A/N: This story doesn't fit into only one genre. It's kind of a free-for-all so if you don't like it, bite me. *holds out arm* come on, I dare you! *blows raspberry* It is also a moresome (can't you tell by the summary?) and has a slightly twisted timeline. Harry and friends are in their 5th year of school, but they're 16 (basically just add a year to everyone's age). Enjoy!

Wizards, Elves, Mates--Oh my!

Chapter One

Harry hated Umbridge with every fibre of his body. He honestly wished she would just die already. His hatred for her was the only thing keeping him from whimpering as he continued to write 'I must not tell lies' in his own blood. Each letter cut into his hand a little deeper, allowing one more drop to ooze to the surface, where it would slowly make its way down his hand, following the previous drops' path.

He had already been writing for a week and he doubted the blood stains in Umbridge's desk would ever come out. But for now, Harry concentrated on not whimpering at the pain. He couldn't give this sadistic woman any more pleasure.

"Mr. Potter, has the message sunk in yet?" Her sickly, obviously fake sweet voice ripped at Harry's ear.

"But I'm not lying."

"Another week, then, should get the message through." Her toad face split into a grin, which she obviously thought looked like a kind smile. "You are free to go for tonight, Mr. Potter."

Harry almost jumped out of his seat before all but flying to the door. He had to stop his hand from bleeding and heal it before he went back to the tower—he didn't want any of his friends harping to him about telling Dumbledore or going to Madam Pomfrey to get help. He could deal with it on his own. He quickly found his usual after-hell bench so he could sit down and wrap his bloody, throbbing hand. He pulled out an old blood stained handkerchief. Its corners were frayed and Harry was almost positive they it would never be free of wrinkles from where it had been tied. As usual, Harry dabbed at the back of his hand, wiping up some of the blood before giving up and simply wrapping it. Just as Harry was about to bite the one end to pull the knot tight, another hand pressed down his hand.

Startled, Harry's head shot up, only to come face to face with two identical, freckled, bright-eyed redheads. Fred and George Weasley stood in front of him. George's hand was the one currently covering Harry's wounded one while Fred stood behind his brother, holding a case of their prank candies.

"Harry, what happened?" George was slowing unwrapping the old handkerchief to reveal the bloody words. "Why haven't you told anyone about this? You need to get it looked at, come on." Harry just hung his head as George grabbed his wrist and started to pull him to his feet.

"George, we should really think about this," Fred whispered, but it was loud enough for Harry to hear him.

"I'll let you guys look at my hand as long as you don't tell Ron or Hermione, and you don't pester me to go to Dumbledore or Pomfrey about it," Harry whispered, his head bent low as his eyes never left his dull black shoes.

"Harry." George sounded as if he just wanted to hug Harry and never let him go.

"We agree! Now let's go."

"Wouldn't want Mrs. Norris—"

"—or Filch—"

"—to catch us." Fred readjusted his box while George slipped his arm around Harry's shoulders.

As they walked back to the tower, George never removed his arm, and Fred walked so close to Harry that their shoulders would brush together every other step. Harry was so confused he barely noticed their conversation.

"We will have to go see him soon," Fred said, looking over Harry's head.

"We can ask him what's best to heal it. I doubt Umbridge is done with him yet." George tightened his arm around Harry slightly, causing the Harry to look up just as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. As Fred said the password, she gave a knowing, smug smile before she swung open to reveal the Gryffindor common room.

"You stay with Harry, I'll put those away and grab some stuff to help." George slowly unwound his arm from Harry's shoulders to take the boxes of prank candies. Harry had the unusual urge to grab for George and tuck himself back under that warm arm but before he could so much as twitch, Fred's arm was wrapping around his waist, pulling him tightly to his side. He easily guided Harry over to the plush over-stuffed leather couch where he pulled Harry down to sit so close he was practically in Fred's lap.

"Fred?" Harry turned his head slightly to question the one in question, "What's going on?"

"Just taking care of your hand." Fred gave his winning smile before Grabbing Harry's hand and unwrapping George's handkerchief. It was still bleeding slightly, but Fred ignored it as George came down from their dorm with a bowl and a potion bottle balanced within it.

"Here, put your hand in this and leave it there," George instructed while pouring the potion into the shallow bowl.

"I'm not going turn green or sprout purple hair, am I?" Harry was warily watching the potion as it sat innocently in his lap. Both Fred and George burst out laughing.

"That would be—" George started through his laughter.

"—the greatest joke—"

"—in the history of—"

"—practical jokes!" They burst out laughing again as Harry poked the liquid with the tip of his finger. When nothing happened, he gingerly stuck the rest of his hand in and instantly hissed.

"Oh yeah, it heals from the bottom to the top."

"So it has to work its way to the very bottom."

"So it stings like the crucio," Fred smiled cheerfully.

"Great! I knew I should have stuck my hand in it," Harry grumbled, more to himself than to the twins. "Where did you get it anyway?"

"Snape." They answered in unison.

"SNAPE?!" Harry wrenched his hand from the bowl. "Ow, ow owowow!" George grabbed Harry's hand and shoved it back into the potion.

"It hurts more if you pull it out before it heals it all."

"It's not a trick by Snape, it's just an after effect. Sorry."

