Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Written before Deathly Hallows, so spoiler-free and AU by default.
Pants on Fire(whiskey)
I winced as consciousness took hold. The pain in my forehead was worse than it had ever been, and my entire body ached. I inhaled sharply and tried to open my eyes, but the bright light in front of me made it impossible.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I tried to remember what had happened. Was it possible... had there been an attack? Nausea washed over me at the thought of yet another battle, after all these years. I tried to steady my breathing as I opened my eyes to take in my surroundings.
At first I saw nothing, only bright sunlight pouring in through a dusty window. My head was heavy, too heavy to lift, but I managed to slowly turn it to the side. I knew this place, and rather well.
I'd been attacked in my own bloody bedroom. Fuck, I should have listened to Kingsley. He'd wanted me to stay in hiding for a few more years. But no, I'd insisted on getting on with my bloody life, just wanted to be normal. And now some lingering Death Eaters apparently knew where I lived. Fuck.
A wave of fear hit as I thought of Ron. Had they found his bedroom, too?
I still couldn't move, as desperately as I wanted to. I opened my mouth to call out to Ron across the hall, but nothing came out. I didn't recognise the spell I was under, but something was very wrong. Loathing my helplessness and unsure of what to do, I concentrated on the last thing I remembered.
I had been somewhere with Ron and Hermione, and we'd been hiding. It'd been dark, but not quiet, or not quiet enough. We'd kept telling the others to hush up, before they gave us away. Merlin, where had we been?
A door had suddenly opened, I remembered the light slicing through the darkness, and I had jumped back to avoid being seen. And standing in the door had been – wait, that wasn't right. What was Seamus doing? Had he… wait. Wait. Oh. Fuck.
Seamus' bloody surprise birthday party. That's where we'd been.
The pain in my forehead flooded back into my skull and I very nearly vomited.
Right. So, not a coven of dark wizards then. Firewhiskey. Charming.
As I contemplated just how much energy would be required to summon the hangover potion from the kitchen, something stirred next to me.
Hit by fear once again, I inwardly cursed the liquid demon that had made me a captive in my own bed.
I opened my mouth to threaten my would-be assailant, and managed a very threatening 'Hhnngh'.
I could make out a shape under the sheet next to me, roughly human, but I still couldn't lift my head and the angle made it impossible to tell for sure. The shape then let out a pathetic, distinctly human groan.
I remembered, then, about the Firewhiskey, and a new and shocking possibility suddenly appeared. Bloody hell, I'd brought someone home last night! She was entirely covered by the loose sheet, so I couldn't see who she was. I tried to recall who'd been at the party and if I'd chatted up some witch. But I remembered nothing of the sort. I'd spent most of my evening with Ron, just like usual, observing the festivities from a comfortable distance while we shared a bottle of Firewhiskey.
I had a vague memory of Seamus calling us over to join in a drinking game he'd organised. We were reluctant, but it was his birthday, after all. It all faded to black shortly after that.
I was sure I hadn't invited some girl home with me; I just didn't do that sort of thing. Had some witch followed me home, and I was too pissed to send her off?
I tried to speak again, and this time managed a marginally more lucid 'Oi?'.
The low grunt I received in response was indecipherable, but made one thing perfectly clear. The witch in my bed was, in fact, a wizard. A bloke.
A strange sort of panic washed over me, which intensified when I confirmed something I'd noticed a moment earlier. I was naked. Stark bollocks naked. In bed. With a bloke. Bloody hell.
My companion grunted again and managed to roll over, losing the bed sheet that was covering him and exposing his entire naked form.
But my shock at the nudity faded into the background as a very familiar mop of red hair appeared at the top of it. My already upset stomach lurched, just as Ron managed to moan out a barely intelligible 'bloody hell'. Indeed.
I lay there, frozen with my head turned to look at him, unable to move as he faced me, his eyes squeezed shut from the light. I should have said something, before he opened his eyes. Just bloody anything, to distract him before he noticed that he was naked. And in my bed.
His eyes did open, though, and I hadn't said a word. They narrowed in confusion, before going wide.
"Harry?"
I just stared at him. For all the thoughts that had been racing across it moments earlier, my mind was now completely blank. Well, almost. It seemed my vocabulary now consisted of exactly two words, 'Ron' and 'naked'. Which together formed a mildly coherent thought, but not one that was particularly helpful to me at the moment.
I didn't realise I'd opened my mouth until I heard myself say those two words aloud. At least they had the decency to sound like questions.
"Apparently, yes," he groaned, nodding down at my body. "You too, then?"
I realised I was still covered by the sheet. For a moment, I contemplated lying and saying I had pants on. But that struck me as rather mean. And besides, he could find out that I was lying easily enough.
So I nodded. He seemed to consider this for a moment before choosing to ignore it. He reached for the sheet and groaned from the exertion of pulling it back over himself. His face went a little green.
"Harry, why can't I move?"
"Seamus."
"Oh right. Fuck. What happened last night?"
"I dunno. Don't remember anything past some drinking game he made up."
"Fucking Seamus. Trying to kill us all, just for his birthday."
I tried to laugh, only managing a weak grunt.
"Be a mate and summon some hangover potion?" Ron asked as he turned his head away from the light.
A few moments later (a few more than it usually took, anyway), a bottle flew into my hand, and mercifully there was enough potion for both of us.
I drank it and closed my eyes, half-sure that the entire situation was just an alcohol-induced hallucination which would be gone in a moment. But when I opened my eyes, Ron was still there, blinking at me as if he'd expected the same thing. The green in his face seemed to have cleared, though.
