When It Still Fits

by FLIDETHECHEMIST

Ron was a sucker for nostalgia. Every once in a while, he would sit in the Astronomy Tower and relive the memories of his boyhood days. With his Astronomy book in hand, he lists the stars he can see through Charlie's brass telescope and reads the small notes penned in it over the years. It's a shame that his old uniform didn't fit anymore. But Harry... Harry could still fit in his.

When It Still Fits

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Harry Potter - J.K. Rowling

Relationship: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley

Characters: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Kreacher (Harry Potter)

Additional Tags: Day 3 Prompts, Hogwarts Astronomy Tower ronarry, harron - Freeform, Harryronfest, Top Ron Weasley, Bottom Harry Potter, Short Harry Potter, Quidditch Coach Harry Potter, Professor Ron Weasley, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Size Kink, Size Difference, Nipple Play, Nipple Licking, Overstimulation, Teasing, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Dom/sub, Gentleness, Tenderness, Declarations Of Love, Post-Coital Cuddling, Squirting, Male Squirting, Post-Hogwarts, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Fluff, Smut, Gentle Kissing, Kissing, Rough Kissing, First Time Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Office Blow Jobs, Virginity, First Time, Tickling, What Have I Done, Author Is Sleep Deprived, also, The Author Regrets Nothing, I wrote this in a Starbucks, I apologize to the people who had accidentally read this while in line for their coffee, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, I'm deeply sorry to the employees working there too, Dirty Talk, Food Kink, Daddy Kink, Honestly the food and daddy kink were unexpected on my part, Biggest warning is probably underdiscussed kinks, Ron deserves to be portrayed as a bit more confident in his older years, 5466 words of pining and sexual tension, 7423 words of shameless smut, 1115 words of fluffy feels, overuse of allusion, 683 words of a bonus scene, Gratuitous use of the emdash, references to real events, Astronomy, Virginity Kink, Digital Art, Cover Art

Language: English

Published: November 1, 2022

Words: 14,687

Chapters: 2

Status: Complete

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Freezing.

It was the only way to describe October's autumnal mien, nearing its peak as the prewinter month shuffled closer.

As strong gusts of icy wind blew a rotting effluvium of stained leaves into the air, they pirouetted in honor of the decaying trees, playing their last etude before they reached the ground.

Even before the sweltering heat of the fire, he couldn't seem to get warm.

•─────⋅⭐🔭⋅─────•

"I thought I would find you here."

Harry mumbled to the hunched figure by the tracery, almost hidden in the surrounding darkness. It was quiet, and in these minute moments of peace, he never let his voice go above the whistling of the wind outside; to do so felt akin to disturbing something sacred and precious. A corroded telescope glittered in familiarity with a battered book right by its side, and yet the memories they evoked paled compared to the figure leaning on the sill, waiting.

"Harry?"

Amidst the permeating coldness of the tower, a warm sort of happiness bubbled into his chest and traveled throughout his body. Harry trembled with contained excitement as he stepped forward, watching in awe as the starlight created a halo—made from the same stuff as heaven—that bounced off of their features. It was all angles, sharp cheekbones, and arched brows, their hair taking on a golden hue. He might as well have gotten a glimpse of an angel, and as stupidly poetic as it sounded...

Everything about Ron Weasley made Harry feel stupid and poetic.

As he shuffled closer, the halo disappeared, and only the glow of the evening light reflecting from his blue eyes remained. They weren't looking at Harry, however. Instead, they were directed at the sky, gazing at the hundreds of stars smeared like pasty glitter across a canvas of black. It almost made him envious of how serene Ron looked, all pressed robes and ginger hair combed neatly to one side. He even outgrew his lankiness, his build a spitting image of the eldest Weasley child, Bill.

Comparing that to his rumpled training gear and unkempt hair—like a weed in a bed of roses—Harry was small and out of place. His very presence didn't belong in the orderliness of the Astronomy tower. Most of Ron's youngest fifth–years even towered over him, having not grown any taller since he was still a student at Hogwarts. Looking down, he stared at his crusted boots, cringing at the snail trail of soil tracking from behind him.

Harry was a mess.

He considered going back to his office to keep himself occupied with game strategies close to the unwarming fire while the other man worked, but he reconsidered, tiptoeing closer. With great hesitance, he wrapped his arms from behind Ron, pressing his face against the protruding shoulder blade. Harry kept it light, worrying that he wouldn't appreciate something like this out of the blue, and thought about letting go. However, the long exhale of contentment drifting in the air settled that worry.

In an instant, he felt more at ease, melting into the warmth seeping from Ron's robes and into his skin. He didn't know how long it had been since he held someone in his arms, but the sensation of holding something living became addicting. The searing heat radiating off of Ron and the sound of his beating heart were enough to put his largest pillow to shame, and a giddy feeling erupted in his chest. Harry squeezed tighter each time the taller man took a breath, ignoring the glasses digging into his skin.

"What are you doing?" he heard Ron ask, and it was a breathless sound that made Harry hold him closer, wanting to feel his voice electrify the nerves on every part of his body. The lingering scent of fancy cologne had him snuffling closer, but underneath all that was something unique and indescribable, making his head spin in the most delicious way possible. "Hey—you're going to crush me at this rate." A large hand tugged at his wrist, and with great reluctance, he let go.

"Sorry, was that too much?" Harry hoped he didn't hurt the other by accident, gnawing on his bottom lip as the look of concern directed at him went unnoticed. Instead of answering, Ron shook his head, grasping his arm and leading him to the front of the window where he was pinned against the stone ledge. Carefully, a pair of strong arms enveloped him in an embrace, a heavy weight settling on top of his head, making him feel grounded for the first time in months.

Ron's touch calmed the growing unease in his chest to a degree he could ignore.

Before an outstretched finger turned to the sky, he felt one of Ron's arms leave its place on his stomach, making him feel empty. "Do you see that?" he pointed to something in the distance, and though he knew he was talking about the stars, Harry couldn't see much. His glasses were streaked with cloudy smudges, and even then, there were too many in the sky for him to focus on. "Um," he offered intelligently, breath hitching when Ron leaned forward, chuckling at the sight.

"Your glasses are filthy," he murmured against his ear, lips brushing against his temple.

Harry suddenly felt himself burn as a hand slid his spectacles down the bridge of his nose. A loose thread hung from the edge of his shirt, and his fingers fiddled with it, ignoring the way Ron canted the Cleaning Charm so close behind. It was futile, however, as the consonants tickled the inside of Harry's ear and he quivered in discomfort. Scratching it against his shoulder, he swallowed in embarrassment as the scenery came back into view. "Thank you," he started, and Ron smiled at him, his heart fluttering in response.

"It's nothing, mate. Don't worry about it."

Mate.

Something in his chest sank, and he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

"Where have you been? It looks like you've rolled yourself in mud on the way here." Ron muttered as he leaned closer, and Harry had an insane thought that he would be kissed. "You've got a bit of dirt just right... there." He tried not to think too much about it as a thumb swiped near the edge of his jaw, or when Ron's hand patted his cheek. As his face burned red, a brief silence followed, blue eyes widening in shock. For one terrifying moment, Harry thought he had read his mind.

What would he think about Harry liking him in ways that a best friend shouldn't? He knows that the other man will get over the thought of him enjoying the company of men more than women—he had attended Dean and Seamus' wedding with Harry as his plus one, after all—but the company of Ron Weasley himself? Their relationship felt tarnished and wrong all because of his stupid, stupid feelings. He didn't even know if he liked men—or boys, which is how he's acting right now.

Best friends didn't think about each other all the time, not in the way he did, because it just wasn't done. If they were truly friends—they weren't and it's all Harry's fault—then his thoughts would be filled with happy memories of their time together, not shameless ones... The ones that were brimming with dirty curiosity about the feel of Ron's freckled skin, the smell of him at the most intimate level, the sound of when he was in pure ecstasy, and the taste of his... oh God, what was he thinking?

He might survive the fall from the window if Ron ever mentions it.

Then, unexpectedly, fond laughter reached his ears. "Merlin, I sound like Hermione! Remember that time we met on the train?" Harry laughed, trying to mask the panicked relief in his voice. "She's rubbed off on you, that's what it is." Ron closed a wistful expression back on his face, body relaxing as his breaths evened out. A distant hooting sounded from the forest below. "Can you see the stars now?" the taller man asked, leaning to one side. All he could do was nod, throat sandy.

He didn't need his glasses to see Ron; he was the only star he'll ever need.

"Anything you recognize?" Harry looked to the sky as he squinted, only to find most of his knowledge about constellations and his past Astronomy lessons leaving him. "The... plough?" he tried, looking at one point of the mess in the cloudless night atmosphere. Ron settled behind him, pressing his entire body against Harry's back, before maneuvering his head in the opposite direction. "That is the plough. Funny you should mention it, considering it's a part of the constellation Ursa Major—The Big Bear."

He didn't know the significance of that, but Ron had a cheeky grin on his face.

"Where?" Harry cocked his head, searching the skies. With the patience of a saint, Ron steadied him in the correct direction before pressing even closer, and it was his turn to feel a little breathless. "It's composed of seven stars, and three of those make up the handle." He added while tracing the pattern with his finger. "Patterns that you can easily recognize in the sky are called asterisms." He informed, and after a few minutes, Harry finally spotted it. "There!" he exclaimed, face lighting up.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Ron's cheeks were dusted with a soft pink.

