And I'll Tell You No Lies

Day 3

Ron

"Team Three, where's Weasley?" asked Trainer Sullivan, as the trainees settled in to begin debriefing the next morning.

Harry glanced at Malfoy and Varley, who both shook their heads. He cleared his throat. "Not sure, sir."

Trainer Sullivan glanced at his watch. "One of you go find him, please. We made it clear that all of you trainees are supposed to be here for the debriefing-"

"Sir," a younger Trainer interrupted him, "it may be a family thing. Considering today and all..."

Sullivan rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Right. Yes, of course."

"I'll go look for him, sir," said Harry, standing up.

"Very well, go ahead, Potter," said Sullivan, scanning over his notes. "Now, then, Team One: Finnigan, McLaggen, Rousseau and Hopkins," he said, turning to them. "The case of the cousins trying to obtain Banned potions for their sick grandmother."

Harry left the room, grateful to be away from the sidelong glances and odd murmurs and silences of the debriefing room. Not that it was that much easier wandering about the Ministry, but at least he didn't know most of the people gaping at him, or determinedly avoiding his gaze. A pity, that; and just when the general Ministry folk had finally become used to Famous Harry Potter in their midst.

Where the hell was Ron?

Harry once more reprimanded himself for leaving - all right, there was no other term for it but running away from - Ron so abruptly last night. It hadn't felt, at the time, like there was any other choice, after his little confession. Ron had been gaping at him, his blue eyes incredibly wide, and Harry had been overwhelmed by an insane muddle of conflicting emotions - relief at having finally voiced what months of repression had failed to kill, dismay at making all of his noble suppression moot, hysterical laughter at Ron's expression... and instead of trying to deal, he'd slammed his locker door shut, turned and stalked to the Floo, and gone directly home to Grimmauld, leaving Ron still staring after him. Kreacher's dour presence had been comforting, for once, as Harry took refuge in a stiff drink and then stolidly made himself plow through his latest surveillance assignment.

He swallowed hard. He should have stayed with Ron last night, should have at least said something beyond the bombshell he'd dropped on his best mate.

"It's not Malfoy, is it?" Ron had asked, and Merlin, Harry had so wished he'd been right.

God, if only. If he'd been smitten with Malfoy, yeah, OK, it would've been awkward, and he would've been worried about how Ron would react, but he was pretty sure past some unpleasantness, they would've been OK. Ron had been OK with him going out with Ginny in the first place - and breaking up with her, that first time. He would've got over finding out Harry was gay and drooling over Malfoy, especially considering that Harry was hardly going to date Malfoy, after all.

Ron wasn't in the locker room, not in the trainee study hall, not in the canteen. In all likelihood he was already back in the debriefing room, and the meeting was going on without Harry.

One last place to try. He headed towards the small Auror Training Potions Lab, finding it empty but for two empty tea cups and today's Daily Prophet, which he hadn't read past the headline on page two. He glanced down at it now.

"I think it's rather irresponsible of him to make such a lifestyle choice when young children are looking up to him," says Pansy Parkinson, who attended Hogwarts with Potter.

"Attended Hogwarts with Potter". Harry supposed that sounded better than "tried to hand Potter over to Voldemort". Nice. He skimmed lower.

Interestingly, it seems many of Potter's close friends and associates have either known all along, or were unsurprised by the revelation that the Boy Who Lived is a homosexual. No comment could be obtained from any of his colleagues in this year's Auror Training programme. One can only wonder whether they are being diplomatic, or are afraid of angering Potter, who, although unquestioningly brave - some would say recklessly so - is also rumoured to be unstable and dangerous.

He pushed the paper away and decided to make one more effort. He stepped into a Floo, calling out "Diagon Alley!" He landed, coughed a few times, and stepped down the street, ignoring the glances and whispers from the proprietors opening their shops. He stopped in front of Wheezes. Closed. Of course. He'd known it would be. He cast a quick detection charm; nobody inside.

Blast. He leaned his head back against the wall.

The Burrow. If Ron wasn't back at the debrief already, he had probably gone to the Burrow. The Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley would be, where probably all the Weasleys would be. He himself was supposed to go there, later today...

And he couldn't go there right now, couldn't face the Weasleys. What must they think of him now? Not only would they all know by now that he'd ditched their little girl again but he'd been exposed in the newspapers as some kind of pervert. If the Prophet was any kind of indication, the wizarding world wasn't exactly on board with acceptance of gays. He frowned, realizing that he had no idea what any of the Weasleys thought about people like him.

He Apparated directly outside the wards of The Burrow, took a steadying breath, and cast a detection spell long-distance.

Thank God, no Ron.

He gazed at the house, chewing on his lip, shrinking from the thought of seeing them all. They probably felt about as charitable towards him right now as... as all of them had felt towards Lee Jordan, when Lee had skipped town barely two weeks after the Battle, buggering off just when George had needed his best mate the most. Not that any of them had voiced their displeasure in front of George - who, for some reason, didn't seem too upset over it - but the collective sense of betrayal they'd all felt had been intense.

He swallowed, feeling sick. The thought of the Weasleys putting on a polite face for Ron's sake, the way they all had with Lee for George's sake, was intolerable. And if Ron didn't want him around any more...

All right, this was getting stupid. He was standing outside The Burrow imagining possible expulsion from the only family he'd ever known, when for all he knew, the Weasleys might not even give a damn.

He Apparated back to the Ministry, stubbornly ignoring the employees who averted their eyes from his, the ones who whispered to a colleague upon sight of him, or the few who gave him barely concealed sneers. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back in the Great Hall during second year, when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, or fourth year, when he had supposedly cheated to get into the Triwizard Tournament, or fifth, when he was supposedly an attention-hungry liar.

With the notable difference that this time, what people were whispering about him was the truth. He couldn't exactly comfort himself that hopefully eventually his name would be cleared. He stepped into the lift, glanced at the witch next to him and suppressed a sigh as he caught sight of the Prophet article she was reading.

"This does make it a little more difficult to swallow that his closeness to Dumbledore was purely a mentor-protegé relationship, doesn't it?" says Dolores Umbridge, who taught Potter Defence Against the Dark Arts three years ago. "It was clear to me even at the time that there was something highly improper going on between those two."

Oh ugh now he was nauseated on top of everything else. He shuddered, then heaved a grateful breath as the door opened on his floor.

Right. He braced himself before entering the room. He'd tried to find his wayward partner, but he was not Ron's keeper, after all. He entered the Training room, rolling his eyes to see Ron already there, looking tired and subdued. He made his way down, noting that the debriefing was on the fourth team.

"What did I miss?" he asked quietly, sitting down.

Ron shrugged. "I just got here, sorry," he said uncomfortably. "Malfoy? Can Harry see your notes too?"

Malfoy nodded, eyes focused on the Training group, who was summing up all points. Harry took out his quill and started copying Malfoy's notes. At least he was no longer feeling distracted by Malfoy's presence, Harry noted with relief as he wrote.

Group 1
- Suspects getting Banned potion for g.mother's malady
- Finnigan actually competent! uncovered 2/3 of major points from Suspects
- McLaggan marginally competent, but intolerable bore
- Rousseau suspicious twit, no points for interagency cooperation

Well. That wasn't terribly helpful. Perhaps he should have stayed for the debrief, rather than running off to find Ron.

"Brocklehurst, you were supposed to take off your own head before tripping the hex," Sullivan was saying, and Harry wondered if there was any other profession in which such a sentence would make sense.

There probably was, in the wizarding world.

Group 2
- Suspects suspected MoM is werewolf
- Davis did Slytherin proud, Carmichael bleh
- Pendergrass, Brent: avoid working with at all costs; incompetence is the new black

Harry kept copying, absently wondering if writing snarky snap judgments of fellow trainees was something all Unspeakables were supposed to be doing, or just Malfoy being his usual special self.

It was very nice, he realized as he continued writing, to no longer be attracted to Malfoy. Not so nice to be distracted by Ron again, though. It had been nice getting a break from that in the last few days; what with his weird obsession with Malfoy, he hadn't had much left over for Ron. Not that he was obsessed with Ron or anything, but he certainly hadn't missed the wistful twinges he so often got in Ron's presence. He glanced to the side, almost wishing he could go back to fancying Malfoy again.

And what with Ron knowing, now, all that Harry had been thinking about him...

All right, not all that Harry had been thinking about him. There was that fantasy with the Snitch and the Quidditch hoops that Ron would never find out about.

Group 3
- Weasley found 3/4 of information
- only team to find 1 Suspect not on Veritaserum; now forced to consider Weasley capable
- only work with Varley if feeling especially suicidal

Harry sniggered, then noticed a murmur going around the room and realized that at some point in the last few minutes, the atmosphere had changed from dutiful attention to a rather dull debrief into suprise and earnest concentration.

"Follow orders, people," Sullivan was saying.

He elbowed Ron gently. "Sorry, what just happened?" he asked Malfoy, and he and Ron leaned closer to him.

"Apparently all the Suspects were duped," said Malfoy, his voice low. "In every case, we were being manipulated by somebody else. In our case, McAllister wasn't planning on doing anything; Katie Bell just planted evidence against him to make me get the dragon net and harness for her. She was going to take them both, so she could start another Goblin-Dragon War."

Varley shushed them, her eyes glued to Trainer Sullivan.

"Remember how easily you broke laws and regulations to reach your goals," Sullivan was saying now. "You two," he gazed sternly at McLaggen and his partner, "your grandmother was sick, so you thought it was all right to steal a Banned potion? If this had been a real case, the potion would've wreaked havoc on the wizarding population of Britain." He faced them all. "Follow orders, people. Go with what the Ministry and the regulations say. No matter what you think is going on, no matter what you think you may know. It's too dangerous to do otherwise."

Harry and Ron glanced at one another as the trainees murmured to each other, most of them nodding seriously and seeming to agree.

"Are you serious?" asked Harry.

"I beg your pardon?" said Sullivan, frowning, and Harry suddenly realized that this was the first time Sullivan had made eye contact with him today.

"Potter," Malfoy said in a low, warning voice. Harry bit his lip. Damn. This really wasn't the right time to do this. But he couldn't just let it go.

"Are you serious," Ron stepped in, to Harry's relief, "that we should follow what the Ministry says, no matter what? That's the lesson we're supposed to swallow here?"

"Do you have a problem with this, Weasley?"

"Yeah, we've got a problem. It's a load of bosh."

A general murmur of alarm went up from the room, and Harry wanted to cheer. For the "we" as much as the sentiment. We. Things might be a little off-balance right now, but he and Ron were still a "we" and there was just no expressing the relief of that.