We lay in silence a while longer than was necessary for the potion to have its effects. Ron laid his head on the mattress and closed his eyes, and was still for so long that I thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he let out an exasperated sigh. I didn't particularly want to discuss our current state either, but I felt a bit ridiculous ignoring it.
"Ron? Do you know why we're like this?"
He bit his lip. "Like this?"
"Here… in my bed. And… our clothes?"
Ron's face was immediately bright red, as if he'd only just noticed the nudity.
"Uh," he said. He still hadn't opened his eyes.
"Can you remember coming home last night?"
"No."
"Me neither."
There was another long pause, and I thought he might not say anything more, but he seemed to realise he needed to offer something by way of explanation.
"Reckon I got a bit lost coming down the hall last night. Must've been in a real state."
"Yeah. Must've been."
"Mind if I use the loo first?" Apparently that was all the explanation he had for me. Not a word about our state of undress.
"No. Go ahead."
He flew out of bed, grabbing articles of clothing he'd abandoned to the floor the night before. As he disappeared into the hallway, I lay back and stretched my limbs, trying to shake off my confusion.
Was that it, then? He'd just stumbled into my room by mistake in a drunken stupor?
It wasn't completely unreasonable. There wasn't really anything to suggest that's not what happened.
Well, except for the whole naked thing. I didn't think either of us was in the habit of sleeping nude, even when intoxicated. As far as I knew.
I sat up and looked around the room. Bloody hell, but we'd got up to something.
Articles of clothing belonging to both of us were strewn everywhere, along with the bed covers. The duvet was balled up in the far corner, and my boxers were hanging from the lamp by my headboard. The mattress was mostly bare, but we'd apparently managed to locate the top sheet before passing out.
I scanned the room several times, searching for something, although I didn't know what. Something that would offer an explanation, besides the obvious one. I pointedly chose not to acknowledge the tell-tale stain that was plainly visible on my dark bed sheet. Alcohol always did impair my cleaning spells.
I heard Ron exit the bathroom and pad down the hall to his own room. The image of his bare arse as he'd made his hurried exit flashed across my mind.
My lips twitched at the corners and I blushed, sure that Ron could somehow sense the beginnings of arousal from across the hall.
Jumping into action, I pulled my boxers off the lamp to cover myself and called out to Ron, "Mind if I shower?"
"All yours, mate."
As I washed away the skunk of a night full of whiskey, cigarettes and, evidently, considerable physical activity, I tried not to think too much.
Ron was probably right. We'd just been pissed and landed in an awkward position that morning.
Sort of thing that happened all the time. Especially with flatmates. I mean, we were together all the damn time. It was inevitable, really.
Nothing to worry about, or be ashamed of.
And if I was picturing Ron's arse as I hastily tended to myself in the shower, I chose not to acknowledge it.
By the time I was out of the shower, towelled off and dressed, I had almost managed to convince myself that nothing significant had happened the night before.
Ron seemed to have done the same when I found him whistling over the stove.
"Can I help?" I asked, as casually as I could.
"Nope, just about done here," he replied, glancing over his shoulder at me.
I poured some coffee and sat down, trying not to look at Ron's arse as my stomach growled.
A minute or so later, he handed me a plate full of food and sat across from me.
"Thanks," I said, with a small smile. I looked up at him as he sat, but he was already focused on his food and nodded his response.
We ate in silence for several minutes. I tried to convince myself that it was a comfortable, companionable silence.
Ron finished quickly, set his fork down with a sigh and banished it with his plate to the sink. I thought he might leave immediately, but he leaned back in his chair and slouched down a bit as he stretched out. He extended his legs under the table, crossing his ankles as he crossed his arms over his chest.
As he settled in, his feet came to rest against one of mine.
I jumped at the contact and looked up at him. He didn't move and met my gaze across the table.
I froze. Was he touching me on purpose?
His expression turned quizzical as I stared at him, before his eyes went wide for the second time that morning.
He jerked his feet back underneath him, sitting up straight in his chair as his face turned several shades of red.
"Sorry," he rushed. "Table leg, I thought."
Oh.
"S'ok," I mumbled, looking to my plate and shovelling some eggs into my mouth.
He stood up, knocking his chair back a few inches in his haste, and turned away from the table.
"Just gonna… go now. Paperwork, and… and…" If he said what else, I didn't hear it, as he walked away.
"Thanks for breakfast," I mumbled with my mouth full.
He ducked out of the room with a muttered response, and I tried not to think too much.
The afternoon was actually relatively normal after that, a typical lazy Sunday.
We spent it idling about, listening to the Cannons on the wireless. Ron had brought home some paperwork from the Ministry on Friday, which he expertly avoided finishing in favour of turning on the muted television. He loved watching the Muggle advertisements.
He usually peppered me with questions about the things he saw – wondering what they were called, why Muggles needed them, or expressing general awe at the magic-less ingenuity. Between the silent Muggle parade and the Quidditch play-by-play, he could be entertained for hours. He was his father's son, at times.
His complete silence this afternoon felt heavy and unnatural as he clicked back and forth between the stations.
I tried to ignore it as I stared at the Sunday Prophet, studying every article without actually reading a word.
I started to worry. Maybe waking up naked in bed with your best mate wasn't the sort of thing you could just brush off. We'd done our fair share of stupid things while intoxicated in the past, and had always had a good laugh about it afterwards.
But Ron hadn't laughed once yet today. He wasn't even paying attention to the images in front of him. He blindly flicked through the channels, like a nervous tick.
I tried to ignore my mounting discomfort and read.