"I found it, see?" Harry breathed, realizing that a pair of hands were gripping his waist. He could feel his fingers tensing and twitching through his gear, tightening whenever he leaned too far from the sill. To his surprise, he also found that he had climbed the ledge, Ron's freckled face tight with worry. Pulling himself away from the window, Harry flushed in embarrassment, putting his two feet back on the comfort of the stone floor. "Sorry," he mumbled.

But Ron's hands still didn't leave his waist.

"Wouldn't want you to fall." He said kindly, thumbs rubbing over the bony dip on his hips. As Harry shivered, he felt a momentary release of pressure and the sound of rustling clothes, only to notice that Ron had shed his outer robe. "It gets rather cold in the tower during this time of year. Here, this should help." Ron's arms brush against the side of his shoulders, and the robe is draped over him, the remaining length pooling beneath his feet.

Harry was glad, frustrated, and horrified all at the same time. While he was cold and appreciated the extra warmth the thick fabric provided, he was shivering for a completely different reason. It caused goosebumps to erupt all over his heated skin and his body to crave something much more direct and insistent. The sheer intensity of the feeling made his heartbeat thud inside of his ears, his knees weak, and it made his head spin in circles, rendering him delirious.

Harry felt aroused beyond measure.

It didn't help that Ron had guided him back to the window, pressing behind him, pushing his entire lower half against the stone ledge. Harry suppressed a whimper, not quite coherent enough to know what Ron was pointing at and what he was talking about. Every breath the man took, he could feel, and it sent a peculiar sensation from his scalp down to his spine. Words dripped from his mouth like warm honey, and it took a measurable amount of self–control to not indulge himself in its sweetness.

As Ron continued to talk about the stars, going into great detail about the Grecian myth behind The Seven Sisters, Harry listened to the rumbling of his voice instead, admiring the richness of the vibrations as they traveled from his chest and to his throat. It slowly lulled him to sleep, feeling his eyes grow heavy and tired as they drooped when a mention of his name stirred him awake. "Harry... I'm glad you're here." Ron admitted, resting his chin on Harry's head.

"It's much better with someone listening."

Harry felt like the biggest wanker to walk the face of the planet because he knows he hadn't been listening to a word he had said. "Um, yeah." He responded anyway, fidgeting. Ron shifted behind him, pulling away just the slightest bit. An odd tremor overtook his voice. "How often do you think about your time here as a student?" while Harry didn't do it all the time, memories would creep up on him when he was monitoring the team's practice matches for the Quidditch Cup.

Other times, it would be groups of students in threes, whispering to each other in hushed voices as they looked at their surroundings. It reminded him a lot of Ron and Hermione, and how they would get themselves into more trouble than was worth dealing with while solving the dangerous mysteries that lurked in the castle. He told Ron as such, laughing as he admitted that students who whisper amongst themselves never fail to look suspicious.

"Me too. I just found that I rather miss Astronomy. I remember we used to pass notes in class, and Hermione would get so mad because we weren't focusing." Harry chuckled, resting his elbows on the sill, bottom bumping against the other man. "Yeah, she used to hate it every time you shared your homework with me. Remember the star charts?" Ron narrowed his eyes for a moment, face flushed, before he snapped his fingers, mouth agape in delayed recognition.

"You mean when Crookshanks—"

"Exactly!"

"Oh Merlin," he groaned, rubbing his hands on his face. "Harry, next time, remind me if Crookshanks ever starts hating another animal. We don't want another repeat of Pettigrew. Bloody cat is too smart for its own good." Harry nodded in agreement, planning on gifting Crookshanks some expensive Kneazle kibble as an afterthought when Ron started speaking again. "I miss Hogwarts. It's a completely different experience learning from a teacher than teaching the students. I feel like I'm a fraud, teaching them."

He chuckled, waving his hand about. "C'mon, me, an Astronomy professor? Of all the things I expected, this isn't one of them. I mean, have you seen my O.W.L.s and my N.E.W.T.s?" Harry clicked his tongue, voice going soft. "Hush, I think you're doing great. McGonagall thinks so too if she hired you. She's not foolish enough to mess with academics—unlike Umbridge. Besides, I didn't even know any of this stuff about... asterisms and the Seven Sisters until you told me." A grin stretched across Ron's face.

"Yeah, I guess. I've just been feeling sentimental lately, that's all. I found my school trunk and saw that Mum kept my old uniforms there. It's so weird that I used to be so small. Look at it; Accio trunk!" a familiar battered school trunk zoomed on the floor and halted right at Ron's shoes, the rusty latches unclasping with a quick spell. As it opened, hand–me–down books were scattered at the bottom, piles of fabric taking up most of the space. Ron picked one up, whipping it in the air before presenting it.

"This was my uniform during my sixth year. I've grown a lot since then." He pressed it up against his chest, and it was much smaller in comparison. "I'd break the stitches if I tried Engorgio on it, too." He gestured to one robe, and Harry snorted. It looked more like a poorly made curtain than a robe—like it would be too big on Dudley—and that was an understatement. Then, Ron folded it in his arms before tossing it back in the trunk, kicking it close. "Do yours still fit?"

"Maybe?" Harry shrugged, quite confident—or embarrassed—that they would very much still fit. He felt something static crackle in the air, and then, "Can I see?" Ron blurted out, eyes wide as his gaping mouth, the very words surprising him. "I—sure... Kreacher?" as odd as the request sounded, he couldn't help but follow through, anyway. It was just him and his best friend up in an old tower, alone, in the middle of the night, basking in the nostalgia of their teenage years.

There was nothing weird about it—Harry was just acting crazy.

Not even a second later, the old house–elf appeared, bowing so low to the ground his ears dragged on the stone floor. "Master, what can Kreacher do for you?"

"Harry is fine," he cut in a mortified tone, ushering Kreacher from his position on the floor and dusting the pillowcase the house–elf insisted he use as clothes. "Please don't bow or call me that. There's really no need. I just wanted to ask if you could get my old school uniform from my fourth year. I'm not sure where it is—"

"Kreacher knows, he placed it inside of Master's trunk and washed it every day—"

"Harry is fine, no more of this 'Master' business... and yes, thank you, could you please bring it here?" the house–elf nodded, mouthing the words "Of course, Master," under his breath before disappearing from the room. Harry couldn't help but stare into the distance as he pinched the bridge of his nose, while the other man bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to break out into laughter. He muffled the wheezing noises quickly, clapping his mouth with one hand.

"He's still quite the insolent thing, isn't he?" Ron snorted, his voice lacking any actual heat.

Harry grumbled, looking away. "Yeah, well, 'quite' isn't the word I would use."

"I thought you managed to convince him not to call you 'Master'?"

"I did, once! He called me Sir. Harry the other day, and I thought I was dreaming or something." He exclaimed in response, feeling his nose flare when Ron doubled over in laughter, harsh braying ripping through the air. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed down to the grounds, and Harry saw small pinpricks of tears in the corner of the other man's eyes. Averting his gaze, he felt a string tugging at the corner of his lip. It was a bit funny...

A moment later, Kreacher returned with a brown rectangle in his spindly arms, the smell of something warm and delicious following after him. "Here is your uniform, Master Harry. Kreacher made cottage pie and baked the treacle tart to which master is so partial." He presented the three items as they floated in the air, and Harry couldn't decide which he was going to take first. "Thank you so much, Kreacher. Though I'm not quite hungry, so you can put that pie inside of my office."

"Of course, Master. Kreacher will be putting it under a Warming Charm to preserve its taste. Kreacher has also noticed that Master does not eat enough, so master must promise to eat today!" the house–elf warned, wagging his finger at Harry as if he were a small child. Flushing at the chastisement, he soothed the elderly elf by placing one hand on his weathered shoulder.

"Don't worry, I promise. I'll be taking that treacle tart off your hands though if you don't mind," he murmured, gingerly taking the assiette between his fingers while clutching the parcel under his arm. Kreacher bowed low to the ground, stroking Harry's muddy boots with reverence before the dirt vanished from its leather surface.

"Does master need anything else of Kreacher?"

Harry shook his head, thanking him once more. He didn't have the heart to shake him off.

"If master or his friends need help, Kreacher would gladly offer his services," the house–elf announced, snapping his fingers before disappearing. The interaction left a weird tension wafting in the air.

It smelled like cottage pie.

"Well, that was... something," Ron commented, eyeing the parcel with great interest. "He really hasn't changed, hasn't he?" Harry agreed as he let out a soft sigh, balancing the treacle tart on the sill next to the battered book. Delicately, he shrugged off Ron's outer robe and unraveled the parcel with trepidation, smiling at the sight of his familiar Gryffindor tie. Its silky surface reflected a nostalgic glossy sheen of red and gold. "Merlin, it's been nearly a decade since I've last seen that thing, and it still looks as good as the day Mum got it at Madam Malkin's."

Were they that old already?

Harry gasped. "The Quidditch World Cup!"

