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May. 16th, 2007 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fics_by_mapleWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hprwfqf 2007 first posted here.
Title: Senescence
Author: Maple
Rating: NC-17
Challenge: Ron has a milestone birthday and feels old. Harry still thinks he's sexy.
Summary: Harry gets some magical assistance in seducing Ron.
Word Count: 4231
A/N: H/R hugs to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
letmypidgeonsgo, mrsquizzical, for the input. AND big freckly thanks to shocolate and gwen1170 for the beta.
Can you tell I was feeling wibbly about this one? I was concerned that some, particularly the younger ones may find a squick here, but hopefully I’ll take you past that.
~^~
Harry held firmly to the strong arm of the tall red head next to him as he waved to the last of the Disapparating family guests in the back garden.
“Not a bad birthday party, eh?”
“It was perfect, Malcolm,” Harry answered, leaning heavily on his great-grand nephew. “Ron had a really good time.”
“Did he really? Sometimes it’s hard to tell with him.”
Harry chuckled, looking up at the man who now looked so much like Ron had about ninety years earlier.
“That’s just his way. He really enjoys having everyone over, he just gets embarrassed being the focus, that’s all.”
Malcolm, their carer by proxy, nodded and they slowly turned back to the house.
“Say Mal, did you, eh, by any chance get what I asked you for?”
Malcolm took a breath and surrendered a reluctant smile.
“Tell you the truth, Harry, I was hoping you’d forget you asked.”
“Mmph!” Harry poked him in the ribs. “It’s the only gift I’ve got for Ron, of course I’m not going to forget.”
They stopped walking while Malcolm fished in his pocket and with a slight blush rising in his freckled face. He produced a small phial and handed it to Harry, not quite looking him in the eye.
“Here you go then,” he said, clearing his throat with obvious discomfiture. “You’ll be careful with it now. Don’t use too much. And you –you know exactly how to use it?”
“Mmph!” Harry snorted at him a second time. “I wasn’t always this old, young man. I know perfectly well how to use it.”
“Ack! I honestly don’t want to know-” Malcolm waved him off, and would have continued with a sarcastic retort of his own but the sound of breaking glass from inside the house interrupted him.
“Ron,” Harry exclaimed in a concerned whisper.
Taking two running steps towards the house, Malcolm remembered himself and turned back to Harry who’d been holding onto his arm.
“No, go!” Harry urged, waving at him. “You’re faster.”
Malcolm was gone in a flash, sprinting into the house where the erroneous sounds were increasing.
Harry hobbled behind as quickly as he could, cursing his aged, aching knees for prohibiting him getting to Ron when he needed him.
Breathless and heart pounding when he arrived a moment later, the house looked overrun by poltergeists. Dishes were hurtling themselves into the kitchen sink, exploding in a hail of shrapnel. The broom and mop were a cyclone, picking up chairs and tossing them across the room, and there seemed to be a light rain falling in the lounge.
“Finite Incantatem!” Malcolm said firmly, with his wand raised, then he halted the errant magic with a silent Impedimenta, casting the room into a eerie quiet.
There in the middle of it all, white-faced and wide-eyed, was Ron, gripping his wand tightly.
“What happened, Uncle Ron? You okay?” Malcolm asked.
“’m perfectly fine!” Ron snarled. “It must have been Ginny’s boys, a prank or something.”
“A prank?” Harry scoffed. “There’s not one of those kids that would prank their Uncle Ron. They adore you!”
Ron scowled at him and though his face was contorted with frustration, Harry saw something more there.
“Well, it’s no problem, I’ll clean it up in jiffy,” Malcolm said, always trying to keep the peace between them. “But why didn’t you just use ‘Finite Incantatem,’ Ron?”
Harry winced at the incredulous sound in Malcolm’s voice. He saw a rush of color flood up Ron’s neck and through his ruddy complexion before he burst like a cracker.
“Well isn’t that just fucking genius, Malcolm? Thank you very much! Now why didn’t I think of that?” Ron continued his cursing rant as he stormed past Harry and out of the house.
“Sorry I upset him, Uncle Harry. Didn’t mean anything by it,” Malcolm mumbled. He was a man in his thirties now, but he looked just like Ron had when his mum scolded him.
“Don’t trouble yourself about him.” Harry turned to follow after Ron. “He didn’t mean anything by it either.”
He didn’t have far to go. Ron was sitting on the stairs, his elbows resting on his knees, face in hands. Not saying a word, Harry carefully and with no little effort, sat on the step above Ron by his side.
After a tense silence Ron huffed and slumped his shoulders.
“All right, all right,” he grumbled with exasperation.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know you didn’t. But I heard you all the same.”
Harry looked down at him. The sun was nearly setting and the world around them was paling in shadow. The last rays of light played over them so that Harry could see tiny sparkles of red in a few stubbly hairs showing along Ron’s jaw. He had long missed the sight of Ron’s copper tresses, which had shed his pate completely some decades ago.
“I was just trying to wash up a little, save Malcolm the trouble,” Ron began his confession. “He’s done so much already, with the party and all.” His voice got quieter as he spoke. “But every spell went wrong and each time I tried to fix it, things got worse. And it was right there but I couldn’t remember.”
“Remember what?” Harry asked.
Ron swallowed.
“‘Finite Incantatem.’” He croaked in a near whisper, finally looking at Harry with fearful eyes. “I couldn’t remember ‘Finite Incantatem’. Oh god, Harry …” He hung his head heavily.
Harry knew the feeling. There were gaps in his memory too. Entire years were gone it seemed. He couldn’t recall anything in particular from age ninety to age one hundred. If something is no longer there, do you even know it’s missing? He didn’t mind losing the days of body aches and hospital stays or the sad times when they mourned the passing of friends and family.
