Minimus Whispers

“Well?”

Ron glanced up from the parchment he was engrossed in, an essay he was meant to work on yesterday but had neglected to complete. He sat alongside Hermione in the library, their silence filling the space as they focused on their tasks. Despite the quiet, he couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione had slowly picked up on something, given his noticeably cheerful demeanour and his constant glances at his wristwatch.

Because Ron found himself unable to suppress the occasional smile, much to his own amusement. It wasn't entirely his fault, he reasoned. Ever since Harry's return two weeks prior, their nightly exchange of letters had brought something similar to–giddiness, within him. After all they had been through, Ron couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation at the thought of meeting the Slytherin again, perhaps stealing a moment for a bit of kissing before delving into conversation.

So it was no surprise when his best friend, engrossed in her own book, finally noticed Ron's unusual behaviour.

The redhead shrugged and continued writing a sentence, fully aware of Hermione rolling her eyes beside him. "Oh, Ron, stop it," she hissed, lowering her voice to avoid being overheard by Madam Pince, whose table was just five metres away. "That answer won't stop me from questioning you.”

"What do you mean, 'Mione?" He dipped the tip of his quill into the inkpot with another smile, with only two minutes remaining, Ron attempted to formulate another sentence for his essay, but his mind kept wandering to what was about to unfold later.

Hermione was on the brink of speaking, but as the countdown reached one minute, Ron began hastily rolling up his parchments and stuffing them into his bag.

"What–" Hermione managed to speak, but was interrupted by Ron planting a kiss on her cheek.

"I'll catch up with you at dinner," he said before swiftly departing, leaving his best friend in shock.

He left the library, stealing glances at his wristwatch, and quietly navigated his way through the castle corridors, attempting to sneak without arousing suspicion from any passing students. He was panting when finally reached the corridor Harry had mentioned in the letter. It was eerily quiet, devoid of any students or activity. He stood there for another minute, starting to doubt if this was the right place, even though Harry had given him clear directions.

He began to grow restless, on the verge of leaving, when someone grabbed him firmly by the arm and spun him around.

Then, as if materializing out of thin air, a hand revealed itself, unveiling Harry with an amused expression on his face. 

Ron let out a huff, annoyed because the Slytherin had been teasing him with the invisibility cloak, always catching him off guard at every opportunity. "I hate you," he mumbled under his breath, though there was a hint of fondness in his tone. Harry let out that deep chuckle that always made Ron feel a bit putty, and he found himself gently backed into the wall as Harry trapped him between his arms. 

"I had to find a chance to slip away and meet you here," Harry said with a grin. "Especially Parkinson, she's become increasingly clingy since I got back.”

Ron placed his hands on the other's neck and gently caressed his cheek with a fond smile. "So, what did you do then?" he asked while finding himself lost in the mesmerizing gaze of Harry's green eyes.

"I let her know that I'm not interested anymore," Harry replied, lightly nipping Ron's cheek. "That I've found someone better than her.”

Ron's heart fluttered, though he couldn't shake the feeling that Harry's words were a bit wrong. "Don't you think that's a little bit…harsh?" he questioned, a hint of worry in his voice. Harry let his hands slip under Ron's robes, pondering for a moment before responding.

"Nope," Harry responded, pressing his lips against Ron's. "She's not worth it, she'll get the message," Ron shifted nervously as Harry's hands found their way to his hips, pulling him closer before Harry leaned in to finally kiss him with much aggression. The touch of Harry's tongue always made Ron's knees weak, he would never grow accustomed to it; every time they met up in private and started kissing like this, it felt like it was their first time, always leaving Ron in a dishevelled state. 

He whimpered as Harry began biting his lower lip, causing it to sting.

"Ow," Ron said, tilting his head slightly before Harry could kiss him again. "C-could you go a bit slower...?" he blushed.

Harry arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought you enjoyed it when I sped things up."

"But..." Ron touched his bleeding lips. He did enjoy the kiss, but Harry always seemed to be in such a rush when they did it. He licked it and winced at the taste of iron, then noticed Harry's eyes fixed on his lips, tracking the movement of his tongue with lust. 

Ron's heart began to thump louder in his chest, it was confusing but nevertheless, he attempted to lick the corner of his own lips and put it slowly back inside his mouth and Harry's eyes took on a darker intensity at the sudden action. He was aware that he had provoked a reaction from Harry, realizing he would likely be returning to the Great Hall late for dinner, forcing him to come up with yet another excuse to use for Hermione later on.

But today, he would devote all his attention to Harry.

