FIC: Who Better Than [Harry/George - NC-17]
Title: Who Better Than
Author/Artist: emansil_12
Pairing(s):Harry/George
Prompt: #134, Year 2012: Harry/George - Post-DH. It's Christmas at the Burrow, Harry's getting fat, and George has a big announcement to make!! (mpreg, please :D)
Word Count/Art Medium: 2579
Rating: NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *regular man on man sexing. *
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to my amazing and very busy beta, WM.
Summary: Two spirits are crushed beyond hope after Fred’s death at the Battle of Hogwarts. Through the company of each other, George and Harry are able to re-find their way.
Harry watched hungrily as the creamy and buttery potatoes made their way down his side of the table, his mouth watering in anticipation. He was starving.
Bloody hell,, he swore to himself when once again Molly Weasley managed to manouver them to the other side of the table, skipping Harry completely.
This was not the first time, either. She had managed to skip him with the crusty and flaky sausage pies and Cornish pasties, the Yorkshire pudding covered in rich brown sauce and the hunks of Irish Brown Bread with mountains of fresh butter to slather over them. The only things he had managed to snatch were slices of beef-minus any gravy-as that had somehow managed to slip his grasp; the brussel sprouts and some sort of carrot, apple and currant concoction. It wasn’t bad as such, but Harry didn’t think it would go far in terms of satisfying his hunger.
“Mum?” George asked next to him. “Is there a reason you’re dead set on Harry not getting anything to eat?”
“I don’t know what you mean, George. He’s plenty to eat. Just look at his plate, there’s loads of food there.”
“No, there’s not. Not like there usually is. You’re always loading more food than any human can eat on his plate. Why not now?”
Molly put her fork down and moved her gaze around the table, before landing it on Harry. She stared at him for such a long time that Harry began to squirm uncomfortably from it. “Well, I didn’t want to be the one to say anything, but haven’t the rest of you noticed? I never thought I would live to see the day when I would have to say this.”
The silence lasted so long that finally Ron, never one for massive amounts of patience, blurted out, “Say what Mum? Whatever it is, would you please just say it.”
“Well, Harry’s getting fat. That’s all there is for it. He can barely fasten his trousers.”
Choruses of “Mum!” and “Molly!” rang out around the table. Harry blushed, he knew he did, but not for the reasons the others would have imagined. Under the table George grasped Harry’s hand and held it tightly.
She was right. Harry had gained weight, and thank the gods for magically enhanced waistbands. Otherwise he’d have had to resort to wearing robes; that would be coming soon enough.
He raised his hand slowly to his abdomen, careful to keep his expression neutral or even flustered. The first ten weeks he’d been unable to hold anything down. No matter what he tried, it came right back up. Now the sickness was gone, and he was hungry all the time. At times he felt more like a Hoover than a human being, sucking down anything and everything. And the weight had begun to pile on.
“Well, I’m sorry, but someone had to say something. No wonder Ginny’s reluctant to set a date for the wedding. Harry’s beginning to look as if he’s swallowed one of Hagrid’s pumpkins.”
Hold on!Harry thought. I’m not that big! Yet. But it was a distinct possibility for the future, if things kept going the way they had been.
“Mum!” George and Ginny’s faces were equal in their rising embarrassment. Harry and Ginny had not been together since before the war, most of the others knew of the split, but Molly refused to believe it. None of the others, not even Ron or Hermione knew who had replaced her in Harry’s affection, or who currently held Harry’s heart.
George intended to tell them all, sometime tonight. He was just waiting for the right moment, Harry knew. He also knew Ron would probably-no, would definitely-be upset that Harry had kept this from him. But he would come around, sooner or later. Hermione would be all business and Hermione-like, asking question after question; ascertaining that he was taking care of himself and under the care of a competent healer.
Not everyone would be happy with his choice of healer, giving her young age, but Harry knew beyond any doubt that no one would care more about his and his child’s happiness and well-being than Luna.
The pressure on Harry’s hand changed, and he looked up to see George staring questioningly at him, as were the others.
“What?” he asked.