But Ron, how many memories of him were gone? How many laughs and thoughtful games of chess and bony knees poking him in the arse under the blanket had he forgotten?
“I’m just so thick.” Ron said, reprimanded himself, slapping the heel of his palm on his forehead, which made a soft thwaping sound.
Harry’s hands had a shake to them now, but they still moved fast. Lightening quick, he grabbed Ron’s wrist to cease his assault on himself. He almost released Ron’s hand and withdrew his own, but he forcibly overrode the inclination and dug for a deeper, long forgotten habit. He pulled Ron’s wizened, rough palm to his lips and kissed it.
Casual intimacy had decreased to almost nothing in recent years. Except for a steadying hand up the stairs or brushing past each other in the kitchen, it had been years now since they touched each other for the sheer comfort of doing so.
Ron looked up at Harry as though he thought the same thing. He bent his head and Harry kissed the reddened mark he’d made on his forehead. Blinking up at him, Ron smiled. Time had changed the face, certainly, but his lips and that lopsided grin were still the same as they ever were.
“I’m old,” Ron said simply with pitiful desperation.
“Yes.” Harry nodded.
Ron snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Not exactly a newly hatched phoenix yourself, mate. In precisely 153 days you’ll be a hundred and thirty years old as well.”
“Yeah, what should we do on my birthday? Play Quidditch?”
“Very funny.”
~
Malcolm had restored the magical disarray inside. Ron issued him an awkward apology, while being jabbed in the ribs by Harry and he bid them goodnight and Flooed home.
“He’s a good kid,” Ron grumbled reluctantly. He sounded grumpy, but Harry knew he loved their great-grand nephew as much as he did.
“Well Malcolm is nearly forty, isn’t he? Not a kid anymore,” Harry stated.
“Still, he’s a kid. –And don’t think I haven’t seen how you look at him.”
“What? Ron! We’ve watched the boy grow up, don’t be absurd.”
“I may not recognize the face in the mirror anymore, but I know who Malcolm looks like.”
Harry opened his mouth and shut it. He knew Ron was only taking the piss but Harry hadn’t been accused of checking out another redhead for some years now. He didn’t know what to say.
Ron sniggered.
“Come on, you old codger, let’s get up to bed.” He casually leaned closer without looking at Harry, adding, “Besides, it’s good to know your tastes haven’t changed.”
Harry’s face didn’t reflect the giddiness he felt. In spite of Ron’s earlier upset over the spell mishaps, they were intentionally touching each other and almost, flirting.
With one hand on the banister and the other firmly clutching Ron’s arm, they mounted the stairs. Neither spoke during the ascent. Gone were the days of racing up two at a time; with Harry’s past injuries to his knees and pelvis compounded by early malnutrition and a wizarding illness that had weakened his heart. The flight of steps in their own home became the object of daily treachery that they took seriously. Both had survived wars and dangerous careers; ‘Death by stairway’ was something neither wanted in their obituary.
Harry stopped half way up and took a breath.
“Sore tonight, hmm?” Ron observed.
“Whenever am I not?” he grumbled, but tried to compensate for his distemper. “Well, little Marjorie asked me to dance with her and I couldn’t say no.” Harry spoke of Hermione’s granddaughter.
“Little Marjorie is already taller than you. … I wonder.” Ron looked up to the landing and Harry knew what he was thinking.
“Just you forget that idea! I’ll be a damn sight more sore if you go and Splinch half of me on the stairs.”
Ron’s face fell. “Fine then, get a move on. I miss Apparition. I hate getting old.”
“Not getting, man, being.”
Once safely at the top, they paused again so Harry could stretch and Ron put his hand on him rubbing over Harry’s lower back.
Harry gave him a look with slightly raised eyebrows.
“You getting frisky with me, yeh randy geezer?” he teased.
Ron shook his head and removed his hand. “Don’t be daft.”
That wasn’t exactly the reaction Harry wanted.
Getting ready for bed was tedious. Most days they went about in old tradition with naught under their robes, but today they had dressed for dinner and had considerable clothing to get out of.
“Oi, you’re gonna rip off the buttons doing that!” Ron snapped when he saw Harry’s trembling hands fighting with his oxford. “Let me.”
Harry stood while Ron’s knotted fingers opened his shirt. Being undressed like this had once been a regular occurrence that made him tremble with excitement. His current body tremors weren’t caused by excitement but the memory of it was strong in his heart tonight.
They stood side by side taking their nightly potions. Each had a different regimen; Harry’s for his heart and six senses. Ron’s to fight nerve damage and a magical adrenaline disorder. A career as an Auror had taken its toll.
“Bah!” Ron snarled after swallowing the last. “Hate that one.”
“Thought you said it tasted like Lindt truffles?”
“It does. Right funny joke, that.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Harry asked.
“Never mind. Dunno why I mentioned it,” Ron mumbled with his back to Harry as he slumped onto his side of the bed.
Harry pushed up his glasses and patiently stared at Ron, knowing he’d give in eventually.
“All right, all right!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, well, I still heard ya. … Nag.”
Harry rolled his eyes as he fluffed his pillow.
“The potion for adrenaline, it prevents …” Holding his wand by the handle, he raised it upright over his groin in phallic demonstration.
“Oh.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up with understanding. “Wait, you’ve been taking that potion since when? Two Christmases ago?” He calculated back to the last hospital stay when he sat by Ron’s bed, desperate with worry.
Ron nodded ruefully, setting his wand on the bedside table and slouching low onto his pillow. Not that either of them had particular use of a rise in their trousers now, but Harry understood how the absence of it could affect a man’s ego.
“Blimey –why didn’t you mention it?” Harry snapped.