But when the Cannons scored three in a row and Ron didn't so much as raise an eyebrow, it was too much.
"Ron?"
"Hmm?" he grunted lazily, without looking away from the telly.
"Did you hear that? The Cannons just scored thirty points. They're only down by one hundred and forty now, could pull it out."
"Oh." He said it like it was supposed to sound excited, the way an adult does when humouring a small child.
I simply couldn't take it.
"Look, mate, are we alright?"
He turned to look at me rather sharply. "Huh?"
"You've been acting strange all day. Is it about this morning? Is it – are you angry with me?"
He looked away quickly. "No, 'course not. It was nothing."
"Right."
"Hope you're not angry with me. Sorry I left your room in such a state."
"No worries, nothing a couple quick spells couldn't fix," I replied.
I was quiet for a moment, debating whether I should ask my next question. Curiosity got the better of me.
"Do you remember anything we did after we got home?"
He flushed a little and swallowed visibly.
"No," he said, too casually. "Looks like we played a bit of Quidditch on your bed, though."
Quidditch. Right. He was very still as I considered this cover-story. It felt silly, but I hated his discomfort.
So, I chuckled. "Using all the contents of my room as Quaffles?"
He looked at me again, with the beginnings of relief and mild amusement on his face. "Well, it's tough to find something that's the right size and weight, you know. Gotta give it all a try." And then he smiled, at last.
It wasn't completely unreasonable. And even if it was, I chose not to acknowledge it, because within minutes Ron was laughing. And that's all that really mattered.
Some time later, I was in the middle of trying to explain to Ron yet again how Muggle computers worked without magic when Wimbourne caught the Snitch and he interrupted me with a characteristically colourful string of swear-words.
I laughed and gave him a sympathetic look, inwardly relieved that we had got past the awkwardness.
And if I had a dream that night in which Ron and I were playing naked Quidditch and I caught a Snitch which appeared to actually be one of Ron's bollocks, I chose not to acknowledge it the next morning.
The weirdness wasn't gone, though, and it didn't go away, even a week later.
Ron and I both acted as normal as ever, but it was unnatural. There was a forced pleasantness while we both tried to ignore the giant fuck of a Hippogriff in the room.
I tried not to let it bother me. But as the days passed, it only seemed to get worse.
The surreptitious sideward glances, like we were afraid to be caught looking at one another. The awkward physical awareness, like we were afraid to have any casual contact. The stilted conversation, like we were afraid our discussions might veer into dangerous territory.
I started to really worry.
What if it never got better?
I couldn't bring it up with him, though. I didn't want to upset him. The thought of making things worse was terrifying. What if he got so angry he stopped talking to me altogether? Or decided to move out? What we had was uncomfortable, yes, but at least it was something. Losing him wasn't an option.
But I was miserable. I was living with a stranger who looked and talked a lot like my best mate.
The whole thing was bloody confusing.
I knew I needed help.
I met Hermione for lunch on Saturday in a part of Muggle London where I knew Ron never went.
She greeted me with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek.
"Hello, Harry."
"Cheers, Hermione. Glad you could come."
We hadn't seen much of Hermione lately. She was as intensely committed to her Healer training as we'd expected her to be.
I could still make out dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, but somehow today she looked better rested than she had in months. Her eyes had a glint to them that I hadn't seen in some time.
"I was surprised that you had time," I said. "And you're looking so well – is Healer training getting easier all of sudden?"
She laughed. "No, I've just missed you! It was so nice to see you last weekend, I couldn't resist two in a row."
We sat down and took a moment with our menus. When she looked up at me, she smiled.
"I am feeling well, though. My training isn't any easier, but I am having more fun with it."
"Oh?"
"I've found a wonderful new study partner. We work really well together, and it makes a difference in how I get through it all. He's really terrific."
I gave her something of a Look to indicate that I suspected she was up to more than just studying with this new 'partner'. She blushed faintly and flashed a coy smile.
"His name is Thomas. If we're still studying together in a few weeks, I'll bring him around."
"Excellent." I laughed. We ordered our food and chatted for a good hour as we relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. I had almost forgotten the particular impetus for our lunch.
"So, Harry," Hermione said suddenly, with an air of feigned innocence, "are you going to tell me what happened with Ron last weekend?"
I immediately choked on the rather large bit of cheese I'd just put in my mouth, and was annoyed with the smug look she was wearing by the time I'd finished coughing and was able to look at her again.
"What d'you mean?" I finally squeaked out.
Now it was her turn to return a Look, which was much more impressive than the one I'd managed earlier.
"Harry, I know you asked me here to talk about something. When was the last time you made a point of seeing me without Ron?"
"Well, I… he's busy."
He wasn't. I'd lied to him that morning, saying I was going to visit Remus, knowing he wouldn't ask to come along. Remus liked to tell me stories about my parents and Sirius, most of which I already knew by now, but it didn't matter. Ron gave me space when I visited him. I ignored a distinct pang of guilt.
Another Look told me that Hermione wasn't as easily misled as Ron had been.
"Besides," she continued, "I saw a little something last Saturday that makes me think there might be something bothering you."
I froze when our eyes met. She held my gaze and her expression turned from innocent to devious. As the full range of possible implications flashed across my mind, I found that I would have given just about anything to be a Legilimens at that moment.
"A little something?" I asked.
She quirked an eyebrow at me. I wasn't sure if it was a confirmation or a challenge.
"What sort of little something?" I asked, trying and failing to mimic her air of innocence.
"Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Harry."
"Hermione," I retorted, letting some sarcasm slip. At her third and most impressive Look yet, I relented.