"I beg your pardon?" said an older Unspeakable. "Was your oath of loyalty to the Ministry just words to you, then?"

"Excuse me?" said Harry, angry now. "I'm not sure I heard you right," he said, leaning forward and feeling the resentment at all the sidelong glances and titters and half-seen newspaper bits froth out, because there was no way anybody would get away with saying shit like that to his best mate today, of all days.

"Do you have something to say, Trainee Potter?" said the Unspeakable icily.

"I believe you were calling Trainee Weasley's loyalty into question," Harry shot back. "Because he didn't agree with the point of your little exercise. So yeah, I have something to say about that."

The man's eyes narrowed. "I'd say it's a legitimate question, Trainee," he said. "You two just got here, and the first time your loyalty's tested, you start questioning us?"

Harry saw red. "First time our loyalties are tested?" he snapped back. "Short-term memory failing the training programme, is it?" There was a murmur around the room, and Harry could feel Ron tug on his sleeve, but not since Snape had anyone in authority pissed him off this thoroughly. "Besides, loyalty to what? To the Ministry? Or to wizarding society?" The Unspeakable's mouth pressed into a tight line. "There's nobody more loyal to that than Ron," Harry said angrily. "He proved that last year, while thirty-two of your experienced fellow Aurors and Unspeakables showed otherwise."

There was a shocked silence. Ron took a shaky breath.

"You are out of order, Trainee Potter," said Philips.

"Oh yeah?" Seamus Finnigan spoke up unexpectedly. "Why's that?"

"The training programme is not supposed to be an opportunity for these two to throw their weight around," answered Philips. "They didn't even get all their NEWTs."

"Oi, they didn't get them because they were running around trying to save our arses," snapped Seamus. "Besides, I didn't either. Neither did five other trainees this year. And whose fault is that? Ours, or the fault of the thirty-two loyal Aurors and Unspeakables, who followed what the Ministry said to the letter?"

"Perhaps we were hasty in letting you in," said a witch at the back of the room. "Some of you, anyway."

"Perhaps you were," said Ron sarcastically, turning to face her. "You didn't have much choice, though. You were a little short of Aurors not in Azkaban."

"So you came in unprepared, and you admit it," added an Unspeakable next to her. "But you still expect everyone to kiss your arse?"

"No," said Harry. "But I don't expect to have you act like we wormed our way into the programme and don't have any right to be here."

"This is getting out of hand," said Sullivan. "And this is not the proper time or place to debate this."

"Perhaps it should be," said the elderly wizard next to Philips. "I think the lads have a bit of a point." He turned to Varley. "What do you think, Trainee Varley?"

Varley's mouth opened, then closed. She suddenly looked very young. "I... I don't know," she stammered, turning red. "I'd have to think about it."

"Malfoy? What do you think?"

Malfoy looked startled and nonplussed for a moment, then glanced at Harry and his face went unreadable.

"He asked you a question, Malfoy," said Philips. "Do you agree with your teammates?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Yes. The rest of the training exercise was useful. But I don't agree with the moral you're trying to teach us."

Ugly mutters broke out around the room.

"Typical Malfoy, think they can do whatever they please."

"He's just sucking up to Potter."

"Got a little too in love with the idea of being in love with him, did you Malfoy?" somebody called out from the back of the room.

Sullivan cleared his throat loudly. "All right, everybody, settle down," he said sternly. "This is not going to devolve into name-calling." He gave them all a glare. "We will continue this no doubt fascinating discussion tomorrow when we reconvene. Right now, the Ministry is allowing all employees to take the time to attend memorials. The one at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is starting in three hours." He looked around the room, suddenly seeming a bit at a loss.

Philips spoke up. "People, try to put this behind you. Remember we are both celebrating our liberation from tyranny, and mourning the deaths of those who did not survive You-Know-Who's reign."

"Pompous arse," muttered Ron, and Malfoy sniggered.

0000000

"Malfoy," said Harry, approaching Malfoy at the lift. "Erm, thanks."

Malfoy glanced at the other staff waiting for the lift and pretending to ignore Harry. "For what?"

"For not turning on us in there," he said. And God, what a difference it made, no longer being romantically bonded to Malfoy. Without the romantic bond, Malfoy felt almost... friendly.

"I agree with you," said Malfoy.

"Still," said Harry. "You didn't have to take a stand. You could've just waffled, like Varley."

"Varley's a certified twit," said Malfoy scornfully.

"She's not that bad," said Ron. "Thanks anyway, though. For backing us up."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose, but he nodded.

Yeah, friendly. Not hostile, not "he seems like a decent bloke on the surface, but then pixies look pretty decent at first glance too"... actually friendly.

"See you later, Malfoy," said Ron, and turned to Harry. "Come on. Mum's said we should stop by The Burrow before going to the memorial."

They walked in uncomfortable silence to the Floo, until Harry put out his hand, stopping Ron. "What is it?" he asked.

Ron hesitated before answering. "I'm not, you know," he said, his voice low. "Loyal. Least, I haven't always been."

He wasn't meeting Harry's eyes, and Harry had never felt so awkward with him. He and Ron had had some bad moments in the past, to be sure, but there was nothing that compared to this, and he had no idea how to respond to what Ron had said.

"Look, I... I'm sorry to have dropped this on you," Harry said instead.

"Why?"

"You weren't ever supposed to find out."

"What part?"

"Both."

"I asked, both times," said Ron. He took a deep breath. "So you were never going to tell me?"

"I... yeah, eventually, I was working out how to tell you I was, erm, gay." Gay was close enough, Harry had decided a few months ago when he'd finally faced this and then thought about what to tell Ron. Bi would probably just confuse things.

"Yeah?"

"But I wasn't, erm, going to tell you I was... that I, you know, with... you. You know." He grimaced, reflecting that not since doyouwanttogototheballwithme had he been that spectacularly inarticulate. He drew himself up. "I mean, you weren't supposed to know that part."

"Why not?"

Harry blinked. "Because you're my best mate and I didn't want you to feel like I was perving on you whenever you turned your back?" Ron blushed bright scarlet and perhaps inarticulate was the better choice here. "I didn't want to make things weird between us."

Ron cleared his throat and looked down. "Or maybe you just didn't want me to bugger off on you," he said quietly. "Again."

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"Did you think I would, last night? Is that why you took off first?"

"No. Only..." Harry steeled himself. "Only I didn't want to look at you and see you pitying me, all right?"

Ron looked up at him, startled. "Pitying you?" he repeated. "I-" he broke off, and swallowed hard. "I don't. And I wouldn't leave," he said firmly. "I won't. I've let you down twice, and I can't blame you for thinking I'd do it again. But you're my best mate." Harry realized this was probably something Ron had rehearsed last night, but it wasn't any less heartfelt for all that. His throat tightened as Ron continued. "Whether you're going out with my sister or not. And whether you're gay or straight, and whoever you fancy - even if it was Malfoy; nothing changes that."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Come on," said Ron, turning to the Floo.

"Ron. Erm." He paused.

Damn it, this was so awkward. He'd imagined the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts would be difficult enough, but had never in his wildest dreams thought he might have to be dealing with an unintentional outing at the same time.

"Are you sure I should come with you?" he asked, and Ron gave him a puzzled look. "Your mum reads The Prophet, Ron," he pointed out.

Ron's eyebrows went up. "Bloody hell, yeah. I forgot about that. Bollocks."

Harry sighed. "Why don't I just meet you at Hogwarts?" he suggested.

"No, don't be daft," Ron began, frowning.

"Look, you've got enough on your plate with... with all your family's going to be dealing with today." Which was probably an understatement. "I'll finish up some work at the library, then join you at the memorial. One o'clock?"

Ron's shoulders slumped slightly. "All right," he said, and turned away, then turned back before Harry could go more than a few steps. "No. Come on, Harry, don't be an idiot."

"Ron..."

Ron reached out his hand, dropping it before touching Harry. "Harry... please. I need you there."

Harry hesitated, then let out his breath and nodded and they entered the Floo.

"The Burrow!" he called out, coming out at The Burrow and stepping out of the Floo. He dusted himself off, glancing around. The place was so very quiet, and it wasn't right, the air of subdued sorrow that so often permeated the house these days. The place should be full of life, of Mrs. Weasley cooking and chatting and the wireless playing Celestina Warbeck and Charlie making jokes and the twins making explosions and Fleur flouncing... and it wasn't.

It was quiet, and grey. Fleur and Bill were on the couch in the living room, Fleur stroking Bill's hand gently and murmuring to him. Percy and his latest girlfriend sat near them silently, Percy's worried eyes fixed on his parents: Mr. Weasley, looking lost and helpless, and Mrs. Weasley, nervously waving her wand at a large pile of black candles on the table before her and muttering to herself.

He glanced over to the kitchen, spotting George, Angelina, Lee and Ginny all clustered about a cauldron that was sparking and emitting a large quantity of coloured smoke. George's attention was fully absorbed in his task as he carefully measured and added what seemed to be random bits of ingredients from various bottles and envelopes, Angelina and Lee appeared to be chopping, slicing and crushing ingredients, and Ginny carefully took notes, no hint of her distaste for Lee or Angelina visible on her face.

Ron exchanged a glance with Harry. Well, Harry supposed, if Ginny could be civil to Lee and Angelina for George's sake, so could they. Harry drew in a breath, putting out of his mind the fact that Lee had skipped out on George just when he needed him most, and that Angelina had taken advantage of George's instability and taken up with him as if he were a replacement for Fred...

George had forgiven Lee, and was probably still too traumatized to realize there was anything wrong with Angelina's actions. And today? Really wasn't the time to deal with either issue.

"Hello, Harry," said Ginny. He glanced at her nervously. "I'm glad you came," she said.

He blinked, unable to read her mood from her carefully neutral tone.

"Especially in light of The Prophet today," she said.

Harry felt his face heat up.

"I asked him to come," said Ron, glancing at his mother, slightly nervous. "Told him he didn't have to worry about anybody giving him grief here."

"Yes, dear, of course," said Mrs. Weasley quietly, and gave Harry a hug that he tried to tell himself wasn't any less genuine than normal. "You're always welcome here, dear."

George nodded and gave him a distracted clap on the back, and Harry was struck by the certainty that, had Fred been here, his coming out would've been the subject of at least a dirty joke or two, if not a spectacularly tasteless prank.

"Erm, Mrs. Weasley, can I help you with..." he gestured vaguely at the candles.