The reaction, however, caused Ron to look positively aghast. "That's what you got from that?! What about those hideous dress robes Mum got me?" he scratched at his neck, remembering the unpleasant sensation of the frilly lace. Harry could only shake his head in confusion, straightening a white dress shirt over his chest. "I thought you didn't like it when people mentioned what you wore to the Yule Ball?" the other man grouched, crossing his arms.

"I don't, but I was hoping you'd remember..." he mumbled, scuffing the floor with the heel of his shoes.

Of course, Harry remembered what the other man wore to the ball. Every single detail of it. Despite the robe's mottled maroon color and moldy laces, Ron looked dashing. Obviously, even he thought at the time that he could do with better robes—just as Harry had, recalling the softness of the bottle green ones that Mrs. Weasley bought—and though he was willing to share all his galleons, they would never accept it.

Instead, he imagined him wearing something different. He was rather taken with Ron's current wardrobe—an outer robe in deep Tangaroa blue—paired with a double–breasted waistcoat in bramble brown. In one pocket where a pocket watch sat, an Albert chain hung stylishly from the buttons, glimmering when the light hit it at the right angle. They weren't dress robes by any means, but if he had turned up at the Yule Ball wearing that, then he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off him all night.

He might have even asked him to dance at least once, and it would've been the highlight of his entire life.

"Anyway, it still fits, yeah?"

"I think so," Harry shook himself off to bring himself back to reality, hanging the dress shirt on a nearby telescope before taking out a pair of black trousers, stretching both ends over his hips. The very sight of the fabric made him irrationally irritated. "You've got to be bloody joking." Sniffing in disdain, he grabbed the rest of the clothes and strode to the far end of the tower, where a large blackboard stood. "Where are you going?" Ron tried following after him, only to stop in his tracks at the answer he was given. "Trying them on, give me a minute."

A sputtering noise sounded right as he disappeared behind the overlarge board, with footsteps marching in the opposite direction. Soft murmurs were reaching his ears—most likely Ron complaining—but they were indistinguishable at such a distance. Taking a deep breath, Harry glanced around, noticing that the area looked different compared to the rest of the tower as if the board was used to section the place off. Old desks were stacked on top of one another, some beyond repair when—

Crunch!

Harry jerked his foot away, looking at something tiny and brittle winking at him from below. "Harry, are you okay?" Ron hollered, and he reassured him with an affirming sound. "Yeah, just stepped on something!" upon closer inspection, he noticed it was a thin piece of glass, concave side pointing upwards. A small distance away, a pile of corroded telescopes leaned on the far wall, some missing parts, while others had cracked lenses.

That explained the mess.

Taking out his wand from its holster, he vanished the broken glass, casting a Lighting Charm that made a small orb of light float overhead. He had to squint to get used to the sudden brightness as it illuminated the area. Chips of wood and sawdust littered the stone floor; thankfully, there were no more visible scattered pieces of glass. As Harry snapped off the protective padding on his elbows, shoulders, and knees, he felt a wave of embarrassment when he noticed that his silhouette could be seen moving on the flagstones.

Peeking past the protective barrier of the blackboard was the shadow of the upper half of his body, and he was pretty sure that Ron could see it. It was impossible to miss after all, as the light made the place shine brightly in the general dimness of the tower. It had to be that way so that you could see the stars.

The worst part of it all, however, was that he felt himself harden at the thought of Ron watching him strip.

Harry was light–headed as he took his shirt off, feeling the material graze against his stiffening nipples. A hushed whimper left his mouth at the pleasurable sensation, and he hesitated with taking off his training wear, wary of the bulge in his pants. The fact that Ron could walk around the board at any moment and see him in this state made his legs go weak, and he had to support himself on a nearby desk. His breathing was shaky, and the way he was hunched over without a shirt put vivid images in his mind.

He couldn't help but let his fingers brush over his erection, imagining that Ron was leaning behind him, whispering dirty things in his ear as the other man's hardness ground against his arse. There would be a set of teeth dragging across his shoulders, kissing and sucking wherever they touched, and long fingers would tease the hem of his pants, threatening to pull them down. "Do you want me to touch you, Harry? Make you come in these?" he imagined Ron saying, the taller man snapping the band of his pants against his hips.

Harry bit his bottom lip, tracing the sensitive skin of his stomach, before cupping his groin. He moved his hand in slow circles, squeezing every so often, panting as an involuntary twitch took over his body. "It must be difficult, not being able to wait for five more minutes," the voice inside his head continued, freckled hands ghosting their way to his chest.

A finger found its way to his nipple, tweaking it in earnest, and Harry muffled a groan with his palm. "Please, Ron—" he whispered, even though he knew that the real Ron was just across the room, waiting for him, unaware of what he was doing.

God, it all felt so wrong.

"You've been such a naughty boy, Harry. So impatient and needy, wanting to be fucked that badly."

His cock throbbed at the filth of the words when a loud and unexpected moan spilled from his mouth. Holding his breath in alarm, he picked up on the sound of worried footsteps tapping across the stone floor.

"Harry, are you okay? You've been in there for a while." The real Ron spoke this time, voice dangerously close to the blackboard for comfort. Squeaking in surprise, Harry shot him a harried response before shucking his training wear off and jumping into his trousers. "Almost done. Give me a second!" he wheezed out, using a quick spell to help with his buttons and his tie. There was a moment of increased panic when his glasses got caught in fitting his woolen pullover, thanking the heavens when he got it unstuck.

As he threw on his black robes, Harry stopped the Lighting Charm and snagged the robe Ron had lent in an attempt to mask the obvious tightness in his trousers.

"Sorry for taking so long," he hurried in a winded tone, nearly bumping into Ron. Once their eyes met, the taller man's face colored, eyebrows shooting into his hairline. A soft muttering sound tumbled in the air, but the only thing he could hear was a short "Merlin and Morgana" before Ron looked away with a hand covering his mouth. "Holy Merlin, Harry... it still fits." The taller man gaped at the sight, pulling him towards the window to take a closer look.

He was grateful for the relative darkness of the tower, praying that it would work in his favor again.

Long fingers—ones that he had fantasized about mere seconds ago—slid off the blue robe hanging from his shoulders, and he heard a long string of curses pierce the cold air. "Merlin..." Ron repeated, gripping Harry's shoulder and guiding him to do a tiny spin. It almost felt as if he was being put on display, and he bit his lip, trying not to let that thought go any further. Suddenly, the hand let go, and Ron backed away the tiniest bit.

He must have misinterpreted Harry's look of excitement for one of uneasiness.

"Sorry," Ron apologized, scratching at his neck. "Really, this is unbelievable; it still fits." He marveled at him, this time keeping his hands fisted firmly at his sides, and Harry couldn't help but look at his boots in embarrassment. "It's a bit tight, but yeah," he replied, straightening his tie. "It still fits." Well, "fit" was one way of putting it. It was a bit restricting around his shoulders and waist, the fabric feeling much thinner than the last time Harry had worn it, possibly because of Kreacher's non–stop washing.

To be honest, he felt a misplaced sense of triumph when his old uniform felt tighter than before.

It means that he had grown, however small of a difference it was.

"Wow," was all Ron could say before averting his gaze, looking at the sky again with his lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn't help noticing that the other man looked stiff, a sudden tension he couldn't describe filling the air. The forgotten plate of treacle tart sat between them, and Harry prodded at it with a fork before taking small bites, chewing slowly. Nervousness ate away at his nerves, but the sweetness of the tart served as a good enough distraction.

"Kreacher always makes this just the way I like it." Harry began with a bit of small talk, taking another bite, and rolling the zestiness around his tongue before swallowing. The recipe that the house–elf used was modified to bring out a stronger hint of citrus in the tart, and he found it was better suited to his preferences. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron licking his lips, gazing at him intently. "Oh, did you want some? Here," Harry scooped a bit of the tart and brought it closer, only for the other man to shake his head.

Before he could even ask, the plate had been taken from him and replaced with warm hands...

With Ron's warm hands.

"Ron?" Harry breathed out, feeling his face flush red. A conflicted expression was on the other man's face, clearly wanting to say something, but it was as if he was holding himself back. "Harry..." calloused hands squeezed his own scarred ones, a thumb running soothing motions over the scar that said, "I must not tell lies". Although he knew that they have been touchy with each other after the war, this was the first time that either of them had acknowledged that closeness.

"Hmm?" he hummed, not knowing what to say. What do people normally say in these situations, anyway? Harry opened his mouth, only to close it again. It seemed right to keep quiet instead. "I change my mind, I would like some." Ron continued, taking the fork and cutting a tiny piece of the tart. Instead of eating it, however, he brought it to Harry's lips and smeared the cream on his upper lip, and then pushed the tart inside. The way Ron held the utensil between his fingers, with the motion of it going inside and out, was rather perverse. Honestly, he was too stunned to even chew, opting to let the sweet rest in his mouth.

Then, he could feel two hands resting on his cheeks, tilting his face upwards. The pupils of Ron's eyes were blown wide, and there was barely any of the familiar blue left. His freckles even seemed to stand out more, lips parted and moist. Harry was frozen in place as the taller man moved closer, leaning in until their noses touched, and then he stopped, eyes begging for something he couldn't quite admit out loud. It's as if a single word would ruin the moment, bursting the bubble and sending them back to reality.