“Why the bloody hell would I? It’s been some time since my tackle was any concern of yours.”
Harry had no response to that. It was true and he was beginning to feel rather foolish, fingering the phial in his dressing gown pocket that Malcolm had acquired for him.
“No reason it should bother you,” Ron said, seeing Harry’s obvious dismay. His voice was full of resigned humiliation.
“It’s not just that –it’s, bugger, I feel like such an arse now.” Harry grumbled. “I haven’t even given you your birthday gift yet.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ron brightened a bit. “Hey, it’s not a book, is it? Did you see the stack of books I got? Do they think I’m dead already?”
“No. No, it’s not a book.”
Harry gave Ron a wary look and produced the tiny green jar, proffering it in his hand.
Ron eyed it for a second before recognition struck.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Harry nodded. The powder was one of Fred and George’s big sellers for a short time some years back. It was a powerful hallucinogenic stimulant, charmed with some aspects of Legilimency.
It had been a popular erotic enhancement, but a highly placed Ministry figure was caught using it in a fairly inappropriate way. The resulting scandal had forced the twin’s into early retirement, though they were happy to pass the business to Fred’s daughter and spend their Galleons.
“Do you reckon it would work?” Ron asked. “But no, it’d be pointless with me being disabled and all.”
“You are not ‘disabled’! But you are a stubborn git. If you’d told somebody about it, they could have altered your potions. I bet if you took the draught I take for my heart, it would help. It, well it, works for me just fine, anyway.”
Ron looked unconvinced.
“Fine then,” Harry said with huff. “But don’t you go telling people for the next twenty years about how I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”
Ron made a throaty snarling sound.
“Your reverse mind games don’t work on me anymore, Harry Potter!” he grumbled. But he still went to the dresser, with a great deal of stomping and dramatics, and grabbed up Harry’s heart potion and swallowed generously.
Then he returned and held out his hand. “Give it here, then.”
~
The change was immediate and momentarily disorienting. It was like waking and not being sure if you’re still in a dream. Harry looked, startled to see his own young body again. The fine hairs on his chest were once again black and his skin smooth and taut.
“Holy shite-on-a-Slytherin! Will you look at me?” Ron had sprung from bed, a little more quickly than Harry thought was wise.
“Be careful, Ron. You-” But Harry stopped mid-scolding and gaped.
Ron was the brightest thing in the room. His skin, not pale but fair with golden freckles that gave him a healthy glow while the lamp light reflected the copper hairs on his forearms and his chest giving him the look of cinnamon sweets.
Curling his arms, Ron admired his trim biceps.
“Did I always look this excellent?” he asked, twisting and flexing his torso and arms.
“Yeah. Yeah you did,” Harry said, admiring the return of Ron’s youthful form.
“Oh wait!” Ron said, not appearing to have heard Harry. “There’s more!”
With that, Ron pushed his pajama bottoms and boxers right down to his ankles and stepped out of them and stood proudly in only his socks.
“Take a gander at that?” Ron exclaimed as he turned about, smacking his own tight, pink, arse.
Harry sniggered. He certainly admired the exuberance of the young Ron in front of him, but it was seeing his wide smile and bright eyes, and the tone of excitement in his voice that warmed his heart.
Suddenly, Ron looked up at Harry with a wicked grin, lowered his chin, with bright, predatory eyes.
“Hello there my, fine, young, Mister Potter,” he said slowly, crossing towards the bed.
“Um, hi,” Harry answered, sniggering with surprise at the slight squeak in his voice.
Ron took one confident step up onto the bed and towered over Harry at his feet, completely unabashed by his nudity.
“You.”
Harry blinked up at him.
“You still like?” Ron asked with a tiny shrug and a slight waggle in his hips that made everything swing happily before him.
“I never really stopped, you know.”
Ron beamed and flopped to his knees, making the bed bounce.
“Well, go on then, Harry. Let’s see you.”
“ Oh. … Right,” Harry answered, lifting his bum slowly from years of habitual, careful movement, pushing his pajama bottoms passed his arse. “Not like I haven’t been naked in front of you before.”
“Mm, hmm,” Ron purred. The sound made Harry’s blushing cheeks quiver into a smile under Ron’s intent observation.
A whispered sound of hushed adoration escaped Ron when Harry sat back. He consciously moved his hand across his thigh and over his lap in a vain attempt at modesty.
“Oh no you don’t,” Ron said quietly, moving to sit next to Harry. Ron touched Harry’s knee and slid it up his thigh, over his hip and rested on the flat of Harry’s belly under his navel. “Don’t hide yourself. I want to look at you again.”
Ron reached up and touched Harry’s face, tracing a finger over his brows and around his un-creased eyes and then over his lips.
“Gah!” Ron exclaimed, slapping his hand over his face and then peeking at Harry through parted fingers. “I feel like a bloody pervert looking at you! You’re such a baby!”
Harry couldn’t quash the feeling of shyness as he rubbed his hands over his own face and down his shoulders and chest, feeling the strength and muscle in himself once again.
Ron wasn’t smiling his silly grin any longer and Harry watched with mild surprise as Ron leaned close and touched his lips to own.
It was a gentle, timid kiss, so much like the first that had occurred a lifetime ago. Ron held the back of Harry’s head and neck, resting his forehead against him while Harry suddenly clutched at Ron’s shoulders.
“Why did we ever stop doing this?”
“I don’t know,” Harry panted.
Though he really did know. When your treasonous body begins to fail and you hate the ailing shell you are trapped in. It’s easy to stop reaching out for others to touch you.
“I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t even know it.”
“Me too.”
Ron kissed him again and again, both whimpering at the feel of soft lips and hard bodies, or maybe it was simply the mounting emotion between them.