He started trailing his fingers over the other's shirt, unbuttoning it as they locked eyes. Harry observed Ron's actions intently, his grip on his hips tightening in response. He knew that the Slytherin was simply testing his abilities, but Ron's hand faltered as he reached the fourth button, trembling slightly.

"You're doing a good job, baby," Harry whispered, his breath brushing against Ron's lips. But the response only exacerbated the situation; his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, even redder than the Gryffindor tie. He clumsily worked on the buttons, uttering apologies one after another, but Harry pecked his lips and grasped his wrist, directing his hands to explore the other's bare chest. Harry allowed him to explore the expanse of his chest, up to his neck; it was pleasantly warm, causing Ron's breath to quicken.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, as he gently twirled Ron's hair between his fingers.

"Warm," Ron replied, his voice tinged with shyness. His hand slowed though, tracing over the muscles in the other's arm in curiosity, likely due to Harry's considerable involvement in Quidditch, which had contributed to his enhanced physique–and the thought of watching him during their training ignited something within Ron.

Just the thought of it made the situation feel hotter, causing Ron to break out into a sweat, while Harry watched him with a smirk. "Done already?” 

Ron withdrew his hand, letting out an embarrassed nod. "You missed something below," Harry proceeded to guide his hand downward between them. "Relax," Harry murmured gently and placed a tender kiss on his temple, a move that could have made Ron swoon if he hadn't been conscious of the current situation. 

So he simply stared at the corridor wall behind Harry, and waited for the Slytherin's to reach completion.

Ron missed dinner that evening, arriving back at the dormitory late. His robes were drawn up around his neck, concealing the marks Harry had left there. He had to stealthily pass the other students, who didn't notice him slip through the entrance and no one raised an eyebrow as he sported his collar buttoned up high the next morning, except for Hermione, who let out a sigh.

They entered the hall together, his gaze immediately drawn to the Slytherin table. Harry sat there, arms crossed, flanked by his cronies. His hair was as disheveled as it had been since yesterday, his green tie still crooked, and he looked like he had just rolled out of bed. 

When he saw Ron enter, he quickly gave him a wink.

He turned pink and immediately plopped down at the table before Hermione could say anything about it. He wasn't going to just share anything with his best friend. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know where to start. 

Perhaps he could write once the semester finally concluded. Merlin, did he ever long for its end. Summer would be dreadfully boring, though he could always write a letter to Harry in his room—alone. It was embarrassing to admit but he was already mentally outlining what they should be discussing in their exchanges, and he was so excited, so thrilled, that he felt like he might combust at any moment. 

So with only a few weeks left before the end, there would be two Hogsmeade visits remaining, and they both planned to visit them all. 

Speaking of visits, it appeared that he and Harry had been engaging in them regularly whenever the opportunity arose. They would talk and delve into personal matters. Although Harry typically avoided most of them.

It was surprising that Ronald Bilius Weasley, who was supposed to be quiet and all, was the one to always initiate such conversations when they were alone. If it seemed as though he was the only voice in the conversation, and he would pause, overcome with a sense of embarrassment. However, Harry would gently urge him to carry on, assuring him that he loved the sound of his voice above all and Ron wouldn't complain; as long as he pleased the other.

At some point, Hermione must have noticed the lingering glances Ron cast toward the Slytherin table every chance he got. Even while she sat at a different table, her eyes would wander to see what he was up to, like a mother keeping an eye on her child at the park. She cornered him in the corridor near the Charms classroom, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Ron." She shot him a concerned look. 

Ron blushed, taking Hermione aside to avoid being overheard. "Do we really have to discuss this right now?" he murmured plaintively.

"Yes, who would have anticipated such a thing?" Hermione whispered, voice laced with incredulity. "Could that be why Parkinson was acting like a hungry leech?”

"Apparently, she's being clingy because they broke up. With the end of term approaching in a few days, she's trying to get every opportunity to win him back.” 

Hermione looked at him momentarily, then took a step back, exhaling deeply.  

"I'm sorry," Ron murmured with shame. "I should have told you."

"Ron, there's no need to apologize. I've heard about what happened with Cedric Diggory, and I just assumed—”

"I'd rather not discuss it, please,” the Hufflepuff sniffed. "After Harry returned, things just fell into place like this, and I'm okay with that. I just want to be with Harry, I just—" Hermione swiftly clasped his hand tightly, and Ron felt tears welling up his eyes.

"Ron," she called him softly, with the familiarity and reassurance that she would always offer to him. "It's alright. I assure you, It's alright.”