"I don't know, okay? We woke up on Sunday, both of us in my bed. Neither of us remembers anything after Seamus' party. Not how we got home, nothing."
"And what's the problem?" she replied sweetly. "Ron fell asleep in your room, eh? I'm not surprised, you were both pissed out of your minds."
I gave an annoyed sigh and rolled my eyes slightly.
That damn eyebrow quirked again, this time with a distinct air of triumph. "What aren't you telling me, Harry?"
"Please just tell me what you saw, Hermione."
"I will. After you tell me the rest."
I sighed again, knowing there was really no point in resisting.
"We were naked, okay? My room was a disaster, and our clothes were all over the place."
"What happened when you woke up?"
She was apparently satisfied that she'd won her little game, because her demeanour changed and she was suddenly my kind best friend again, offering an eager and sympathetic ear.
"Nothing, really, it was awful. So awkward, neither of us said anything. And now we're both on edge and uncomfortable with one another all the time. I'm starting to get really worried… Look, Hermione, can you please just tell me what you saw?"
She gave me a small smile and reached for my hand, which had been worrying the edge of my plate, to give it a squeeze.
"Well," she began, "we were all at Seamus' flat, and you both were well and pissed. Neville and I Side-Alonged you home at about two, I think."
My eyes went wide at the thought that Neville had been there, and I felt ill thinking that our little secret was not nearly the secret we thought it was.
Sensing my fear, Hermione hurriedly continued, "Neville only stayed but a minute. He was meeting Ginny back at the party and only came because I'd had a fair bit to drink, too, and didn't trust myself to get all three of us to the right place. Once we were inside, he made sure I could handle you both, and then he left."
"And there was nothing… indecent going on at that point?"
"Other than the fact that the pair of you could barely stand up? No."
She smiled a little at my visible relief before continuing.
"You both collapsed on the sofa and I needed the loo before I could put you to bed, so I went down the hall. I came back, not a minute later, to find you both shirtless and snogging like it was the last thing you'd ever do in your life."
I actually felt the blood drain from my face at that point. Which seemed silly, since of course I'd had some idea of what she was going to say. I had surely known that Ron and I had got up to much more than Quidditch practice that night, but I had yet to acknowledge as much out loud.
But there it was, inescapably.
I released a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. "So what did you do?" I asked, apologetically.
"Nothing," she said simply, as though 'nothing' had been her only option. "I looked around for anything sharp you might hurt yourselves on, and then I left."
"Left? You just left? You – you didn't try to stop us?"
Her eyebrow quirked yet again. "Should I have? You both seemed to be enjoying it well enough."
"Enjoying it! Hermione, we were pissed out of our minds! We probably would have enjoyed a bloody root canal for all we knew what was going on!"
"A root canal? Oh, Harry. Honestly."
"Hermione, we had no idea what was going on! And now things are awkward and uncomfortable and thirteen years of being best friends is in jeopardy, all because of one drunken fiasco!"
"In jeopardy? Why would anything be in jeopardy?"
"Because, Hermione, we… well, because… this is awful!"
"Harry, don't be ridiculous! This is you and Ron we're talking about. As if that friendship could ever be in jeopardy. Now, what's the problem? Didn't you both like it?"
I gaped at her. "Like it?" I said stupidly.
"Yes, didn't you enjoy yourselves? I really don't see what's such a big problem here. Did one of you feel pushed too far? Has Ron said he didn't like it? Or did he do something that upset you?"
Her questions rifled past me, far too quickly for them to register.
"I. I dunno. I mean, we haven't. We haven't discussed it. And, well, I dunno. Neither of us can remember what happened. So how would we know?"
She nodded, conceding that point, and fell thoughtfully quiet for a moment.
"Hermione, aren't you – weren't you a little bit shocked?"
"Should I have been?"
"Well–"
"Why, because you're my two closest friends?"
"Well, yeah. There's that, and–"
"Because I used to go out with Ron?"
"Yeah… I suppose, and–"
"Because you're both men?"
"Well, yes! It didn't seem a little bit strange to you that two heterosexual men were disrobing on the sofa and snogging like mad?"
Her expression remained thoughtful as she bit her lower lip and studied me. She was quiet for several moments, and I was about to open my mouth to protest further when she spoke.
"Harry," she said slowly, "what is it, do you think, that's got you the most upset? Is it that you went to bed with a man? Or that it was Ron?"
Merlin, how many disarming questions did she have for me today? I blinked several times and tried to understand exactly what she was asking.
And then I thought about it. She did make a good point.
I'd never slept with a bloke before, or kissed one, or touched one with anything other than camaraderie in mind. And when I first discovered a man in my bed, it had been a shock. But as soon as 'a man' became Ron, everything changed. I wasn't worried about being gay, I was worried about bollixing up the most important thing in my life.
The idea of being physical with Ron wasn't really all that upsetting. Assuming we stayed best mates, just like always, after all was said and done, the thought wasn't really upsetting at all. It even seemed… rather nice, actually.
I'm not sure how long I sat there thinking, but I was pulled from my reverie by Hermione paying our bill.
"No, Hermione, let me. Please."
We strode away from the pub, in the direction of the nearest Apparition point, and Hermione was very quiet, having retreated into a reverie of her own. She looked rather sad, and I felt guilty for having shut off so suddenly.
"Sorry I drifted off back there, Hermione."
"Oh, no problem."
She bit her lip again and glanced sideways at me, before giving a small sigh.