"Well, that sucks."

An hour later found Harry leaning against Fred fast asleep, his wrinkled hand still in the bowl. George sat at the table finishing up their last report.

"Feorge, I think his hand is finished."

"All right Gred, one more minute." George finished off his report, signing it Feorge just as he signed Fred's—Gred. He turned and gently pulled Harry's hand out of the potion, softly dabbing it dry before placing it on Fred's leg. Instantly, Harry curled tighter into Fred, snuggling his head deeper into his tummy.

"He's like a cute little kitten," George whispered, patting Harry's hip lightly.

"We should make him grow a tail and ears!" Fred suggested excitedly.

"We could ask Severus if he has a potion that could do it!"

"Now or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, then we can show off our new kitty."

"Good idea!"

"But for now Feorge, let's go to bed. Pranking all day has left me exhausted."

Fred stood, easily picking Harry up to head to their dorm.

"We also need to put weight on him, he's as light as a kitten."

"Severus will have some ideas on that," Fred winked.

For once, Harry wasn't woken up by nightmares or from someone screaming his name. He wasn't even woken by the sunlight that always shone through his curtains straight into his eyes. No, none of this woke Harry, but the soft whispering and the hands gently stroking him had pulled Harry from one of the most peaceful sleeps he had ever had.

"Sleep head, you finally awake?" Fred's voice purred into Harry's ear.

"What are you guys doing in my room?" Harry assumed both the brothers were there considering the warmth he felt coming from both sides. Plus they did everything together. Harry heard them both snicker.

"Harry, you're in our room, in our bed." George snickered out. Harry shot up from between them.

"Oh shit! Ron probably freaked out, told Hermione, and now they're both out asking everyone where I am." Harry tried squirming out from between them when two arms easily pulled him back to the pillows.

"You have our little Ronnikins down to a T."

"But while you slept—"

"—we told them you—"

"—fell asleep in our room—"

"—while you helped us with our pranks—"

"—so they know nothing of your ugly hand wound," they two easily fired off while Harry's head swivelled back and forth between them.

"Thanks guys. What time is it?"

"Noon." The twins spoke together, both getting the same grin on their faces.

"And we should really go down and get something to eat," George pointed out as he started to stroke Harry's concaved stomach.

"'Cause you really need some weight, or you'll just blow off your brook at the next quidditch practice!" Fred tolled off the bed and offered an extremely red-faced Harry his hand, which caused Harry's face—if possible—to go even redder, making him look like a beet with messy hair.

"Where're my glasses?" Harry questioned, looking around. To his surprise, George was wearing them.

"You are bloody blind Harry!" George mocked before handing them to Fred, who put them on.

"Am not!" Harry protested, attempting to snatch them from Fred.

"You really are! You're bloody blind!" Fred laughed before giving them back to Harry who angrily shoved them on his face.

"Come on, before kitty gets his claws out," George suggested. Once again he wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders, leading him from the room and down the stairs. They passed through the common room without saying anything to anyone. As they passed through the portal, George led Harry in the opposite direction of the grand hall.

"Aren't we going the wrong way?" Harry spoke softly. He felt oddly safe and didn't want either of the boys offering that safety to be angry.

"We know a shortcut that will bring us right to our destination." Fred winked before walking to a portrait of a little girl where he tickled her sides until she swung open, revealing a set of stairs.

"Thanks again," George said as he led Harry through. They continued to walk down for what felt to Harry like ten floors, if that was even possible. But as they walked down it continuously got colder and colder until both Fred and George were wrapped around a shivering Harry.

"Almost there Harry, then you can eat and get nice and warm again," George purred into Harry's ear. Finally Fred knocked six times on the wall that stood at the end of the stairs, causing it to slide open and reveal the halls of the dungeon. Harry went to scramble away from the boys and back up the stairs but was caught in the twins' strong grip. Only now did Harry curse their spot on the quidditch team for giving them so much strength.

"Why are we in the dungeons?" Harry growled at the twins.

"We need to get more stuff for your hand," George started.

"We know Umbridge isn't done with you yet." Harry went to protest but was cut off by Fred. "And since you're not telling Ronny or Hermione, we guessed we would just have to take care of you."

"To do that we need Se—Snape, but so he can find a less painful potion for you, he needs your hand, thus you are down in the dungeons with us." Harry resisted the urge to growl. This was not how he wanted to spend his Saturday. But seeing as the arms around him were unrelenting, he decided to simple go with it and hope like hell Snape didn't give him a more painful potion.

They came to yet another portrait, this time of a women with long black hair and in a black dress sitting in front of a graveyard.

"Come to see him again?" the woman asked in a sweet motherly voice. "But who is the little timid one you have brought?" She stared at Harry with her unusually bright red eyes.

"Yup and this is Harry. We thought Severus would..." Fred paused, looking at Harry before turning to George, "...fancy a meeting with him." George finished with a bright smile.

"Oh, he will be so intrigued!" The woman's voice became extremely happy. "Wait for a moment." The woman stood, turned, and walked out the side of her portrait. A few moments later she came back and sat down, whispering, "Good luck." She swung open to admit them into a place Harry never wished to go:

Snape's Personal Quarters.