It was a leap of faith on his part—for both of them.

Harry closed the distance, pressing his lips against Ron's.

Just like the treacle that lay abandoned to the side, the kiss began with something as sweet and firm as golden syrup, their lips not quite moving; Harry didn't think he was bold enough to do so. Instead, he focused on the sensation of warm air puffing against his face, breathing in the indescribable scent that made the experience so novel. It's as if the sense in his brain was being submerged in something heavy and viscous, rendering him in a state of hazy euphoria.

Bringing his hands up to Ron's shoulders, Harry gently pushed himself up on his toes, wrapping his arms around the other man's neck. The distant sensation of something straining in his calves made his body tense, and Ron's eyes widened, leaning down and tipping him low enough that he had to hold the other man closer. An arm supported his waist and he felt lightheaded, his toes curling inside of his boots.

Harry couldn't calm the butterflies in his stomach even if he tried. His heart was pounding in his ears, the dessert resting on his tongue, giving the illusion that his first kiss with the other man was as sweet—if not sweeter—than chocolate. Lips forming into a small smile, he melted like the dessert in his mouth, developing—developing deeper feelings—in the oven that is Ron's arms.

And, really, Harry would have stayed there for the rest of eternity if it were possible.

He almost didn't notice when Ron broke the kiss to pull their bodies closer, pressing him against the wall, before looking down at him with an uncertain expression on his face. "That was okay, wasn't it?" he whispered, inquisitive blue eyes searching his gaze, a freckled hand trailing its way to the back of his head to cushion it from the hard stone. Soft kisses were peppered on his forehead as he waited for an answer.

The thought and care that went into that single action made him feel like butter that's been left out to sit, and he melted at Ron's touch, nodding against his shoulder. Although Harry wanted to tell him that the kiss was more than just "okay", he couldn't quite voice it since the halfway–melted treacle in his mouth—which he didn't have the opportunity to finish—prevented him from doing so. As he chewed on the tart, Ron curled a finger underneath his chin, tilting his face up.

"You haven't finished that yet." He stated more than asked, and Harry's face burned.

The expression on the other man's face changed into something heavy with an emotion difficult to place, and he couldn't help but feel nervous. His hands shook as a thumb pressed against his bottom lip, tugging it down, and something akin to shame—or excitement—surged through him. "Open," was all Ron said, and he obliged, watching him peer inside his mouth with a curling smirk. "Ahn?" Harry made a soft gurgling noise, squirming at the intensity of his gaze.

"Delicious, isn't it? And you're right; it smells wonderful."

"Ahnn?" he tried again, and this time, the slickness of the treacle tart glided down his throat. Ron hummed, leaning towards the sill and grabbing something—it was hard to see what it was—only to feel something cold and wet rubbed along his lips. Whipped cream. A tightness in his jaw persisted, and he whimpered, reaching up to rub it with his fingers. "Hush, you're okay." Ron soothed, kissing the corner of his mouth before sucking on his bottom lip.

Harry felt like he was being drowned in an ocean of sensations. The sweetness of the dessert bordered on cloying with the richness of its scent, his neck protesting at the strain of keeping his head in place, and the feel of Ron's tongue laving over his lips—as if he were getting a taste of him—made him see gray spots. He was barely keeping himself upright on his own, grappling at the taller man's shoulders, when something happened that turned his thoughts into mush.

Ron kissed him as if his life depended on it, coaxing his tongue through his lips and sucking the air out of his lungs. Two warm hands snaked their way from his hips and dipped under the fabric, kneading his bare arse and squeezing tightly.

Whimpering at the sudden burst of fervor, he caught the taste of honey, citrus zest, and the lingering tingle of firewhisky. It reminded him distantly of summers in the Burrow, sharing freshly sliced oranges on the kitchen counter, and stormy nights just basking in each other's presence.

What remained of the dessert was passed between both of them, and Harry tentatively licked the other man's lips, nibbling on the moist flesh, the man against him shivering. Then, he finally understood the emotion flickering across his face every time he moved, when his body writhed at his touch, and when their gazes met with such unmatched intensity—flaming desire.

There was never a point in his life when he experienced being kissed in such a way. Between Cho's "wet" kisses and Ginny's fierce ones, neither of those came close to the way Ron made him waver between consciousness and unconsciousness, leaving him breathless—literally and figuratively speaking.

Harry choked as the continued assault on his mouth became rougher and more desperate, a stark contrast to the sweet and gentle kiss they shared earlier. He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy either of those, but the former reduced him to a gasping mess on the stone floor, limbs completely giving out. Ron followed suit, still towering over him as he sucked the last of the treacle tart from his mouth, only pulling away once the taste just lingered. A wet popping sound echoed in the empty tower.

Harry didn't exactly know what had just happened.

Placing a sluggish hand on his chest, he tried to even his rapid breathing, clutching at the fabric of his pullover. There were streaks in his vision as his heart pounded in his ears, and he brushed his fingers over his wet lips, feeling them buzz at the slightest touch. "R—Ron?" he called out, feeling unusually vulnerable and emotional with the way he left him slumped on the stone floor. It was so cold; he wanted to bury himself in the other man's warmth and never let go.

"Harry, are you okay?" Ron moved closer, sitting beside him and pressing their sides against each other. Harry shook his head, feeling a strange wetness dribble down his cheeks, hating himself because he didn't understand why he was acting this way. "I'm okay," he said anyway, sniffling against his sleeve, pushing his glasses to the top of his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me." Ron placed a comforting hand on his cheek, and he took it in his hands, pressing his face against his palm.

The lingering scent of treacle tart and vanilla filled his senses.

It was a comforting feeling, and soon, he found himself trailing butterfly kisses along the sensitive skin of Ron's open hand, tracing the light scarring on his arm. He could hear the other man's breath hitch, and soon, a hand made its way to Harry's shoulder, guiding him until he was sitting on his lap. A quiet explosion of warmth went through his entire body at the contact, and he nuzzled the junction between Ron's neck and shoulder, sandwiching his arms between them, relishing in the toasty heat.

"You don't look okay. Was it too much?" Ron started with a worried tone, carding his fingers through the black mess of hair, scratching the base of his scalp. Shrugging, Harry reached up to rub the other man's ear. "Just... overwhelmed," he began, sighing delicately. "I didn't expect—you know—that."

"You didn't like it?" a hand rested on the small of his back.

"No, it's not that. I liked it... I think. It's just... no one's ever really—before...?"

Ron made a noise to show that he understood. "So it was good. Is that what you're saying?"

Harry breathed through his nose, averting his eyes. "Yeah, it was fantastic. Um, and sweet."

Oh, it was certainly more than just "sweet".

A soft laugh reached his ears, and Ron was kissing him again, warm hands sneaking under his clothes and tracing his spine. "Which was sweeter, the treacle tart or the kiss?" Ron murmured in between, pressing a soft spot right at Harry's side, making him squirm. "Wait—" he tittered, and Ron dug his fingers a bit harder, blowing raspberries along his collarbone. "Wait, Ron, it tickles—" Harry strained against his chest, giggling louder.

He twisted and turned in the tight embrace, gripping the other man's wrists in a useless attempt to stop him. A particularly hard jab at his side made him squeal, and the sound coming out of his mouth was watery and, for a lack of a better word, bordering on insane cackling. Ron laughed with him, pressing his mouth against his cheek, and relishing in the softness he found there.

"With the sounds that you're making, I'm inclined to believe, Mister Potter, that you're the sweetest thing that the world has to offer."

Harry gasped, pushing at his chest to get away. Him, sweet? "Mister Potter? Ron!" the other man made a clicking sound with his mouth, keeping Harry firmly on his lap. "That's Professor Weasley to you, Mister Potter. You'll learn to respect me in this classroom; I do not tolerate disobedience." He said in a faux–stern voice, tightening his grip. "If I ask a question, I expect it to be answered. Now, which was sweeter: the treacle tart, or the kiss?"

A brief silence stretched the room, Harry hiding his face in his hands before he whispered, voice cracking embarrassingly. "Both?" he tried taking a peek at Ron, who raised a single unimpressed eyebrow. "Well, the treacle tart was physically sweet, but I preferred the kiss." After the small admission, a hand rested on his cheek, caressing it tenderly. "You preferred the kiss? Why don't we solve that problem, then." Ron crooned into his ear, plucking the glasses off his head and tucking it in his pocket.

The moment their lips touched, Harry felt the buzzing sensation return to full force, and he shivered in the other man's arms. Ron's tongue prodded at his lips as he coaxed them open, nibbling on the soft flesh, but Harry pulled away with a feigned expression of worry on his face. Placing both hands over his mouth, he inched away as far as he could, shifting in his seat. "But, professor, this is..." he tried searching for the right words, ducking his head at the filth he was about to say.

"Adults aren't supposed to kiss little boys; I'm only 15."

Ron gaped at him, eyes widening in shock, and for a moment, he thought he had taken it too far.

"Um," Harry fidgeted in place, uncomfortable with the sudden silence that washed over the both of them. The other man was still looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and he was thoroughly convinced that he had ruined all chances of being with him.