Ron hurriedly wiped his tears away with the back of his palm and gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

—

Harry had no idea he was attracted to men until he had a good fuck with none other than Zabini. It was an accident; they were both tipsy at the time. Someone had smuggled a bottle of whiskey into their dormitory—a seventh-year student whose name Harry didn't know. Apparently, they were celebrating because they were about to graduate from this miserable place. What he was familiar with was the sensation of euphoria, a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a sense of lightheadedness.

He could feel the heat surrounding him, and he knew he saw Pansy–clearly drunk–grinding against his thigh. She had been all over him the entire time, and a wave of nausea rose in his stomach as he shoved her away. 

He stumbled to the nearest bathroom in the common room, only to find it already occupied. The person inside seemed somewhat familiar—buzzed hair, tall, and frankly, pretty hot if he were to give his opinion. He was bewildered, utterly confused as the guy inside tried to say something to him.

In a sudden impulsiveness, he found himself grabbing the other guy and pushing him against the stall, initiating a kiss. The guy let out a surprised gasp but then reciprocated the kiss eagerly. They were both drunk and neither of them was fully aware of their actions. All he knew was that he was grabbing, pushing, and making sounds he didn't realize he was capable of.

He engaged in both giving and receiving, and it was clear that the other guy was experienced. He pushed the taller man onto the disheveled mattress, its green fabric twisted and wrinkled. Shirts and robes lay strewn across the floor, while pants dangled from the headboard. 

"Potter," he heard the guy rasped, his voice deep and gravelly. 

Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp throb in his head, causing him to curse under his breath. "As much as I'd love to see you panicking, I'm exhausted," the guy added before collapsing onto Harry's chest, drifting off to sleep himself.

Then Harry realized they had gone at it for three rounds in total. As he woke up, he felt so sticky and empty inside.

Blaise Zabini, now that he could finally see him clearly, sat at the edge of the bed. He was naked from the waist up, with a blanket draped over his lower half. "Shit," Harry muttered, frantically searching for his wand, only to realize it was missing.

"If you're searching for your wand, it's right there on the bedside table.”

"Right," Harry replied, taking the wand to clean himself. "What exactly happened?"

Zabini stood up, causing Harry to hastily avert his eyes as the blanket slowly dropped to the ground. “Oh, nothing much happened, Potter.” He then casually picked up his pants from the floor, bending over to tease him which Harry responded with a loud groan of embarrassment. 

“Right,” Harry breathed out. “So?”

Zabini buttoned his trousers and arched an eyebrow in his direction. “So?” 

"Is this a one-time thing?"

Zabini glanced at him with confusion, then suddenly broke out into laughter. "Merlin, Potter, I didn't know you had it in you.”

It felt awkward as hell, but Harry allowed the other to dress.

They didn't delve into what had happened, but that was what awakened his sexuality, and he had to admit, it was fucking incredible and they had grown somewhat close after that. Unlike the rest, Zabini was the kind of man who wouldn't speak unless spoken to. He was patient, less snarky compared to Malfoy, but more calm and reserved, preferring not to involve himself unnecessarily.

It must be the adrenaline rush of all these complex emotions that pushed him to kissed the Hufflepuff back in the infirmary. He wanted to experience these weird sensations, and he wanted for none other than Ron Weasley himself. 

He wanted to fuck him.

To see the differences. 

It was amusing how Ron reacted to our timid touch, as if he were about to crumble with shyness. But that was precisely what Harry needed.

He was a Slytherin for a purpose. He belonged there because he was driven by ambition, determined to obtain what he desired.

And so what if he had hurt him? He had no concern for Weasley, none whatsoever.

"Hm. Are you sure about this?" Zabini questioned while unbuttoning his shirt. They were alone in one of the empty classrooms, Harry having just returned from his conversation with the headmaster. He approached the other boy with measured steps, reaching out to grasp his arm. The other regarded him as though such an action was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"What about your Weasley?"

"He can wait," Harry replied, pulling him towards the desk with a hurry. "We could indulge ourselves while he waits.” 

"Well then," 

Harry gently trailed his fingertips from the Hufflepuff's shoulder, tracing a path down to the very end of his arm, finally resting at his wrist. Meanwhile, Ron laid sound asleep beside him, occupying Harry's bed with the green curtains obscuring any glimpse of the outside, leaving the raven with no recourse but to focus on the features of the other. Even his snores were subdued, and the rhythm of his heartbeat whispered to Harry that Ron was steeped in contentment.

He had the other's head nestled against his stomach, with Harry reclined on the mattress. 

