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Extraordinarily Ordinary

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Extraordinarily Ordinary

1996

“Sirius!”

Remus’ hissed rebuke and jab to his ribs made him sigh. Shifting his chair away slightly, Sirius took what he hoped looked like a dignified sip of tea and didn't answer him.

Once again the kitchen of Grimmauld Place was full of redheads. At the end of the Christmas holidays he thought he'd seen the back of the Freckles, as he not-so-affectionately referred to them. If he'd known when he offered the house up to Dumbledore for Order use that it would mean a permanent coven of redheads, he would never have done so.

Their presence wasn't without its benefits, however. Remus was fattening up nicely on Molly Weasley's cooking and after twelve years of miserable Azkaban gruel, Sirius wasn't exactly shunning the plateful after plateful that the woman put in front of him. She clearly didn't like him but she still fed him, and Sirius supposed he should be grateful for that. Plus he genuinely enjoyed Arthur's company. The two eldest boys, when they managed to stop by, were an attractive distraction. Fred and George were like a window into the past which hadn't yet proved too painful to peek through. They amused him and he, in turn, clearly fascinated them.

Then there was Ron, so impossibly important to Harry even though Sirius couldn't exactly tell why. The youngest Weasley male had absolutely nothing remarkable about him. He was awkward and lanky and mostly a moody little sod who struggled with self-confidence and spots. He didn't seem particularly clever or witty. Sirius wanted Harry to have, like James before him, a Sirius by his side. Ronald Weasley was no Sirius Black, unless he was simply hiding his better attributes whilst stifled by adults.

Ginny was all of her brothers and her parents rolled into one, with a massive dash of flair - something chaotic and wonderful. Sirius' favourite thing about her was perhaps the look on her face when Harry walked into a room, and in turn the way he seemed to shine around her.

Sirius had already bet Remus fifty quid that they'd see the pair married, probably before Harry was even twenty.

If any of us survive.

With that cheerful thought, he sipped at his tea again and tried to tune back into the conversation. Azkaban had permanently destroyed his ability to concentrate on anything for very long. As usual there seemed to be some kind of argument going on.

“You'll do your homework when you're told!”
“Mum, I have two weeks to do it,” Ron muttered.

Sirius wasn't particularly in the mood for a side serving of teen angst with his dinner.

“That'll be gone before you know it, plus, this time of year you should be revising!”
“Tell Harry he should be revising too, then,” Ron retorted, his eyes narrowing to a point Sirius well recognised.

He remembered pulling that face when he wanted to wind his own mother up. Walburga Black would most likely have hit him with something solid somewhere very painful until he begged for mercy. Molly Weasley looked like she just wanted to dump the pot of casserole she was holding over her son's head.

“I'll do it,” Ron mumbled. “I'll do some later, okay?”

Molly tutted loudly but didn't say anything else. She moved around the table, doling out casserole with vicious spoonfuls. When she got to Ron the portion given was rather smaller than everyone else's. Sirius watched as the boy simply looked down at the food, assessed it, and shook his head with a dark look on his face.

He smartly didn't say anything, however; he simply picked his fork up and began to eat. Sirius didn't know why but his eyes remained glued to the redhead for the rest of the meal.

***
Three days later, Sirius continued to be at a loss about why Ronald Weasley had become so completely riveting. He was not special. He was a completely ordinary teenaged boy, made true by the outbreak of spots on his chin, the grease in his hair and the slight stench of a adolescent body struggling through puberty.

All of his clothes were either too big or too small and it was very clear nothing he owned had belonged to him first -- apart from his hand-knitted jumpers, of course.

But riveting he had become and Sirius found himself actively avoiding the redhead because of it.

He knew what it might mean, the constant pull he felt towards the boy he had previously found uninteresting to the point of boredom. He'd had a lot of time in Azkaban to think about himself and how he functioned. Sirius knew that all of his best love affairs had started with obsession. Not overt obsession – he would never be as daft as to moon openly – but deep, dark fixation where the person in question filled his every sense and he became so attuned to them that they seemed to actually control him.

Azkaban had deprived him of touch, love and sensuality and his body was desperate for all three.

Ronald Weasley was sixteen years old and his godson's best friend. He would likely be the one at Harry's side through whatever was coming. Perhaps he would hold him up if Harry could no longer stand by himself.

Sirius knew he had no place in tangling the boy up in any kind of infatuated web, if that was where he was headed. He knew that to be harbouring some kind of attraction to him was beyond the realms of wrong.

That has never once stopped me before.

Deciding he desperately needed a stiff drink given everything, Sirius left his room on the second floor to creep quietly into the lower half of the house. There was noise all about them. From the kitchen he heard laughter and the faint echoes of Exploding Snap. From above he heard angry music which could have been coming from any of the residents of the house bar Molly. He didn't think she'd be listening to the Wizarding World's grungiest metal group at a level to burst eardrums.

Imagining that put a smile on his face and as he pushed into the parlour where he kept a fully stocked drinks cabinet, he felt a little lighter.

It was so easy to get lost in the darkness – the darkness of the house, the darkness of their world at that moment, the darkness of his mind.