"Ron?" he touched the other man's arm, leaning his head to one side. When he still didn't move, Harry pressed his cheek against Ron's, nosing at his ear.

"Ron," he said a bit more softly this time, reaching up to play with a strand of his ginger hair. Just as he was about to apologize, the other man shook himself out of it, taking his hands away and crossing them over his chest. "Am I forcing you?"

"What?" Harry replied stupidly.

"Am I forcing you, Mister Potter? Did I use excessive force or threaten, coerce, blackmail, curse, or use an unforgivable on you to do this with me?" he began, narrowing his eyes, voice taking on a harsher tone.

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. I, um..." he gulped, feeling faint with so much of... something that his legs shook.

"I wanted it."

"You wanted it," Ron repeated, placing a hand on his chest and tugging at his tie. "You'll do well to remember that, Mister Potter. Now," he whispered, pressing their bodies together.

"Show me how much you want it."

Harry's mouth went dry at the words, and he smacked his lips together, trying to calm himself. Quivering under Ron's attentive gaze, he trapped his pullover under his armpits, watching as two hardened nubs peeked from the white fabric of his dress shirt.

Oh.

He's never done it in front of anyone before.

He didn't want to pretend that the other man wasn't there—he'd dreamt about being with Ron for many months now—but he was nervous, worried that he wouldn't like what he saw. It would be foolish to back out now, and instead, he closed his eyes, pretending that he was in the privacy of his room.

Harry imagined he was alone on his bed, a firm pillow—which was Ron's toned legs—trapped between his thighs. Releasing a soft sigh, he relaxed his shoulders, bringing his hands up to graze his stiffening nipples, little jolts of pleasure wracking through his body. He could feel himself hardening through his trousers, and he rocked his hips forward, moaning at the sensation. "Sir..." he whimpered, squeezing his thighs together.

"Feels good?" Ron asked, his voice thick and heavy with lust. Harry nodded feverishly, eyes still closed, edging away from the foreign touch making its way up his leg. "Don't be so shy now," the other man chastised, the hand retreating and pressing against his chest instead, nudging his fingers away. "It's nothing I haven't seen before; you'll be fine. How about this?" his touch was careful at first, fingers gliding across the fabric, before pinching a nipple.

"Ron—"

"That's Professor Weasley, Mister Potter. How many times do I need to remind you?" Ron tugged and twisted on the sensitive skin between his fingers, and Harry almost sobbed, eyes flying open.

A conflicting mixture of pain and pleasure jolted up his spine, and he sucked on his bruised lip, doing his best not to cry out. "Professor, it hurts," he whimpered, watching the other man from under his wet lashes. The fingers on his chest didn't let go, but they loosened to a considerable degree, the pain only starting in occasional flashes.

"So you can learn, hm? Keep up that good behavior, and I'll give you a nice reward." Ron praised him, undoing the first few buttons on his dress shirt and pushing the ends apart. An open–mouthed kiss was placed on his heated skin, distracting him from the sudden burst of coldness. "Have you ever had these licked before?" he brushed his lips teasingly against a nipple, and Harry shook his head, steadying himself on the other man's shoulders. "No, sir. No one's ever—"

Ron ignored him and didn't give him a chance to say anything else, licking at the hardened nubs, soothing the pink patches of skin from his rough treatment earlier. A loud slurping noise reverberated in the room as he sucked on them, simultaneously teasing with his teeth until the stimulation felt too raw. "Professor, please," Harry pleaded, trying to push him away, and Ron took it as an opportunity to switch to the other one.

"Please—Oh God," moaning against Ron's hair, he tried to stifle most of his sounds, only to receive a sharp pinch on his arse. "Don't hold back. I want to hear everything."

He shook his head, the embarrassment imminent as a hushed whine left his throat, burrowing his face in the other man's neck. Harry couldn't possibly—

But then a hand squeezed through the front of his trousers, an open palm rubbing his tiny cock through the moist fabric of his pants, and a tongue teased his sensitive nipples. Crying out, his back stiffened, an unintelligible slew of words falling from his mouth. "What was that? I didn't quite understand." Ron curled a hand around his waist, breath steaming against his ear.

"Come on now, Harry." He wheedled, tugging the lobe of his ear with his teeth.

Instead of answering, Harry ground his body against him, rolling his hips against the bulge pressing on his arse.

"Fuck," was all he heard until the sound of a belt buckle jangling caught his attention, jerking at the suddenness of it clattering a small distance away. "Harry," Ron groaned, pulling him down for a heated kiss, their teeth clashing at the force of it. Frantic hands quickly undid his trousers, tugging them down with his pants, exposing his lower half to the freezing air. Harry locked his knees together in shame, but Ron caught him before it could go any further. "Merlin, you're so adorable." He breathed, gathering the pre–come beading from the tip and bringing it up to Harry's face.

He licked the taste of himself off Ron's finger, watching the other man curse at the sight.

"Get up," he ordered, and Harry did as he was told, staring as the other man expertly undid the buttons of his waistcoat, removing his pants in one quick motion. A cock much larger and thicker than his own sprang from a heavy mess of ginger curls, and he felt himself wavering at the sight, his entire body shaking.

God, That thing barely looked as if it would fit in his hand, and it would be next to impossible to get it to fit in other places.

And then, he remembered; the feel of Ron's freckled skin, the smell of him at the most intimate level, the sound of when he was in pure ecstasy, and the taste of his...

He wasn't sorted into Gryffindor without a good reason.

As the other man tugged him closer, Harry sucked in a deep breath, standing on his tiptoes and kissing his ear. "Ron... can I suck you?" he asked, trembling, noticing as Ron's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Are you sure you can take it?" he asked huskily, pinching his cheek. "The Weasleys have always been rather... well endowed, and though I'm flattered, I don't want to hurt you." Harry looked at it again, watching it twitch between them.

He can do this.

"I'll be okay. I just have to suck, right? Like a lollipop."

Ron bit the inside of his cheek, taking a steadying breath through his nose. "You don't sound so sure of yourself."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. Gazing down, he found that the sheer difference in size was... pleasing? His own length—if you could even call it that—was tiny compared to Ron's, which was throbbing against his stomach. "I mean, I've read a bit about it, but I've never done it with anyone before." Ron made a choking sound as Harry blushed, and he mumbled in a much softer voice. "I just want to make you feel good, too."

Ron's look gentled as he recovered, and he sighed. "You've never done any of this before? Not with anyone?" there was an odd sort of hopefulness in his voice as Harry squeezed his eyes shut, nodding once. "Does—does it matter?"

"Of course, it matters, Harry. Your first should be special."

Harry shuffled on his feet, eyes widening as he looked at Ron. "Then, I want," he swallowed. God, was he actually going to tell him?

"I want you to have it."

Ron gulped, conceding in an instant as his eyes narrowed. "Okay," he said, guiding his hand towards his leaking cock. "Go easy, understand? Tell me if you want to stop."

Harry felt his stomach do a flip. This is happening. "Thank you," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on Ron's lips. Going down on his knees, Harry got himself as comfortable as he could, feeling the weight of Ron's cock in his hand. It was hot and heavy, pulsing every time his palm brushed against a vein that went down the shaft, and a cold sweat broke through his skin at the size of it.

Giving it an experimental squeeze at the base, Harry moved forward, pressing his lips on the tip and looking at Ron—blurry as he may be—and kissed it. A hand ran through his hair, curling through the strands and tugging with little force. "Easy, easy." He praised, and Harry felt a surge of confidence go through him. Sticking his tongue out, he left kitten licks all over the entire length, taking the head in his mouth and suckling on it softly.

God, the stretch was uncomfortable and it wasn't even inside yet.

Ron groaned louder, pushing a bit more of his cock inside of his mouth. "Use your hands. Yes, that's it," he instructed, and Harry wondered what he looked like on his knees, lips stained with spit, and uniform disheveled beyond recognition. Massaging the rest of his cock where his mouth couldn't reach, he took in more of the length and flicked his tongue against the head, his teeth grazing the skin.

"Yes, that's it, good boy." The other man moaned, hips jutting forward, and Harry gagged as it hit the back of his throat. Before he could pull away, however, Ron's hand slid to the back of his head, keeping him grounded and allowing him just enough room to breathe. "Ah, ah, I don't think so, little mister." He chided, and Harry felt a few tears spring in the corner of his eyes, throat spasming against the intrusion.

"Stay," Ron directed, a warm hand leaving the back of his head and resting on his cheek, tracing the thin skin stretched out by his cock. Despite the overwhelming urge to sit on his heels, soothe his aching jaw, and take a proper breath, Harry stayed and watched as the figure above him began to ripple. He could hear a cooing sound coming from above, and a thumb wiped the wetness in his eyes, smearing it across his cheek.

Harry leaned into the touch.

He couldn't see much and his nose was burning, a stinging fire making its way up his lungs, but it felt right to simply close his eyes and shift wherever Ron's hands landed. They were calloused and scarred, the skin raised as a result of the incident at the Department of Mysteries, and isn't that his fault? Regret filled his stomach as a sudden feeling of self–punishing guilt overtook him, and he surged forward, Ron's cock bruising the barrier of his throat.

