mugglebornmenace

[mugglebornmenace]

Sirry prompts! Hope something strikes your fancy:

the fire within

In the Weasley shed

came back wrong

They keep almost getting caught

“You kiss like you’re drowning.”

love these friend!!! I decided to combine two. Thank you for the prompts <3

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It was the most battered and creative Quidditch set Harry had ever seen: The Quaffle lopsided and faded to a sickly pink, one bludger missing and replaced with an enchanted rock that had been known to go haywire mid-game, forgetting who the players were and attacking innocent bystanders or breaking the windows of Molly’s greenhouse.

Then, there was the snitch. Harry was reluctant to even call it that, as it resembled a proper snitch so little it almost felt like an entirely different entity, though it was small, and it did have wings, and was some flavor of metallic, he supposed. “The snotch” Sirius jokingly dubbed it, needling an elbow into Harry’s ribs as they ate side by side at the picnic table one evening at dinner, and Harry’s heart had stopped because it seemed absolutely mad that Sirius could touch him out here, where people could see, in a Godfatherly manner when he was also touching him behind closed doors, away from the rest, in a decidedly not Godfatherly manner at all. The secret of it all thrilled Harry, made him go mute and red for the rest of the meal. He was less mute, but still red all night. Sirius made sure of that. 

The Snotch’s wings were crushed in ten different directions from being tossed in a milk crate beneath the other balls for too many years, and its exterior was tarnished to a faintly green color. The wonky wings made its flight pattern erratic, and what it lacked in speed it made up for in strange, jerking motions that were impossible to predict. It seemingly hated its purpose, and was prone to zooming unevenly back to the storage shed and trying to take a nap whenever it grew weary of the game.

It was one such summer night at the Burrow, when the light began to wane and Harry began to squint and the snotch succumbed to chronic exhaustion. They were playing their third game of quidditch in the garden: Hermione, Harry, Sirius, and Ron against Ginny, Bill, Fred and George. As Harry searched the mauve dusk horizon, he became increasingly suspicious that the sleepy little snotch had retired for the night, and jetted back into the shed when he wasn’t looking. He flew to Bill, who was seeking for the other team. “Asking for purely non-competitive reasons—but have you seen the snotch in the last half hour?” 

Bill narrowed his eyes, held a hand up to his brow and scanned the horizon, evening wind ruffling his hair. “No…I was just thinking the little bugger might have snuck off. I’ll call a time out." He spiraled down into the action, narrowly dodging the rock-bludger. " Oi! Lads and Ladies! The snotch is MIA again!” 

Harry flew to the ground, hopped off his broomstick and began heading to the dark, mildewy shed. But the twins intercepted him, arms crossed across their chests like bouncers as they blocked his path. “For the purpose of objectivity I think we should send a player who isn’t seeking in, don’t you think?” Fred breezed. “I nominate Ginny!” 

Ginny snorted from her broom. “I’m not going in there. Smells like mildew and the gnomes are always humping each other in the corners. It’s disgusting.” 

Harry glanced to Ron, because glancing at Sirius was difficult. He got a healthy sheen to his skin when he played Quidditch and his smile came easier, his hair tousled from flying. He looked more like the handsome, laughing man from the pictures in Harry’s photo album than ever before, and Harry couldn’t bear to witness it without licking his lips and getting half-hard out there in public.

Ron stared back at him helplessly, face going a shade whiter. “Don’t make me do it,” he whined. “There are spiders and cobwebby things in there.” 

Hermione sighed dramatically. “Well it is getting quite dark. We could just... end the game-?” 

But everyone else save for Bill and Sirius, who were real adults and not used to hours on broomstick, immediately shut down this suggestion. “I’ll get it,” Sirius offered, throwing a leg over his broom, dismounting with such effortless grace Harry’s mouth abruptly flooded, mind a sudden,  hormonal mess of all the other things Sirius did with effortless grace. 

He disappeared inside the shed, and the sun continued to set. After a minute or so of banging about, he stuck his head out the rickety door. “Can’t find it,” he said. “Are you two you sure it’s run off again, or is it just getting too dark out to see?” 