“How long have we got like this?” Ron whispered as he shifted over Harry, lying flat out on top of him.
“Through the night, I think.”
Harry couldn’t touch enough of the lithe body over him. Groping along Ron’s muscular back and greedily squeezing handfuls of supple arse.
But Harry found absolute heaven when his hands slid up into soft waves of ginger hair.
A rush of joy and heartache flooded him. His nose twitched, but he’d be damned before he let this gift of being a young man make him sniffle like an old poof. Instead he squeezed his eyes tight against the moisture and threaded his fingers again and again through Ron’s hair.
He hadn’t even taken notice that he was hard and rutting until Ron broke their kiss.
“Merlin, I thought I’d never see him again,” Ron said, lifting himself, looking between their bodies at his nearly fully erect cock.
Harry reached down and pressed his open palm against it, feeling it jerk in his hand. Slowing and firmly wanking him, Harry got a thrill from making Ron produce tiny mewling grunts.
“Harry, do you think we could? I feel fit enough, how ‘bout you?” Ron asked, with obvious urgency in his voice.
“I think so. Yeah. Yes, definitely.” The need Harry felt was greater than he’d realized. It was like taking a drink of cool water and discovering that you’ve been dying of thirst without even knowing.
There was a pause between them, where they both seemed to be contemplating the underlying reality through the magic.
Ron shifted back onto his bent knees between Harry’s legs. Stroking his hands down Harry’s sides, he leaned to kiss his stomach and finally his hip.
“I don’t want to hurt anything in there,” he muttered against Harry’s pelvic bone, his tender kisses clearly referring to the bones that wouldn’t belong to a twenty year old in the morning. Then he leaned up and kissed directly over the wildly beating heart under Harry’s chest. “Or in there. You certain?”
Harry nodded, unable to do much else. Ron stretched over him again, nuzzling into Harry’s hair and nibbling his ear lobe.
“Turn over…?” Ron’s words were so quietly whispered in loving request that Harry barely heard them, but turn over he did. His body and his mind remembered this as he rose to his knees, tilting his head to allow Ron’s mouth on his neck.
Ron’s large, strong, hands smoothed over his body, making long strokes down his back, over his arse, and up between his thighs.
Harry exhaled heavily and arched, desire quickly out pacing his apprehension. His young body’s frantic need to feel sated was stronger than he remembered.
“Still okay?”
“Godric’s sake – yes!”
Ron’s warm mouth and wet lips hovered over his tailbone. Harry was too incoherent to notice Ron performing a spell or two when he started touching along the clef of his arse, teasing his entrance with tentative fingers.
“You really sure?”
“Merlinssake, Ron, I’m not a bloody virgin. Please.”
Then he was lost to complete sensation, feeling Ron everywhere; chest at his back, thighs brushing his, an arm around his middle and he was being gratifyingly filled. The stretch and sting of their joining sent violent shivers up his spine and he gasped loudly.
Ron was muttering soothing words that he couldn’t quite hear, except for something that sounded like a distant chant of, “OhgodHarryIfuckingloveyou.”
Even if he couldn’t be certain of the words, he felt it was true.
It was all too much to bear, and he felt the liquid heat sensation building in his balls and he lowered himself onto one forearm while he feebly stroked himself. His own swollen cock was terribly sensitive and as Ron’s weight settled heavier onto his back, short, powerful thrust continuously rocking his body, one last wave of shivers jolted through him and he came, fairly shouting.
Harry bit his hand to bear the unrelenting intensity of Ron’s thrusting. Not too quick or urgent, but steady and sure. Clenching tightly around Ron’s cock he twisted his neck around and just barely met his mouth. Their wet tongues found each other and the kiss was enough to bring Ron to completion. Harry whimpered through Ron’s final, quaking thrusts and they both settled onto their sides.
Ron pulled him close and curled around him, with no care about the drops of tickling sweat and stickiness between them, and pressed his cheek against Harry’s damp hair.
“You okay, Harry?” Ron asked.
Harry marveled in the feeling of all this tenderness, both physical and verbal.
“Harry? … Merlin’s Beard, don’t tell me I’ve finally fucked you to death? ”
Harry’s body quivered before he opened his eyes, laughing.
“Not just yet, old man!”
“Oh good. Not that it isn’t a decent way to go, I reckon, but I’d rather not have to explain that one to Malcolm.”
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Harry rolled over, facing Ron, effortlessly twining their legs. Their quiescent cocks situating together, keeping warm.
“Happy Birthday, beautiful,” Harry said, looking over Ron’s ageless, perfect face.
“Thanks, love. Honestly, thank you for this.”
Harry curled his toes at the endearment.
“Mmph. You’re just a randy old perv who wanted to shag this pretty boy again.”
Ron smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “That was really good, I admit. Fucking fabulous, actually.” His hands still roamed over curves and angles of Harry’s young body. “But no, I mean this. Being with you. I’m sorry we let this get away from us.”
“You won’t be sorry when you wake up next to me in the morning with white hair and all naked and soft – blech!”
“Shush,” Ron cut off his wisecrack with kiss. “No, I won’t be sorry. I’m actually rather fond of how you look. The white is quite fetching-”
“Psh!”
“It is. And your green eyes -Harry, I love you.”
“I love you, too. … Old goat.”
The soft light illuminated their constant stroking and exploring. Re-discovering their favorite spots; the soft divot along a ginger dusted underarm, and the creamy dimples over Harry’s arse.
“Harry, I’m knackered.” Ron yawned. “You’ll be here in the morning? We’ve still got some years left in us, yeah?”
“The real me will be here, I’m afraid, wrinkles, spots and all. But I’m not going anywhere, mate.” …Not for as long as I can help it.