Harry could feel his lungs convulsing—warning him to stop—but he forced himself closer, grappling at the other man's thighs, refusing to pull away because he didn't exactly deserve that. Saliva spilled from his chin and dripped down his jumper, and he fought the urge to sick up all over himself until he felt a thatch of hair pressing against his face. "Harry," Ron cursed, tugging at his hair.

"Harry," he said more forcefully this time, pulling his lower half away while yanking him in the other direction. The sheer strength of it had Harry sprawling on the stone floor, sputtering violently as his lungs tried to take in as much lost air as they could. Ron crouched down to his level, a hard look in his eyes. "Hadn't I told you to go easy?" he muttered, helping him to his knees and rubbing a hand over his abused throat.

"Sorry," Harry croaked out, face streaking with unmentionable fluids of varying levels of disgust. Sighing, the other man grabbed the hem of his jumper, bringing it up to his eye level and scrubbing the tears and snot away. He shook his head. Of course, he was crying because of his near brush with asphyxiating on Ron's cock, and not because he was blaming himself for being careless and stupid for letting it happen in the first place. Absolutely not. No way. Nuh–uh.

As the other man clicked his tongue, he straightened Harry's posture on his knees before landing two hard smacks across his arse without warning. The sharp sound reverberated in the room as he yelped in surprise, a hand tugging on his hair and steadying him in place, Ron using the head of his cock to spread pre–come all over his lips right before he pushed it in. He fucked his mouth gently, adjusting the angle at every thrust and creating a rhythmical bobbing motion.

Harry moaned in distress as he felt his cock twitch, arse throbbing where his palms had landed, while Ron punished and manhandled him like he was nothing.

"That," Ron groaned into the empty tower, reaching up and messing the ginger hair sticking to his freckled face. "Is the proper way to give a blowjob, Mister Potter." The hand gripping his hair left its place, and Harry continued to move on his own, repeating the movement accompanied by a sucking motion. There was a bitter flavor spreading on his tongue, but he continued, closing his eyes, content with the knowledge that he was making Ron feel this way, and he was going to finish because of him.

Shuddering, he rested a hand on his lap. As he sucked harder, employing the use of his tongue in the brief moments be pulled away for air, he rubbed the tip of his own cock with one hand while working on the rest of Ron's length with vigor. "Harry," the other man tightened his grip, pulling him away.

Harry followed with a pathetic "Ah" falling from his lips.

"I'm close. Where do you want it?" Ron breathed out, voice taking on a gravelly texture. His hand reached down to stroke himself, slow and deliberate, playing with the saliva left behind and dragging out the pleasure. "A–anywhere," Harry stuttered, not minding where the other man finished. Preferably on him, or better yet, inside of his mouth where he can spend all of his waking moments imagining the taste of him and craving it like a starving man.

"Ah, fuck... hands on the sill and lean forward." He panted, and Harry stood up, wobbling on his feet before bending over the window. The spectacular view of the Hogwarts grounds looked rather dull without his glasses on.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that it was just an accident." Ron stroked the flesh of his arse, tenderly making his way to the middle before prying it apart. A sharp sting made its way as the cold air hit his exposed hole, and his face scrunched up in embarrassment, knees trying to lock together. "Merlin, I've always wanted to fuck you like this. Earlier," he began, pressing the tip of his cock against his entrance, threatening to push it inside.

"You were trying to get a rise out of me, weren't you? Pressing yourself on my cock every time you looked out this window. And that little show you put on for me when you were changing," Harry squeaked, mortification welling up in his chest.

Oh God, Ron knows.

"That wasn't some faulty coincidence, was it? You wanted me to see you like that, didn't you?"

Fuck.

What was the point in denying it anyway when Ron was right? Perhaps the one regarding the window was unintentional, but the one about the blackboard was spot on.

"Ron," Harry gasped out, hearing the other man chuckle against his back. Ron's movements became erratic as his length slid between his arse, his breath hot and steamy against his ear. "Say that you want me to fuck you," he hurried between thrusts, reaching over to grasp the smaller man's neglected cock in his hand. "Merlin, you have no idea," Ron panted, twisting his wrist in a way that made his head fall forward. "All of those Quidditch practices..."

"I couldn't help it, touching myself to the mere sound of you showering. This makes us even now, doesn't it?" he muttered, a breathy laugh leaving his lips. "Come on now," he gritted his teeth, squeezing tighter, and Harry stifled a sob.

"Be a good boy for me, sweetheart. Say it."

It was as if a dam had broken, and the words spilled from his mouth and through his fingers.

"Professor, please, I want you to fuck me!"

Ron muffled a groan into Harry's neck, sucking a bruising hickey above his collar, obvious to anyone who looked in his direction as he painted his arse with come.

Harry's breathing was heavy when he looked down, watching as his own cock was still hard. He wasn't nearly as close as Ron, but he didn't mind, turning over to hold the other man against his chest. The sticky semen dribbled down his legs, and he could feel a finger swiping at his hole, massaging the rim with care. The finger dipped just the tiniest bit, tugging at the taint, before withdrawing and teasing the tip of his tiny cock instead.

He's never touched himself there before.

"Sorry," Ron apologized, moving his head and sucking a nipple into his mouth, laving at the hardened nub with his tongue.

"Let me take care of that for you, sweetheart. You've been such a good boy today."

Harry shuttered at the words "good boy" and nodded, letting the other man grasp his member between three fingers, too high–strung to protest. "Thank you," he whimpered in a high–pitched voice when they closed in on his aching cock, slow strokes building him up all over again. "So small, so cute." Ron complimented him, giving the same attention to the other nipple. It didn't take long for him to feel the familiar pressure bubble in his stomach, and soon, he was writhing in Ron's arms, keening noises leaving his lips.

"Merlin, Harry... if you keep going on like that I might really have to fuck you. Look at you, just the sounds that you're making. Are you that desperate for it?"

"Ron, faster..." Harry urged, and Ron kissed him square on the lips, digging his thumb into the head of his cock.

"Faster?" he smirked, slowing down and listening to Harry sob wetly in frustration. He tried to grind into Ron's closed fist but to no avail. The other man was holding his hand up, looking down at him with an expectant expression plastered on his face, and he leaned closer. In other words, he looked smug.

"Oh, I will, if you beg me nicely."

Harry didn't have much patience left to spare; to hell with his games.

"Ron," he began, grabbing a hold of the other man's shirt and pulling him forward. He draped himself over his shoulders, eyes dropping into an expression of uncontained need. "I'm close, I'm so close. Please, just let me come, touch me, I can't..."

His mouth had gone away from him before he could take the words back.

"Daddy, please."

Ron gaped.

A rapid knocking sounded at the door, and both of them froze, their attention on the entrance with Harry not quite comprehending what was going on. "Professor, are you in there?" a male voice pierced through the heavy wooden doors, and Ron cursed, looking at Harry with an apologetic look in his eyes. "Shit, I forgot I had a class this evening." He carded a hand through Harry's hair, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek. "In a moment, Mr. Walsh! Wait with your classmates quietly in the hall while I finish setting up the telescopes." He hollered, and the student replied back. "Yes, Professor Weasley."

Harry didn't know what to do as he stood by the window, watching Ron fumble for his robes and retrieve his wand. His legs shook as a series of spells left the other man's lips, their clothes flying toward them and quickly putting themselves on their person. "Harry," Ron began, looking harried. "You have to—"

"I can stay, can't I?" Harry looked at him pleadingly, not wanting to be sent away. If Ron did, he would be crushed. "I'm sorry," the other man repeated, straightening his tie and double–checking his work robes. "This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't forgotten. There was a meteor shower happening today, and I can't believe I could be this stupid—"

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay." Harry soothed, hugging his chest in a tight embrace. "You're not stupid, and it's not your fault; I'll just wait here."

The other man shook his head. "But you're—" he looked at his crotch, gliding his fingers over the tight fabric while teasing his nipples through his jumper. He unbuttoned it quickly, stroking him, but Harry pushed him away, voice wavering. "S–so what? Right now you have a class and if you don't show up, people will get suspicious." Ron looked like he wanted to argue, but he gritted his teeth instead, pressing a lingering kiss on Harry's forehead. "Wait for me?" he mumbled, and Harry nodded. "My invisibility cloak is in my other pocket."

"Accio invisibility cloak." he canted, and the silky fabric zoomed into his open hand from behind the blackboard. Without preamble, he tugged down Harry's trousers and pants—against his protestations—watching as his still–hard cock bobbed in the air.

"Hands on the sill, sweetheart. Listen to me; you aren't leaving this spot until daddy says so. Do you understand?" Ron ordered, patting his arse fondly before throwing his cloak over him.

Harry felt a nervous chill crawl up his spine once Ron opened the wooden doors, and students from all four houses began occupying the tower. The usual classroom chatter started before the other man raised his hand, signaling them to be quiet. "Good evening, class. I know we don't have classes on Monday; however, I've moved the schedule around because tonight, we'll be seeing something special."

He pointed towards the sky, and everyone crowded around the open space, searching for whatever it may be. A Hufflepuff student came particularly close to him, and Harry pressed himself against the ledge, hands still on the sill. "I will award 50 points to whoever can guess exactly what we're about to witness." A series of gasps went around the room, and even Harry couldn't help but gape; he's never awarded anyone that many points before.