"Oh, no, dear, everyone's already offered," said Mrs. Weasley. "This part's a one-person job, I'm afraid."

"We can use more help in the kitchen, though," said Ginny, and Harry swallowed as he and Ron moved to the kitchen.

"Is this the candle thing that Mum offered to help with for the memorial?" asked Ron. "Wasn't it supposed to be done this morning?"

"Yeah, she had it all working then," said Ginny.

"She had candles... working?" said Harry. "What were they supposed to do, other than burn?"

"There's one candle for each person who died in the Battle," said Angelina quietly. "The candles are charmed with the same magic that animates portraits, so each one has a bit of the personality of the person who died. Then they're dipped in diluted Amortentia so that the scents each person loved will be in the air near their candle."

"Which is a lovely idea," said Ginny, "but unfortunately at the last minute they changed how close together the candles would be. It's not going to be a treat to the nose to have, say, cinnamon for Fred, next to... whatever it was that Snape liked to smell."

Ron grimaced. "Don't really want to know what Snape liked to smell, no matter where his candle is, thanks."

"Oh, Mum included magic to make sure nothing noxious came out," said Ginny. "But she didn't factor in perfectly nice smells that just don't mix well."

"Peach has a lovely scent," said Angelina. "But trust me, it's not to be combined with Quidditch leather." She gave George a small smile, but George was too absorbed in his cauldron notice or respond. Angelina handed Ron and Harry small silver knives and an assortment of leaves that Harry vaguely recognized from Auror Potions as having to do with olfactory illusions, and set them to chopping.

"Bugger. No good," said George, his voice clipped. He waved his wand over the cauldron, Vanishing the potion. "Yeah, peach and Quidditch leather's disgusting. We also - I also found out a few months ago that the smell of horses combined with bacon is very disturbing. You don't even notice it, either, until you're good and nauseated."

"I think it probably gets you thinking of barbecued horses or something," said Lee.

"What was the other one you smelled this morning?" asked Ginny.

"Chlorine," said George. "Near bubblegum, sweets, and sausages, it's all right. Next to fresh-baked bread it's a bit revolting."

"Who'd have chlorine as their favourite scent?" asked Ron.

"Martha Chang," said Lee. "Mother was a Muggle athlete. Swam for Britain in the Olympics in 1968."

Typical Lee. Always had the information. Brilliant radio personality; shit friend.

"By the way, why isn't Hermione here?" asked Lee.

"She's, erm, doing some things at Hogwarts," mumbled Ron. "Helping set things up, that kind of thing."

Ginny gave Ron a level look. "Yeah, I was surprised to hear that, Ron," she said. "I assumed she'd be here."

Ron shrugged. "It's all right. I didn't mind. She was needed there."

Ginny's eyebrows went down. "Needed here, too," she said, and Ron's mouth set into a hard line.

"I think we're going to need more hellebore and lodestone sand," said Angelina.

"And dried persimmon, bitter aloes, frankincense, and sage," said George absently. "Ginny, could you get some from the shed?"

Ginny nodded and headed out, pausing at the door. "Harry, could you come with me? It's all in dozens of tiny bottles and envelopes; by myself it'll take me forever to bring it in so none of the ingredients react to each other."

Harry rubbed a weary hand over his hair, realizing that, really, he pretty much owed it to Ginny to go with her, whether he wanted to be alone with her or not.

"Was that why, then?" she asked once they were in the shed, her hands busy sorting through dozens of bottles and vials and small cloth bags that all looked the same to Harry.

Harry didn't bother to ask what she meant. "Yeah."

She shook her head slowly. "I never suspected..." she trailed off, then turned away from him and picked up a large bottle of blue sand and uncorked it, transferring some of it into a small vial. "Did you ever want me that way, then? Or was I just a convenient cover for you?"

Harry shook his head. "I did. Want you, I mean."

"The way you want a girlfriend, or the way you want a Mummy-substitute to take care of you?" she asked bitterly.

Harry drew in his breath at the accusation in her eyes. "I didn't want a Mummy-substitute," he said, clamping down on sudden anger. "I wanted to go out with you. I thought about you that way from the moment Ron and I saw you and Dean kissing, back in school. I wanted-"

"When you broke up with me, the first time, I thought it was you being noble and self-sacrificing, but it was really just a convenient excuse, wasn't it?"

Harry pressed his lips together. Right. He'd expected things to be awkward today, but this went beyond his wildest fears.

"It wasn't an excuse."

Ginny handed him a jar of innocuous-looking leaves and a small envelope. "Fill the envelope and put the jar back on the shelf. You didn't even try to contact me - I spent the entire time worrying about you and missing you and you... you probably just forgot all about me, didn't you?" She put purple dust from a large bottle into an envelope and sealed it, then started to re-cork the bottle.

"I did think of you," Harry protested. "I worried about you. I watched your dot all the time..."

Ginny paused in mid-cork. "My what?"

"Your dot, on the Hogwarts map." Ginny blinked. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, nothing," she muttered, and corked the bottle with a bit of difficulty, a flush on her cheeks. "So you missed me, then." She took a deep breath. "Just not the way I missed you."

"I thought I did."

"What changed?"

He shrugged helplessly, trying to put something into words that just couldn't be expressed. "I... I always thought I'd die. I always thought marrying you, spending my life with you, that was all a happy ending that I'd probably never get to see. Just like becoming an Auror. I didn't know if I'd ever survive to get there, so I didn't think about it much." He cleared his throat. "And then I was there, and... and I didn't know if that was what I really wanted after all."

"How'd you know?"

"How does anybody know?" he asked, his face heating as he thought of the thoughts and dreams and fantasies he'd had about Ron. How to explain it? The desire to touch him, the unthinking contentment in his presence that turned to focused interest, the sinking realization that what he felt for Ron had changed, as surely and disconcertingly as his feeling for Ginny had changed in sixth year, and knowing that this was far, far worse-

"That last fight we had," Ginny persisted. "When I didn't want to keep us just at snogging, and I wanted us to-"

"I wanted it too," Harry said, feeling his stomach churn. "I did. But it didn't seem right."

Ginny nodded. "Fine," she said abruptly, picked up her tray of ingredients, and walked out. He stared after her, then finished packing the small bottles into their container and headed back to the house, stepping back as the door opened and Mr. Weasley came out.

"Oh - Harry, sorry, didn't realize you were still out here."

"Yeah, just bringing in more ingredients for George."

Mr. Weasley nodded, not moving from the doorway. Harry waited, but Mr. Weasley appeared deep in thought. Harry cleared his throat.

"Charlie's here," said Mr. Weasley. "Just got in."

"That's good," said Harry. He looked into the kitchen window, where Charlie was being greeted with none of the usual boisterous Weasley welcoming.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "It's... it's good to have you here, Harry," he said.

"I wasn't sure if..." Harry began, then stopped. "Ron asked me to come, but I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, what with the papers and-"

"Ron was right to insist," Mr. Weasley interrupted. "This is where you belong. And it means so much to Molly, having you here."

Harry blinked.

"She'd like as many of her boys here as possible," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "We're down one."

Harry instinctively glanced over at George, working with Angelina on the candle potion, both of them subdued and blank-eyed in their shared grief. Mr. Weasley followed his gaze, frowned slightly and shook his head, and headed out for the shed. Harry entered the kitchen and was struck once more by how damnably quiet everything was, especially considering the number of people in attendance.

Into the silence, the Wizarding Wireless announcer's smooth voice floated over them all.

"And as we prepare to remember the sacrifice of those who died during the reign of You-Know-Who, and those who fought to end his reign, the wizarding world has been shocked by allegations that the main architect of You-Know-Who's demise is a homosexual." Harry's stomach flipped over in mortification and he felt an ache begin in his forehead at the announcer's smooth tone, and his prissy pronunciation of 'homo-seck-ssual'. "The Prophet broke the story this morning, and the wizarding world is in a tizzy trying to figure out what we think of this."

"Tizzy is pretty much how I would describe it, Howard, yes," said a woman's voice.

"Opinions range from disbelieving to outraged to amused. There are many who are saying that if true, these allegations do nothing to diminish the importance of what Mr. Potter has done for the wizarding world. Others say that while they still respect his accomplishments, they cannot in good conscience call him a role model any more."

Lee suddenly stopped chopping, turned and glared at the radio. George reached out and gently squeezed Lee's shoulder, then pulled him close, whispering something in his ear. Lee closed his eyes and sighed, nodding, his forehead smoothing itself.

"We don't have to hear that rubbish, Harry," said Ron, picking up his wand and pointing it at the radio, which squawked off.

"Ron," said Ginny, "I think Mum wanted us to listen for an announcement about the memorial today. Not that any of us want to hear the rubbish they're blithering right now, but-"

"You don't have to turn it off on my account," said Harry.

"We're going to the memorial," said George. "Who cares what those morons are saying about it?"

"But Mum said-"

"It's all right," Harry said. "You don't need to keep it off." He waved his wand at the radio.

"Yes, there are many people who admire him greatly," the woman was saying. "And many people quite disappointed in him right now. What would you say to that?"

"Well personally I've never understood why anyone idolized him," Pansy Parkinson's voice floated over them, and Harry groaned. "Honour him of course, as the person who was technically responsible for You-Know-Who's downfall, but see him as a role model? That's not quite right."

"Fucking bitch," muttered Lee, and George squeezed his shoulder again. "So Pansy 'Let's hand Harry Potter over to Voldemort' Parkinson wants to talk about role models, does she?"

"Anyone who thinks you're not a good role model can kiss my arse," said Ron vehemently. "You're worth more than any ten of them." He reached out to give Harry a comforting clap on the back, then hesitated and drew back, picking up his knife and slicing with renewed vigour.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, and noticed George frowning slightly at Ron, then raising his eyebrows and glancing at Harry in surprise.

"Wasn't she the one who wrote the Weasley Is Our King song?" asked Lee.

"Yeah, that's her," said Ron. "Her and Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy," the female radio host's voice said, startling them. "Who hasn't said much about this. He was not exactly known for being a friend to Potter; why wouldn't he come forward?"

"He's got his own reasons," said Pansy.

"Why would he not back you up, though? You were in Slytherin House together, weren't you?"

"We were, yes," she said, her voice sounding angry. "But it's not like he'd know what house loyalty was if it came up and bit him in the arse." She paused. "Besides, I happen to know that Draco Malfoy is also gayer than a gift basket."

"What?" said Ginny.

"Merlin!" said Ron.

'A gift basket?' was the first thought that went through Harry's mind. Lee and George gaped at each other, then turned back to the radio.