He had his fingers around a bottle of whisky – his preferred Muggle blend from the west coast of Scotland – before he realised that the room had another occupant. Ron was bent over the table Sirius' parents had always used to host 'parties' around. He wasn't sure anybody had ever had fun at one, however, so he was reluctant to use that word to describe them.

Before his world had turned upside down, Sirius Black had known how to throw a cracking party. He'd known how to be the life and soul of one, too, but that was all in the past.

Ron started slightly when he realised he was being watched – he clearly hadn't heard Sirius enter.

“Don't mind me, just getting something to get me through the night,” Sirius advised, toasting him with the bottle of Oban.
“Fancy sharing?” Ron asked, his mouth curling into a cheeky grin.

Sirius chuckled to himself as he poured out a large glass and replaced the stopper. “Well, I would, but I'm rather attached to my bollocks as it happens. I think your mother would have mine for a nice pair of earrings if I let you have something this strong.”

He took a sip from his glass and sighed happily as it baked his throat on the way down. Sirius knew that he should just leave and let Ron get on with whatever it was that he was doing.

Fuck it.

“Homework?” he asked, casually sauntering over to the antique card table.

No, it's a fucking thesis on the benefit of using unicorn turds as fertiliser, you complete fuckwad.

“Yeah.” Ron made a disgusted face. “Potions. Pretty sure Snape set this to screw up the entire Easter Holidays.”
“Well, that definitely sounds like him,” Sirius agreed, nodding his head sympathetically.

He sat down opposite Ron at the table.

“Anything I can help with?” He put his drink down.

Sirius. Leave. Now. He tried to imagine the words in Remus' voice so that they might have an effect, but he all too easily ignored him.

“What d'you know about healing potions?”
“What are we healing?”
“I honestly haven't got the foggiest. I was doing something else when he set the homework.”
“Like?”
“Kicking Harry's arse at noughts and crosses. Loser had to cut up the other's newt guts next lesson.”
“In my day we would have been charming the chalk behind the teacher and playing it on the board for everyone to see. Or just writing swear words.”
“I don't much enjoy sitting in a freezing cold dungeon whilst Snape questions whether I have a brain or not, to be honest.” Ron shrugged. “We all already know I don't.”

“Snape can question what he wants and fuck off,” Sirius replied quickly and without thinking.

Ron just laughed at the boorishness and nodded. “Yeah. He can.”

Sirius found himself smiling then. It was perhaps the longest interaction they'd had since everyone had returned home for the Easter Holidays. He was taken by surprise when Ron suddenly reached for the glass of whisky and put it to his mouth.

Suddenly, Sirius was very hot around the throat. He watched as pale pink lips parted ever-so-slightly to sip at the drink.

From the way that Ron swallowed, it was obvious it was not his first time with a glassful of strong alcohol.

“Well aren't you full of surprises?” Sirius asked, barely managing to keep from cringing as he heard himself shamelessly flirt with a sixteen-year-old. He reached out and took the glass back, chucking down his own mouthful and trying not to think of the fact that Ron's lips had been on the rim which now touched his own.

“Not really.” Ron shrugged. “I have five brothers; they have to be good for something.”

Laughing once more whilst trying to keep his mind clear of exactly what the older Weasley boys were good for, Sirius freely handed the drink back to Ron. “As you're clearly not an amateur, you might as well finish that one. I'll have another.”

He didn't bother getting up. He used magic to pour another glass and then summoned it across the room, all wandlessly. He felt oddly proud as Ron appraised his magic with slightly raised eyebrows.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, how little do you care about this homework?” Sirius asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other.
“Minus ten,” Ron answered immediately.

Ron folded his long arms over his chest, keeping the hand holding his drink close to his mouth. His plump, soft-lipped mouth.

For such an ordinary boy, in the flickering light of his parents' best parlour Sirius was suddenly parched at the sight him. Spots and grease softened by the candles, Ron Weasley was wearing an impish smile with his head cocked slightly to the right.

I've got to get the fuck out of here.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Ron asked suddenly, with a nervous look towards the door.
“Uh... sure... though, I've got to be honest if you're looking for someone to have a heart-to-heart with, Remus was always better at that than me. I can't promise I won't laugh at you first and help second...”

Ron shrugged and shifted somewhat nervously in his seat. Sirius inwardly sighed and knew he couldn't just get up and leave. He didn't want to, at any rate. He sent a spell at the parlour door and it quietly shut. The lock clunked heavily.

“So...” he sucked on his lower lip for a while before continuing. “What do you want to talk about?”

Ron opened his mouth to reply but seemed to suddenly lose his nerve.

“No rush,” Sirius said, casually holding his hand up. “Do you mind if I smoke? Please Godric don't tell your mother!”
“Nothing said in this room will be repeated to my mother,” Ron said, his expression deadly serious. “Do you promise me?”

Once upon a time, Sirius knew his answer would have been an immediate promise of secrecy. But he was much older and much uglier, and he knew he should show some modicum of responsibility to the younger people staying in his house.

Considering he was already letting one of them drink whilst he smoked in front of him, Sirius supposed he was perhaps a lost cause.

“Depends. Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“Hurt?”
“No.”
“About to be hurt or hurt someone else?”
“I don't think so.”
“Well, then you can be fairly confident that I won't tell your mum. Continue.” Sirius grinned at Ron as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with the end of his wand.