Offended Sirius would question his seeking abilities, Harry muscled his way past Fred and George, who were already distracted away from their bouncer duties by goading the bludger-rock with a tea-towel like bullfighters. “I’ll find it,” he said, following Sirius into the dark shed. 

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust–it was shadowy inside, and there were loads of things he had to climb over in order to make his way back to the snotch’s favorite sleeping spot. Broken muggle lawnmowers Arthur liked to tinker with, bags of fertilizer, ruined garden boxes, spades and rakes. “I’ll show you where it likes to hide,” he explained, cheeks suddenly hot as he realized he and Sirius were alone together in here– the others voices were muffled outside, far away, laughter and Fred’s bad imitation of a matador’s arriba!

“Oh, I know where it’s hiding,” Sirius said, and then he triumphantly held up the snotch, which was pitifully wriggling, broken wings rustling weakly against his palm. “I just wanted to see you” he says in a hushed voice, pocketing the little ball and reaching for Harry, hooking a long finger into his belt loops and pulling him close enough to smell the spicy sweat from the game, the cigarette smoke in his hair. “And tell you how absolutely lovely are when you fly. It drives me mad. I can hardly look at you, otherwise you’d be all I could look at.” 

Harry’s breath huffs out of him, heart hammering in his chest in overwhelm. Then, something snaps in his head and he thrusts himself into Sirius’s waiting arms, crushing their mouths together to feverishly kiss for a few burning seconds, Sirius’s hands all over him, through his hair, down the neck of his shirt. When they part his eyes are hazy, and Harry can hardly breathe. “That’s–I did a bang-up job of the last game because I was too busy looking at you,” Harry admits. 

“Well your bang-up job tops my full focus” Sirius says, thumbs cradling Harry’s jaw as he looks at him adoringly. “I’m afraid Azkaban obliterated whatever I had left in the way of Quidditch talent–even without my terribly distracting Godson to ogle, I can hardly recall the rules.” Then he kisses him, full and sweet and hungry, Harry’s knees nearly buckling it feels so good. “God," he hisses between frantic nipping bites. "The way your arse looks on a broom.” 

Harry presses against him, hissing into his mouth as Sirius’s palms rove down to cup the arse in question, squeezing greedily. Harry is seriously consideringthe logistics of getting bent over a lawnmower and fucked mere inches away from his friends when a loud, insistent banging makes them spring apart. “Hey!” George calls. “Sun’s down, we’ll find it in the morning for a rematch. Don’t get lost in there, you two!” Then there's the sound of the crowd dismounting and chattering and arguing as they head back to the burrow, brooms propped one by one against the shed with dull clacks. 

Sirius lets out a long, shaky breath, arm extended to hold Harry at a distance, which Harry doesn’t appreciate one bit. Against his better judgement he crowds Sirius, backs him up until he has nowhere to go, trapped between some paneling and a broken worktable. Their eyes lock--Sirius's flashing in warning, Harry's in defiance. “It’s fine,” he says. “They’re gone.”

Sirius sighs, softens. Let his hands drift up to Harry’s hips, where he thumbs under the hem of his shirt to touch skin. “I am so terribly foolish around you,” he murmurs. 

Harry collapses into his chest, rubbing his cheek into the sharp, stubble-rough column of his throat. “I know,” he says, because he does. It’s part of what thrills him so much about this–not just that someone like Sirius wants him back, but that he’s willing to risk his whole life, going back to prison, losing everything,  just to grope Harry in the Weasley’s garden shed. Harry can’t believe it. Can’t believe he’s worth all that. “I’m sorry I push you,” he adds, sincere. “I just. I can’t help it. I know it’s bad, but I like to see how far you’ll take it, for me.” 

Sirius rubs a hand up the back of his neck. “To the ends of the earth and back, I’m afraid,” he says almost sadly. “I can’t stop myself. I should stop myself, I can’t expect you to stop me, you’re fifteen. But–sometimes ... I can't even remember the consequences.” 