"Oh my," the woman said. There was a small pause. "Now is that true, or are you trying to bring down Draco Malfoy because he is now an Unspeakable, going to play in the memorial Quidditch match, and you... are not?" There was a pause. "After reports of your actions during the Battle of Hogwarts, when you suggested handing Potter over to You-Know-Who-"

"That's nothing to do with it," snapped Pansy.

"Is it lack of House loyalty, or lack of loyalty to you?" said the woman, her friendly manner gone and her voice strongly reminiscent of Rita Skeeter's on the scent of new scandal. "Has he broken ties with you because of the negative publicity over-"

"You people are all the same!" said Pansy, her shrill voice bordering on hysterical now. "I was scared, all right? I didn't see why the rest of us had to be killed just to protect one person. And most of you tossers who say nothing but shit about me would've done the same thing!"

"Miss Parkinson-"

"And it doesn't change the fact that Draco's queerer than a three-Knut coin, now does it? Couldn't get it up for a girl for all the Galleons in England!"

"Miss Parkinson-"

"And I should know, the freak, why do you think he was always such a drama queen whenever Potter was concerned? He wanted him, that's why. Wanted to take Potter and bend him over a desk and-"

The radio squawked as Lee savagely turned it off. "Miserable waste of radio magic," he muttered.

"This is why I keep telling you you've got to bring back Potterwatch, or something like it," said George. "Instead of keeping on trying to work your way up on the Wireless. You're too good for those tossers."

"They're hopeless," Angelina agreed. "If you'd only let George help you set it up, instead of just talking about it whenever you get drunk together..."

Lee took a deep, calming breath.

Charlie poked his head into the kitchen. "Erm, all right, then, everybody's still busy with the candles... does anyone mind if I get us some lunch?" he asked. "I brought enough Romanian chiftele feed the whole Wizengamot." He glanced around the room. "A round of the Lighting Vodka I brought might be in order too."

0000000

God, the little sidelong glances were getting old, thought Harry as he got out of the carriage he'd shared with Bill and Fleur, Ginny, Charlie, and Percy, and waited for the carriage bringing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, George, Angelina and Lee. So odd, to see adults getting out of the carriages instead of children. Sobering, too, to notice how many people could see the Thestrals that pulled the carriages.

And thank God he'd come to Hogwarts with the Weasleys, because without their solid presence around him at this rate he probably would've hexed the first person who said something even slightly off to him. Which would probably not endear him to the MLE.

He glanced around at the people gathering on the lawn, the day sunny and bright and perfect for celebrating.

"Harry!" Hermione called out, and Harry turned to look for her. "I'm so glad you're here," she said, running to him and giving him a warm hug. He hugged her back, hard, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought to wonder what Hermione would say of the whole mess in the papers. She pulled away after a moment, then looked worriedly into his eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, fine," he said. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, a curious expression on her face as Ron followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley out of their carriage. Harry stepped back and politely turned his head away. Although Ron and Hermione were normally a sight more restrained and decorous than Ron had ever been with Lavender, today of all days he didn't really feel like watching his two best mates snogging.

Hermione only gave Ron a warm hug, though, both of them rather oddly formal with each other, and then turned to greet Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Harry frowned slightly. Shit. No, Ron wouldn't have... oh God, had Ron talked to Hermione about what had happened last night? And now they were both - oh God. Harry was suddenly reminded of the time he'd accidentally shrunk himself down to elf-size for an entire day, in third-year Transfigurations, and the two of them had not been able to keep from laughing at him-

No. They wouldn't be laughing at him, openly or not. They would feel awkward, though, and feel sorry for him, and...

He clamped down on a surge of anger and embarrassment. Ron had every right to tell Hermione. She was his girlfriend, and what Harry had said had been huge, and who else would Ron have talked to about it, especially after Harry had run away? And yet. He and Ron were best mates. The kind of thing he'd said was supposed to be kept confidential.

No, the kind of thing he'd said wasn't supposed to be said at all, Harry chided himself. He couldn't exactly blame Ron for not acting according to a social script that simply didn't exist.

Ron was watching Hermione with an odd look on his face, and Harry couldn't really take it any longer. He pulled Ron back slightly, as they all started towards the gates. "What happened last night?"

"What?" asked Ron.

"What did you tell her?"

"Who?"

"Hermione," said Harry.

"When?"

"Last night. After... after I left. Did you tell her-"

"I wouldn't tell her about that!" said Ron, his face turning that special shade of Weasley red.

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing. I didn't talk to her."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

"I just didn't." Ron pressed his lips together, glancing over at George. "All right, I did try. I Floo-called her. But I couldn't. It... I didn't say anything."

"Oi, move along," said George. "Bloody skeleton cavalry's giving me the willies, and if one more of them snorts in my ear I'm going to scream like a little girl."

They moved towards the seats that had been set up near Dumbledore's grave, all of the Weasleys and their friends sitting in a row as the crowd settled and quieted down, and a small wizard in black began the service with a prayer. Harry held himself still, listening to the man as he helped them try to make sense of what had happened here one year ago today. Listening to the soft murmurs and sighs, and a few sniffles and sobs, as they paid their respects to the people lost.

It didn't seem like a whole year ago, and yet in some ways it seemed much longer. The wizarding world was still so full of sorrow and pain. The victory seemed so hollow, in so many ways, considering the price paid. Families and friends of those lost a year ago were taking a long time to get past the fear they'd lived under, the fact that their fears had come true, the spaces left by those who had fallen...

Harry glanced down his row of seats. Mrs. Weasley was pale but dry-eyed, holding Mr. Weasley's hand as he silently wept for their son. George and Angelina and Lee all looked blank, Lee barely holding himself together. Ron looked perpetually exhausted from still trying, as far as he was able, to fill what he could of the void Fred had left in George's life. Even Ginny had changed, her eyes no longer those of a little girl.

All that grief, over only one person who'd died - one person who was larger than life, to be sure, but one person still. And their world had lost so many Freds. So many families were left aching, wounded, some with more than one loss. Andromeda Tonks, for example, had lost nearly everyone. Dennis Creevey had lost both his brother and his father. And that was without counting all the Muggles who had died in a war they hadn't even known anything about.

So many people gone, who should have been here to celebrate the victory they helped bring about. Harry could almost sense their spirits, could see their faces so clearly, alive and happy or worried or angry or scared or triumphant. Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin - not to mention Snape, Dobby, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, Cedric Diggory, and so many others. And he could see them dead, lying still and blank: Colin so very tiny; the light in Snape's eyes going out; Dobby covered in blood; Remus, Tonks and Fred lying silently among so many others in the Great Hall...

Harry glanced at Ron, who hardly ever acknowledged the difficulty of trying to fit into his brother's shoes. Who hardly ever seemed to let himself mourn Fred, no matter how much support Harry and Hermione offered him. It had been wanting to comfort Ron that had made Harry see how much he cared for him, how much he wanted more than friendship from him. Watching Hermione take over as Ron's confidant, watching him go to her when he couldn't deal with the stress of Aurorship and moonlighting for George, had made Harry unexpectedly jealous, and no matter how much he told himself there was no need for him to feel that way, it still hurt. And it forced him to confront his own feelings towards Ron, and finally acknowledge that what he felt for Ron was rather more than the brotherly affection he'd always felt in the past.

Harry shook himself impatiently. He and Ron were closer than many brothers, and Harry had no right to take that for granted. He'd get over this crush eventually, and things would go back to normal between them. He was lucky to have Ron and Hermione in his life, no matter what little complications arose among them. There were enough losses to mourn in the wizarding world; mourning for something that had never happened, and never would, was ridiculous.

Finally the prayers were done, a Ministry official talked about the lessons of war, and Kingsley had finished off with a comforting summary of how far they'd come - the children back at school, Azkaban empty of all but Death Eaters, and so on - and then those who had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts were asked to come stand in the front. Harry thanked God that he'd insisted, despite considerable pressure, to be just one of the people before the crowd, instead of The Boy Who Killed Voldemort Twice. Standing among students and their families, Professors, members of the Order and the DA, and Hogsmeade villagers, it wasn't so difficult to face the crowd and note how many of them seemed to be whispering about him.

And then the formal part of the memorial was done.

"Harry, it's so good to see you. I didn't know if you'd make it in today," said Hermione, giving him another hug.

"Of course," said Harry. "I wouldn't have missed it."

"I know you wanted to."

"Yeah."

Hermione shook her head at him fondly. "I know, you hate being the focus of attention. I still think it would've been good of you to say something, though."

"Are you joking? After this morning?"

"What about this morning?"

Harry blinked.

Ginny chuckled, leaning over to Hermione. "I take it you haven't read the papers?" Hermione shook her head, and Ginny gave a slightly bitter laugh. "Can't believe there's actually something you are going to be the last to find out." Harry shot her a nervous glance, and she smirked at him. "Well? Should I tell her, or would you like to do the honours?"

Harry blew out his breath and waved a 'go ahead' hand at Ginny.

She smirked. "Turns out apparently things weren't ever going to work out between Harry and me. And your virtue was perfectly safe - from him, anyway - the whole time you were sharing a tent last year."

Hermione blinked, utterly lost.

"He's not playing for our team, Hermione. According to The Prophet, he either proudly stepped out of the closet yesterday, brazenly flaunting his 'lack of moral fibre', or he was dragged kicking and screaming the whole way." Ginny gave him a cool glance. "Which was it?"

"Neither, actually," said Harry, grimacing and congratulating himself on not having read more than a few nauseating paragraphs of the article.

"That's outrageous!" said Hermione. "They can't - Harry, you don't have to put up with that kind of thing any more. You're not a child any more, you need to go to the Wizengamot and press charges for defamation and-"

"Save your breath, Hermione," said Ginny.

"What?"

Harry cleared his throat. "You remember what Dumbledore said once, about how even The Prophet is bound to be right once in a while, by accident if nothing else?"

"Yes?"

"This is one of those times."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

Ginny sniggered. "So much for all of your, 'I'm sure he'll come around eventually' then," she said. Hermione gave her a stricken glance and Ginny's expression softened. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me. You couldn't have known." She turned back to Harry. "I'll get over it, Harry," she said, and her tone almost would've sounded kind but for the bitterness in it. She headed off.

Harry waited a moment, but Hermione was still blinking rapidly, and he could see her trying to fit new information into her understanding of the world around her.

"You're... gay, then," she said, turning to him.

"Yeah. Or bi. I dunno. Saying that would most probably just complicate matters, though."