"Listen, Harry, I know you don't want to, but you've got to talk to Ron about this. Or at least try, before you decide to just forget about it. I know you're scared you'll lose him, but you won't. You really won't. You couldn't lose Ron Weasley, even if you wanted to."
I chuckled softly and let myself acknowledge that she was probably right.
"Look, I don't know what the answer is for you two. You need to work that out on your own. But, Harry, may I offer you a bit of advice? Just generally?"
Her voice was uncharacteristically low.
"'Course."
"I don't mean to get all sappy on you, sorry. I just, I start thinking about the friends we lost, you know, in the war. And the ones they left behind. And I just –"
Her voice broke, and she closed her eyes as she sighed.
I didn't understand where this had come from, but I reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as we stopped walking.
"Harry, please promise me that if you see a chance to be happy, that you'll take it? I know you think you don't deserve it. But, do it for me, okay? And for all those poor sods who will probably never get the chance?"
I looked at her carefully.
"Harry, I'm not suggesting anything about Ron or anything else," she said quickly. "But can you imagine reaching the end of your life and discovering that the one who could have made you completely happy, and whom you could have loved perfectly in return, had been standing right beside you all along? That you simply never took the time to notice?"
I let her words hang there for a moment, before reaching up to brush away the tear that had appeared on her cheek.
"You've given this rather a lot of thought, haven't you?" I asked with a gentle smirk.
Genuine laughter bubbled up as she rolled her eyes skyward.
"Alright! I admit it, yes! You two may have been drunk enough that night to forget shagging, but I had only had enough to be rather broody. And you certainly gave me some fodder for thought!" She blushed and looked at me. "Do you think me completely daft and sentimental?"
"Just a bit," I smiled. "C'mere." I pulled her into a hug and felt her sigh against me.
I held her for a moment longer, before we separated to start down the street again.
"So, Hermione?"
"Hmm?"
"When I meet this Thomas, do I get to play the protective, disapproving older brother? I think I'd better start working out what I'm going to say."
She laughed and punched my arm. "Don't you dare!"
I was relieved to find that Ron wasn't home when I returned to our flat. I needed some time to think on my conversation with Hermione.
But as I lay sprawled on the sofa nursing my second butterbeer, I was tired of brooding and was getting rather bored. I wondered where Ron had gone, and if he'd be back soon. Maybe he was out with one of our mates at a pub somewhere. I chose to ignore the stitch of jealousy that made its way into my stomach.
I didn't have any answers about Ron, really. The admission I had let myself make earlier had only served to make things more complicated.
But I did know that no matter how awkward things got between us, I always preferred him being around to not.
I hoped he'd come home soon.
Finally, just as I was ready to summon a third bottle, the fireplace came to life and he was standing in front of me, brushing himself off.
"Hey, mate, how was Remus?"
The pang of guilt was back, but it was surpassed by something else in my chest as I looked at him.
Turned out, acknowledging that I might like to touch Ron's body had illuminated it for me in an entirely new way.
I stared at his broad shoulders and chest beneath the thin material of his t-shirt. At his strong arms, where the faded scars from the Ministry were still visible. I'd always wondered what those scars would feel like under my fingers, and now I idly wondered what they'd feel like under my tongue as well.
My gaze shifted down to his trim waist, and I pictured the trail of auburn hair hidden beneath the loose fabric above his belt. I tried not to look directly below his belt buckle, where that trail inevitably led, for fear I wouldn't be able to look away once I did.
I looked instead to his muscled thighs, atop legs which stretched on for ages. I didn't have to see his arse to know that the jeans he had on framed it perfectly.
I realised that I was ogling his body rather openly, and quickly directed my gaze back up to his face, where I was rewarded with the sight of him shaking the last bits of soot from his hair.
Looking a bit like a red border collie shaking itself after a good swim, his shaggy hair settled into a messy frame around his face. I admired the freckles on his nose before meeting his big blue eyes, which were looking at me expectantly.
I may have got a little lost right then, in those eyes, because for all I wanted to answer his question, whatever it had been, I couldn't think of a damn thing to say.
Ron seemed to interpret my silence as sadness after visiting with Remus. He sighed softly as he looked at me.
"Beer?"
I nodded, almost imperceptibly, as he headed to the kitchen.
Ron returned and handed me an open bottle. I sat up a bit, taking my legs off the sofa to make room for him.
He sat down with a sigh. There was silence between us, for a minute or so, and I could tell something was different. Maybe it was just the two beers I'd already had, and I was projecting onto him, but Ron seemed to want talk.
"Did you have lunch with someone?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, taking a sip of his beer. "I met up with Ginny."
"Oh yeah? How is she?"
"She's good. She thinks Neville wants to get serious. Weird, eh?"
I raised my eyebrows and took a drink from my own bottle. "Not really, mate, he's nuts about her. What's she think about it?"
"She's not sure. Wanted my opinion."
"Of Neville?"
"Yeah."
"What'd you say?"
He gave me an appraising glance while he drank again. "I told her there aren't many blokes I think are good enough for her. But Neville'd make the list."
I felt myself smile. "Yeah," I said warmly, "he would."
I wanted to ask him if they'd talked about anything else. If he'd told her about Sunday, if he'd asked for her opinion.
"Anything else?"
"Not really," he replied. "So how's Remus looking these days? Is he making out alright?"
I didn't want to lie about seeing Remus.
"Um. I didn't actually see Remus today."
"Oh? Was he ill?"
"No. I mean, I dunno." I sighed and took another sip. "I didn't actually have plans with him."
I kept my gaze trained on a loose stitch in my sock when I felt him turn to me.
"You didn't? But you said… Where were you?"