He wafted away the first curls of smoke with his hand and waited.

“So... recently I've been having these... thoughts,” Ron said delicately.

The tips of his ears had started to go red and a delicious blush had tinged his cheeks pink. Sirius fought to keep his concentration on Ron's words and not his face.

“And I don't... I don't really know what to do with them.”
“Well, thoughts tend to be thunk... I mean, thought.” Sirius shook his head, trying to clear his brain so that he might have a chance of making sense. “And whether you act on them depends on if you want to or not.”
“But how are you supposed to know if you want to or not?” Ron asked. “Without actually doing it? If you did it, and you didn't like it, what if you really upset the person you were... um, doing it with?”

Ron went even redder. Sirius fought off the urge to make a condescending noise of endearment.

“And then if I don't do it, what if I'm then stuck never doing it again for the rest of my life because I didn't do it now and I don't know I really want it?” Ron was gesturing with his glass.
“Don't waste that, it's expensive,” Sirius said calmly. “Look. Ron. What are we talking about? It's much easier to pass comment if one knows what's being got at.”

Squaring his shoulders, Ron exhaled hard through his nose. “I think... I think I like boys. And girls. But maybe boys more? I don't know.” He let his head droop then, putting his chin on his chest and closing his eyes.

All Sirius could see were long, red eyelashes skimming burning cheeks. The freckles had been absorbed into the boy's shame. Oh, fucking hell.

“So you think you might be bisexual?” Sirius asked, trying as hard as he could to sound soft and kind, like Remus would have been.

Remus would have been a hundred times better at having such a conversation. He'd likely already have already comforted Ron with a perfect one-liner and produced a reassuring book on sexuality. But, Sirius supposed, there had to be a reason why Ron had approached him instead.

Perhaps he can sense it. Bisexual radar pinging away. Ding ding ding. “There's one in the room! You're a winner!”

“Sirius?”
“Huh?” He blurted, realising he'd drifted off again.

Ron looked at him with a pained expression, clearly hurt at Sirius' lapse in attention.

“It's fine,” Ron said, his voice flat and quite cold. “We don't need to discuss this if it makes you... weird.”

The redhead knocked back the rest of the whisky and jumped to his feet. He set the glass down and shoved his chair back, clearly preparing to leave.

“No, don't-”

Sirius reached out and latched on to Ron's wrist, tugging him to a standstill. Looking more upset by the minute, Ron hesitated, allowing Sirius to keep hold of him. Sirius found he had no idea what to say. At points in the past he'd been a great speaker, but he'd always been so much more of a physical being. A doer rather than a thinker.

And he certainly didn't think as he pulled hard on Ron's arm and, with very little effort, got the redhead to sit on his lap. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Ron and braced himself, but there was no violent rebuke. Ron clearly felt awkward but he didn't get up or even wriggle. Sirius held his own breath as he felt the weight of the boy lean into him.

Sirius took a long drag from his cigarette and then reached around Ron to balance it in an ashtray. He put his free hand around Ron's waist and looked up at him, hoping to really see what, if anything, Ron needed from him.

“Why did you come to me?” he murmured.
“Figured you'd not mind.”
“Any other reason?” Sirius pressed, well aware of the fact their faces were slowly drawing closer together. “Not... any prior knowledge of the fact that I might not entirely be a stranger to the problem you're having?”

Ron looked guiltily away, but he was smiling.

“Clever lad.” Sirius laughed, but quietly and intimately, directly into Ron's face. He hoped his breath wasn't too terrible.

It felt inevitable. His hand was doing the work for him really, reaching up and gently touching to the side of Ron's face. The tips of his fingers slipped into thick red hair, which at its longest point waved gently down to the young wizard's jawline.

It had been a long time since he'd kissed somebody, but he was confident as he pressed his mouth to Ron's that nothing had changed and that he was still excellent at it. At the very least, his playmate was sixteen and was unlikely to know any better.

Ron surprised him by moving to deepen the kiss quite early on. In my day if you were that forward you were labelled as desperate! Merlin!

Perhaps it was just that he was more than desperate that it didn't seem wrong for Ron to shove his tongue into Sirius' mouth.

This should be so wrong, on so many fucking levels.

He jumped when hot fingers suddenly brushed against his stubble. The pads of Ron's thumbs brushed a gentle path over his cheekbones before settling either side of his face.

“You have huge hands,” Sirius whispered.
“Er... thanks?” Ron looked unsure.
“It's a good thing,” Sirius promised, gently turning his face to kiss the underside of Ron's wrist.

There was an unmistakable shudder in response. Sirius couldn't tell whether it was in disgust or desire but assumed if it had been the former Ron would have leapt to his feet. The latter... the latter proved much more of an issue.

“How did you know?” he asked after a while.
“I found some... stuff, shall we say, whilst clearing out. Stuff which hinted...”
“Could have been Regulus',” Sirius teased. He locked his fingers around Ron's waist.
“Also could have been yours, fifty-fifty chance. Also they were Muggle, so I thought it was more likely that they were yours.”
“I did get a petty little thrill out of buying Muggle porn, knowing it would likely annoy my mother ten times more for being Muggle than gay,” Sirius admitted.