~^~
hprwfqf 2007 first posted here.Title: Senescence
Author: Maple
Rating: NC-17
Challenge: Ron has a milestone birthday and feels old. Harry still thinks he's sexy.
Summary: Harry gets some magical assistance in seducing Ron.
Word Count: 4231
A/N: H/R hugs to
letmypidgeonsgo, mrsquizzical, for the input. AND big freckly thanks to shocolate and gwen1170 for the beta.Can you tell I was feeling wibbly about this one? I was concerned that some, particularly the younger ones may find a squick here, but hopefully I’ll take you past that.
~^~
Harry held firmly to the strong arm of the tall red head next to him as he waved to the last of the Disapparating family guests in the back garden.
“Not a bad birthday party, eh?”
“It was perfect, Malcolm,” Harry answered, leaning heavily on his great-grand nephew. “Ron had a really good time.”
“Did he really? Sometimes it’s hard to tell with him.”
Harry chuckled, looking up at the man who now looked so much like Ron had about ninety years earlier.
“That’s just his way. He really enjoys having everyone over, he just gets embarrassed being the focus, that’s all.”
Malcolm, their carer by proxy, nodded and they slowly turned back to the house.
“Say Mal, did you, eh, by any chance get what I asked you for?”
Malcolm took a breath and surrendered a reluctant smile.
“Tell you the truth, Harry, I was hoping you’d forget you asked.”
“Mmph!” Harry poked him in the ribs. “It’s the only gift I’ve got for Ron, of course I’m not going to forget.”
They stopped walking while Malcolm fished in his pocket and with a slight blush rising in his freckled face. He produced a small phial and handed it to Harry, not quite looking him in the eye.
“Here you go then,” he said, clearing his throat with obvious discomfiture. “You’ll be careful with it now. Don’t use too much. And you –you know exactly how to use it?”
“Mmph!” Harry snorted at him a second time. “I wasn’t always this old, young man. I know perfectly well how to use it.”
“Ack! I honestly don’t want to know-” Malcolm waved him off, and would have continued with a sarcastic retort of his own but the sound of breaking glass from inside the house interrupted him.
“Ron,” Harry exclaimed in a concerned whisper.
Taking two running steps towards the house, Malcolm remembered himself and turned back to Harry who’d been holding onto his arm.
“No, go!” Harry urged, waving at him. “You’re faster.”
Malcolm was gone in a flash, sprinting into the house where the erroneous sounds were increasing.
Harry hobbled behind as quickly as he could, cursing his aged, aching knees for prohibiting him getting to Ron when he needed him.
Breathless and heart pounding when he arrived a moment later, the house looked overrun by poltergeists. Dishes were hurtling themselves into the kitchen sink, exploding in a hail of shrapnel. The broom and mop were a cyclone, picking up chairs and tossing them across the room, and there seemed to be a light rain falling in the lounge.
“Finite Incantatem!” Malcolm said firmly, with his wand raised, then he halted the errant magic with a silent Impedimenta, casting the room into a eerie quiet.
There in the middle of it all, white-faced and wide-eyed, was Ron, gripping his wand tightly.
“What happened, Uncle Ron? You okay?” Malcolm asked.
“’m perfectly fine!” Ron snarled. “It must have been Ginny’s boys, a prank or something.”
“A prank?” Harry scoffed. “There’s not one of those kids that would prank their Uncle Ron. They adore you!”
Ron scowled at him and though his face was contorted with frustration, Harry saw something more there.
“Well, it’s no problem, I’ll clean it up in jiffy,” Malcolm said, always trying to keep the peace between them. “But why didn’t you just use ‘Finite Incantatem,’ Ron?”
Harry winced at the incredulous sound in Malcolm’s voice. He saw a rush of color flood up Ron’s neck and through his ruddy complexion before he burst like a cracker.
“Well isn’t that just fucking genius, Malcolm? Thank you very much! Now why didn’t I think of that?” Ron continued his cursing rant as he stormed past Harry and out of the house.
“Sorry I upset him, Uncle Harry. Didn’t mean anything by it,” Malcolm mumbled. He was a man in his thirties now, but he looked just like Ron had when his mum scolded him.
“Don’t trouble yourself about him.” Harry turned to follow after Ron. “He didn’t mean anything by it either.”
He didn’t have far to go. Ron was sitting on the stairs, his elbows resting on his knees, face in hands. Not saying a word, Harry carefully and with no little effort, sat on the step above Ron by his side.
After a tense silence Ron huffed and slumped his shoulders.
“All right, all right,” he grumbled with exasperation.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know you didn’t. But I heard you all the same.”
Harry looked down at him. The sun was nearly setting and the world around them was paling in shadow. The last rays of light played over them so that Harry could see tiny sparkles of red in a few stubbly hairs showing along Ron’s jaw. He had long missed the sight of Ron’s copper tresses, which had shed his pate completely some decades ago.
“I was just trying to wash up a little, save Malcolm the trouble,” Ron began his confession. “He’s done so much already, with the party and all.” His voice got quieter as he spoke. “But every spell went wrong and each time I tried to fix it, things got worse. And it was right there but I couldn’t remember.”
“Remember what?” Harry asked.
Ron swallowed.
“‘Finite Incantatem.’” He croaked in a near whisper, finally looking at Harry with fearful eyes. “I couldn’t remember ‘Finite Incantatem’. Oh god, Harry …” He hung his head heavily.
Harry knew the feeling. There were gaps in his memory too. Entire years were gone it seemed. He couldn’t recall anything in particular from age ninety to age one hundred. If something is no longer there, do you even know it’s missing? He didn’t mind losing the days of body aches and hospital stays or the sad times when they mourned the passing of friends and family.
