I'll Be Here For You

It was almost noon when Ron Weasley woke up that morning in his sagging four-poster bed. The window was open, beckoning in sweet-smelling spring air, and tiny sparrows making their nests in the apple tree nearby loudly gossiped with one another in the soft sunlight. Chudley Cannons posters were still on his walls, and his clothes were still hand-me-downs, but he was different: he was older, and wiser.

Ron's eyes opened and the first thing they focused on while blinking out the bright light around him was the picture on his bookshelf of him and his best friends at their graduation of Hogwarts, which had been three years ago. On his left was Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age who now worked in Diagon Alley managing Flourish and Blott's while writing an advice column in the Daily Prophet, the Wizarding newspaper. She wrote every now and then and often invited Ron to lunch when he could get away from the Ministry, working for his father.

Next to her was Neville Longbottom, a round-faced wizard who had a big heart and was barely able to graduate despite how hard he tried. Neville was now Ron's brother-in-law, having married Ginny only last month. They now lived about three miles away and visited often.

In back were Fred and George who had jumped in the picture at the last moment, dressed as Gryffindor Lions and striking silly poses. Their joke shop had put Zonko's out of business and they now owned three stores, one for revenge, one for parties; the last one for just plain jokes. Every now and then they came for dinner and to deposit money in the family's vault, but nothing more than that.

But by far the one person Ron missed the most was in his arms in the photo, the notorious Harry Potter, smiling and laughing with his arms around the Weasley's neck. That had been the last day Ron had heard anything from Harry – not a single word or letter came. All he had was what he read in the newspapers and tabloids, and what Hermione told him. It hurt.

Slowly, Ron sat up and stretched, the covers falling from his bare chest. Today was one of his days off, so he didn't have to get up, but he wanted to. As he went in to shower, Ron began really thinking about his best friend.

Harry Potter… he had known that name since he was able to remember. It was the name of a great hero in the wizarding world, one that would always be connected with fame and fantastic feats. Then Ron had met the wondrous hero face-to-face on the train ride to his first year at Hogwarts.

The thin, small boy with taped glasses and messy black hair hadn't been anything he had thought of when his mother used to tell him stories about the defeat of Voldemort. With those deep green eyes that stood out in a whole classroom, he wouldn't have believed it was really Harry Potter without that lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

They became best friends, and stayed up late nights sitting on one another's beds and talking in hushed voices about their dreams and wishes and anything that popped into their minds, laughing and plotting against Malfoy. First year was simple that way, but thinking back on the Mirror of Erised… Harry wanted family, and Ron wanted fame: they both wanted what the other had.

Ron stepped out of the shower and dried his hair off quickly with a towel, taking a look at himself in the mirror. The red hair, the freckles, the broad shoulders, the toned muscles, the blue eyes, and the tiny smile he got whenever he thought about the "good days" and the good people in it. To him, he looked the same, but Ron knew he had changed. With a bit of regret, he shaved and got dressed, walking downstairs to find something to eat for breakfast.

As his feet touched the bottom of the stairs, Ron could remember the summer between his first and second years, when Fred and George had rescued Harry from the Dursley's in their father's flying car, coming back only to get yelled at by their mother. That entire summer the two boys spent together exploring the fields around the Burrow, finding ferrets and mice, lying on hills and staring at passing clouds, and playing Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean poker with the twins.

All the time Harry had spent sleeping in Ron's room, Ron had been awake, listening to him, breathing at the same time as him, thinking that he had the best friend in the world, and secretly promising never to let Harry down.

Toast was as good a breakfast as any, Ron thought as he crunched the bread in his mouth, washing it down with some orange juice. Sitting all alone at the kitchen table that used to be constantly occupied with his six siblings and parents was a very grave letdown. He never thought he would be lonely with all his family and friends but there he was, alone in his house as his father sat at his desk in the Ministry, as his mother walked the length of Diagon Alley with her friends, as his siblings went along with their own lives, and as Harry Potter did whatever he was doing at the moment, which was far away from Ron, and much more important than him… When only a few years ago there was nothing more important to either wizard than each other… but Ron would wait for however long it took Harry to get back to him.

