Liquid Dreams

Harry couldn't take it any longer, he needed a true distraction, something to relax and calm him so he could sleep the night through. He'd be a total waste to Gryffindor if he didn't get any sleep the night before the big game.

Sighing, he turned over in his four-poster and opened his curtains a little. He peered at Ron in the moonlit darkness of their circular dormitory. Ron had, as always, forgotten to shut his curtains and was laying, spread-eagle on his back, his legs dangling off the bed a little as he snored steadily. How can he sleep, Harry thought, he's going to play in the most important Quidditch game of his life tomorrow, how can he not feel somewhat worried?

Harry stared at his friend in the pale light for a few more minutes and instantly thought of Hermione. How can she think this is attractive, Harry wondered as he watched Ron (who was now beginning to drool a little) continue to sleep, the moonlight turning his already bright red hair into a fierce burgundy. Maybe she needs glasses, a second voice in Harry's head answered. Harry smiled to himself but felt a little guilt Ron had liked Hermione for years and finally put up his mind to do something about it. Harry knew he should be happy for the two of them and he was but there was some small part of him that ached with jealously whenever he caught them holding hands or sharing a private look.

I wonder why I feel jealous, he thought. It's not like I haven't had a girlfriend and it's not like Ron's spending more time with Hermione than with me. Maybe I'm just upset that I'm not his first priority anymore.

And slightly puzzled but this realization, Harry finally fell asleep.

***

Harry was bent double as he sat in the changing room, untying his boots. Outside he could hear the excited chatter of the last few straggling Hogwarts students as they walked back to the castle. The Quidditch final, Gryffindor versus Slytherin was over at last. Gryffindor had won, thanks in part to a combination of Ron's excellent Keeping and Harry's just in time capture of the Snitch. Panting with fatigue and relief, Harry slowly began to take off his Quidditch things. He could hear noise from the showers, Ron's voice was carrying over the din of the water, singing a new version of "Weasley is our King" which he had obviously accommodated to include comments on Harry's Seeking abilities.

Making his way toward the showers, Harry noticed that everyone else had left the changing rooms already. There's probably going to be a party in the common room for quite awhile, he thought and smiling a little, he stood before the shower head next to Ron. He pressed the small Gryffindor emblem below the Snitch-shaped shower head and welcomed the warm gush of water that came from it. He turned slowly in the powerful rush of warm water, throwing his head back and letting little streams flow over his chest and down his legs. He groaned slightly and felt every muscle in his body instantly relax.

Harry was so lost in the moment that he hardly heard Ron when he spoke.

"I'm sorry," Harry said sheepishly and turned to face Ron so he could hear him better. "What did you ask?"

"I said," replied Ron as he massaged shampoo into his hair, "That was a great match, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said harry, wondering why Ron, who had never talked to him in the showers before was doing so now. Maybe he feels bad for missing lunch with me on Tuesday so he could hang out with Hermione, thought Harry. "Your save was brilliant though, I'll bet Malfoy is still fuming about that."

"Don't mention Malfoy right now, do you know he stole one of the Beaters bats and hit me on the thigh with it to keep me from guarding one of our hoops? Look. It's starting to bruise already." Ron pointed to his thigh where, sure enough, a fist-sized bruise was blossoming deep magenta.

"Oh . . . sorry . . . mate." Harry began and then stopped. He had realized that instead of looking at the bruise, his eyes were roaming all over Ron's very naked, very wet body. Thankfully, Ron wasn't paying any attention to Harry, he had ducked under the shower head and was rinsing his hair out.

Harry watched in wonder as streams of sudsy water ran down Ron's arms and back. When Harry had first met him, Ron had been all arms and legs and very skinny but now, here in their final year, Ron stopped growing. He was still the tallest boy in their year but now he had bulked up, thanks in part to the exhausting Quidditch schedule he, as captain, had concocted for the Gryffindor team.

Tracing the lines and contours of Ron's perfectly molded chest with his eyes and noting the way Ron's arms flexed and relaxed as he swished the rest of the shampoo from his hair, Harry could see how easy it was for Hermione to finally concede to date Ron and felt jealousy sweep through his system.

Why should she get him, he thought as he picked up a bar of soap from the shower alcove and began to run it over his body, when I've been his friend longer and I have to listen to his bloody snoring every night? Harry had soaped up three times before he realized that the shower next to him had stopped and Ron was now standing by a pile of fresh robes, drying himself off.

Harry finished his shower and stood, watching Ron for a few moments; why was he so preoccupied with Ron's body? He had seen Ron every day for almost seven years and this wasn't the first time they'd shared a shower. Harry walked back toward the benches, stopping before his own pile of fresh robes and began to dress, greedily eyeing what bits of Ron that he could without seeming too suspicious. Could he, Harry Potter, be in love with his best friend?

To be continued . . .