And then they’re kissing again, rough and hungry, Sirius thumping back against the shed wall with an eruption of dust. “God, I love the way you kiss,” he groans into Harry’s mouth, licking him out so deep Harry shudders, feeling it in his bones, his prick. 

“How do I kiss?” Harry asks, because he wants to know, wants to see what Sirius sees in him. Maybe if he sees it, he can believe it. Believe he is more than inexperience and exhaustion and expectations no living boy could ever live up to, a boy who lives instead of The Boy Who Lived. 

Sirius hums lightly, closing his eyes before dipping back down to press their lips together slowly, tenderly, as if taking a sample of Harry to savor. “Hmm. Like you’re drowning,” he murmurs. “Like you can’t get enough of me.” 

Harry shudders, chasing Sirius’s mouth, falling back into the wet, burning heat of it. “I can’t,” he admits. “I really can’t get enough.” 

It’s another minute of stolen bliss before Sirius finally pries him off, gasping. “Ok,” he says, voice firm this time, thumbs biting into the meat of Harry’s shoulders, his eyes all pupil. “We really need to go back in there and make an appearance before someone comes out looking for us.” 

Harry nods, though reluctantly. He much prefers drowning, even if the shed really is festooned in spiderwebs and does smell like mold and there are horrible little gnomes skittering around the corners and thumping into things. He follows Sirius out into the cool evening, licking his lips and listening to the crickets and wondering if it shows on him–the kisses, the hunger, the desperation. The love.

Back in the burrow, Sirius whips the snotch out of his pocket, and holds it up to display to four slack-jawed Weasleys and a very unimpressed Hermione. “Harry found it,” he lies. “It wasn’t in the shed at all.” 

“Doesn’t mean you lot won!” Fred and George crow in unison, and Sirius turns around to wink at Harry, and Harry could care less about the game–this still feels like victory, as far as he’s concerned.  

[mugglebornmenace]

Actually I think Sirry and Remadora have a lot of similarities—two worn, older men with sad pasts finding young love etc. etc.. So instead of Remus being judgy about Sirius dating his much younger godson, they get together and exchange ideas about how to prevent backaches and muscle cramps and satisfy a much younger lover with a higher libido who doesn’t want to be in bed by 10.

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🤩Really enjoying perusing your blog. Imagine Remus discovering what exactly has been going on with Sirius and Harry. Harry listens to their argument, and something about Remus’ disgust makes Harry all the more obsessed with Sirius. Once Remus is done making Sirius feel like shit Harry needs to go comfort him. 😄

I got so carried away with this one because I have a lot of thoughts about Remus!!! Here's the beginning, but there's more on ao3.

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Remus suspects it before he knows it to be true. 

But he’s made a life of looking the other way when things grow to ugly: there’s no other manner in which to live when you transform from man to monster every full moon. He chooses not to see himself in the mirror each morning when he washes his face. Premature grey, tired bags beneath his eyes and a deep, animal exhaustion radiating from him in rippling waves. He beholds none of it. He stares at the rust stained sink, instead. At his hands which always have a slight tremor to them, if he holds them out in front of his body. 

But the same way he knows he is a monster even if he doesn’t look at his monstrosity, some deep and primal part of him knows that something is happening between Sirius and Harry Potter that shouldn’t be happening. Something infected, something dangerous. 

I don’t want to know, he tells himself. Cowardly, maybe, or, as he privately insists,  just not his business. There’s war brewing on the horizon that darkens its surroundings, dwarfs formerly large things until they seem shrunken, atrophied. Is it really his job to make sure his wily, half-mad, still-charismatic, sharp-toothed best friend isn’t getting into trouble? It wasn’t his job back in school–he tried once or twice but he got bitten, bulldozed, and that was before Azkaban. There was always blood shed when one tried to get in Jaime and Sirius’s way. He wasn’t a schoolboy anymore, but it didn’t mean he wanted to get bitten, bulldozed. He’d learned his lesson. It was pointless to intervene when Sirius and a Potter were conspiring. 