"Yes, I can imagine." Hermione shook her head. "Rita Skeeter must feel Christmas came early."

Harry grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"God, I can only imagine public reaction. This isn't the Muggle world, you know. Though even in the Muggle world, this kind of revelation would spark a media frenzy." She sighed and patted his arm, looking after Ginny. "You know, Ginny and I talked about this a lot."

Harry frowned. "What? Our break-up? Or me being gay?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your break-up, of course." She sighed, looking away over the crowd of people mingling on the lawn. "I pointed out to her that even if you two didn't end up together forever, that's not the end of the world. She's loved you for a long time, but things don't always work the way we'd wish. Sometimes what we think we want, isn't what we really want at all. We're not kids any more." She lowered her gaze. "Just because we always thought we'd end up together doesn't necessarily mean we will."

"Really?"

Hermione shook her head thoughtfully. "Don't get me wrong, I can understand her feeling devastated. But on the other hand... well, she lived without you before. An entire year, in which she didn't know when you'd be back - or even if you'd ever come back again."

"Yeah." Harry sighed.

"Besides, we've all changed so much. The war changed us, Harry. Maybe you and Ginny wouldn't have worked out even if you weren't, erm, gay. I don't know."

"I'd always thought that... that someday we'd maybe get married," Harry admitted softly. "If I thought about the future at all."

"I know. But it's not... it's not just you, who's figuring things out right now. Everyone's had to adjust. I mean, Neville's working here, almost a Professor, believe it or not. I don't think that would've happened if not for the war." She looked at him speculatively. "In fact... I didn't want to say this when you two first broke off," she said slowly, "because I suppose I was also hoping you'd end up together in the end. But Ginny's been spending a lot of time with Neville." Harry's eyebrows went up. "I don't think there's anything going on between them - I think they both think of the two of you as a couple - or rather, they, erm, did." She paused. "Anyway, they're very close. If not for the war, I think they would've just been fellow Gryffindors, more acquaintances than friends. But last year, they went through a great deal together, running the DA with Luna."

Harry nodded, his mind reeling a bit. Neville and Ginny?

And yet it did make a certain amount of sense.

"So, who knows," Hermione sighed. "We've all changed. Even I've ended up considering some things that... well, you know the placement I was arguing about with Ron-"

"What placement?" asked Harry.

Hermione frowned. "You know, the placement. In Holland. Next year."

Harry blinked.

Hermione's lips thinned slightly. "Ron didn't say a thing to you about it. Typical." She sniffed. "I was thinking of taking a placement in Holland. We argued about it for weeks. I pointed out that even after I'm not in school any more, it's going to be hard to find time to see each other; he'll still be so busy with the shop and Auror training, and with me apprenticing with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - and then I heard about the opportunity in Holland with Van der Vitch Ltd-"

"Vanderwho?"

"Van der Vitch, it's a magical cosmetics company - don't laugh - that's been doing wonderful things in Magical Creature protection. The current owner was appalled when she inherited the business from her mother and realized how many of the cosmetics the company manufactured used ingredients taken without fair value from the magical creature - and then," Hermione was warming up to the subject, her cheeks becoming flushed and her eyes wide, "then there the most horrifying rumours as to how some of their suppliers obtained ingredients. Powdered unicorn hoof, for instance, or Acromantula venom, or Veela hair - oh God now I know you're not straight, Harry." Harry blinked. "The mere mention of anything Veela-related makes most men perk up and listen no matter what you're talking about, but you've got the same glazed look in your eyes Ron gets when I start talking about Van der Vitch."

Harry shook his head, disorientated. "And... so you're going to Holland? To work for Van der Vitch?"

Hermione shook her head. "Probably not. It's not worth the arguments. Plus I'd have to leave my parents behind."

Harry nodded slowly, still somewhat stunned. He'd had no clue Hermione had been considering any such thing. Or that she and Ron had fought about it. His two closest friends, and it was as though he was becoming a stranger in their lives.

And no doubt they felt the same about him, after the whole gay revelation.

Hermione looked tired, he realized. Her eyes were older, darker than he remembered. Although she no longer radiated extreme tension, as she had since around the middle of second year, she was still so sad and preoccupied. And so very many wizards and witches were, even a year after the war.

He sighed, and looked over to where Ginny had disappeared. Hermione followed his gaze.

"She'll be all right, you know," she said gently.

"I hope so."

"Come on. Let's chat," she said, pulling his hand through her elbow. "We can get away from all these people and you can tell me what on earth happened that got you in the headlines again."

Harry nodded, then suddenly balked. "I... can't," he said. She was his best friend. The closest thing he had to a sister. And he fancied her boyfriend. "You... go, be with Ron. I know you don't get to see each other enough. I'll... I'm going to take a look at the Memorial Wall."

Hermione frowned, obviously itching to drag it out of him, then gave a small shrug and touched his hand. "All right," she said, and walked away.

Harry walked to the Memorial Wall, absently acknowledging a few greetings and steadfastly ignoring the occasional glances and whispers. Halfway there he spotted Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, an obvious empty space around them as they talked in low tones. Harry spared a moment's pity for both of them. Much as he deplored their former (or possibly current) political beliefs, it could not be easy to be so publicly shunned. He was rather surprised they'd shown up at this memorial in the first place; it certainly showed more character than he would have credited either of them with.

He glanced around, spotted some people looking at him the same way they were looking at the Malfoys. Marvellous. His pity for Malfoy grew as he realized Malfoy was now dealing with two separate kinds of prejudice at the same time.

Malfoy and his mother seemed to be arguing, and to Harry's surprise, she seemed to be subtly gesturing Malfoy towards Harry. Malfoy was shaking his head stubbornly.

Ah. She was probably telling Malfoy he should be seen with Harry. Possibly to try to bolster their status; Harry might be the Boy Who Liked Other Boys, but he was also still The Hero Who'd Done For Voldemort. And while normally Harry would've refused to be used like that... it was partly his fault Malfoy was being doubly shunned today. He stayed where he was as Malfoy finally acquiesced with ill grace and they started moving towards Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I'm so pleased to have the opportunity to speak with you," said Mrs. Malfoy as they reached him. "I never did thank you in person, for all that you did for Draco. During his trial."

Malfoy's eyes met Harry's in what Harry could only assume was mute apology for his mother bothering him.

"That's all right, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said uncomfortably. "I only told the truth. Besides, you did thank me."

"I sent you an owl. It would've been more appropriate to speak to you in person at the time, but I did not wish to presume."

"That's all right. I didn't mind."

There was a brief silence, in which Harry racked his mind for something innocuous to say. "Nice weather we're having" didn't seem quite appropriate.

"I take it you will also be part of the demonstrational Quidditch game today," said Mrs. Malfoy.

"Yeah, I'm going to play Beater."

"Have you ever played that position?"

"Nobody's going to be in positions they've played before, Mother," said Malfoy. "It's supposed to be more comedic relief than serious sporting event."

"You're one of our Chasers, right?" said Harry. Malfoy nodded.

"I thought you were on opposite teams," said Mrs. Malfoy.

"No, they moved Hester Albright over, so there would be-" and Harry broke off, because 'one former Death Eater on each team as a sop to the families of the Losers Of the War' was not something you could possibly say without sounding completely crass. He felt a slow flush crawl up his neck and to his cheeks.

"So that there would be a balanced number of Unspeakables on each team," Malfoy stepped in smoothly.

"It is mostly Magical Law Enforcement personnel, then, is it?"

"Mostly," Harry nodded. "And a few other people too."

"More Aurors than Unspeakables, though," said Mrs. Malfoy.

Malfoy looked like he was refraining from rolling his eyes with great effort.

"Yeah, I suppose so," said Harry.

"And Miss Albright... she is related to-"

"Damien Albright, yes," said Malfoy, his lips thinning. Harry frowned, vaguely recognizing the name as belonging to a suspected Death Eater who had left the country after Voldemort's fall.

"And an Unspeakable as well," said Mrs. Malfoy.

"Yes, Mother, I believe that has already been established."

"It is a pity you did not go into the Auror programme, Draco," said Mrs. Malfoy.

Malfoy's lips thinned even more. "My supervisors see it differently."

"Your supervisors can afford to not care what the public thinks of them," said Mrs. Malfoy, her voice losing a tinge of its cool blandness.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and then his gaze was caught by something behind his mother. "Isn't that Aunt Andromeda?" he said. "You had said you wanted to speak with her."

Mrs. Malfoy gave him a level gaze, then turned to look for her sister. "Indeed. Please excuse me, Mr. Potter; I must go and say hello."

They both nodded to her politely as she moved away.

"Should I ask what that was about?" asked Harry cautiously after a moment.

Malfoy started to shake his head, then seemed to reconsider. He took a slow breath. "My mother is of the opinion that I would help the Malfoy family rehabilitate itself most if I chose a profession with a better reputation than that of the Unspeakables. Such as the Aurors."

"What's wrong with the Unspeakables?" asked Harry.

Malfoy gave him a level look.

"All right, yeah, you're a bit... creepy," said Harry. "What with answering almost every question with, 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.' But there were more Aurors than Unspeakables who ended up in Azkaban after the war."

"That's because there were more Aurors to begin with."

"It worked out to one in five Aurors, one in seven Unspeakables," said Harry, and was pleased to note Malfoy's look of surprise.

"True. I didn't know anyone outside of the Unspeakable department even knew that."

"We're not all utterly clueless among the Aurors, you know."

"Hard to tell, with twits like Philips and McLaggen running about. In any case, the figures don't much matter to my mother."

"Damn. I'm sorry."

Malfoy shrugged.

"Oh, erm, by the way, I wanted to thank you, for not saying anything to the papers yesterday," said Harry. Malfoy blinked. "I know I already did this morning, but... well, you could've said something. Your own private life might not have come out, if you had."

Malfoy made a dismissive gesture. "I doubt that would've made much of a difference. Pansy was pissed off that her own sins came up again. She just lashed out at whoever she could. Harpy scorned and all that."

"She might not have, if you'd supported her in the papers instead of saying No Comment."

Malfoy shrugged. "If anything, this is probably for the best. With what the paper said this morning about you, the pressure's not exactly on me now, is it?"

He did have a point. "How is your mother taking it?"

Malfoy smiled bleakly at his mother, now making stilted small talk with Andromeda. "My mother's had to accept all sorts of difficulties in the last few years. Believe it or not, having me forced out of the closet is not the biggest problem she's had to face. It doesn't even qualify for the top ten." He shrugged. "Your own news has eclipsed mine. What else is new." He paused. "Except this time, I don't mind at all."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose not."