It wasn't until fourth year that Ron had really realized that it wasn't just friendship he felt for Harry Potter. It was right after they had made up about that fight they had, after the first task, and Harry sat on Ron's bed, and they were talking. Just talking some simple words about this and that and Sirius and Voldemort and other little things concerning them at that time. Ron had told a Helen Keller joke and Harry was laughing heartily, taking his glasses off to wipe a tear away.

It was that moment, when Harry had looked back to his best friend with his deep green eyes twinkling, and said, "You're the most to me Ron." What he said hadn't been just regularly friendly to Ron; it had been a light going on, telling him that someone really thought about him. Of course, Ron had never come out of the closet, so to speak, because he wasn't homosexual. He was just… Harry-sexual really. As long as it was Harry, that's who and what he loved.

Taking a warm cup of tea in his hands and replacing the kettle on the stovetop, Ron quietly walked out to the garden, sitting on an old, aged chair under a small lemon tree, looking out over the Weasley garden and back over the fields and hills behind it. Harry could've never stood it here: he was too used to fame and adventure, and barely anything happened at the burrow. But when the two of them were still in school, it was the perfect place to share. The burrow had always been special to the two friends, because it was where they could let all the anxieties and pressures go.

The summer from their fifth to their sixth year, Harry had come to stay again. Two nights after he arrived, he woke Ron up with his quietly crying, sitting up on the ground and shaking like a leaf. Ron quickly sat down next to him and asked him what was wrong, putting his arms around Harry's trembling shoulders. Harry just broke down, describing how he didn't feel like a hero, how he was a horrible person, and other such dramatic lies circulating in his head. Through it all, Ron held him, letting Harry cry into his shoulder as he sobbed out what was troubling him.

The last thing Harry said in his long line of fears and doubts was, "I feel that I don't deserve your friendship Ron." To that, the Weasley lifted up Harry's quivering chin, gazing into his eyes through the pale light of the moon, whispering, "No, Harry. It's I that doesn't deserve you. You're the only person that sees me more than a poor Weasley. And I see you and I don't see a hero, or a fraud, or even just a plain boy, because you aren't plain in anyway. You're beautiful and generous, and kind… No one it perfect Harry… but you're what's perfect for me." Then their lips had touched in their first kiss, which was as perfect as there ever could've been.

Ron sighed and got up again, done with his tea, and dropped the cup in the sink, walking back out to the living room in a terribly low mood. They had shared everything together; warm nights, cold feelings, dreams from a childhood heart, words whispered breathlessly against each other's skin, and so many first times, giving each other their virginity, and never saying goodbye. Maybe what hurt the most is that they never really did say goodbye, but Harry just left.

Harry Potter was in every newspaper, in every magazine, and now gone from Ron's life entirely, which was never what Ron had wanted. He had wanted them to get a place together in London, somewhere near the alley, where they could do whatever they wanted and love. Love was what he had wanted, and what he had had, but why it had come to an end, Ron didn't know. It was so baffling and so painful that Ron thought that maybe it hadn't happened, that they were still together, but just apart… But familiar, haunting footsteps at the now open front door, accompanied by slight panting from breathlessness, interrupted Ron's thoughts, making him look up and stare.

A thin and slight figure stood in the doorway with a trunk and a suitcase at his feet. His messy black hair stuck up in the back, and behind his glasses were deep green eyes. The black bangs almost covered a lightning-bolt shaped scar. This person was the same Ron had know since he was eleven years old, but different, only from aging three years. The green eyes were deeply troubled and pained, much like Ron's own. Harry gulped and breathed out, "Ron…"

Ronald Weasley stood still, staring at Harry without feeling in any of his body except his heart, which broke and melted at the same time. Harry was back, back in the Burrow, back in touch, and back with Ron. As soon as his name was spoken, Ron was holding Harry tightly around the waist, kissing his lips so gently and tenderly if one was looking on, that one would swear that Harry had just come back from the dead instead of a leave of absence in Ron's life.

But that didn't matter, because now they were holding each other, and tears were sliding down Harry's cheeks as he tried to explain, and Ron was kissing him against and again, promising never to let him go again. And as the two went up to Ron's bedroom to talk like they used to, and kiss like they used to, and love each other like they used to, Ron softly said, "I'll be here for you."

THE END!