Ron nodded.

“You kissed me,” he said finally.

There was no accusation in his tone, and certainly no fear: just a succinct summary of the way their evening had gone.

Ron shifted slightly, wincing in pain from his twisted position.

“Perhaps we should move over there,” Sirius suggested, nodding towards the sofa.

That's a monumentally idiotic idea. Don't do it.

Sirius chose to ignore his inner Remus as Ron slid out of his lap and walked across the room. Unable to keep his eyes from following the pert bottom in very faded denim, Sirius jumped to his feet, grabbed the ashtray and his cigarette and followed against his better judgement. He snatched up the bottle of Oban as he passed and handed it out to Ron. The redhead took it with inquisitive eyes.

“Well, a bit of whisky isn't going to make things any more fucked up than they already are, is it?” he explained, dropping down onto the sofa with a massive thump.

He smoked his cigarette through to the butt whilst Ron sporadically swigged at the whisky. Sirius waited until he'd ground out the heat into the ashtray before speaking again.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kiss you. That was completely inappropriate. You're young enough to be my son.”
“Isn't it meant to be the other way around?” Ron frowned.
“Eh?”
“You're meant to say you're old enough to be my dad.” Ron smiled and propped his head up up on his hand via the back of the sofa. “You did it the other way.”
“Well, I suppose it's proper for you to learn now that I'm essentially a very self-centred man. It's never my fault, or at least that's what my past lovers would tell you.”
“Have you had many? Lovers, I mean...”

Sirius took the whisky back off Ron and rinsed his throat with it. He thought about his answer.

“Not many, truth be told. I saw a lot of people at school but there was only really one that I loved. And he was too broken to love me back.”

He'd tried not to make it sound too tragic, so didn't really understand the way that hurt pieced through Ron's otherwise relaxed expression.

“What?” Sirius asked.
“I think... I think the person that's making me... feel these things. I think he might be too broken, too. And that makes me feel shitty.”
“It is shitty,” confirmed Sirius. “But you're young, and I presume he's young too. Things change. Who is it?”

Ron didn't answer. He simply looked back at Sirius in a way which told him he wasn't going to find out that evening, and maybe not ever.

“You're a secretive little git, aren't you”? Sirius asked with a grin. “Christ. You'd've driven me mad at school. Those big blue eyes. That red hair and those slight fucking hips. That backside.” He froze, realising what he'd said. “Shit, Ron – look. Forget I said any of that and get yourself up to bed. It's late.”

Predictably, Ron didn't move a muscle. Sirius sighed and looked down at his lap. Well, you had that coming.

Ronald Weasley was extraordinarily ordinary. He'd been through it several times in his mind. So why in Merlin's name aren't you running like the wind?

He knew the answer and it was wonderfully shallow. It was because Ron was interested, and nobody had been interested in Sirius Black for fourteen years.

“I am old enough to be your father,” he said weakly. “And you're Harry's best friend. What's happened is already too much.”
“I get it,” Ron said.
“Get what?”
“I'm ugly. You can just say it. It's the truth, and... this person I like won't find me attractive either so I should just get used to it!”

Sirius automatically felt very guilty about all the unkind things he'd thought about Ron Weasley, even if they were the truth. Remus had never had any self-esteem either and it had been painstaking to sit there and watch him tear lumps out of himself. Quite literally in the case of the Full Moon, but mostly metaphorically in their dormitory.

“You are not ugly,” Sirius said, smoothing one hand over the freshly restored upholstery. “My hesitance has nothing to do with you but your age.”
“Muggles say you're legal to have sex when you're sixteen. I'm sixteen!”
“Sex? Steady on, for Christ's sake, Ron. And you've only just bloody turned sixteen for starters.”

Sirius was hot under the collar again and he leapt to his feet. He started to pace up and down in front of the window. He paused to look out into the square, noticing a few shadowy figures under the trees.

“They're watching the house. They know something's here, just not what.”
“As long as it stays that way, we're fine,” Ron said, dangerously close.

Sirius jumped back and trod on the redhead's toes, making him swear in pain.

“Shit, I'm sorry!” Sirius threw his hands out. “Godric, I'm staggering around like a thirteen-year-old idiot.”
“It's fine,” Ron insisted stoically, dropping his foot to the floor.

It was huge considering he was so young.

“Yeah. I have massive feet.” Ron clearly wasn't impressed with the fact. “Like the rest of me, too big to be of any fucking use.”

Before he could help himself, Sirius replied, “Ah come now, there are some benefits to having huge appendages.”

Ron's eyes flew wide and he started to laugh. Sirius found himself joining in, to the point that when Ron sidled up to him and stepped close, he was utterly defenceless.

“Ron...” he protested, his voice no more than a whisper. “This is...”

What exactly it was ended up being swallowed by another kiss. It made Sirius realise that what they'd shared on the chair was relatively chaste compared the way that Ron was practically eating his face. It wasn't unpleasant – not by a long shot – but it took him by surprise. As such, when his back slammed into the wall next to the window, he stood dazed in pain before he could respond in any other way.