"I should probably go and say hello to my aunt as well," said Malfoy. Harry caught Andromeda's eye, and noted distinct discomfort in her expression as she returned his wave.

"Yeah, tell her I said hi," said Harry. "I've got to, erm, check on the candles at the Memorial Wall. I'll probably come by and see her later."

There was no need to assume that Andromeda's wintry expression was due to what the papers had reported this morning, Harry told himself sternly. For all he knew, she was just upset because of the significance of the date. Or she was feeling awkward at having to talk to her formerly estranged sister. Or maybe she was missing Teddy, and wishing she'd brought him. He still didn't have the heart to deal with whatever it was right now.

He didn't really have the heart to deal with anything right now, but just up and leaving didn't feel right either. Perhaps he'd feel better after a soothing walk around the lake.

0000000

Well, so much for that idea, thought Harry about half an hour later. The walk hadn't made him feel any better - a combination of being unable to stop dwelling on his problem, the general angst of the day itself, and a rather nauseating performance from the Giant Squid that Harry devoutly hoped had been a spectacular display of its digestive functions, because otherwise it probably had to do with mating and Harry really didn't want to think about that right now.

He glanced over the small groups of people still gathered about the grounds, soon spotting Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ron. And it was curious, he thought as he made his way towards them, how people seemed to have finally decided how to react to him. Or, rather, how not to react. Barring a few half-hearted smiles and two ostentatious displays of hearty camaraderie from people he'd never met, most of the attendees were now steadfastly ignoring his existence. Which was a little disconcerting, coming from Lavender Brown and the Patil sisters; quite pleasant coming from Zacharias Smith. And a nice change from the murmurs and whispers, anyway.

"No, it was fucking rubbish," Seamus was saying, as Harry approached the Gryffindor boys. Neville and Dean gave him polite smiles and Seamus nodded at him and continued. "The situations were pretty well done. I got most of our facts out of our Suspects. I was investigating that idiot McLaggen and found out what he and his co were doing, but not that he'd actually committed the crime himself, instead of just letting it happen, like we thought the Auror Suspects had done. And my 'partner'" Seamus made a sour face, "didn't want to share the time of day with me, let alone any of the facts. He knew about it, but didn't see fit to tell me. Got in shit over it, though," he said with some satisfaction. Dean and Neville chuckled.

"So they were supposed to be learning how to share too?" asked Dean. "Thought the Aurors and Unspeakables didn't work together."

"We don't. In fact, we don't even know why they were in this exercise, either. They certainly didn't tell us. But they were supposed to be sharing, so Rousseau got in shit."

"I wasn't there for that part of the debrief," said Ron, "but Malfoy seemed to think you did all right."

"Apparently you did even better," said Seamus. "Ron's the only one who figured out that one of the suspects had got around Veritaserum," he told Neville and Dean.

Ron smirked at Harry. "I had Harry to thank for that."

"Well it's not like I could stop talking," said Harry, peeved.

"Yeah, I am not looking forward to being a Suspect next week," said Seamus. "Don't think I'll mind the cells, but the Veritaserum?"

"It's horrible," said Harry with feeling, and Seamus sniggered. "You can't keep anything secret."

"I think everyone gathered that," said Seamus, and Dean looked away with a nervous chuckle. Neville blushed.

"You managed to keep secret why you were working with Malfoy in the first place," pointed out Ron.

"But not the fact that I gave him the password to get in, or gave him my wand," said Harry. "Or that I'd put a tracing spell on him."

"So Malfoy wasn't on Veritaserum, then?" asked Neville.

"No, every group had one of the Suspects only faking it in the second interview," said Ron.

"And Ron's the only Interrogator who caught on to that," said Seamus.

"Is that what got your knickers in a twist?" said Dean. "That they faked dodging Veritaserum?"

"No, that was fine," said Seamus. "It was at the end of the debriefing, when they hit us with the clincher. Turns out the point of the exercise was not just Veritaserum detection and avoidance, or interdepartmental cooperation, or any of that rot. No, the point of it was to teach us to blindly follow orders, no matter what."

"What?" said Neville and Dean simultaneously.

Seamus nodded. "Turned out all of the Suspects had been fooled. Somehow, all of them thought they were doing something illegal but noble, but it turned out they were all being used by the real baddies. Mine thought they were stealing dodgy potion ingredients for their sick grandmum, but it turned out the Healer who'd told them about it was actually working for an illegal apothecary on the side. The ones who thought they were going to expose the Minister for Magic as a werewolf were being used by Death Eaters to destabilize the Ministry-"

"And Harry and Malfoy thought they were going to expose a rogue Unspeakable," said Ron, "but it turned out it was all part of an evil plot by Katie Bell."

"Every Suspect had been tricked into going against the Ministry but still believing they were doing the right thing," said Seamus. "So the moral of the story was-"

"The Ministry is always right?" Dean finished for him.

"Yeah. Follow orders, no matter what. The Ministry always knows what's best."

"Bloody hell," said Dean, disgusted.

"No shit," said Seamus, still steamed. "Today of all days, they're telling us we have to follow orders blindly." He grimaced at Harry and Ron. "And did you see the rest of them nodding along? And McLaggen sucking up to them? Miserable arse."

"What a surprise," said Dean.

"I keep wishing Seamus would make one of his famous explosions in Defensive Potions, and blow him up," said Ron.

"That's not a bad idea," said Seamus.

"And let me guess," said Dean. "That hypocrite Malfoy probably agreed with them all the way, right?"

Ron shook his head. "Actually, he didn't," he said. "Could've knocked me over with a feather. He stood up to the Trainers and everything."

"Really?" said Neville.

Dean snorted. "He's still a git, though - and who was actually surprised at what the radio said about him?" and a sudden silence splatted gracelessly down among them all.

"I was," said Harry evenly after a moment.

Dean swallowed hard, his face darkening alarmingly. "I... I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry about it," said Harry. Bloody hell, he could deal with whispers and stares and strangers and co-workers being outright rude to him, but unthinking comments from friends, followed by mortified apologies, were outside his area of expertise. He didn't know who was more embarrassed here: him, or Dean.

"So, erm, did you hear that Snape's portrait has actually had a lot of people visiting it already?" asked Neville, his voice determinedly casual.

"Really?" said Ron.

"Yeah," said Dean, giving Neville a grateful glance. "He's rather disgusted, though."

"Why? Does he think the hero treatment's a bit hypocritical?"

"Not so much; only they've brought him loads of flowers," said Dean. "He looks like he's in the middle of a flower shop, and can't do a bloody thing about it."

Harry smiled, trying to imagine Snape near any flowers that didn't reek of potion-worthy substances ingredients, or throw poisonous spines at innocent passers-by.

"Not only that, but most of the flowers are, erm, lilies," said Neville.

Harry groaned. "Oh, very nice. Sentimental and romantic-"

"And guaranteed to turn his stomach," finished Ron.

"Although I suppose he might not mind so much, if his portrait has a sense of smell," said Neville. "His candle near the Memorial Wall was giving off a pretty lily-like smell."

Harry blinked. Trust Neville to recognize something like that. And also, ew.

"Actually I'm going to go down to see the portraits," said Dean. "I read a few of your Aunt Muriel's books on magical paintings while we were staying with her, and I wanted to see some of the techniques they mentioned. Anyone else going?"

"Yeah, it was a little crowded when I went before," said Neville. He looked at Harry, Ron and Dean questioningly.

"Not me, thanks," said Ron, and Harry shook his head as well. "I've got to get back to the family."

"I'm in," said Seamus. "If only to see Snape surrounded by lilies."

"It was, erm, good to see you, Harry. Really." Dean hesitated, then gave him an awkward clap on the back. "Keep in touch. You too, Ron."

"Yeah, do," said Neville.

"See you tomorrow," said Seamus. They set off, Ron and Harry headed towards Ron's parents by the lakeside and Neville, Dean and Seamus towards the school.

They had only gone a few paces when Harry heard a muffled, "Oh shit sorry-" and felt himself sharply yanked by the navel, then deposited in a room with a large assortment of chairs piled haphazardly in stacks.

"What the-" Ron muttered, stumbling a little as he landed next to Harry.

"I think we were hit with the spell the people are using to put the chairs used in the ceremony back into the castle," said Harry, and hastily ducked away as a pile of chairs appeared between him and Ron.

"Bugger."

"From the maps of the London Underground I think we're in the new Muggle studies classroom," said Harry, recalling Ginny telling him about the place. A wave of regret passed through him at the thought of her, quickly abandoned as another pile of chairs landed nearby.

"Let's get out of here," said Ron.

They headed for the door, only to hear a trio of voices from the hallway.

"... the hell was that all about?" came Seamus' voice from outside.

"What?" said Dean.

"Your attitude just now," said Seamus. "D'you have a problem with Harry?"

There was a brief silence. "What, you don't? It's all normal and natural to you?"

"I don't give a damn whether Harry wants to shag boys or girls or consenting leprechauns, Dean," Seamus said. "It's his business. He's still the same Harry who taught us all to defend ourselves and who bloody well gave up everything to save us, and-"

"I didn't say he wasn't!" said Dean hotly. "I just think it's not... normal."

"I'll tell you something else," Seamus continued. "Malfoy's still the same git he was before, whether he wants to sleep with consenting leprechauns or not. It doesn't mean anything. I'm not gonna all of a sudden accept him, or reject Harry, just because of-"

"Seamus, shut it," said Neville. "Nobody's talking of rejecting Harry. Not here, anyway. Only... it's a bit weird, that's all." The voices went past the Muggle Studies room and grew fainter as the three of them entered the new Portrait Hall.

Ron eyed Harry cautiously as they finally left the classroom. "You know..." he trailed off.

"What?"

"This is why nobody comes out, Harry."

Harry crossed his arms and stared at his friend.

Ron cleared his throat. "It's different in the wizarding world than in the Muggle world. It's a big deal here." It was like he was pleading for understanding, thought Harry. "You know how respected Dumbledore was. But then... I mean, you know what Rita Skeeter said about him in her second book. You saw how the public went mental over that."

"I thought it was just because the 'public' was Skeeter's public," said Harry. "Going on about the 'scandal' because it's fun to be scandalized."

"That's part of it, Skeeter's public," said Ron, with a slight smile. "But it's not just that. You know Dumbledore didn't give a toss what people thought about him. But even he didn't come out. Ever. There're some good reasons for that."

"Explain them to me, then," Harry said wearily.

