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Summary
“Come now,” Sirius continues. “Don’t be too mad at Harry. The poor lad never got a proper youth, did he? No sneaking around, no messy heartbreaks. No…” he waves his now empty hand in the air, as if struggling to find the words to continue with this particular line of defense, “... wild oats, and whatnot.”
“He’ll learn his lesson,” he sighs, reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair, trying oh so hard to hide the fact that he is flexing. He shrugs. “Eventually.”
Something clicks into place in Pansy's mind. The spark of a terrible, terrible idea.
Fine. Let the boy learn.