But Remus admits–he didn’t consider this, exactly, in all his imaginings. As habit he always avoids this subject where Sirius is concerned, because years of nursing the pain of not being the one he wanted meant Remus was hesitant to notice who it was Sirius did want. In his most uncharitable analysis of what was going on, Sirius was telling Harry Order secrets,  maybe letting him drink liquor, treating him like an adult in some ways…but never this way. 

It was unthinkable. It was a figment of his past, a splinter festering its way out through a channel of pus only to rupture. The shame of being passed over not once, but twice, by the original model and its teenage counterpart. 

When he first walks into the library and sees it, he thinks he’s stumbled across James and Sirius at first, no matter how absurd. He had walked in on them before, it’s an image his mind already holds dear and tattered despite the many times he’s tried to purge it: James and Sirius tangled up on a dormitory bed, flashes of skin through the gap in the curtains, guffaws and curses and peals of laughter that cleaved through the pillow Remus used to shove over his head to block out the sound. James and Sirius playing chess in the common room, tackling each other across the board to wrestle, then that wrestling match turning into shaky grinding and open mouthed kisses and Peter shrieking do you have to do that right here?! James and Sirius in the Potter’s garden gazebo, James and Sirius in the Quidditch locker room, James and Sirius in the same sleeping bag on Remus’s bedroom floor the last summer before Lily finally caved and became a part of their circle and nothing was ever the same anymore. JamesandSirius, you hardly ever saw one without the other. Of course they would be here, in the dingy library of No. 12 Grimmauld Place. Of course, if James Potter left a ghost Sirius would find it, trap it, and put his tongue down its throat. 

Jealousy is the first thing Remus feels. He can’t help it, the sensation is a reflex. Green and bitter, too low in his gut. It’s how he has always felt, every time he stood and existed on the periphery of JamesandSirius as simply Remus. Alone, monstrous, passed over, orbiting. But after the jealousy comes an indistinct shock: at James being alive, perhaps, or–his body already knew the truth, and was attempting to process the horror of it. 

They spring apart and the illusion shatters. The figure is significantly shorter than James was. Green eyes flash beneath glasses. James’s devil-may-care-grin and Quidditch tan replaced with a wet mouth hanging open dumbly and a peaky, pinched pallor. The past, the ghost–they transform into Harry Potter. 

But Sirius, eyes guilt-black and pleading as he raises his wand in warning, remains the same. 

Remus should say something. He should curse and shout how could you, raise his wand, too, he should get bitten, he should get bulldozed. But he’s made a life of looking the other way when things grow too ugly, so instead, he turns on his heel with a red face, and leaves. 

Read More Here

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Harry torn between watching the muscles of Sirius's back and the tattoo that's a heart with his dad's name in it a;dslkfja;fdj I'm going to be rotating this in my mind for the rest of the weekend.

FUCK

Harry, who has been trying to get over the crush on his godfather, realizes he wasn’t the only one who was hot for Sirius. And this is far worse than he could have imagined.

In the Wolfstar vs Prongsfoot debate, Harry is pro-Wolfstar. He does not want Prongsfoot to be canon. “Please have fucked my teacher, Sirius. Not my dad. Please oh god.”

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Favorite Sirry scenario that I haven’t seen anywhere yet is a time travel one where Harry decides to hang out with his mom (because honestly he’s heard a lot about his dad, but not really about his mom, and he’d like to know more about her)

But hanging around her means hanging around Snape too

Which means that now, Sirius hates Snape even more, cause he’d already quickly gained a crush on this new mysterious transfer student

And it’s just Sirius and James glaring over at their little trio and talking about Snape as if he’s some evil casanova stealing away all the cute gryffindors, while Snape is just. like. sitting there.

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you could just say no

sirius/harry | 250 words | discord prompt: obsession (cw: underage)

_ "​Can I kiss you?​"

Sirius cocks his head and quirks an eyebrow and sinks into tufted leather. ​"Now why… would you want to do that?​"

Harry deflates. ​"You could just say no.​"

​"I didn’t say no. I asked why.​”

He swipes the bottle back from Harry and takes a swig himself. Harry watches the mischief zip through his body, over flexing muscles and fading runes, leaving trails everywhere in its wake. A starlight twinkle in silver eyes. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. A peek of tongue between liquor-warmed lips.