“I'm an old man.” He could have died as he heard the wheeze in his chest. “Be gentle with me.”
“You're thirty-six, not a hundred,” Ron pointed out.
“Azkaban adds about a hundred and fifty years.”
“Not to your face. Maybe elsewhere...”
“Cheeky git.”

Sirius kissed back when he was kissed. Ron tasted of whisky and lust and it was too much for anybody to resist, let alone a sexually starved ex-nymphomaniac.

An image of the redhead spread-eagled on his bed had Sirius panting.

“If you don't stop, I won't be able to stop, and Merlin help you then,” he muttered.
“I don't want to stop and I sure as fuck don't need Merlin's help,” Ron retorted. “I want you to touch me.”
“Taste you...” Sirius suggested.
“Fuck me...” Ron breathed, before pressing his hips forward and grinding his wood into Sirius' body.

“Not here,” Sirius ruled.

He moulded himself to Ron's body and without a thought for the locked door or homework they left behind, Apparated them both into his bedroom.

It was messy as always. When he'd been a child it had delighted him to annoy his mother by keeping it utterly trashed. As an adult he simply couldn't be bothered to tidy up. He'd spent too long surrounded by nothing but cold, bare walls in prison. He missed clutter. Remus tutted every time he walked into the room.

Fuck him. He didn't want to sleep in here, so why should I tidy up for him?

“Sirius?”

Realising he'd been caught out whilst off with the faeries again, Sirius pulled back slightly.

“I'm sorry. It's not you. I have trouble concentrating since...”
“Since you have things to concentrate on again,” Ron said softly.
“Yes, exactly that!”

Sirius looked at him with surprise. Still an ordinary boy with grease in his hair and spots on his chin but now there was irrefutably something more. Something delicious.

“Something on my face?” Ron asked.
“Only something beautiful.”
“Ugh, there's no need to go overboard. I know what I am.”

Brushing back Ron's fringe from his brow, Sirius hummed.

“Why don't you stop putting words in my mouth and let me decide what you are?”
“I'm not particularly good at shutting up. You might have noticed.” Ron winced along with his self-criticism.

Caution well and truly blown to smithereens, Sirius guided Ron backwards to the bed and pushed him down on it. The redhead bounced slightly before Sirius pressed him into the duvet.

It seemed such a natural move to gather Ron's wrists in his hand and pin the boy's arms above his head. But his age showed in the skinny limbs and in the look of wonder on his face.

Sirius knew he was perched on the edge of the rabbit hole. He was ready to fall in.

“I'm not particularly good at stopping when I want something. Tell me to stop, Ron. Tell me to get off you and leave you alone and never look at you again.”

Ron's jaw lifted obstinately. He wasn't going to say it. Sirius knew he wouldn't.

***
“You're cheerful today,” Remus commented, as they stood side by side in the kitchen making lunch.

They were alone in the house, which after a week of Easter Holiday noise was a blessing. Sirius liked the peace and quiet, but he was missing one of the redheaded brood in particular.

As expected, he had fallen hard and fast for Ron once the physical boundary had been breached. He'd made Ron work for it, teasing him, refusing to touch him, making the boy put his own dick into Sirius' palm.

He doubted whether Ron counted as 'bi-curious' any more; they'd done enough to take him well beyond that point. He'd had enough excited orgasms to doubt whether being with another man aroused him. All Sirius had to do was touch him and he was practically creaming himself in his pants.

He looked luscious when he lost control unexpectedly. Blushing, open-mouthed. Sirius had made him come at dinner the night before by softly rubbing his toes over the boy's ankle bone under the table. He'd lasted about twenty-seconds.

You were just the same at his age.

Sirius was concerned about the complete lack of concern he was experiencing. Once the initial hurdles had been jumped he seemed too focussed on wanting more to care about the fact that what he was doing was very wrong. He wasn't far gone enough to think that it was right, but he wasn't bothered enough to put a stop to it.

Far from it, he was looking forward to Ron's return so that they could perhaps indulge a bit more before dinner.

“Sirius?”

Ron was not helping his concentration one bit.

“Sorry. Miles away.”
“Your head spends more time in the clouds lately than anywhere else.”
“Well, at least it's sunny up there.”

Sirius cut his sandwich in half and retreated back to the table. Remus followed a few moments later with his own food and a glass of pumpkin juice.

“You'd tell me if there was something... well, not wrong. But something? Right?”
“There's nothing to tell.” Sirius shrugged, lying through his teeth. “I don't leave the house, how could there fucking be anything to tell?”
“You just seem so much brighter all of a sudden. And I wondered if something had happened to pick you up.”
“Having Harry here helps. You know that. I love spending time with him.”

Sirius wasn't lying about that. His nights might have been full of the redheaded best friend, but his days had been about Harry, spending the time together they'd never been able to when he was a child.

He shoved away the thought that he was processing his guilt about abandoning Harry by bedding a sixteen-year-old for distraction sex every night.

“I just love having him here. I wish he could live with me.”
“Dumbledore has his reasons.”
“Be nice if he fucking told us them for a change.” Sirius viciously bit into his sandwich.

Remus gave him an understanding smile and they ate in silence for some time. He was nearly done with the second half when the kitchen Floo made a noise indicating an incoming body. They both watched until a body appeared in the flames, a thin, tall body with red hair. Ron immediately kicked the soot off his feet into the grate. He looked up at his audience guiltily.