“I asked if you would like some of the potatoes,” were the words that George said, but the question in his eyes was an altogether different one. The bowl of potatoes hung magically in the air in front of him. Harry was starving and the puddle of butter that surrounded the potatoes practically made him start to drool. But he wasn’t quite ready for the answer to the other question to be set forth into the universe. He slowly shook his head no, and got up from the table to the shocked glances of those still sitting.
~*~
Lounging on the sofa with his feet up on the footstool, Harry watched George from under half-closed eyes. He still reminded Harry so much of Fred. Well, of course he did, Harry reprimanded himself. He’s his bloody twin. But it was more than appearances.
Fred’s joie de vivre and adventurous spirit had brought such happiness to Harry. For the short while they had been together Harry had been ecstatically in love. Fred’s death had all but devastated Harry. Everyone thought it was the death of Remus and Tonks, as well as Fred and others that had died in the war that Harry had grieved. No one had known the truth.
He had withdrawn from everyone, especially all the Weasleys. At the time, when Ron had really needed Harry’s support, Harry had been unable to give it. He simply couldn’t sit and listen to Ron and the others go on and on about Fred, when Harry couldn’t say a word. Fred had meant more to him than to any of the others, except perhaps George.
Only George knew the truth; had known how he felt. Only George knew what Harry and Fred had found in one another before it had all ended so horribly at the Battle of Hogwarts. Not even George had understood the full measure of their relationship until after Fred’s death. A half-finished letter addressed to Harry, expressing his love and desire to start a life together when the war was over, found under Fred’s mattress had brought George in on their secret.
Harry and George began to spend time together. Every weekend and most week nights were spent together sharing and reminiscing about Fred. And as these things were often wont to go, they found themselves in bed with one another.
~*~
Harry had had a lot more firewhiskey than would have been healthy for Hagrid. For someone of Harry’s stature, he was dead on pissed. Totally.
George too, had had his share. But he was just feeling easy, breezy and fine. He’d danced into the room wearing the same smirk, and doing the same waltzing type of movement Fred would do whenever he’d intended on Harry being bent over the closest available surface as soon as possible.
Every drop of blood in Harry rushed directly to Harry’s cock. It had been so long, almost a year, since he’d been touched by anyone. That would be changing, tonight.
Harry had stood and strode purposely towards George. George for his part had stopped in mid-dance, instinctively knowing that something had just shifted. Harry lifted his arms, shedding his shirt up and off. George’s fingers grasped Harry’s jeans, unbuttoning them with one hand while with the other he had pulled Harry to him and into a deep and searing kiss.
George’s kissed were enough like Fred’s that Harry lost himself in them. He kissed back hard and messy, recklessly wanting more. He sucked George’s tongue into his mouth, opening his up for George’s tongue to fuck his mouth, the same way he needed him to fuck his arse.
Every nerve ending in Harry cried out for release. He needed to be fucked and now. Still kissing, Harry’s hand reached between them and yanked George’s zip down, reaching inside he grasped George’s cock and pulled it through the gap. “George. Please. I need you in me now,” Harry begged, his voice shaking.
“I need to prepare you.”
“No! No prep, just fuck me. Please.” Harry gripped George’s shoulders and jumped, wrapping his legs around George’s waist. The two cocks rubbed against one another; their kisses even deeper and more desperately messy, than before. Harry leaned back creating more friction on their cocks, while George held on to him.
It had been so long; Harry was so close. But he didn’t want to come from this. He wanted to come from being stretched around George’s cock buried deep inside him. Harry manouvered his body until his hole was right over George’s cock. Harry trembled with need, not fully understanding that it was Fred’s name, Fred’s face, Fred’s hands on him that he was thinking of. That he craved.
“No, wait. At least let me get some lube. I don’t want to hurt you. Fred will have my arse if I hurt you.”
In some small back corner of Harry’s mind he had heard those words, but could not process them now “Accio lube,” Harry snarled, his desire so great it overrode even the necessity of a wand.
Harry all but upended the entire bottle of the slippery stuff in his hands and quickly slathered George’s cock until it was fairly dripping.
They both stilled, knowing what was about to happen. “George, please. Fuck me.” Harry’s voice was low and throaty.
In answer, George’s hand cupped Harry’s arse and lifted him above his cock. Harry looked down, reached for the cock and lined it up with his hole. Slowly and steadily he lowered himself on to it.