"It's partly a pureblood thing, right? Population panic," said Ron. "How are we supposed to hold our own against the Muggle population and make little witches and wizards if we're all waxing each other's broomsticks?"

Harry laughed, startled, and Ron gave him a small smile.

God, this was so different from the near-obsession he'd had with Malfoy. This was friendship and love, whether he wanted to snog Ron or not. Though Ron would probably be horrified if he knew just how much Harry wanted to. His grin faded.

"Which, all right," Ron continued, "I know it doesn't really explain Dean, as he's Muggle-born, but-"

"Muggles aren't nearly as accepting as that stupid witch on the Wireless said," said Harry, remembering some of Dudley's favourite taunts. "I wonder if he really was. Dumbledore, I mean."

"Who knows," said Ron. "If he was, he took the secret with him to the grave."

"Took a lot of secrets with him to the grave," said Harry. "One thing Skeeter got right at least: that family had secrets aplenty."

"Aberforth might know," said Ron.

Harry shook his head. "They weren't close. Besides, if Dumbledore had never told anyone, he had his reasons. I wouldn't go against them now that he's dead just to satisfy my curiosity."

If Dumbledore had been gay, and never really told anyone... what had that been like for him? Harry wondered. To be so famous, to be so powerful, and yet still have to hide such a vital part of who and what he was? For an entire lifetime. More than one hundred and fifty years. Harry shuddered.

"You know what?" he said slowly. "I think Philips may have done me a favour."

Ron blinked.

"I can't imagine an entire lifetime of hiding."

Ron rubbed a spot between his eyebrows. "Harry, Dumbledore didn't even come out. You don't understand. This is going to make a lot of people hate you."

"I've experienced that once or twice, you know."

"You won't be able to advance in the Aurors," Ron continued doggedly. "They may even find reason to turf you out. That bit with diversity during the role-play was just a sop to all those people who've been saying we need to be more 'acceptant' and 'inclusive'; nobody actually believes in it."

"I didn't think so."

"This is bad, Harry," said Ron, frustrated.

Harry scowled at him. "Well it's too late now, isn't it? I've come out, haven't I? I can't go back."

"You could," said Ron.

Harry blew out his breath. "How? Say it was all a big misunderstanding? Come on, Ron."

"You could. It's not too late. How do you know you'll still feel like this ten years from now? How do you know you won't be able to make things work with some other girl? This could just be a... a phase."

Harry was suddenly angry. "It's not, and I'm not going to say it is just so that ignorant people will stop talking about me! I've done enough living out other people's plans for me; I'm not going to do it again. Even if it's you asking me to!" He turned to go.

"Harry." Ron stopped him. "Look, I'm not - I'll stand with you, you know that," he said, his face beet-red. "I'm just trying to make you not blow this off without at least-"

"Yeah, thanks. I know." Harry pulled away. "I've got to get some air." He turned, thinking of possibly going to Dumbledore's graveside, noticed it was full of people, and headed away from it.

Dumbledore didn't even come out, Ron had said. Like that meant that nobody ever could or should, rather than serve as yet another indicator that Dumbledore had been just as fallible, as human, as anyone else.

Fallible, and human, and probably very lonely. And why had Harry never stopped to think about that? Dumbledore had never married, never had children, never seemed to have any kind of life outside of Hogwarts. He'd lived as a teacher, in relative obscurity, despite all the intellectual and personal promise he'd shown as a youth. And why? Because of Grindelwald? Because of one massive error in judgment, that had made him doubt himself forever more?

Or had Grindelwald been more than just an error in judgment for Dumbledore? Had the relationship between the two of them been more than an unwise friendship? Those letters between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, the ones Skeeter had found; had those been love letters? Had the passion in them, the excitement, the joy - was it mere mutual intellectual fascination, or love? It was hard to imagine Dumbledore young and in love, but maybe he had been. Maybe he'd been fascinated with Grindelwald for more than his mind. And had suffered horribly when the object of his fascination had proven hideously unworthy.

And so he'd withdrawn, not just from dreams of power and glory, but from anything that might lead him to risk his heart again. He'd become a sort of recluse. Denied that part of his life.

Fuck that. That was no way to live.

His steps had slowed down, and as he glanced over the thinning crowd, he spotted Malfoy near the Quidditch hut, taking to the air. He started as Ron cleared his throat right behind him.

"Harry," Ron said. "Look, I-"

"Save it, Ron, please," said Harry, irritated. "Whatever you're going to say, I appreciate it, but right now I just... I'm going to go practice."

"Practice what?"

"Haven't been on a broom in weeks," said Harry. "I probably should before the game."

Ron's gaze went to the Quidditch hut, and his eyes widened slightly. "You're going to practice? With Malfoy?"

"Sure, yeah," said Harry.

Ron's shoulders slumped, and his lips pressed together. "All right, then. Have fun. With Malfoy."

"Ron?"

"I'm going to talk to Hermione," said Ron, and turned to leave. Harry watched him go, then trudged to the Quidditch hut.

0000000

"See you tomorrow," said Stebbins as he left the Quidditch hut - the last of Harry's team-mates to do so, except for Malfoy. Silence settled into the room as Harry finished packing his equipment and Malfoy frowned at the slightly frayed lacing of one of his elbow pads, then sat down to repair it. Not a bad game, Harry mused, though rather odd. He'd been dreading the reactions of the crowd, and it had been odd to hear an uncertain murmur along with ragged cheers as he took to the air, but overall, thanks to the conversation he'd had with Ron, he hadn't been all that surprised. And nobody had tried to hex him or Malfoy. Nobody had outright booed at him. True, the cheering hadn't been terribly strong, but maybe that was due to the game and the day, and not The Gay. Their team-mates had certainly been polite enough, though a little stiff. The post-game teasing - especially pointed in a game where nobody was playing their best position - had been fairly pleasant.

It had also been very nice to be able to spend time in Malfoy's presence without a mortifying urge to swoon, and to not have to think about Ron and the awkwardness between them. He'd been able to concentrate on the game, and on trying to act as Beater, and despite a few rather memorable fumbles he'd almost had fun.

Harry packed his shin pads into his bag, wondering if he would ever play again.

"So what d'you think of everyone leaving in such a bloody hurry?" asked Malfoy conversationally.

Harry turned to him. "Dunno. How've people been reacting to you today?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Hard to tell, what with everyone being a little off because of the anniversary. I was expecting to be booed and hissed. I do wonder if part of why I wasn't was that you were newly come out too, and they didn't want to anger the Gay Chosen One." Malfoy shook his head. "Never thought the day would come when I'd be grateful for your star status."

Harry chuckled.

"D'you think Marlowe's sister was right?" asked Malfoy. "That Weasley's brothers were hauled off the stand for hexing someone who called you a shirt-lifter?"

Harry shrugged. "It does sound like something George and Charlie would do, especially if they'd also been drinking. Don't know if they'd do permanent damage..."

Malfoy nodded, tugging on his elbow pad's lacings.

"How did you find out the press outed you today too?" asked Harry.

"I was in the trainee library, actually, and the Wireless was on. What a joyous thing to hear."

Harry winced.

"Happily, the library was almost empty. I still left fairly soon after that. I pretended to keep working for a bit, of course - you don't want to let anyone see you've been rattled by anything - but I didn't want to hang about in case anybody in there got any clever ideas about how to express their opinions."

Harry's brow creased. "Are you worried about... repercussions?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Not physical ones, not really. People tend to go more along the public shunning route. Besides, I've got pretty good protection against hexes because of my family. Another thing I never thought I'd be grateful for."

Harry smiled. It was so weird, still, to not have that undercurrent of hostility between them.

"I suppose I'll have to deal with it if I ever do end up dating anyone. I would imagine discretion is even more necessary then."

"Yeah, probably." Harry glanced at him. "Anyone you fancy?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Not really, not right now. Just getting through Unspeakable training is hard enough; no need to add any complications." He paused. "You?"

Harry rubbed his eyes under his eyeglasses. "Yeah."

"Have you done anything about it?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

Harry gave a small laugh. "Merlin no. It would be... awkward doesn't even begin to describe it."

Malfoy nodded slowly, coiling the lacing of the elbow pad in his hand and conjuring a repair kit. "You do know that now the wizarding world is going to be asking itself whether Weasley and Granger are the real couple within the Golden Trio after all," he said conversationally.

Harry sighed and sat down. "Yeah."

"And the whole Goblet of Fire 'what you'd miss the most' story will no doubt be dug up again. And examined in minute detail."

"No doubt."

Malfoy nodded, oiling his elbow pad, his gaze speculative.

Well, Malfoy had been discreet yesterday, and he supposed they had a reason to not stab each other in the back over this. "Ron and Hermione are a real couple," he said heavily. "Doesn't mean I don't wish..."

Malfoy's eyebrows went up. "How long?"

"Not that long. It's not like I've been hopelessly in love with him since we were kids or anything. We really have been just friends."

Malfoy tilted his head to the side. "And now?"

Harry sighed. "We're still just friends," and Merlin it felt odd to feel a surge of gratefulness to Malfoy, for not pouncing on the 'in love with' part of what he'd just said.

"No hope of returning the interest?"

Harry grimaced. "He's a Weasley male. It's like a badge of hyper-heterosexuality."

Malfoy shrugged. "Always thought the Head Boy one was a little light in the loafers, myself," he said as he started to do up the lacing again.

Harry chuckled. "Well, yeah, maybe Percy. Though he's such a stickler for all that's proper that even if he was, he'd never admit it to himself, let alone anyone else." Harry paused. "When did you admit it to yourself?"

Malfoy grimaced. "Do remember I lived with Blaise Zabini, Potter. Picture seeing that naked in your dorm room more than once without realizing you're gay."

"Did anybody else know?"

"Crabbe and Goyle. And Pansy. She was my convenient cover. I think she wanted to convert me." He grimaced. "So much for that."

Harry hesitated again. "Have you ever... dated anyone? Male, I mean?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Mutual hand-jobs with a dorm-mate a few times, at school. Doesn't count, I don't think."

Harry thought about asking with whom, then thought better of it. Not only was it none of his business, but if the boy in question had been Zabini he'd feel insanely jealous, and if he'd been Crabbe or Goyle or reedy, spotty Theo Nott, he'd feel nauseated.

Malfoy tested the elbow pad's firmness, then put it away, along with the repair kit. He pulled his equipment together, then got up to leave, hesitating at the door. "Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"Talk to Weasley, Potter." Malfoy smirked. "Don't be as pathetic in your love life as you are as a Beater."

Harry shook his head.