“Has something happened? We thought you were all out for the day?” Remus asked.

Ron shook his head. “Nah. I'm not feeling very well. Mum sent me home to rest.” He shrugged. “I was up all night trying to do a pig of an essay for McGonagall.”

Up all night sucking me off, more like. Just recalling the sight of Ron's lips stretched around his cock was enough to make Sirius hard underneath the kitchen table.

To be fair, though, Ron did look quite unwell.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Remus asked.
“No, thanks. I'm just going to go for a sleep I reckon. I'll see you later...” Ron headed for the door.
“I'm off away for the night. Leaving when I've had lunch. So I'll see you tomorrow. Are you sure you're all right, Ron?”

He nodded unconvincingly and then left with a little wave. They waited until his footsteps faded before they turned back to their food.

“He doesn't look well.” Remus sighed and brushed off his fingers. “I worry about them. They're so young. Younger than we were when we faced this the first time.”

Sirius nodded, chewing slowly through the last of his sandwich.

“And Harry needs him so much. Both of them. They're going to have to support him through it all.”
“And they'll do it. Those two are made of strong stuff. I have complete faith in them.”

Remus hummed with worry and then looked at the clock. “Well. I'd best be off if I'm going to get there before it's dark.”
“You'll be safe?” Sirius enquired, not meeting Remus' eye.
“As much as I can be.”

Remus slipped into his Muggle jacket and Sirius eased up, trying not to aggravate the aching in his hips. He rounded the table and pulled Remus into a hug.

“Be safe,” he reiterated before letting his best friend go again.

Remus nodded and picked up his rucksack. He looked like a normal man in his thirties, off travelling somewhere wonderful. Sirius deeply wished he was, and that he was going with him.

He walked Remus to the hallway and then watched him out of the door into the street beyond. He counted twenty seconds before bounding up the stairs and along the landing to the room where Ron and Harry had been sleeping. He knocked twice but didn't wait for permission to enter.

Ron was lying on his bed, the curtains were pulled to block out the sun and the room was pleasantly warm. In his arms the redhead had a pillow and was holding it close to his chest. All the pillows under his own head were present and correct, and that meant that the pillow was from –

“Harry.”
“Eh?” Ron frowned. “I'm Ron. Bit of a difference in height, see.”
“You're cuddling Harry's pillow. The boy who's making you question whether you're bisexual or not... it's Harry!”

Ron sat up to blink owlishly at him in the dim light. “You hadn't guessed?”

Sirius hadn't really given it a second thought – there'd been much nicer things to concentrate on after Ron's admission of wonder.

“I'd not thought much about it,” he confessed, sitting down on the end of Ron's bed.

Still staring at him and still clutching at Harry's pillow, Ron said nothing. He looked apprehensive, as though he expected Sirius to lash out at him for admitting the truth.

“Harry's not too broken to want you,” Sirius said softly, remembering Ron's words on the night they'd first kissed. “Far from it. I've never seen anybody more desperate for love and intimacy than Harry.”
“But he wants girls. And earlier today, we saw two guys having a sneaky kiss... he said that he thought it was really odd that some people found the same sex attractive.”

Ron legitimately looked like he wanted to cry.

“Ah, so that's why you came home.”

Ron shrugged.

“It's okay, Ron. It's okay to feel hurt.”
“I feel an idiot.”
“You're not an idiot,” Sirius promised, and sighed. “I came up to see whether you wanted... well. Never mind. I'll leave you in peace.”
“Don't go.” Ron begged more than asked. “I want to.”
“Sex isn't the answer to this,” Sirius said.

Ron answered by chucking Harry's pillow back across the room and then sticking his hand down the front of his jeans. Sirius watched with an increasing pulse as the redhead fell back on the pillows at the head of the bed and reached up to cradle his skull in his free hand.

He started to masturbate slowly, keeping his blue eyes locked on Sirius' grey ones. He lengthened the stroke as much as he could with his jeans zipped up and arched his back. When he moaned it caused Sirius' mouth to parch. Ron repeated it all again, and again, until his hand was jerking faster and faster and he was unable to keep his eyes open.

Spread over the bed, head tipped back, hair off his face, Sirius knew he would have him that day, because Ronald Weasley had fully ensnared him. Sirius wanted to come over his freckled, beautiful face, his chest, his non-existent belly and deep, deep inside of him.

Whichever opportunity came first he'd take, but he wanted them all before anyone else came home.

“Siriusssssss...” Ron's voice was a high whine, elongating the name in a passionate, breathy way Sirius had not heard in years.

It was intoxicating.

Ron was intoxicating; that extraordinarily ordinary boy. Sirius was gripped with a primal urge to have him then, there, anywhere – as soon as he possibly fucking could.

He was hovering over Ron on all fours before he really knew what he was doing. He climbed over him properly and Ron continued touching himself, completely unaware of just how enticing he looked. Sirius reached down and opened the button of his jeans, slid the zip down. Pulled down the stretchy cotton of his underwear, revealing the busy hand and what it held.