Hands were up in the air, and all of them shared their ideas, ranging from a rare constellation to a distant star, and one even suggested a dragon hiding in the clouds. "Well, not quite," Ron began, calling forward two students. "Although none of your answers were exact, both Ms. Dixon and Mr. Bates had come quite close to getting the answer."

"A dragon?!" one student sputtered.

"Yes, Mr. Rowle, a dragon. Tonight, we will witness a meteor shower that appears annually during the month of October, also known as the Draconid meteor shower."

A wave of understanding washed over the class.

"Congratulations to both of you. Let's split the scores; 25 points to Hufflepuff, and 25 points to Slytherin. Now, do we have any absentees? If not, group yourselves into four and pick a spot. I've calibrated the telescopes, so all you have to do is look through the eyepiece."

The students shuffled loudly to their respective places, bringing along friends and housemates. A group of girls moved close to his spot on the furthest window, and Harry inched away, holding his breath."Remember to steer clear of the area near the blackboard! There are still stray bits of glass from last week's incident, and I'm still working on it. Nicholson, if you would kindly move closer to your other classmates?" Ron directed them the other way, groping for Harry without drawing too much attention. His hand landed on his back.

"Now, the meteors are visible even without a telescope, so you'll still be able to view them without the aid of the instrument. The shower will begin in a few minutes or so, so keep your eyes peeled!"

Excited conversations were passed around as the students talked amongst themselves, some pointing at the sky, while others brought out their books to read more about the meteor shower. Ron floated his telescope right by Harry, bringing a stool with him. "Are you okay?" he muttered under his breath, twisting a knob on the base of the telescope to make it seem like he was busy. "Yeah, I'm okay." He whispered back, watching a blurred figure of Ron inch closer to him.

"Stay quiet. We don't want to get caught." The other man reminded, and Harry was about to argue that he was being quiet when Ron's hand slipped under the cloak, fondling his cock.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

"Ron," Harry hissed, the sound turning into a whimper when he felt himself hardening quickly at the touch. "No need to tell me if you need to come; just enjoy yourself."

"Ron, please." He protested a bit more desperately, trying to pull away, only to feel the grip on his length tighten almost painfully.

Ron didn't seem to be listening, busy watching over the students and looking through his own telescope, doing an exceedingly good job—which was suspicious—at pretending he wasn't wanking Harry from under the cloak. Stifling the sounds coming from his mouth, he leaned forward, resting his head on the stone sill and ignoring the way the pits of his stomach roiled and churned.

"There, look!" a student shouted, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden sound.

He was kind of regretting it now.

Most crowded around one window, gazing at the thin pinpoints of light streaking through the stars. Ron didn't bother instructing them to go back to their respective places, taking it as an opportunity to lean beside Harry's hunched body under the guise of watching the nighttime display. "The meteor shower is starting." The other man pretended to say to no one in particular, twisting his hand faster.

A choking sound erupted from Harry's throat.

"Please, please, please..." he muffled into his arm, the pent–up pleasure building up quickly. Harry could feel himself teetering on the edge of an orgasm, clenching his muscles in an attempt to stave it off, but it was no use. The sounds bouncing off the walls were turning into muddled nonsense, the light from the sky going hazy, and it seemed as if the room was spinning of its own accord. "Ron—" Harry squeaked, vision going white.

Not even a second later, his come splattered on the flagstones of the tower.

"Such a good boy, Harry. Daddy's good boy." Ron whispered, milking every last drop until he could feel him writhing at the continued pleasure. Although Harry knew that the other man couldn't see him, he was mouthing at him to stop, legs threatening to give out from under him. His only consolation was that the students were too preoccupied gazing at the show in the sky to notice either of them.

The other man teased the head, circling his palm over it like he was cleaning a doorknob, and he had to bite his wrist to keep quiet. Harry felt like his entire body was a band pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment. The continued stimulation had him on his toes, and soon, it felt like he was going to pass out from holding his breath.

"Please stop, I can't feel my legs..." Harry begged a bit louder, and the other man yanked his hand sharply, digging his thumb into the tip of his cock. A sensation was building up below his stomach, aching to the point that it nearly hurt, and he took a shuddering breath through his mouth. The sleeve of his jumper was soaked in spit, his eyes going in and out of focus, and he could feel Ron's drying come beginning to itch.

The feeling was awfully familiar to...

"Daddy, stop, stop, please," he sobbed into the crook of his arm, but a sharp edge overtook Ron's voice. "The period is nearly over," he said, taking out his pocket watch from his waistcoat and looking at the time. "Just a few more minutes and then I'll be assigning an essay—"

Suddenly, Harry's knees buckled, and he gave a sharp cry as he came, a continuous stream of something warm and wet dribbling down his legs. He gurgled, straining to keep himself on his feet, body convulsing as saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. Ron seemed shocked as well, staring at the seemingly empty space and pulling his glistening hand away.

"Professor," one of the prefects looked in their direction, a concerned expression on their face. Just as they were about to move forward, Ron shook his head, pressing his free hand on his lips in a gesture to be quiet, and pointed two fingers at his eyes and then to the sky. Then, he lifted his fist up and gave a thumbs up.

Harry sank to the ground, straining his arms to keep his hands on the sill, his knees quietly splashing against something wet and warm cooling on the stone floor.

As the students started to become disinterested in the last of the meteors streaking through the sky, Ron stood up, hand lingering on Harry's lower back for a moment, before gesturing for them to gather near the door. "All right! That was the Draconid meteor shower. Now, October happens to be a month with many astronomical events in store, and I would like to assign an essay—to be submitted next week—about the Orionid meteor shower and why it's called that. One roll of parchment at most. Any questions before I dismiss you?"

A student raised their hand. "Professor Weasley, since we only meet once a week, will we have to meet this Thursday again?" a series of groans echoed through the crowd, but Ron shook his head.

"No, there is no need. Our next meeting will be next Thursday, the seventeenth, so there is plenty of time for you to complete the essay along with the homework your other professors have assigned." Cheers filled the room, and Ron waved his hand to settle them down.

"However, I might change the schedule again for our third week. Another meteor shower—yes, the Orionids—will happen around that time, so I will keep you updated regarding the final viewing date. It wouldn't do for all of you to not get a good glimpse of the shower." Ron went wide––eyed, and he encouraged the students to huddle closer, voice dropping to an awed whisper. "If we're lucky, we might even witness a meteor storm. Last year, the Leonids were very visible in the sky, and I'm hoping that it would be even greater this year."

"A meteor storm, professor?"

He nodded, hand drifting upwards. "Yes, they're breathtaking once you get to see them. The shower you've witnessed today will pale in comparison to a meteor storm; it looks like shooting stars raining from the heavens. It happens around the second or third week of November, so make sure none of you are absent! Prefects?" excited chatter filled the tower as two students, one from Gryffindor and the other from Ravenclaw, stepped forward.

"I want you two to meet me in my office after dinner on the twentieth. By then, I should have the viewing date ready. Post them on your respective announcement boards in the common rooms—and make sure to inform the other prefects from Slytherin and Hufflepuff—understand?"

"Yes, professor." They said in unison, ushering the rest of the students to form one straight line.

"Have a wonderful evening, class, and you are now dismissed." Ron waved at them, and they waved back, conversations and the occasional booming laughter ringing through the walls.

Right as the door closed, Ron cast a quick Locking Charm and rushed to his side, tossing the cloak off him. "Hey, are you okay?" he soothed, taking Harry's icy hands in his, and warming them with his breath. The small puddle on the flagstones shined against the light from the sky.

"M'kay..." Harry nodded sluggishly, crawling into Ron's arms and pressing his face against his chest. He felt so tired, his body feeling as if it was going to shut down at any moment. A hand went through his sweaty hair, pushing it back, and a kiss was pressed on his lips.

The tight embrace was the last thing he felt before he blacked out, nuzzling into the warmth of the other man.

"Oh, Harry," Ron mumbled, holding him closer. Sighing into the empty tower, he cast a quick Cleaning Charm and carried the smaller man up a narrow flight of stairs into the open viewing deck, where a blanket on the floor was waiting. As he adjusted the pillow on one side, he placed Harry down, doing the same and lying beside him. Tangling their legs together, Ron pressed his lips against his forehead, kissing the lightning bolt scar that brought them so much grief.

They stayed that way for a moment before Ron began to speak.

"You know," he whispered, trailing his fingers up and down Harry's arm, watching as goosebumps erupted in their wake. "I was going to ask you to watch the meteors with me. They start peaking at around this time, and you can see them up until the break of dawn." He chuckled, watching Harry's nose scrunch adorably, and he pressed a light kiss on the tip. "I had this entire thing set up. There's food, wine, and the perfect view where we could watch the shower all night."

"I was going to tell you something too, but I guess you're too tired to hear me. Sorry," Ron apologized, thumbing the dip of his hips. A draft seemed to be making the temperature drop as Harry shivered, and he covered his lower half with a fleece blanket. "Cold?" he asked knowingly, tucking the smaller man against his shoulder, heart soaring at the sight of Harry settling into his warmth.