Harry gave a grunt of surprise at the pain that ripped through his arse and body. But it was good. It was exactly what he needed. Then another whimper of pain of a different sort escaped. Everything was so similar to his memories of Fred, so familiar he could almost imagine it was Fred deep inside him. Fighting back the tears that threatened, Harry rode George’s cock, desperate for release. And George let him, holding Harry steady and keeping him from falling.
Moments later, the impending announcement of orgasm curled in Harry’s gut. George leaned against the wall giving himself a solid base of support. He removed one hand away from Harry’s arse and onto his cock, pulling on it with short, rough strokes. Just the way Harry loved and almost exactly the same as Fred always had. Only the twist at the end was different. Fred’s had been much rougher, but then he’d known what Harry really wanted.
With a cry Harry came, his release rushed through him covering George’s hand and Harry’s stomach with strands of creamy white. Harry tightened his legs around George’s waist and held on while George continued to fuck him, his thrusts growing more and more erratically paced, until George grimaced and grunted with his own release. His head and shoulders dropped towards Harry. One hand pressed against the wall, his forehead resting on Harry’s, the arm holding Harry up shaking with the strain.
They remained as they were for a few seconds, then George’s softened cock slipped out and Harry lowered his legs. He tried to stand on his own, but his legs and emotions were too wobbly. He collapsed onto the floor in a flood of tears. His feelings too many and too confusing for him to understand, all he could do was let it happen.
George folded himself down as well and held Harry while he sobbed with grief, with relief, with release and with pure exhaustion. He’d held it all in for so long. Harry had grieved for Fred, but he’d never cried for him. His pain had been too deep.
When Harry had finally stopped crying and was resting comfortably in George’s arms, a voice once and still so beloved could be heard coming from the portrait on the wall. “If the two of you are through blubbering about me, I would just like to say, that was fucking hot! I’m dead and in a portrait and there was a moment when I thought I was going to come myself.”
Harry jerked back and away from George. Mortified, he could only stare helplessly at Fred’s portrait. Fred’s face softened, as did his voice. “Harry,” he whispered, “come closer please.”
Harry did as he was asked. George stood off the side, waiting and watching.
“Harry, it’s okay. I’m happy for you. I don’t mind, honestly. Well, not much. I do wish it was me, but George is the next best thing. I want you to be happy. I want you to find love and who better than my brother, my twin. Please don’t feel bad.”
If Harry had not already cried himself out, he would have started crying again. Though he knew that wasn’t what Fred would have wanted. He nodded sadly at the portrait and sat down on the floor, staring up at it. A memory of sitting cross legged and gazing up at the image of his mum and dad in the Mirror of Erised came to him. This felt just like that, loving and missing him in equal measure.
~*~
The first time George and Harry fucked; Harry rode George’s cock with an abandonment that bordered on desperation.
The second time Harry and George fucked; Fred watched from the portrait on George’s desk, offering his guidance and telling him how to satisfy Harry.
The third time George fucked Harry; George cried out Harry’s name while in the throes of passion.
The fourth time George fucked Harry; George told Harry he loved him, Fred cheering beside them.
The fifth time George and Harry fucked; Harry told George he preferred they no longer have an audience.
The sixth time George fucked Harry; Harry told George he loved him.
The seventh time George and Harry made love; George told Fred, “Bro, it’s time you’re gone. Harry and I have this, don’t we?” Harry had smiled and placed Fred’s portrait face down with a resounding. “Yes.”
A startled, “Oi!” and laugher was followed by a whispered, “Have fun you two. Love each other and be happy.”
The eighth time George fucked Harry they were alone, just the two of them. Neither of them missed Fred’s presence; he was part of another time and another life. Harry and George’s child was conceived that same night.
From behind George’s dresser, on the floor, laid a battered and torn photo of the family, ripped from the pages of The Prophet many years ago. A much younger Fred patted his twin, George, on his back. “Well done Bro, well done.”
~*~
The cushion next to Harry sank even more into the sofa. He looked up into George’s loving and familiar face, now able to fully see the differences between the two twins. Harry looked around. The meal over, the others were clearing the table. “Is now okay?” George asked him.
Harry nodded. He was ready to share his happiness with those he loved best.
George took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Mum, Dad, Ron, everyone, could you leave that for a minute and come in here? Harry and I have something to tell you.”