There was already a good deal of stickiness around the head. He watched it with his mouth hanging open, wanting to taste it. He glanced up but Ron's eyes were closed, so he couldn't seek permission.

So he bent down and did it anyway. Ron started with surprise. Sirius tasted him properly and moaned. Ron gasped, bucked his hips and came.

Sirius closed his eyes and drank him down. It was exquisite and disgusting in equal measure – just how he'd always felt about someone coming in his mouth. Eventually he loosened the seal of his lips and released Ron gently. When he looked up Ron's throat and face was flooded with heat.

He crawled back up over the wizard and kissed his forehead.

“Feeling better?”
“Not sure...” Ron was still panting. “Knackered, to be honest.”
“Not nearly enough...” Sirius reached out to put one forefinger on Ron's lower lip and pulled at it slightly.

Jewel blue eyes looked up at him, slightly frightened.

“Only if you want to, Ron,” Sirius whispered, bending his neck for a chaste kiss to Ron's mouth.
“Okay.”

-

“Uhhhhh. Yes.”

He'd grossly overestimated his own stamina, Sirius realised. It had been a long time since he'd been buried balls-deep in another body. Ron was a virgin and impossibly tight, even considering the fact that Sirius had been fingering him for nearly an hour before they'd jumped head-first into the final chasm of impropriety together.

He was fucking a sixteen-year-old boy. Slowly, intimately, toe-curlingly. It wasn't a quick fuck which he could shake off as an impulse. It was slow and calculated. He wanted to give and receive pleasure and had made sure that Ron was with him every single step of the way.

“I want to fuck you so hard,” he whispered, unable to keep his mouth shut. “Fuck you until you scream.”

Ron blushed harder and chewed into his lip.

“I want to make you come over and over.” Sirius put his mouth to Ron's throat and started to chew the flesh there. He sucked damp bruises all over the creamy expanse. “Want to hear you scream as you do it. Scream my fucking name.”

He couldn't stop his hips as they started to piston back and forth, driving himself hard into Ron's body and then pulling out as far as he could bear. Ron's legs were over his shoulders, his heels banging painfully into Sirius' back with each thrust, but the pain was pleasant – a constant thump into his body of reality. What they were doing.

He wasn't going to last much longer, that he knew. He reached between them and took Ron in hand. He stroked a few times, trying to form a rhythm, but he was too desperate for his own end to really give any great attention to Ron's.

“Fuck me,” Ron muttered. “Fuck me harder, Sirius. Harder.” He acquiesced. “Faster. Fuck, fuck me faster,” he begged. Sirius tried his hardest to comply, but the end was coming and it was going to be devastating.

Ron's words turned into babble that Sirius didn't have the brain power to decipher. He caught his name, the word 'fuck' and many pleas.

He was lost, and hard, and desperate to come, so when he did, he was unable to keep from flattening Ron completely against the bed and howling out in pleasure against the redhead's shoulder. He trembled with the intensity of it, having forgotten just how good it felt to come inside another body. How sordid it felt to empty into another man.

And how much he loved it.

He realised after a while that his teeth were sunk into Ron's skin. He pulled up, looking in horror at the bruised mess he'd created.

“Shit, why didn't you stop me?” he demanded, looking over at Ron.

Seconds before there had been a complete siren of a man in his bed, one with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, beautiful red hair framing his beautiful face. All Sirius saw in the aftermath was a man-child who looked incredibly vulnerable. Who had been taken advantage of.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Sirius felt panic rising within him.

What have I done?

“Sirius?” Ron's hands landed on his shoulders and squeezed. “It's okay. I'm okay.”
“How can you? I've just...”

He felt too dizzy to speak, drunk without a single drop of alcohol. He rolled onto his back, making them both hiss as he slipped out of Ron's body. The only sound was that of their ragged breaths.

“Are you okay?” Ron whispered hesitantly.
“No.” Sirius found his throat tight.

Regret has always made you an emotional idiot.

He didn't have the energy to protest as Ron cuddled into his side. He took the weight of the boy's head on his shoulder.

“How old were you when you got this?” One finger trailed over the tattoo on Sirius' hip.
“Eighteen.”
“What does it mean?”

Sirius didn't know how to tell the teenager in his bed that it was the name of another man in Runic.

“Nothing. It was just a whim. Good idea at the time. Probably means something but I haven't got a clue what.”

Ron gazed him unnervingly for a moment, before he nodded and looked away.

The absurdity of the situation seemed poised to come crashing down about his ears, Sirius realised. He'd been unforgivably foolish, getting involved in such a way with a young man who didn't know what he was or what he felt.

And not just any young man. Harry's Ron. For all he knew, his godson's future boyfriend.

Sirius swallowed hard.

Is this adulthood? Still making stupid decisions but with the unhappy addition of real regret and guilt afterwards? Fucking hell.


2006

Harry reached up and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. It was hot for April and the house seemed to retain it, making the gloomy landings and hallways gloomier. He'd avoided Sirius' bedroom for a long, long time. It would actually be ten years since his death on 18 June.

Perhaps that was why had felt the need to be close to him, to be around his things. To try and tidy up the memories and the room which his godfather had last inhabited in the summer of 1996.