But Ron, how many memories of him were gone? How many laughs and thoughtful games of chess and bony knees poking him in the arse under the blanket had he forgotten?
“I’m just so thick.” Ron said, reprimanded himself, slapping the heel of his palm on his forehead, which made a soft thwaping sound.
Harry’s hands had a shake to them now, but they still moved fast. Lightening quick, he grabbed Ron’s wrist to cease his assault on himself. He almost released Ron’s hand and withdrew his own, but he forcibly overrode the inclination and dug for a deeper, long forgotten habit. He pulled Ron’s wizened, rough palm to his lips and kissed it.
Casual intimacy had decreased to almost nothing in recent years. Except for a steadying hand up the stairs or brushing past each other in the kitchen, it had been years now since they touched each other for the sheer comfort of doing so.
Ron looked up at Harry as though he thought the same thing. He bent his head and Harry kissed the reddened mark he’d made on his forehead. Blinking up at him, Ron smiled. Time had changed the face, certainly, but his lips and that lopsided grin were still the same as they ever were.
“I’m old,” Ron said simply with pitiful desperation.
“Yes.” Harry nodded.
Ron snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Not exactly a newly hatched phoenix yourself, mate. In precisely 153 days you’ll be a hundred and thirty years old as well.”
“Yeah, what should we do on my birthday? Play Quidditch?”
“Very funny.”
~
Malcolm had restored the magical disarray inside. Ron issued him an awkward apology, while being jabbed in the ribs by Harry and he bid them goodnight and Flooed home.
“He’s a good kid,” Ron grumbled reluctantly. He sounded grumpy, but Harry knew he loved their great-grand nephew as much as he did.
“Well Malcolm is nearly forty, isn’t he? Not a kid anymore,” Harry stated.
“Still, he’s a kid. –And don’t think I haven’t seen how you look at him.”
“What? Ron! We’ve watched the boy grow up, don’t be absurd.”
“I may not recognize the face in the mirror anymore, but I know who Malcolm looks like.”
Harry opened his mouth and shut it. He knew Ron was only taking the piss but Harry hadn’t been accused of checking out another redhead for some years now. He didn’t know what to say.
Ron sniggered.
“Come on, you old codger, let’s get up to bed.” He casually leaned closer without looking at Harry, adding, “Besides, it’s good to know your tastes haven’t changed.”
Harry’s face didn’t reflect the giddiness he felt. In spite of Ron’s earlier upset over the spell mishaps, they were intentionally touching each other and almost, flirting.
With one hand on the banister and the other firmly clutching Ron’s arm, they mounted the stairs. Neither spoke during the ascent. Gone were the days of racing up two at a time; with Harry’s past injuries to his knees and pelvis compounded by early malnutrition and a wizarding illness that had weakened his heart. The flight of steps in their own home became the object of daily treachery that they took seriously. Both had survived wars and dangerous careers; ‘Death by stairway’ was something neither wanted in their obituary.
Harry stopped half way up and took a breath.
“Sore tonight, hmm?” Ron observed.
“Whenever am I not?” he grumbled, but tried to compensate for his distemper. “Well, little Marjorie asked me to dance with her and I couldn’t say no.” Harry spoke of Hermione’s granddaughter.
“Little Marjorie is already taller than you. … I wonder.” Ron looked up to the landing and Harry knew what he was thinking.
“Just you forget that idea! I’ll be a damn sight more sore if you go and Splinch half of me on the stairs.”
Ron’s face fell. “Fine then, get a move on. I miss Apparition. I hate getting old.”
“Not getting, man, being.”
Once safely at the top, they paused again so Harry could stretch and Ron put his hand on him rubbing over Harry’s lower back.
Harry gave him a look with slightly raised eyebrows.
“You getting frisky with me, yeh randy geezer?” he teased.
Ron shook his head and removed his hand. “Don’t be daft.”
That wasn’t exactly the reaction Harry wanted.
Getting ready for bed was tedious. Most days they went about in old tradition with naught under their robes, but today they had dressed for dinner and had considerable clothing to get out of.
“Oi, you’re gonna rip off the buttons doing that!” Ron snapped when he saw Harry’s trembling hands fighting with his oxford. “Let me.”
Harry stood while Ron’s knotted fingers opened his shirt. Being undressed like this had once been a regular occurrence that made him tremble with excitement. His current body tremors weren’t caused by excitement but the memory of it was strong in his heart tonight.
They stood side by side taking their nightly potions. Each had a different regimen; Harry’s for his heart and six senses. Ron’s to fight nerve damage and a magical adrenaline disorder. A career as an Auror had taken its toll.
“Bah!” Ron snarled after swallowing the last. “Hate that one.”
“Thought you said it tasted like Lindt truffles?”
“It does. Right funny joke, that.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Harry asked.
“Never mind. Dunno why I mentioned it,” Ron mumbled with his back to Harry as he slumped onto his side of the bed.
Harry pushed up his glasses and patiently stared at Ron, knowing he’d give in eventually.
“All right, all right!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, well, I still heard ya. … Nag.”
Harry rolled his eyes as he fluffed his pillow.
“The potion for adrenaline, it prevents …” Holding his wand by the handle, he raised it upright over his groin in phallic demonstration.
“Oh.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up with understanding. “Wait, you’ve been taking that potion since when? Two Christmases ago?” He calculated back to the last hospital stay when he sat by Ron’s bed, desperate with worry.
Ron nodded ruefully, setting his wand on the bedside table and slouching low onto his pillow. Not that either of them had particular use of a rise in their trousers now, but Harry understood how the absence of it could affect a man’s ego.
“Blimey –why didn’t you mention it?” Harry snapped.