The end
Author/Artist: emansil_12
Pairing(s):Harry/George
Prompt: #134, Year 2012: Harry/George - Post-DH. It's Christmas at the Burrow, Harry's getting fat, and George has a big announcement to make!! (mpreg, please :D)
Word Count/Art Medium: 2579
Rating: NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *regular man on man sexing. *
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to my amazing and very busy beta, WM.
Summary: Two spirits are crushed beyond hope after Fred’s death at the Battle of Hogwarts. Through the company of each other, George and Harry are able to re-find their way.
Harry watched hungrily as the creamy and buttery potatoes made their way down his side of the table, his mouth watering in anticipation. He was starving.
Bloody hell,, he swore to himself when once again Molly Weasley managed to manouver them to the other side of the table, skipping Harry completely.
This was not the first time, either. She had managed to skip him with the crusty and flaky sausage pies and Cornish pasties, the Yorkshire pudding covered in rich brown sauce and the hunks of Irish Brown Bread with mountains of fresh butter to slather over them. The only things he had managed to snatch were slices of beef-minus any gravy-as that had somehow managed to slip his grasp; the brussel sprouts and some sort of carrot, apple and currant concoction. It wasn’t bad as such, but Harry didn’t think it would go far in terms of satisfying his hunger.
“Mum?” George asked next to him. “Is there a reason you’re dead set on Harry not getting anything to eat?”
“I don’t know what you mean, George. He’s plenty to eat. Just look at his plate, there’s loads of food there.”
“No, there’s not. Not like there usually is. You’re always loading more food than any human can eat on his plate. Why not now?”
Molly put her fork down and moved her gaze around the table, before landing it on Harry. She stared at him for such a long time that Harry began to squirm uncomfortably from it. “Well, I didn’t want to be the one to say anything, but haven’t the rest of you noticed? I never thought I would live to see the day when I would have to say this.”
The silence lasted so long that finally Ron, never one for massive amounts of patience, blurted out, “Say what Mum? Whatever it is, would you please just say it.”
“Well, Harry’s getting fat. That’s all there is for it. He can barely fasten his trousers.”
Choruses of “Mum!” and “Molly!” rang out around the table. Harry blushed, he knew he did, but not for the reasons the others would have imagined. Under the table George grasped Harry’s hand and held it tightly.
She was right. Harry had gained weight, and thank the gods for magically enhanced waistbands. Otherwise he’d have had to resort to wearing robes; that would be coming soon enough.
He raised his hand slowly to his abdomen, careful to keep his expression neutral or even flustered. The first ten weeks he’d been unable to hold anything down. No matter what he tried, it came right back up. Now the sickness was gone, and he was hungry all the time. At times he felt more like a Hoover than a human being, sucking down anything and everything. And the weight had begun to pile on.
“Well, I’m sorry, but someone had to say something. No wonder Ginny’s reluctant to set a date for the wedding. Harry’s beginning to look as if he’s swallowed one of Hagrid’s pumpkins.”
Hold on!Harry thought. I’m not that big! Yet. But it was a distinct possibility for the future, if things kept going the way they had been.
“Mum!” George and Ginny’s faces were equal in their rising embarrassment. Harry and Ginny had not been together since before the war, most of the others knew of the split, but Molly refused to believe it. None of the others, not even Ron or Hermione knew who had replaced her in Harry’s affection, or who currently held Harry’s heart.
George intended to tell them all, sometime tonight. He was just waiting for the right moment, Harry knew. He also knew Ron would probably-no, would definitely-be upset that Harry had kept this from him. But he would come around, sooner or later. Hermione would be all business and Hermione-like, asking question after question; ascertaining that he was taking care of himself and under the care of a competent healer.
Not everyone would be happy with his choice of healer, giving her young age, but Harry knew beyond any doubt that no one would care more about his and his child’s happiness and well-being than Luna.
The pressure on Harry’s hand changed, and he looked up to see George staring questioningly at him, as were the others.
“What?” he asked.
“I asked if you would like some of the potatoes,” were the words that George said, but the question in his eyes was an altogether different one. The bowl of potatoes hung magically in the air in front of him. Harry was starving and the puddle of butter that surrounded the potatoes practically made him start to drool. But he wasn’t quite ready for the answer to the other question to be set forth into the universe. He slowly shook his head no, and got up from the table to the shocked glances of those still sitting.