Because I’m madly in love with you, Harry manages not to say.

Because I’m completely obsessed with you. About a dozen times worse.

Because if I don’t, I’ll die.

Harry swallows the nerves, the dramatics, the damning symptoms of his age, and says: "When you look at me, I feel like you’re seeing parts of me I didn’t know existed.​"

Silver dims to black. Mischief yields to lust. Even Harry, awkward, clueless, never-been-kissed Harry, can spot the signs of arousal.

Sirius brushes the broad back of his hand over Harry’s fevered cheek. A thumb detours to his lower lip. Silver-black eyes follow its path.

“​​Everything you let me see is a privilege, darling."

Harry might die, regardless.

"I feel I must do my godfatherly duty and impress upon you what a thoroughly wretched idea this is.​"

Harry closes his eyes and tries not to come on the spot. “Noted.”

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What if Gellert had supporters that stayed out of prison and were chomping at the bit for years, anxious to do their former master's bidding and perhaps return him to power someday, people who even snuck into Nurmengard to get directives from their master... only for him to say "that's great but can you actually send this poisonous letter and this Venomous Tentacula I bought to someone in London named Harry, he has ugly hair and stupid glasses but apparently Albus is shacking up with him and that is NOT ALLOWED—"

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albus: I really must stop falling in love with these troublesome young lads harry, stumbling out of the forbidden forest with twigs in his hair and the elder wand in his wand holster: hullo, anyone got the time? er... like, the calendar time? that's not a weird question right? albus: ...god damn it

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albus, tentatively: how would you say you feel about men? harry: they're all right, I guess? I mean, I've had plenty of fucked-up relationships with older men-- albus: have... you? harry, rambling on: it's honestly a miracle I don't have daddy issues with how many blokes have fucked me over-- albus: ?! harry: if it wasn't for my ex-girlfriend forcing me to see a therapist, who knows how I might've--albus, where are you going? albus, grumbling: don't worry about it

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elphias: albus, you really need to stop falling for these... mystery boys. albus: what's wrong with them? elphias: are you kidding me. LOOK at the one you're after now! albus: I do look at him. often. elphias, through gritted teeth: FOCUS. what's he got that's so great anyway? dark hair, scrawny, weird scar-- albus, quietly: I like his scar... elphias: he adopts an ORPHAN of all things and hisses like a snake to him in some great big house-- albus: you really ought to give tom a chance. he's very adorable when he hisses back. elphias: for merlin's sake! harry comes out of nowhere, won't tell anyone a THING about his family or friends--honestly, albus, you have better taste than this! albus: elphias, I was listening for flaws. I didn't hear any flaws-- elphias: GAH!

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don't mind me, just imagining Albus going to put flowers at Kendra's grave, and meeting Harry who is standing in front of an empty plot of land with lilies gripped tight in one hand

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Albus' desperation to not be worshipped due to how much he hates himself will never not destroy me. Similarly, Harry's desperation to devote himself to Albus regardless of Albus' mistakes and his desire to remain distant will also never not destroy me.

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harry: who's your celebrity crush? albus: well-- harry: do NOT say grindelwald

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Just an old man who’s also an ex-con successfully rizzing up his dead bestfriend’s son

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Harry: I've noticed Ron and I have slowly begun to phase the "B" out of our bromance

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Percy: Mum, I have something to tell you. I'm gay. And dating Oliver Wood.

George: Oh, me too! Gay, not dating Oliver.

Ron: I just agreed to be Harry's boyfriend, so I guess I am as well.

Molly: Oh, wow, does anyone in this family like girls?

Ginny: I do.

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McGonagall: okay get into pairs McGonagall looking at Ron and Harry: SOMEONE OTHER THAN YOUR FRIEND Harry to Ron: do boyfriends count? Ron to Harry: do soulmates count? Ron: MY LOVE Harry: MY SWEETHEART McGonagall: *sighs*