I swallowed, hearing the confusion in his voice, knowing it would turn to hurt in a moment.
"I went to see Hermione."
"Hermione? Without me?"
"Yeah, mate." I managed to look at him then.
He furrowed his brow as he looked at me, holding my gaze for a moment. Then he sighed as his eyes fell from mine.
"Harry, what's going on?" His voice was very small.
I watched him studying the label on his beer bottle, and I wished I had Hermione's words.
"Look, mate, I just... I hate this, okay? This whole week, it's like we've been… I dunno." I sighed in frustration.
I felt some relief creep in when he gave a little nod, his gaze fixed on my feet.
"I didn't know what to say, though. So I talked to Hermione."
His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared just a little.
"Are you angry?
He sighed. "No, not really. She would have known anyway, can't keep anything from that girl."
"Yeah, she knew already, mate."
His eyes shot up to my face. "What?"
"She saw us."
He blushed furiously and opened his mouth a couple of times before he could speak.
"She saw… what, exactly?"
I sighed. "Well, she brought us home that night. She was going to help us to bed, but stopped off in the loo after dumping us on the sofa."
I paused for a sip of beer, trying to find words that wouldn't humiliate us both.
"And when she came back, we were… we had… we were..."
"Snogging?" he ventured, barely above a whisper.
"And shirtless, yeah."
We both took deep breaths, which we released rather comically at the same moment. We chuckled, looking at each other sheepishly before looking away.
"So did she try to stop us?"
"No. She said that… that she didn't think she should, cause we both seemed to be enjoying it."
I saw his eyebrows shoot up in my peripheral vision, and he sighed again.
I wanted to ask him if he thought he had enjoyed it. But I didn't.
"Harry, do you think you did?" My eyes shot up to his.
"Enjoy it?" he clarified.
Yeah, I thought I probably had.
"I dunno, Ron. I really can't remember."
"Yeah, same," he said, with a shrug.
"Hermione thinks that's what we need to figure out."
"Yeah, Ginny said the same–" His face flushed red again as he caught himself.
"You talked to Ginny about it, then?"
"Well, I… yeah."
"That wasn't weird?"
"'Course it was! I wanted to talk to Hermione, but she already had lunch plans, didn't she?"
I bit back a small smile. "Sorry."
He shrugged and sipped his beer.
We were quiet for some time. He was eyeing me, worrying his lower lip.
"Reckon I didn't hate it," he said.
My breath caught and I blinked at him several times.
"Yeah, I… same." I was suddenly very aware of my heart, pumping furiously in my chest.
Ron let out a relieved burst of breath.
We sat in silence for what felt like several minutes, finishing our beers, catching each other's eyes occasionally and smiling awkwardly before looking away.
"Ron, how d'you reckon we ought to… figure it out?"
"Figure it out?"
"You know, if we… hated it?"
He blinked at me, licking his lips absentmindedly.
"Do you suppose we ought to… try it again?" he said, holding my gaze for a moment, before looking back at my feet.
Neither of us moved. I'm not sure either of us breathed.
"S'pose so." I hadn't meant to whisper.
He brought his eyes back to my face, worrying his lip again. "Now, then?"
I could barely hear him over my heart, which was beating so rapidly I worried it might actually crack my ribs and burst out of my chest, landing on the sofa.
"S'pose it's as good a time as any," I managed.
We sat there, blinking stupidly at each other. I wanted to do something. Just bloody anything. But I didn't move.
I lost count of how many times we each opened our mouths to speak, before deciding against it and closing them. A couple of times I thought Ron might move, leaning a bit toward me from his end of the sofa, but he didn't.
My heart was beating so rapidly I started to feel dizzy, and I tried to calm it with a slow breath. The last thing I needed was to pass out like a bloody girl.
After what felt like an hour, Ron finally spoke.
"Harry, are you as uncomfortable as I am right now?"
"Uh-huh," I mumbled.
"Maybe we should wait a bit on this. Just, I dunno. Wait."
"Yeah, okay." I wondered which was worse, my disappointment or my relief.
He nodded quickly, rubbing his palms on his thighs, and stood up.
He collected his empty bottle and gestured to the one in my hand. "Done with that?"
I handed it to him, nodding my thanks.
The sofa felt very large as he walked away.
I didn't sleep that night. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, sure that I'd bollixed everything up, and for good.
I couldn't understand what had happened on that sofa, no matter how many times I replayed our conversation in my head. Why was it that whenever Ron was concerned, someone petrified my Gryffindor courage? I'd defeated countless dark wizards during the war, had looked evil in the face every year of my life since I was eleven, until I duelled the most powerful dark wizard the world had ever seen, and won.
But when the person I cared for most in the world, the one I trusted above all others, got too close, I froze up like a colossal coward.
What in the bloody hell was that?
I was sure I'd missed my chance to fix things and half expected him to announce in the morning that he'd be moving out.
In the days that followed, however, I was proved wrong.
We weren't exactly back to normal, but the tension was gone. Ron was looking me in the eye again and seemed relaxed.
I didn't understand, but I tried not to think too much, relieved to have my best mate back.
I began to think we might actually make it back to normal one Sunday afternoon, which we spent listening to Quidditch and watching silent Muggle ads. My Ron was back in true form, bubbling over with questions. I tried to answer them all as best I could, while trying not to grin like an idiot.
We were due at the Burrow for family supper that night, and when the time came to Floo over, the Cannons had miraculously narrowed Ballycastle's lead to one hundred points.
"Harry, we can't go! I have to listen to this!"
"Ron, they'll have it on at the Burrow."