~*~
Lounging on the sofa with his feet up on the footstool, Harry watched George from under half-closed eyes. He still reminded Harry so much of Fred. Well, of course he did, Harry reprimanded himself. He’s his bloody twin. But it was more than appearances.
Fred’s joie de vivre and adventurous spirit had brought such happiness to Harry. For the short while they had been together Harry had been ecstatically in love. Fred’s death had all but devastated Harry. Everyone thought it was the death of Remus and Tonks, as well as Fred and others that had died in the war that Harry had grieved. No one had known the truth.
He had withdrawn from everyone, especially all the Weasleys. At the time, when Ron had really needed Harry’s support, Harry had been unable to give it. He simply couldn’t sit and listen to Ron and the others go on and on about Fred, when Harry couldn’t say a word. Fred had meant more to him than to any of the others, except perhaps George.
Only George knew the truth; had known how he felt. Only George knew what Harry and Fred had found in one another before it had all ended so horribly at the Battle of Hogwarts. Not even George had understood the full measure of their relationship until after Fred’s death. A half-finished letter addressed to Harry, expressing his love and desire to start a life together when the war was over, found under Fred’s mattress had brought George in on their secret.
Harry and George began to spend time together. Every weekend and most week nights were spent together sharing and reminiscing about Fred. And as these things were often wont to go, they found themselves in bed with one another.
~*~
Harry had had a lot more firewhiskey than would have been healthy for Hagrid. For someone of Harry’s stature, he was dead on pissed. Totally.
George too, had had his share. But he was just feeling easy, breezy and fine. He’d danced into the room wearing the same smirk, and doing the same waltzing type of movement Fred would do whenever he’d intended on Harry being bent over the closest available surface as soon as possible.
Every drop of blood in Harry rushed directly to Harry’s cock. It had been so long, almost a year, since he’d been touched by anyone. That would be changing, tonight.
Harry had stood and strode purposely towards George. George for his part had stopped in mid-dance, instinctively knowing that something had just shifted. Harry lifted his arms, shedding his shirt up and off. George’s fingers grasped Harry’s jeans, unbuttoning them with one hand while with the other he had pulled Harry to him and into a deep and searing kiss.
George’s kissed were enough like Fred’s that Harry lost himself in them. He kissed back hard and messy, recklessly wanting more. He sucked George’s tongue into his mouth, opening his up for George’s tongue to fuck his mouth, the same way he needed him to fuck his arse.
Every nerve ending in Harry cried out for release. He needed to be fucked and now. Still kissing, Harry’s hand reached between them and yanked George’s zip down, reaching inside he grasped George’s cock and pulled it through the gap. “George. Please. I need you in me now,” Harry begged, his voice shaking.
“I need to prepare you.”
“No! No prep, just fuck me. Please.” Harry gripped George’s shoulders and jumped, wrapping his legs around George’s waist. The two cocks rubbed against one another; their kisses even deeper and more desperately messy, than before. Harry leaned back creating more friction on their cocks, while George held on to him.
It had been so long; Harry was so close. But he didn’t want to come from this. He wanted to come from being stretched around George’s cock buried deep inside him. Harry manouvered his body until his hole was right over George’s cock. Harry trembled with need, not fully understanding that it was Fred’s name, Fred’s face, Fred’s hands on him that he was thinking of. That he craved.
“No, wait. At least let me get some lube. I don’t want to hurt you. Fred will have my arse if I hurt you.”
In some small back corner of Harry’s mind he had heard those words, but could not process them now “Accio lube,” Harry snarled, his desire so great it overrode even the necessity of a wand.
Harry all but upended the entire bottle of the slippery stuff in his hands and quickly slathered George’s cock until it was fairly dripping.
They both stilled, knowing what was about to happen. “George, please. Fuck me.” Harry’s voice was low and throaty.
In answer, George’s hand cupped Harry’s arse and lifted him above his cock. Harry looked down, reached for the cock and lined it up with his hole. Slowly and steadily he lowered himself on to it.