With only two days remaining, Harry was already yearning for it to never be over. The thought of returning to the Dursleys made him feel sick. He dreaded the idea of returning so soon; if given the choice, he would choose to remain here indefinitely. In fact, he mused, he could easily find a room and make himself at home here.

He didn't know what his next move would be, so he considered reaching out to Lupin. But did he even care anymore about him now, after his godfather died? 

Ron suddenly stirred and shifted beside him, and that made Harry snap out from his brooding. "Harry?" Ron's quiet voice broke the silence as he slowly sat up. 

“Go back to sleep,”

“Sorry.” Ron shifted a little, “Did I wake you up with my err…snores?”

Harry let out a snort and tangled his fingers towards the Hufflepuff's red hair, it was so soft and it smelled of cinnamon and milk, goddammit, he could eat him again. "Even the tiniest flobberworm wouldn't stir from its sleep with your snoring,”

Ron responded with a slight smile, attempting to reach for his sweatshirt lying at their feet, but Harry gently nudged him back and planted a kiss on his nose. "Don't," he murmured, eliciting a giggle from Ron.

"Not my nose, please.”

Harry hummed as they locked eyes, contemplating each other, both aware that indulging in another long make-out session wouldn't do them any harm. After all, they had to endure two months apart before they could reunite. 

"Then where?”

Ron's eyes darted towards Harry's lips, then back to his eyes, his cheeks flushing pink.

Ah.

Harry responded with a wolfish grin and shifted their position, now hovering over the redhead. He grasped his wrists firmly, positioning them on either side of his fiery locks, observing Ron's reaction as he squirmed under his intense gaze.

Zabini had praised his prowess in bed, noting how quickly he could learn. The mere thought made Harry eager to demonstrate everything he had learned to Ron, relishing the reactions he always got from him.

"Make him crave you," he recalled Zabini moaning as he passionately took him. "Wants you completely, until there's nothing left for him.”

Harry had certainly noticed it, how could he not? A mere touch and a few words from him seemed enough to completely swoon the Hufflepuff.

Even he was captivated by how effortlessly Ron could be so... so willing to submit to him.

"Harry?" That quiet whisper, even in their secluded world, still managed to reach his ears. 

Fuck.

He had been gazing at Ron's face for what felt like an eternity, oblivious to the fact that he himself was not moving at all. His attention was completely absorbed by those gorgeous freckles, which still mesmerised him beyond measure. 

Ron then rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder, a gesture filled with tenderness which disgusted him. "We can stay like this if you want," he murmured softly.

Harry's fingers tightened around the other's wrist, the pressure enough to possibly leave a mark, but Ron remained stoic, tilting his head back to meet Harry's eyes. "Harry, are you alright—"

"Shut up," Harry said sharply. His stomach was twisting in disgust, feeling repelled by the tenderness around him. He couldn't even withstand being overpowered by affections, resented it when Ron disregarded him with a troubled expression, which deepened the darkness growing inside him. He loosened his grip on his wrists, but his hand instinctively moved towards the other's neck. 

"Harry—" Ron whimpered, his voice steeped with a slight nervousness, as Harry tightly gripped it while staring into those now widening blue eyes. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the other's, contemplating that if Ron couldn't speak aloud, he might as well erase his voice altogether. 

He then saw something in those eyes, a fear taking shape as Harry maintained his grip without relenting, and just before the other was able to shove him away, he had already took a claim of those lips and kissed him with such intense hunger that made Ron cried out, desperate for air, which Harry refused to give. 

However, his grasp began to loosen around his neck, allowing his hands to lose itself down the redhead's exposed body with his abrasive fingers attempting to claim it as if it was their own, inflicting bruises, cuts, and marks that will forever remind the Hufflepuff of who possesses him.

Harry withdrew his tongue from his mouth, allowing Ron to catch his breath. Once the redhead seemed recovered, Harry proceeded with what he had originally intended to do. He pressed his lips against his jaw, tracing a path with his tongue down to his collarbone, before easing himself between the other's legs. 

"Harry," Ron winced as Harry bit down deeply on the same spot he had bitten earlier. "I think we should stop."

"No.”

He then felt hands cradle his face, tilting it so he could meet Ron's eyes. "Harry," he whispered. “Enough.” Harry stared at him, stunned by the statement, his body tensing with resistance. He didn't want to be spoken to like that; he wanted to decide when to stop or go on. 

However, Ron appeared completely drained, his body trembling from the chill that had permeated through the curtains. The charm Harry had cast to warm their surroundings had already lost its effectiveness.