"No, Mum'll make us turn it off for supper! Floo and tell'er I'm ill."
"Ron, you know your mum always knows when I'm lying. C'mon, let's go. I'm sure she'll take pity."
He pursed his lips and sighed, knowing I was right about the first part, and not about the second.
"Fine," he muttered. He mumbled angry incoherencies as he switched off the wireless and stomped over to the fireplace, grabbing some Floo powder. I distinctly saw him glare at me through the green flames as I chuckled.
Ron was right, Molly did insist we turn off the wireless during supper.
Arthur, anticipating the problem, quietly presented Ron with a Muggle pocket-sized radio that he'd charmed to pick up the Wizarding station. With Ron at the opposite end of the table from Molly, he was able to wear one of the ear pieces without her seeing, and followed the match while the rest of us conversed.
Even without the full Weasley clan present, I was amazed at how full the Burrow felt. Bill and Fleur couldn't make it, Ginny had managed some excuse, and unsurprisingly Percy hadn't bothered. But Charlie, Fred, George, Molly and Arthur were more than enough personality to make for lively conversation.
Ron stayed conspicuously quiet. Every once in while he would gasp, causing everyone to look at him as he staged a coughing fit.
Molly was eyeing him very carefully before long. I was seated next to her, and after his third outburst she leaned over to speak with me quietly.
"Harry, has Ron been alright? Ginny mentioned that he's been a bit… out of sorts lately. She wouldn't elaborate, but with all this, I'm getting worried. Has he been ill?"
I knew Ron would sulk all night if he missed a Cannons' near-win, so I tried to cover for him.
"Not really, Molly, I think he's okay. Probably just a bit of a chest cold. Had one last week, myself."
I didn't have to look at her to know it hadn't worked. I'd never learned how to lie to a mother, had I?
"Harry, what's going on?"
I managed to look her in the eye and opened my mouth to assure her that, really, Ron was fine, when he suddenly jumped up from his seat at the other end of the table.
His fork clattered down to his plate and he stood there, with an expression of stupid shock on his face.
"Ron!" Molly cried, while everyone stared.
Arthur looked up at him with excitement. "Have they done it, son?"
Ron stared at his father. Then at his mother. Then at me.
"They did it," he whispered.
"What?" Molly cried, standing, too. "Who's done what?"
"They bloody well did it!" Ron suddenly shouted.
The grin that bloomed on his face sparked something in my chest and my breath quickened.
Fred, George and Charlie burst out laughing, rising from their seats and slapping Ron on the back. Arthur beamed around the table, until he saw his wife, who was staring him down with a very knowing look.
I couldn't take my eyes off Ron. He was so excited, and prouder than I'd ever seen him. Even more so than at Voldemort's defeat, but then he'd always insisted that that hadn't been a surprise. For a moment I thought he might actually burst open, releasing beams of light around the room.
My mouth was suddenly dry with want.
He was beautiful and I wanted him.
He was beaming and laughing and glowing and sweet and silly and loving and loyal to the end, and I wanted him. Awkwardness be damned.
I was vaguely aware of Molly calling for calm, demanding that Quidditch not take the place of civility at her table. Charlie gibed her a bit, saying surely even she could take a moment to appreciate the rarity of a Cannons' win. She tutted in response, and Ron told me later that she gave him a quick wink, but I didn't see it.
I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
The smile never left his face as he settled back down to finish his supper, which he ate with renewed vigour. He caught me staring at him a few times and beamed back at me, his eyes holding my gaze for a few seconds longer each time.
By the fourth time our eyes met, he must have seen something he hadn't before, because his smile faded a bit and I thought I saw his eyes darken.
My jeans were suddenly a bit tight under the table. I swallowed and forced myself to break eye contact, reminding myself that we were at dinner with his family.
I tried to steady my breathing as I stared at my plate.
I couldn't stop myself from looking up at him again a few moments later, and he was still staring at me.
I wasn't sure if his expression could rightly be described as 'lusty' or 'erotic', but for all the effect it had on me, it may as well have been.
Apparently, I wanted him right now.
I managed to find my voice and turned to Molly.
"This was delicious, Molly, thank you. I'm just going to slip up to the loo." I was out of my seat and three steps up the stairs before I heard her call after me, asking if I was alright.
"Brilliant!" I called back, without turning around. I climbed the stairs and paused at the landing by the bathroom, but knew I'd rather keep climbing.
I took the rest of the steps two-at-a-time until I got to the very top, and walked into Ron's old bedroom. I smiled at the faded orange posters and bedspread, the piles of dusty Martin Miggs comics in the corner, and a thousand other things from Ron's childhood. But I mostly smiled at how this room still somehow smelled like Ron, despite its years of vacancy.
I decided I should be quick about dealing with my problem, so that I could rejoin the Weasleys downstairs before they worried something was wrong. But before I could, I heard someone come up the stairs and enter the room behind me.
I knew it was Ron without looking, and I tried to steady myself as I turned to him.
"Harry, mate, you alright?"
There were probably some words floating around in my head somewhere that I could have accessed to answer his question, but my body didn't give me time to try.
I slammed into him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and crushing my lips against his before I knew I'd even stepped towards him.
He gave a startled gasp at the quickness, but almost instantly his hands gripped my arms and then wrapped around my back as he groaned into me. The taste of his mouth was intoxicating – butterbeer and Molly's supper (or was that my mouth?) and something else that I couldn't identify, something uniquely Ron that sent shockwaves straight to my groin.
We kissed desperately for a few minutes, tongues and lips and teeth coming together.