As Ron buried his nose in the dark mess of hair, he inhaled the fresh scent of sweat and sex, and as addicting as it was... he breathed in deeper, his attention caught by something distinctly his—freshly cut grass, treacle tart, and a hint of broom polish. The smell was just so boyish, in a way that reminded him of Quidditch practices during the spring, lighthearted dinners in the Great Hall, and secluded discussions in the Gryffindor common room.

And that was what he was, wasn't he?

Just a boy.

He traced the scar marring Harry's forehead, hand drifting down to his chest, where he knew the locket Horcrux had left its mark. Despite everything that had happened, he was still the same boy he had met on the train, the same one he had willingly shared his family with, and the same man who had sacrificed himself for the sake of the uncaring and cruel world.

He was still alive.

Brave.

Loyal.

Caring.

Kind...

He could have anything, anyone, and everything in the world, and yet he still chose to stay with him—Ronald Weasley—of all people.

Merlin, no one was worthy enough to deserve him.

"You're always so sweet, Harry. You're so..." he couldn't finish the sentence, mouthing the words against his scalp instead, and tilting Harry's head up and pressing their lips together, breathing in every time the man in his arms exhaled. Pulling away the tiniest bit and laying on his back, he watched the sky as a particularly large meteor burned up, hurtling through the stars, and creating a bright streak of light in the dark sky.

Didn't people normally make a wish when a shooting star appears?

Well, it wasn't exactly a shooting star, but...

Ron saw that the meteor had cleared a path, pushing away the faint clouds that spared the sky their presence, as if something greater was to be held. The dark purples and midnight blues seemed stark, hints of green making their way through the ocean of color, opening up the gates to the universe of secrets untold. It was almost, in a way, magical.

He felt a surge of bravery course through his veins, and perhaps, it was the comfort of the darkness allowing him to speak his thoughts. Before he could even hesitate, he surrendered himself to the very words—to Harry—and presented his heart to the sky as an offering.

"I love you," Ron said, closing his eyes, and making a wish.

He never really believed in wishing on shooting stars, but for the life of him, he was desperate that this one wish would come true. So, he waited. A second passed, and then two, and then a minute had gone by.

Ron sighed.

Nothing happened.

The sky had gone dark again, and the cosmos seemed somber.

If Harry didn't hear him, then at least the stars had witnessed him make the promise under their watchful gaze. Each one was like a pensieve with its shimmering silver surface, and if anything, they would keep the memory stored safely within the depths of their burning cores.

Even if Harry didn't feel the same way, he would simply relive those precious moments as he gazed at the stars. They were countless in the darkening sky, each one storing a memory of him and Harry; just the two of them, as he wished them to be.

Perhaps, though, they thought that his heart wasn't enough. Maybe the offering was never enough in the first place, and that, truly, Harry Potter wasn't a star in the sky, and instead, a distant galaxy forever unreachable as the universe continues to expand.

Suddenly, a shuffling sound started by his side, and he could feel an arm drape over his chest, warm air tickling his cheek. Something seemed to block his throat from speaking. Opening his eyes, he was met with Harry's sleepy and unfocused green ones.

They were deep darkened pools, and the color reminded him of the brightened cosmic turquoise of space, a place that no man could reach, and not many have seen.

"Ron," he breathed, entwining their fingers together.

"I love you, too."

Two bright meteors were burning up in the sky then, falling together and fizzing out in unison, and a content smile graced his face.

He might have been wrong, but it was in a way that made it feel right.

In their little universe, they were detached from the rest of the heavenly bodies in the sky, embodying two lone stars that had fallen to earth. All the stars hid during the day to escape the burning brightness of the sun, but during the night, when all was cold, they were plentiful in the heavens, gathering in groups to keep each other warm. Fate had destined them to meet, allowing the both of them to crash into the planet's atmosphere to find each other.

After years of searching for the warmth they craved, they were finally together.

They would keep each other warm, even after their cores burn out, and long past the day the universe would go black and be submerged into an eternal freeze.

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TAGS

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#harryronfest #ron weasley #harry james potter #rarry #harryronfest2022 #ronarry #hp #hp fanfic #hp fanart #harry potter #ron x harry #harry x ron

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BONUS MATERIAL

Deleted Scene

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Hours passed as the two continued to stargaze from the window, with Ron pointing at constellations like Taurus, Cygnus, and Andromeda and Harry listening with rapt attention. Soon, the two found themselves on the window sill, sitting in undisturbed silence. Harry leaned on Ron's chest, feeling a bit drowsy while lacing their fingers together. "Ron?" he began, and a small noise of acknowledgment sounded from above. "Why do you always stay here?"

There was a short stretch of silence before Ron hummed, and Harry could feel it vibrate all the way down to his toes. "I've been a bit caught up with work lately. There are a lot of students this year. That, and..." he trailed off, looking into the distance before making eye contact. "I feel old." He admitted, sounding ashamed all of a sudden. "Teaching all of these kids was wonderful, but I can't help feeling like I've wasted my years in Hogwarts."

Harry stayed quiet, but he soothed the palm of Ron's hands with his thumbs in comforting circular motions. "We were always playing Quidditch. Back then I really didn't enjoy studying; I knew I couldn't be as smart as Percy or Hermione, as funny as Fred and George, as successful as Bill and Charlie, or even be known for something great, like you." He whispered. "I was just Ron. I was always second to something, so I didn't bother trying. And when you talked to me on the train..."

Ron smiled, eyes watering. "I felt like I was someone. Sure, I always wanted to be known as Ron Weasley, but being Harry Potter's best friend was better than nothing. But you"—he breathed shakily—"made me feel like I was more than just your best friend. You made me feel like I could do anything." A wistful expression stretched his face before he scowled, a bitter note in his voice. "Now I'm going to be replaced because I don't have the qualifications to teach Astronomy." He hissed at the ceiling.

"Just when I realize I'm actually good at something useful, but it's too late to be any better at it..."

He continued, averting his eyes. "I'm a failure."

Harry shook his head, sitting up to meet Ron's gaze, eyes filled with a determined conviction. "You're not a failure. You're Ronald Weasley." Then, he felt the guilt creep up his spine, weighing heavily on his heart. Harry felt like the biggest wanker in the history of the entire universe. It was selfish of him, how Ron was practically going through a crisis while he was drowning in his useless feelings about being lonely and miserable without him.

It was awful, having to need him there with him at all times just because he was falling apart from the seams.

He felt like a burden.

"You can't blame yourself. There were a lot of things going on back then, but people change, they grow, and they learn. That's how you improve, after all. And I know that you're doubting me right now, but..." Harry tried looking for the right words. "It's never too late for anyone who understands that they have a long way to go. People who reflect and change always have time because they make that time possible. And, if that still doesn't mean much, then... I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

Ron just stared at him, face unreadable, and Harry wished he could take the words back. Had he said something wrong? "I'm sorry," he mumbled, but a calloused finger pressed against his lips instead, a soft 'shh' sound coming from the other man. "No, don't be sorry. You've got nothing to apologize for. I appreciate it," Ron smiled at him, the words making Harry swallow the frog stuck in his throat, and he leaned a bit closer.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of much help," his hand rested on Ron's cheek, just for a moment, before he pressed his lips against the tip of his nose.

It wasn't a kiss, not really, but he desperately wished that Ron would do something, anything.

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REFERENCES

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BBC. (2022, August 9). How to find the constellations. BBC Bitesize. Retrieved October 12, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Betz, E. (2020, September 10). The Big Freeze: How the universe will die. Retrieved October 27, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Crawford, K. (2021, November 25). 46 Different Parts of a Window and Window Frame. FarmFoodFamily. Retrieved October 14, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Espenak, A. (2003, December 27), Report On The Leonid Meteor Storm Of 2001. Retrieved November 2, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Go Stargazing. (2021, October 22). When to go stargazing - tips for the best times to stargaze. Retrieved October 12, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Killebrew, K. (2020, July 3). Traditional Treacle Tart. The Daring Gourmet. Retrieved October 28, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Lunaf. (2002, October 21). New Moon on 7 October 2002 Monday. Retrieved October 22, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Rao, J. (2004, March 8). Leonids 2002: The Grand Finale. Sky And Telescope. Retrieved November 2, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Rowling, J. K. (1999, July 8). Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Celebratory Ed) [E-Book]. Scholastic, Inc. Retrieved October 22, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Rowling, J. K. (2000, July 8). Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Celebratory Ed) [E-Book]. Scholastic Inc. Retrieved October 24, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. (2022, September 3). Gothic architecture | Characteristics, Examples, & Facts. Encyclopedia Britannica. Retrieved October 14, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Users, FANDOM Helpers, Wiki Representative, & Wiki Specialists. (2005a, July 15). Harry Potter Lore: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry Potter Wiki. Retrieved October 14, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Users, FANDOM Helpers, Wiki Representative, & Wiki Specialists. (2005b, July 25). Kreacher. Harry Potter Wiki. Retrieved October 22, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Whiting, L. (2019, January 7). Star Gazing with You – A Year of Constellations in the UK. Sophia Alexander Gold Fingerprint Jewellery. Retrieved October 12, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

Wikipedia contributors. (2022, September 9). Tracery. Wikipedia. Retrieved October 14, 2022, from [FanFiction doesn't allow links]

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NOTES

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