This one's for absynthia, who asked for Harry/Sirius ages ago!
"Can I ask you something?"
"Still plenty of lube left. Nothing to worry about."
"Not what I meant, you daft--" The pillow in Harry's face interrupted the insult. He clawed it away. "Oi! Should be me hitting you with that."
"Think I don't want you to?" Sirius grinned. "Pillowfights are sexy as hell. C'mon, I'll even give you exclusive rights to use the duvet as a weapon."
It was tempting, and not just because Sirius was sprawled naked out on the bed before him. Harry'd thought this had been a good moment to ask the difficult question. He wasn't sure anymore.
"No? Must be important, then. Out with it, and we can move on to pummeling each other into submission."
He would lose his nerve again if he waited another second. "Okay. Did you..." Harry sucked in a huge breath, and said all in a rush, "Did you ever fancy my dad?"
A silence during which Harry braced himself--for more silence, for defensiveness, for quiet explanation. Then: "James?" said Sirius in a scaling-up voice that could only be described as scandalized.
Whatever Harry had expected, it hadn't been that.
"Your dad? Ew!" Sirius drew his shoulders up as if there was a particularly large and crawly spider in front of him. "What the hell brought that on?"
Harry simply gaped. When he had control of his jaw again, he sputtered, "But it--everyone says I'm like--I thought maybe you and he were..."
"James. Eurg. No." Sirius shuddered. "That would be like fancying your brother."
Harry got a light cuff on the head. "Yes, you stupid git. What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing." Harry realized he felt like dancing. No--gavotting. "Not a bloody thing. I'm fabulous."
"You lost exclusive duvet rights, I'll have you know." Sirius yanked it out from under Harry, clutching it taut between his fingers like a garotte. "Defend yourself."
Pillowfights were indeed incredibly fucking sexy, Harry found.
This one is forsherant's recent picture of Harry and Draco.
"Tthyrgk," said Ron, and then swallowed his enormous mouthful of breakfast and repeated himself. "There you are. Where've you been?" He heard the note of hurt in his voice but hadn't tried to disguise it, assumed it could be read on his face as well--if Harry had bothered to look at him. But he hadn't, just plopped down on the opposite side of the table and begun shoveling eggs onto his own plate. "I got up and your bed was made. You even sleep in it last night?"
Still no eye contact. "Something was up. Went to check it out."
"What, that's it?" The hurt note was even more obvious, but, bugger it all, could Harry get more secretive? "We don't get to know?" Ron noted that Hermione was letting him do the talking. She'd stopped eating her toast and seemed to be staring at Harry.
"'S nothing. Wasn't worth bothering you over."
Ron tried to get the bacon plate-- which looked like it had been the victim of a raid-- back from Harry. What had him so bloody ravenous this morning? "Wasn't worth bothering us over, but it was worth making you put on the same clothes as yesterday, was it?"
Harry didn't even pause in his bacon-ravaging. "I was in a hurry. Grabbed the first thing I found."
Ron had just about decided to give it up when Hermione, speaking at last, said, quite slowly, "Harry...that's a Slytherin tie you're wearing."
Ron did the same. Harry didn't turn, but Ron found his eyes rising to the Slytherin table behind Harry, where Malfoy and his goons were tucking into the kippers with relish. And didn't Malfoy's hair look uncharacteristically dishevelled this morning...
...above that red-and-gold tie.
Ron dropped his fork.
He wasn't ever going to eat again.