He nipped at my lips and sucked on my tongue, or maybe it was me doing the nipping and sucking, I couldn't tell after a while. There were moans and grunts and whimpers, and I couldn't figure out where they were coming from, either.
"Merlin, Harry," Ron moaned into my mouth. "How did we not remember doing this?"
I slipped my hands under his shirt to run my fingers over his chest while I set about kissing his neck.
I ran my hands back down to his waist and felt for his belt buckle, eager to see what lay beneath.
"Mmm, wait a sec," he breathed, pulling his neck away from my mouth so he could look at me.
"What's wrong?" I asked, willing away my fear that I'd made a mistake.
"Nothing. Just need to know, Harry, have you been drinking tonight?"
I laughed. "Only the butterbeer your mum gave me with dinner."
"So you'll remember this tomorrow?"
"Uh-huh," I moaned, resuming my assault on his neck.
"Excellent," he whispered, and I felt his hands close around my wrists. I felt the familiar pull of Apparition and a moment later we were in our flat, standing at the foot of my bed.
"Shouldn't we tell–"
"No," he cut me off, "explain later."
"Didn't want to do it in your old room?" I chuckled.
"Too many spying brothers. And mothers."
I would have laughed again then, but Ron chose that moment to place his hand over my groin and squeeze, and I forgot what was funny.
Ron grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and lifted it up, pulling my arms overhead to get it off. I did the same with his, tossing it to the floor, and ran my hands over his chest. His skin was warm and smooth.
He pulled me to him and brought our lips together again, and I almost drowned in the feeling of our bare chests pressed together, as his tongue entered my mouth.
I ran my hands over his back and arms. I felt the scars on his biceps under my fingers and pulled back from his mouth to look at them. He watched me as I traced one of them before leaning in to kiss it.
He sighed and stroked a hand over my hair.
I extended my tongue and ran the length of it. It was bumpy, but soft, and it tasted like Ron.
And even better was the feral moan that escaped Ron's lips.
I looked up at him, seeing the lust in his eyes as he crushed our lips together once more.
I needed more of him and fumbled around for his belt again, eager to get his jeans off.
He found my wrists, though, and stilled my hands again.
"Wait," he breathed. I looked at him as his eyes darted past my shoulder to the bed. He bit his lip before continuing. "Lie down."
I blinked up at him before stepping back to the bed without letting go of his belt. He smirked a little as I sat and fell back, pulling him onto me by his buckle.
When I woke up, I was lying on my back with Ron stretched along my side. He had one leg thrown over mine and an arm splayed across my chest, and he was breathing evenly against my ear. I stretched a bit and smiled as I curled into him.
His solid warmth felt like home, and it didn't seem possible that I hadn't spent every night before this one pressed up against him.
I drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours, until sunlight began peaking through my window. I ran my fingers gently along the length of Ron's arm, pausing to feel his scars again with the pad of my thumb, waiting for him to wake.
I probably should have let him keep sleeping, but it was Monday and I wasn't sure I'd last the day if I didn't get to touch him again this morning. I stroked his arm with more pressure, and turned to place a kiss on his forehead.
He stirred and snuggled in closer to me.
"Morning, Ron." I smiled.
"Mornin'." A contented moan rumbled in his throat, and I felt his fingers begin stroking my shoulder.
I smiled as I enjoyed having a naked Ron in my bed, and knowing why he was there. I replayed the previous night's activities in my mind.
All things considered, it had been an adventurous evening. Ron clearly had some experience that I didn't. I tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy that accompanied the thought of him touching another man.
"Ron?"
"Mmm?"
"Had you done that before?"
"Hmm?"
"What we did last night."
"N'really," he said while kissing my shoulder, before rolling onto my stomach to get a better angle at my neck.
"Not really?"
"Well, y'know, I'd tried some of it before."
That twinge of jealousy threatened to evolve into a pang, and I tried to keep ignoring it, unsuccessfully.
"Oh, I didn't know you'd… been with a bloke before," I said, trying not to sound petulant.
He pulled his head back to look at me.
"Um. No, not with a bloke." Crimson shot up his face.
"Oh. So, um, where'd you learn to do that?" I asked, embarrassed at my evident relief.
"Um." His gaze shifted around uncomfortably, and he slid off of me, burying his face in the pillow as he mumbled, "Hermione."
I sat up and looked at him, watching his blush spread to the back of his neck.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah," he said, muffled by the pillow.
"Hermione?" I repeated.
"Yeah, she… She did it to me."
I stared at the back of his head, trying to figure if I'd understood him correctly, and was distracted by his hair, which appeared to also be turning a deeper shade of red.
"Hermione. Did that. To you?"
He lifted his face from the pillow, presumably needing oxygen. "Well, not that last bit, no. I sorta improvised that. But suffice it to say that our Miss Granger is very well-read on the subject of the prostate."
He gave an annoyed little sigh, but the corners of his lips twitched a bit.
"Are you honestly surprised?" he asked, looking up at me. "And will you stop grinning at me like that?!"
"Can't," I laughed, biting my lip when Ron's ears defied all possibility and became even redder. I knew the stupid grin I was wearing must be infuriating, but I really couldn't stop.
"Remind me I've got to thank Hermione the next time I see her, will you?"
Ron's eyes went wide. "No!" he cried.
"Ron, she's done me a great service."
"Oh, and I played no part in that, did I?"
I let out a low chuckle as I took in the image of my naked, indignant best mate.
"I think maybe you did." I smiled. "But I might need you to help me remember one more time."
End
A/N: So many thanks to Nathaniel for the beta.
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