Harry gave a grunt of surprise at the pain that ripped through his arse and body. But it was good. It was exactly what he needed. Then another whimper of pain of a different sort escaped. Everything was so similar to his memories of Fred, so familiar he could almost imagine it was Fred deep inside him. Fighting back the tears that threatened, Harry rode George’s cock, desperate for release. And George let him, holding Harry steady and keeping him from falling.
Moments later, the impending announcement of orgasm curled in Harry’s gut. George leaned against the wall giving himself a solid base of support. He removed one hand away from Harry’s arse and onto his cock, pulling on it with short, rough strokes. Just the way Harry loved and almost exactly the same as Fred always had. Only the twist at the end was different. Fred’s had been much rougher, but then he’d known what Harry really wanted.
With a cry Harry came, his release rushed through him covering George’s hand and Harry’s stomach with strands of creamy white. Harry tightened his legs around George’s waist and held on while George continued to fuck him, his thrusts growing more and more erratically paced, until George grimaced and grunted with his own release. His head and shoulders dropped towards Harry. One hand pressed against the wall, his forehead resting on Harry’s, the arm holding Harry up shaking with the strain.
They remained as they were for a few seconds, then George’s softened cock slipped out and Harry lowered his legs. He tried to stand on his own, but his legs and emotions were too wobbly. He collapsed onto the floor in a flood of tears. His feelings too many and too confusing for him to understand, all he could do was let it happen.
George folded himself down as well and held Harry while he sobbed with grief, with relief, with release and with pure exhaustion. He’d held it all in for so long. Harry had grieved for Fred, but he’d never cried for him. His pain had been too deep.
When Harry had finally stopped crying and was resting comfortably in George’s arms, a voice once and still so beloved could be heard coming from the portrait on the wall. “If the two of you are through blubbering about me, I would just like to say, that was fucking hot! I’m dead and in a portrait and there was a moment when I thought I was going to come myself.”
Harry jerked back and away from George. Mortified, he could only stare helplessly at Fred’s portrait. Fred’s face softened, as did his voice. “Harry,” he whispered, “come closer please.”
Harry did as he was asked. George stood off the side, waiting and watching.
“Harry, it’s okay. I’m happy for you. I don’t mind, honestly. Well, not much. I do wish it was me, but George is the next best thing. I want you to be happy. I want you to find love and who better than my brother, my twin. Please don’t feel bad.”
If Harry had not already cried himself out, he would have started crying again. Though he knew that wasn’t what Fred would have wanted. He nodded sadly at the portrait and sat down on the floor, staring up at it. A memory of sitting cross legged and gazing up at the image of his mum and dad in the Mirror of Erised came to him. This felt just like that, loving and missing him in equal measure.
~*~
The first time George and Harry fucked; Harry rode George’s cock with an abandonment that bordered on desperation.
The second time Harry and George fucked; Fred watched from the portrait on George’s desk, offering his guidance and telling him how to satisfy Harry.
The third time George fucked Harry; George cried out Harry’s name while in the throes of passion.
The fourth time George fucked Harry; George told Harry he loved him, Fred cheering beside them.
The fifth time George and Harry fucked; Harry told George he preferred they no longer have an audience.
The sixth time George fucked Harry; Harry told George he loved him.
The seventh time George and Harry made love; George told Fred, “Bro, it’s time you’re gone. Harry and I have this, don’t we?” Harry had smiled and placed Fred’s portrait face down with a resounding. “Yes.”
A startled, “Oi!” and laugher was followed by a whispered, “Have fun you two. Love each other and be happy.”
The eighth time George fucked Harry they were alone, just the two of them. Neither of them missed Fred’s presence; he was part of another time and another life. Harry and George’s child was conceived that same night.
From behind George’s dresser, on the floor, laid a battered and torn photo of the family, ripped from the pages of The Prophet many years ago. A much younger Fred patted his twin, George, on his back. “Well done Bro, well done.”
~*~
The cushion next to Harry sank even more into the sofa. He looked up into George’s loving and familiar face, now able to fully see the differences between the two twins. Harry looked around. The meal over, the others were clearing the table. “Is now okay?” George asked him.
Harry nodded. He was ready to share his happiness with those he loved best.
George took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Mum, Dad, Ron, everyone, could you leave that for a minute and come in here? Harry and I have something to tell you.”
The end