His Best Memory?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe is property of JK Rowling. I, sadly, make no money from my fanfiction.


He was standing in a stone corridor, the flickering of the dying torch lamps aligning the wall on either side of him lending an eerie glow to his environment. Exhaling slowly, he was not surprised to find that he could see his breath before him. It was always like that in the Potions classroom come wintertime; he expected he was somewhere near there now – or at least somewhere in the dungeon. Although he knew that he would no longer see the circular window through which he had been peering down into this corridor only moments ago, Harry still tipped his head back to take stock of things. Nothing but stone was above him.

Echoing from somewhere in the depths of the dungeon was the sound of a door being open and the scuffling of what Harry presumed to be chairs or desks scraping against the ground as they were jostled. This piqued his interest immediately; is this where he could be? He had to be here somewhere, after all. Where was he?

Curious and more than a little anxious (for perhaps more reasons than simply a fear of being caught once more), Harry made off in the direction of the noise. A few minutes had passed in which Harry had been taking great pains to be as silent as possible before he remembered that it would not matter if he was as loud as a small gathering of banshees; no one would ever hear him. No one would ever see him, for that matter. Shaking his head, he laughed at himself for being so foolish and continued on his way. The laugh was nervous and almost foreign-sounding to his own ears but he did not dwell on it. It loosened him up a tiny bit…or at least provided some distraction from the niggling voice now present in the back of his mind warning him that this was not a good idea.

Swallowing hard, Harry stuck to the shadows out of habit, one shoulder scraping against the wall as he moved closer and closer to where the sound was coming from.

Where is he? Harry wondered, stopping a few feet away from what had to be where the sounds he had heard originated. The door was ajar and there mustn’t have been much light in the room. That much he could discern from where he was standing. He’s got to be around here somewhere. It was his memory. Surely he was nearby.

Harry placed one hand palm-flat on the stone wall and slowly slid it toward the door frame. The tips of his fingers brushed against wood and he glided his hand the rest of the distance there so that he could curl his digits around it. Harry could hear a choking noise from somewhere in the room and he was beginning to feel very nervous. This memory was here for a reason. Either someone didn’t want to remember it or they hadn’t wanted Harry to come across it unwarranted through Occlumency lessons. Whatever the case, Harry was beginning to think that maybe this had not been such a good idea on his part after all.
Standing there stock-still for a good minute, Harry debated on how to proceed. Either he could work up his Gryffindor nerve and head in there or he could turn tail and flee. He nearly did flee; he had turned on his heel and managed a few steps when a loud, barking laugh drifted out of the room.

Sirius?

The laugh sounded again and Harry knew that he hadn’t imagined it. He hadn’t thought he would ever hear the sound of Sirius’ voice again but there it was and who cared if it was a lousy memory? It was Sirius and Sirius was good and Harry missed him so fucking much—

--so fucking much

--fucking much

--much

Oh hells--

There he was.

Harry stepped into the darkened classroom and there, looking no older than Harry himself, was Sirius Black. He was just as he was the last time Harry had seen him in Snape’s Pensieve – good-looking, dark hair falling in his eyes…

Just as he was the last time but in an entirely different situation than Defence Against the Dark Arts Ordinary Wizarding Level examination.

Sirius was not sitting down at one of the desks lounging on a chair like he had been the last time Harry had seen him as a schoolboy. In fact, most of the desks in his general area were pushed haphazardly out of the way, some having come to rest on their sides after having been toppled over.

No, Sirius was certainly not sitting down. He was standing up. Or rather, he was propped against a wall, trousers around his ankles, head tilted back against the stone supporting the rest of his frame, dark hair falling in his eyes, his mouth opened in a silent o. Harry’s eyes trailed lower and fell on the form of a boy with messy dark hair kneeling in front of Sirius. Harry couldn’t make out his face; the boy’s head was somewhat buried in Sirius’ crotch. And from the sounds Sirius was now making , he was bloody well enjoying juhatehatever it was the other boy was doing to him.

rly rly shocked (in retrospect, perhaps not so much as he had known that Remus and Sirius had become partners shortly before Sirius’ death) by the scene before him, Harry stumbled back a few paces, his arms pin-wheeling wildly as he tried to maintain his balance. One of his elbows slammed against the door behind him. Fortunately for Harry, he wasn’t really there and thus the door did not budge an inch.

“Nhhhhh,” Sirius moans, bucking his hips in a desperate attempt to get his cock closer to the boy in front of him. Harry straightens and, although he knows he should look away from the scene before him, he cannot. Sirius is writhing around half-naked only feet away from him and he’s there and Harry can hear him and Harry can see him and Sirius is happy, enjoying himself and he isn’t dead. He isn’t dead and he isn’t being forced to hide in that dive on Grimmauld Place. He’s there and young and fit and Harry feels a swelling in his chest as he watches him.

He should really look away.

But Harry can’t. He doesn’t have the willpower to turn away; he never much had that sort of thing. People always hid things from him because they didn’t think he could handle it or he was just a kid. No doubt if anyone else was there that could see Harry they’d try to hide this from him as well. But there wasn’t anyone else there. It was just Harry and he was going to watch this because he could.