“Why the bloody hell would I? It’s been some time since my tackle was any concern of yours.”
Harry had no response to that. It was true and he was beginning to feel rather foolish, fingering the phial in his dressing gown pocket that Malcolm had acquired for him.
“No reason it should bother you,” Ron said, seeing Harry’s obvious dismay. His voice was full of resigned humiliation.
“It’s not just that –it’s, bugger, I feel like such an arse now.” Harry grumbled. “I haven’t even given you your birthday gift yet.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ron brightened a bit. “Hey, it’s not a book, is it? Did you see the stack of books I got? Do they think I’m dead already?”
“No. No, it’s not a book.”
Harry gave Ron a wary look and produced the tiny green jar, proffering it in his hand.
Ron eyed it for a second before recognition struck.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Harry nodded. The powder was one of Fred and George’s big sellers for a short time some years back. It was a powerful hallucinogenic stimulant, charmed with some aspects of Legilimency.
It had been a popular erotic enhancement, but a highly placed Ministry figure was caught using it in a fairly inappropriate way. The resulting scandal had forced the twin’s into early retirement, though they were happy to pass the business to Fred’s daughter and spend their Galleons.
“Do you reckon it would work?” Ron asked. “But no, it’d be pointless with me being disabled and all.”
“You are not ‘disabled’! But you are a stubborn git. If you’d told somebody about it, they could have altered your potions. I bet if you took the draught I take for my heart, it would help. It, well it, works for me just fine, anyway.”
Ron looked unconvinced.
“Fine then,” Harry said with huff. “But don’t you go telling people for the next twenty years about how I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”
Ron made a throaty snarling sound.
“Your reverse mind games don’t work on me anymore, Harry Potter!” he grumbled. But he still went to the dresser, with a great deal of stomping and dramatics, and grabbed up Harry’s heart potion and swallowed generously.
Then he returned and held out his hand. “Give it here, then.”
~
The change was immediate and momentarily disorienting. It was like waking and not being sure if you’re still in a dream. Harry looked, startled to see his own young body again. The fine hairs on his chest were once again black and his skin smooth and taut.
“Holy shite-on-a-Slytherin! Will you look at me?” Ron had sprung from bed, a little more quickly than Harry thought was wise.
“Be careful, Ron. You-” But Harry stopped mid-scolding and gaped.
Ron was the brightest thing in the room. His skin, not pale but fair with golden freckles that gave him a healthy glow while the lamp light reflected the copper hairs on his forearms and his chest giving him the look of cinnamon sweets.
Curling his arms, Ron admired his trim biceps.
“Did I always look this excellent?” he asked, twisting and flexing his torso and arms.
“Yeah. Yeah you did,” Harry said, admiring the return of Ron’s youthful form.
“Oh wait!” Ron said, not appearing to have heard Harry. “There’s more!”
With that, Ron pushed his pajama bottoms and boxers right down to his ankles and stepped out of them and stood proudly in only his socks.
“Take a gander at that?” Ron exclaimed as he turned about, smacking his own tight, pink, arse.
Harry sniggered. He certainly admired the exuberance of the young Ron in front of him, but it was seeing his wide smile and bright eyes, and the tone of excitement in his voice that warmed his heart.
Suddenly, Ron looked up at Harry with a wicked grin, lowered his chin, with bright, predatory eyes.
“Hello there my, fine, young, Mister Potter,” he said slowly, crossing towards the bed.
“Um, hi,” Harry answered, sniggering with surprise at the slight squeak in his voice.
Ron took one confident step up onto the bed and towered over Harry at his feet, completely unabashed by his nudity.
“You.”
Harry blinked up at him.
“You still like?” Ron asked with a tiny shrug and a slight waggle in his hips that made everything swing happily before him.
“I never really stopped, you know.”
Ron beamed and flopped to his knees, making the bed bounce.
“Well, go on then, Harry. Let’s see you.”
“ Oh. … Right,” Harry answered, lifting his bum slowly from years of habitual, careful movement, pushing his pajama bottoms passed his arse. “Not like I haven’t been naked in front of you before.”
“Mm, hmm,” Ron purred. The sound made Harry’s blushing cheeks quiver into a smile under Ron’s intent observation.
A whispered sound of hushed adoration escaped Ron when Harry sat back. He consciously moved his hand across his thigh and over his lap in a vain attempt at modesty.
“Oh no you don’t,” Ron said quietly, moving to sit next to Harry. Ron touched Harry’s knee and slid it up his thigh, over his hip and rested on the flat of Harry’s belly under his navel. “Don’t hide yourself. I want to look at you again.”
Ron reached up and touched Harry’s face, tracing a finger over his brows and around his un-creased eyes and then over his lips.
“Gah!” Ron exclaimed, slapping his hand over his face and then peeking at Harry through parted fingers. “I feel like a bloody pervert looking at you! You’re such a baby!”
Harry couldn’t quash the feeling of shyness as he rubbed his hands over his own face and down his shoulders and chest, feeling the strength and muscle in himself once again.
Ron wasn’t smiling his silly grin any longer and Harry watched with mild surprise as Ron leaned close and touched his lips to own.
It was a gentle, timid kiss, so much like the first that had occurred a lifetime ago. Ron held the back of Harry’s head and neck, resting his forehead against him while Harry suddenly clutched at Ron’s shoulders.
“Why did we ever stop doing this?”
“I don’t know,” Harry panted.
Though he really did know. When your treasonous body begins to fail and you hate the ailing shell you are trapped in. It’s easy to stop reaching out for others to touch you.
“I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t even know it.”
“Me too.”
Ron kissed him again and again, both whimpering at the feel of soft lips and hard bodies, or maybe it was simply the mounting emotion between them.