The darkness within him wrestled over decisions to make. Eventually, Harry came out with a final decision. “Fine,” He said before turning Ron over onto his back, taking hold of his hips and lifting it up. "Harry—!?" 

"You truly don't get it," Harry remarked, his voice rough with every breath, as he positioned his hardened cock between Ron's thighs. "If I said no one can resist you," there was a brief pull, "it means no one would pass up an opportunity like this," before followed by a forceful shove. 

The damp warmth and tautness between those soft thighs made him desperately want to just slip inside. It was already sufficiently sticky with wetness.

But, by Salazar, this was an entirely new experience, utterly incredible, and the little sounds Ron made only intensified all of it. He was feeding the monstrous creature inside him, that selfish, insatiable monster hungry for this kind of closure. 

Ron was beginning to cry in quiet pleasure to loud ones, remaining obedient for a considerable amount of time while Harry charged at him like a ferocious beast. Ron was pleading with wants by the way Harry's cock's head was teaseably bracing against the other's rim everytime he shoved himself between those thighs, trying to gain access but only passing across, leaving the Hufflepuff in outrage.

He then tugged the redhead's flaming hair unkindly to the opposite side while chomping his teeth on the bare shoulder, and before he even knew it, he was gone. Completely blacked out for a short amount of time, he felt as though he had finally been freed, releasing all of his tension.

His drenched body then suddenly gave up above Ron, who seemed to have long collapsed and trembled under him. 

"Ron?" Harry called out, but the redhead remained silent. "Hey," he said, sitting up and grabbing Ron's arm to turn him towards him. "Are you alright? I'm sorry.”

Ron sniffled and shook his head. “I'm alright,” he croaked, wincing at the stickiness on his thighs.

“Let me clean you,” Harry offered.

“No, it’s okay,” Ron replied, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position.

“Ron—”

“Harry,” Ron cut in, his voice laden with great exhaustion. “I said, I am okay.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling annoyed. He didn't even know what had upset the other, but it angered him nonetheless. "Fine," he snapped, "I haven't the foggiest idea what's even troubling you right now.”

He then noticed the warm flush spreading across the other's cheeks, "It's just that..." Ron said, nervously playing with his own fingers and casting his gaze downwards. "Must we do this every time we meet? I mean, it's wonderful, really, but with only two days left and no chance to meet again for two months, shouldn't we just enjoy other things, instead of this?”

Harry arched an eyebrow as he picked up his trousers from the floor next to the bed, "Are you suggesting you no longer want to have sex with me, Ron Weasley?” 

"What—Harry, no!" Ron blurted out, his panic mounting. "I enjoy it, but we've never had a normal date in Hogsmeade without you, well, touching me non-stop!” His cheeks now fully flushed with red and Harry fought to suppress a smug expression. 

"Why? Your body was practically begging me to touch it, and besides," Harry said, leaning forward to kiss Ron's nose which made the redhead's face scrunched up in discomfort; he really didn't enjoy being kissed on the nose, huh? "You enjoyed it almost as much as I did, so now we're on the same page."

"On the same page–!" Ron repeated, looking at him incredulously.

"And who said we're not seeing each other over the summer? We could send letters, or I could just come straight to your room."

"You won't and you can't.”

“I will and I can.”

"Don't be stubborn," Ron said, his eyes darting around nervously. "But I suppose I could tell Mum if you ever want to visit…"

Harry then adjusted himself in his seat, positioning himself directly in front of Ron and gently lifted the other's chin to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he said softly, to which Ron bashfully complied. “I won't pressure you if you're not ready. We have plenty of time for ourselves. Merlin, I could take you out on a proper date in the summer, unless some Voldemort thing happens again.”

"Please don't say his name," Ron sighed.

"What I was saying," Harry continued, leaning in to nuzzle Ron's neck before blowing a kiss on the skin. “It may have seemed like an easy decision, but both of us had a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yes, but without doing it.”

Harry leaned back, his brow furrowing slightly. "But I like it."

Ron turned in a slight pink. "Harry, we can't do it every time we meet!"

"Why are you against it now? You were enjoying it just a moment ago!” 

"Just because," Ron shoved his shoulder away and Harry stared at him in disbelief. Why wasn't Ron enjoying it anymore? Had something about him turned the other off? 

Harry let out an annoyed groan. "You're killing me."

Ron glared at him, but it wasn't intense; it was more like a gentle glare from someone not accustomed to glaring often.

"You don't know what will happen if you don't let me," Harry said, his voice lowering. "I can hold out for days, even a month, but once I get my hands on you, Weasley, there will be no turning back.”