He was going to watch this because he could and it made him happy because Sirius was there and happy and—

The boy situated on his knees before Sirius unexpectedly scooted back a few feet, eliciting a cry of protest from Sirius.

“Prongs,” he half-whimpered, half-moaned, “stop being a bloody tease and get back here.”

Prongs? Prongs?!

It can’t be--

Harry stumbled forward, propelled by the overwhelming desire to see for himself if his father was the one doing things with Sirius. It was wrong; he loved Harry’s mum. Or was this before James and Lily got together? Harry didn’t know and there wasn’t any way right then and there that he could find out. Sirius had never mentioned to him before that he and James had once been involved; this was so unexpected and shocking and—

It’s almost like looking into a bloody mirror! Harry thought faintly as he landed in a heap on the floor right beside James. He shared his fats mes messy hair, slight build, and there was a flush in James’ cheeks that Harry knew he got whenever he was excited about something. James was laughing, saying something to Sirius that Harry couldn’t hear for the dull roar in his ears.

This was wrong. This was sick. He should have turned and went the opposite direction instead of coming in this damned classroom—

Still he did not look away. He told himself that he was going to. He really was—but then James reached out and took hold of Sirius by the hips and yanked him closer and his hands looked just like Harry’s and one was curling around the base of Sirius’ cock while the other was sliding around Sirius’ hip to grab at his arse and Harry couldn’t help himself.

It was like looking into a mirror.

No.

It was like watching himself stroke Sirius off.

Ohhhhhhh good Merliiiiiiiiin.

He felt himself get hard and he didn’t care that it was wrong and twisted and a thousand other bloody wrong things. It was like watching himself with Sirius and Sirius was so happy and alive and moaning, moaning for him finally after all this time and shit if he didn’t relieve some of his own tension right then and there he’d die. He was sure of it.

His cock strained against the fabric of his pants and trousers and he had to get up; it was damned uncomfortable there on the floor and god he just needed room to-- eedeeeded room.

Never taking his eyes off of Sirius and James, Harry somehow managed to get to his feet. Fumbling with the button and zip on his trousers, he shuffled backwards little by little until he felt the cool stones of the wall against his back. Gritting his teeth, he hastily shoved down his trousers as far as they would go and undid the snap on the fly of his pants.

Better.

His hand was warm and moist; no need to spit on it first. He was just going to go for it; he needed to hurry so he could get in sync with James’ rhythm. Grabbing his cock roughly, Harry cried out, head lolling to one side. Breath quickening already, Harry grunted and began to yank firmly on his length, green eyes focused on James’ hand and Sirius’ cock. James’ hand was moving up and down on Sirius’ cock in short, quick strokes. Every so often he would linger at the base and squeeze and both Sirius and Harry would moan and Harry thought that was the greatest noise he’d ever heard – his and Sirius’ voices together like that.

Hips were rocking, shifting, bucking, thrusting and Harry was feeling tight oh so tight and ohhhhhhhhhhhh—

Swallowing hard, hand still tending to his swollen cock, Harry rolled his head to the opposite side and promptly gasped.

There he was.

Harry had long forgotten about him. How daft of him. This was his pensieve, his memory. Harry was just visiting it and how could he forget that he would be there too?

When Harry had backed into the wall, he hadn’t realised at the time that he ended up right next to a wardrobe – a wardrobe with an ajar door.

Well, he certainly realised it now! How could he not, when the door was partially open and he could very clearly see the pale boy with the greasy, lank hair who would eventually become his Potions Master? The pale boy with the greasy, lank hair who would eventually become his Potions Master who was having a bit of a wank in the warbrobe, that is.

It was too late to stop himself, too late to really think about how dodgy it was that Snape had spied on Sirius and James and then put it in a pensieve, it was all too late because Harry was cresting, cresting, cresting and then he felt himself come harder than he ever had before. Harry could hear Sirius cursing and moaning and the slapping of skin as James’ hand moved over Sirius’ cock and Snape’s heavy breathing so very close to him all the while he was coming with such fucking force. He could hear and feel all of this while his eyes studied the careful, firm strokes that Snape was applying to his own cock and then he saw stars before his eyes. Everything was turning black and he was so tired but there was still all of that breathing and Sirius was moaning and Harry couldn’t focus on the way Sirius sounded just then because a hand grabbed at the scruff of his neck with a harsh grip. Harry looked around wildly and found himself looking into the rage-filled eyes of the adult Snape and he nearly felt his heart stop right there in his chest.

“You’ve meddled in my affairs for the last time, Potter,” Snape said in a deadly whisper. Then Harry felt himself rising into the air and suddenly he was back in Snape’s office.

Panting heavily and rearranging his clothing as quickly as he could, Harry took a seat and waited for whatever punishment Snape was about to dole out to begin. He wasn’t going to let it bother him; he’d been able to see Sirius one last time and they moaned together and came together and that was all Harry wanted out of life right then and there.