He couldn't bear to throw anything away, so he didn't know how much good he was going to achieve, but at the very least he was tidying things into piles and letting the cleaning spells work through the dust. His fingers were coated in it and he brushed them off as he moved to the window and opened it fully.

Fresh air wafted in and he felt better for it. He looked out at the Spring sunshine and wondered if he should be out in it rather than being trapped inside with memories.

Spurred on by that thought, Harry turned, thinking of at the very least stopping for a long lunch with a cold drink and maybe his book.

Something caught his eye which piqued his interest. He never saw the room from the vantage point of the window, only usually from the door when he poked his head in, thought about whether he could face rifling through Sirius' belongings and ultimately decided not. It looked like a letter between two floorboards by the side of the bed.

Harry got down on his knees and attempted to pinch the parchment out of the crack, but it was firmly lodged in place. Instead he pulled out his wand and used that to summon it. A cloud of dust came out with it, making him cough.

The letter was addressed to Ron.

That was confusing. He had no idea why a letter addressed to 'Mr R Weasley, 5th Year Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland' would be in his godfather's bedroom. As far as he knew, Ron had never received any correspondence from Sirius, private or otherwise.

Harry flipped the envelope over and was thrilled to find it unsealed – that meant that reading it, in his mind, was fair game. There were three whole sides of Sirius' script just waiting to be devoured. New material. What he longed for.

He slipped the parchment out and shifted onto his backside against the bed to read. The date was noted as 17 June 1996.

Ron,

I know that this letter is likely unwelcome. I know I have hurt you, but please, give me a chance to explain before you toss this on the fire where it belongs.

Firstly, know it was honestly a pleasure to have you in my home once again at Easter. I think it's fair to say that for both of us things took a truly unexpected turn. I don't regret that and I hope once the soreness has faded a little that you will look back on the things that happened fondly. Or, at the very least, I hope they helped you decipher the feelings you were struggling with at the time. Sexuality is never a clear cut adventure. I think we both already knew that.

Secondly, I apologise wholeheartedly for my actions following the afternoon that we slept together. I need you to know that everything that came after was borne of my own stupidity and was absolutely no fault of yours. You see, it's not easy to constantly make the same mistakes, over and over again. And sleeping with a sixteen-year-old, however we might have felt about it at the time, was a mistake. Please understand that you personally were not the mistake, but the whole sorry affair most definitely was and I should have known better than to drag you into such a mess.

How could I ever thought to have helped you? I am so broken myself, and I am so unqualified to help anybody sort out the tangles of their heart. I was always terrible at straightening out my own. My immediate withdrawal from you was not because I found you unattractive or annoying. I was honestly just bloody terrified of what I'd done and how irresponsible I'd been – I've never liked taking responsibility for my actions, and it was no surprise to me in hindsight that I simply blocked you out afterwards.

You are a wonderful young bloke and I'm confident that you will grow into an even better man in the years to come. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will not be around to see you do so, and consequently I won't see Harry grow into what I know he will be either. That breaks my heart.

It's because of Harry that I'm writing this, of course. Whatever happened between us, I hope my inability to be held accountable for my actions won't have turned you off men for life. You seemed to quite enjoy things at the time!

If you love Harry, Ron, or even just think you might, you must tell him. Life is too cruel and too short to waste your time fretting over what could happen. Friendship can recover from drama if need be, but it might not need to. You could have everything you think you want in Harry if you tell him how you're feeling. Perhaps he's feeling the same way? Who knows?

Either way, you deserve to be happy and honest in life. I'd want you to have that if you can weather the storm which you know is going to break over your heads in the next few years.

More than anything I need you to be there for Harry. He needs you. He loves you as his best friend and supporter. And I know that you will do anything for him. This is the only comfort I have, because now I know you better, I know that Harry has everything he needs in his best friends.

Please think about what I've written. I want to thank you for giving me those wonderful if all-too-brief days of happiness. I hope on your part the education wasn't too shoddy. I'm sorry it was so short. I am here if you need any help, or you just need to talk, but also understand that even thinking about me probably sends you into a fit of rage. It's okay. You have every right to be angry. Be angry. Hate me. I deserve it.

Yours,
Snuffles.

“What the actual fuck?!” Harry cried in dismay, staring blindly at the parchment in his fingers. “THE FUCK?!”

He was shouting, but he didn't care. His mind was full of thoughts, questions and judgements.

Sirius was dead, and Ron was Godric-only-knew-where doing Merlin-only-knew-what. Harry hadn't heard from him in weeks. But everything started to fall slowly into place in his mind.

Why Ron had pulled away from them. Why he'd not married Hermione. Why he spent his life travelling the world, never settling back in the UK, because -

“He's running.” Harry breathed the words like they were fresh air after being nearly suffocated. “He ran from me because he loved me. Shit.”

He gawped at Sirius' letter for a while longer, realising it as quite possibly the last he'd ever written, given the date. It was full of apology and regret, and then staggering encouragement for Ron to love him -- Harry.

Yet Ron had never received it, because Sirius had died and the letter had been left forgotten for nearly ten years.

Harry didn't know what else to do but get the letter to its rightful owner. Better late than never, he supposed. And then, if what Sirius said was true...

He swallowed nervously and got to his feet.

-fin-