“How long have we got like this?” Ron whispered as he shifted over Harry, lying flat out on top of him.
“Through the night, I think.”
Harry couldn’t touch enough of the lithe body over him. Groping along Ron’s muscular back and greedily squeezing handfuls of supple arse.
But Harry found absolute heaven when his hands slid up into soft waves of ginger hair.
A rush of joy and heartache flooded him. His nose twitched, but he’d be damned before he let this gift of being a young man make him sniffle like an old poof. Instead he squeezed his eyes tight against the moisture and threaded his fingers again and again through Ron’s hair.
He hadn’t even taken notice that he was hard and rutting until Ron broke their kiss.
“Merlin, I thought I’d never see him again,” Ron said, lifting himself, looking between their bodies at his nearly fully erect cock.
Harry reached down and pressed his open palm against it, feeling it jerk in his hand. Slowing and firmly wanking him, Harry got a thrill from making Ron produce tiny mewling grunts.
“Harry, do you think we could? I feel fit enough, how ‘bout you?” Ron asked, with obvious urgency in his voice.
“I think so. Yeah. Yes, definitely.” The need Harry felt was greater than he’d realized. It was like taking a drink of cool water and discovering that you’ve been dying of thirst without even knowing.
There was a pause between them, where they both seemed to be contemplating the underlying reality through the magic.
Ron shifted back onto his bent knees between Harry’s legs. Stroking his hands down Harry’s sides, he leaned to kiss his stomach and finally his hip.
“I don’t want to hurt anything in there,” he muttered against Harry’s pelvic bone, his tender kisses clearly referring to the bones that wouldn’t belong to a twenty year old in the morning. Then he leaned up and kissed directly over the wildly beating heart under Harry’s chest. “Or in there. You certain?”
Harry nodded, unable to do much else. Ron stretched over him again, nuzzling into Harry’s hair and nibbling his ear lobe.
“Turn over…?” Ron’s words were so quietly whispered in loving request that Harry barely heard them, but turn over he did. His body and his mind remembered this as he rose to his knees, tilting his head to allow Ron’s mouth on his neck.
Ron’s large, strong, hands smoothed over his body, making long strokes down his back, over his arse, and up between his thighs.
Harry exhaled heavily and arched, desire quickly out pacing his apprehension. His young body’s frantic need to feel sated was stronger than he remembered.
“Still okay?”
“Godric’s sake – yes!”
Ron’s warm mouth and wet lips hovered over his tailbone. Harry was too incoherent to notice Ron performing a spell or two when he started touching along the clef of his arse, teasing his entrance with tentative fingers.
“You really sure?”
“Merlinssake, Ron, I’m not a bloody virgin. Please.”
Then he was lost to complete sensation, feeling Ron everywhere; chest at his back, thighs brushing his, an arm around his middle and he was being gratifyingly filled. The stretch and sting of their joining sent violent shivers up his spine and he gasped loudly.
Ron was muttering soothing words that he couldn’t quite hear, except for something that sounded like a distant chant of, “OhgodHarryIfuckingloveyou.”
Even if he couldn’t be certain of the words, he felt it was true.
It was all too much to bear, and he felt the liquid heat sensation building in his balls and he lowered himself onto one forearm while he feebly stroked himself. His own swollen cock was terribly sensitive and as Ron’s weight settled heavier onto his back, short, powerful thrust continuously rocking his body, one last wave of shivers jolted through him and he came, fairly shouting.
Harry bit his hand to bear the unrelenting intensity of Ron’s thrusting. Not too quick or urgent, but steady and sure. Clenching tightly around Ron’s cock he twisted his neck around and just barely met his mouth. Their wet tongues found each other and the kiss was enough to bring Ron to completion. Harry whimpered through Ron’s final, quaking thrusts and they both settled onto their sides.
Ron pulled him close and curled around him, with no care about the drops of tickling sweat and stickiness between them, and pressed his cheek against Harry’s damp hair.
“You okay, Harry?” Ron asked.
Harry marveled in the feeling of all this tenderness, both physical and verbal.
“Harry? … Merlin’s Beard, don’t tell me I’ve finally fucked you to death? ”
Harry’s body quivered before he opened his eyes, laughing.
“Not just yet, old man!”
“Oh good. Not that it isn’t a decent way to go, I reckon, but I’d rather not have to explain that one to Malcolm.”
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Harry rolled over, facing Ron, effortlessly twining their legs. Their quiescent cocks situating together, keeping warm.
“Happy Birthday, beautiful,” Harry said, looking over Ron’s ageless, perfect face.
“Thanks, love. Honestly, thank you for this.”
Harry curled his toes at the endearment.
“Mmph. You’re just a randy old perv who wanted to shag this pretty boy again.”
Ron smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “That was really good, I admit. Fucking fabulous, actually.” His hands still roamed over curves and angles of Harry’s young body. “But no, I mean this. Being with you. I’m sorry we let this get away from us.”
“You won’t be sorry when you wake up next to me in the morning with white hair and all naked and soft – blech!”
“Shush,” Ron cut off his wisecrack with kiss. “No, I won’t be sorry. I’m actually rather fond of how you look. The white is quite fetching-”
“Psh!”
“It is. And your green eyes -Harry, I love you.”
“I love you, too. … Old goat.”
The soft light illuminated their constant stroking and exploring. Re-discovering their favorite spots; the soft divot along a ginger dusted underarm, and the creamy dimples over Harry’s arse.
“Harry, I’m knackered.” Ron yawned. “You’ll be here in the morning? We’ve still got some years left in us, yeah?”
“The real me will be here, I’m afraid, wrinkles, spots and all. But I’m not going anywhere, mate.” …Not for as long as I can help it.
~^~
