they would keep any promise.