"Some Gryffindor you turned out to be," Malfoy sniggered. Harry chuckled but shook his head again. "I'll see you at work," said Malfoy, and headed for the door.

"See you," said Harry. Malfoy stepped out, closing the door behind him.

"Oh. Hello, Weasley," Harry heard him say.

"Hi Malfoy," said Ron, sounding distracted. "Is Harry still inside?"

"Yes, he is. We're the last ones out."

"Oh." There was a pause. "Erm, good game, by the way."

Malfoy snorted. "No it wasn't. It was dismal. That was the point of it."

"You're not that bad a Chaser, you know," said Ron.

"Better than Potter is a Beater, anyway," said Malfoy, and Harry was amused to hear Ron snigger in response.

"That's damning yourself with faint praise."

Malfoy laughed. "Thanks. I'll see you around, Weasley."

"Yeah, see you, Malfoy."

Footsteps moved off, and Ron came into the hut.

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry.

Ron's eyebrows went up. "Why? Where else should I be?"

"Look, you don't have to-" Harry stopped. You don't have to feel sorry for me, because I've got a huge doomed crush on my best mate. You don't have to show me your loyalty even though you're uncomfortable as hell, to make up for having 'betrayed' me twice before. You just have to let me deal with this on my own.

There probably wasn't any way of saying any of that without sounding utterly pathetic.

"Thought you'd be with Hermione," he said instead. "Or helping your dad bail out George and Charlie."

Ron shook his head. "No, Dad went with Percy. And I'm not with Hermione because..." he cleared his throat. "We sort of... broke up, mate."

"What?"

"Not - not really broken up, but she was upset the last time we were here."

"How... what?"

"It's different, without you," said Ron. "We don't... we've fought before, and we're not really fighting now, but we don't work as well without you right there," and he was red in the face, again.

"So you broke it off?"

"She did. Sort of. I didn't necessarily agree." Ron shrugged. "And like I said, we're not really broken up. We're... taking a bit of a break, that's all. We're going to work it out," said Ron, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. He paused. "Did you even try to work it out with Ginny?"

"I wanted to," said Harry. "I honestly did. I never meant to hurt her."

Ron nodded.

"I thought I wanted to spend my life with her. I didn't want to want anybody else. I didn't want to want... you. I thought you were just my best mate. I..." He trailed off, not knowing how to explain the agony of realization, knowing he wasn't just having odd dreams and urges, knowing he honestly wanted his best mate, knowing his best mate didn't and couldn't want him back.

"How did you know?" asked Ron. "That you didn't... didn't like girls, like that?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, vaguely wondering if there was anything he wanted to do less than this right now, and coming up absolutely blank.

"How did you decide?" Ron asked, his face almost maroon now. "That you liked... me?"

Harry wanted the floor to swallow him up. "I dunno. How do you decide you want anyone?"

Ron blew out his breath impatiently.

"I don't know," Harry repeated, and he honestly didn't. When and how had their friendship and closeness turned into something else? Was it when they spent the better part of a year in a tent together? Was it when he'd realized that the joy he'd felt in the forest, when Ron came back to them - to him - went deeper than mere relief? Was it when he'd thought about how he couldn't wait to see Ron and Hermione again after the Battle, but had felt no special need to see Ginny?

Maybe it was it when he'd realized, finally, that he was going to grow up, he was going to get to live out a full lifespan. And that the little things he'd always been able to ignore before, the odd longings and strange desires, really weren't going to go away. When he'd realized that he could no longer tell himself that he was just having weird dreams that were 'perfectly natural and normal', and 'just a phase'.

There wasn't any one moment. There wasn't an answer he could give.

"I don't know," he repeated helplessly.

Ron took a deep breath. "Everybody has... everybody wonders about stuff, Harry. I mean, it's perfectly natural. You can't just throw away everything based on some... doubts."

Harry sighed.

"Just because maybe you had a few thoughts that were weird, that doesn't mean anything."

"Ron..."

"No, come on. You - we're friends, you're going through training, you don't get to see your girlfriend often enough - it doesn't mean anything that you'd start, you know, erm, wondering." And Ron's voice was relatively steady, but from the shade of his cheeks he was quite possibly going to have a heart attack any moment now. He started to pace nervously.

"Yeah? How would you know, Ron?" said Harry.

Ron, if possible, reddened even further, and for a mad moment Harry considered suggesting he take his shirt off before he burst into flame.

"Everyone's had... weird thoughts. Occasionally."

"Have you?"

Ron blew out his breath. "Everyone has. It doesn't mean anything."

"It does to me," said Harry firmly. "I'm not talking about occasional twinges, Ron. Fuck, d'you think I would've broken up with your sister over one or two stray thoughts?" He stood up. "And I'm not going to keep talking about this. Not with you."

"Harry-"

The door opened, and a slightly rumpled George peered in. "Ron? You in here?"

"What are you doing here?" said Ron.

George stepped in, giving Harry a distracted nod. "Dad bailed us out," he said, glancing around. "Team's all gone, then?"

"Yeah."

"Who won?"

"They did," said Ron, a bit impatient. "I thought you'd both be in a lot longer."

"So did I," said George. "Ministry wasn't too eager to hold two heroes of the bleeding war the day of the memorial, though."

"I suppose not," said Ron, starting to pace again.

"Stop that," said George, annoyed. "Sit down, you're making me dizzy."

Ron scowled at him. "What's making you dizzy is that you're pissed."

"Yeah, and Angelina's already kindly pointed that out," said George. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and sat down on the nearest bench. "And I'm not that pissed any more, in fact. Look... Ron... mate, this isn't right. You've both got to sort yourselves out here."

"Sort out what?"

George blew out his breath. "You saw what happened to Harry and Malfoy today. D'you think maybe it's time you asked yourself if you want the same thing to happen to you?"

Ron turned pale. "What?"

"I live with you, Ronnie. And I'm not blind."

Ron shook his head. "You-"

"You've got posters of all the fittest - male - Chudley Cannons players on your bedroom wall, and you're not twelve any more," said George. "You spend all your time with your best mate and haven't got past snogging with your girlfriend. Even your owl's gayer than a pink Pygmy Puff."

"You arse-"

"And you've got to sort what's going on between the two of you," said George, and he wasn't slurring nearly as much as Harry would've expected.

"There's nothing's going on between us," said Ron, his voice louder than usual.

"Right," said George, and turned to Harry. "Just to check something: Harry, you are, then?"

"Gay? Yes."

"And is Ginny the only Weasley you've ever had your eye on?"

Harry's eyes widened, and he shared a startled look with Ron.

George chuckled. "Yeah, thought so. Ronniekins is still 'what you'd miss most', is he?"

"How did you..." Harry trailed off.

George smirked. "It's not exactly Legilimency, mate. Not to anyone with eyes."

"Doesn't matter, anyway," said Ron, arms crossed and jaw set. "I'm - I'm with Hermione."

"You've an interesting definition for 'with', Ronnie," George chuckled. "You snog her when you see her, you have awkward conversations with her over the Floo, and you don't talk about her otherwise. And she doesn't want to see you."

Ron glared at George. "This isn't any of your business," he said.

George rolled his eyes again. "Ron, you're more enthusiastic about Farting Foibles than talking to your girlfriend on the Floo."

"I sell Farting Foibles. I have to be enthusiastic."

"You're more enthusiastic about paperwork, then." George rubbed the back of his neck. "Plus, you're as good as split up." He narrowed his eyes. "And I couldn't help noticing you were nowhere near as broken up about that as you should've been."

"George-"

"And I didn't know what the hell happened to you yesterday at work, but you were a bloody distracted mess when you came home; nearly disembowelled yourself with the biting scissors-"

"Those things are sharp!"

"You know you're supposed to threaten them with dental floss before every use, Ron. Then you signalled to Hermione to call you fifteen times with your little Galleon, and then when she finally answered, you talked to her for about five minutes-"

"You were in the room."

"I offered to leave."

"I only needed to tell her one thing."

"Yeah, to bring your black robe today. Which you were wearing."

"Shut up," muttered Ron.

"Didn't make sense to me last night. Started to make sense this morning. Though frankly I've been wondering about you and Hermione for ages."

Ron scowled at him. "I love her."

"Yeah, of course you love her," said George impatiently. "Nobody doubts that, least of all Hermione." He put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "But Ron... look, you're not the only Weasley brother to get loving a friend confused with being in love with them."

"What?"

"Or the other way around. Confusing being in love with a friend, with just loving them as a friend."

Ron blinked, totally lost. "What?"

George sighed and rubbed between his eyebrows, obviously searching for the right words. "Look... it's. All right, I never thought I'd be telling anybody about this, but this situation's just..." he trailed off, then steadied himself and took a deep breath. "Angelina was... Fred and Lee flirted with her for years, you know that. She was... she was fit, she was sexy, she was sort of like the unattainable woman. And Lee, well, he was like the third twin, yeah? We both felt that way about him." He bit his lip. "But... but the thing is, that's not how it was. Not really, not at all." George regarded Ron seriously. "Look, you love a girl. You think about her, you wonder what it would be like to be with her, and you tell yourself you want her; you figure it's got to be love because what else could it be. And then you finally have her, and it's nothing at all like what you expected. And, then, you've got this best mate..." he trailed off, and shook his head sadly. "Like I said, you're not the first of us to go through that."

Ron was staring at his brother, and Harry covered his mouth, appalled. They all - all the Weasleys, and everyone who cared about George - had talked about his relationship with Angelina, worried about how quickly they'd fallen in together after Fred's death. And they'd all tried to not resent Lee too much for utterly buggering off on George, only weeks after Fred's death. But bloody hell, the idea of George realizing something like this, about both Angelina and Lee, and today, of all days...

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it. "George. God, I... you just... you're just realizing this now?"

"My powers of observation haven't been great this year," said George ruefully. "Yeah, I just figured it out now. Though I've suspected some of it for a while."

"I'm sorry, George. Merlin, what a mess." Ron ran a hand through his hair. "Are you going to break up with her now? I mean, obviously, not right now, today, but-"

"Wait, what?" George broke in, frowning at him. "What are you talking about?"

Ron and Harry blinked at him. "You mean... wait, you are going to break up with her, right?"

"With who?"

"Angelina!"

George blinked, totally lost. "What the bloody hell are you - oh!" His eyebrows shot up, he gaped at Ron for a moment, and then, to Harry and Ron's bewilderment, he threw back his head and burst out laughing. "Angelina? Me, and Angelina?" He guffawed at the utter confusion on their faces, and Harry suddenly realized it had been a long time since he'd seen George genuinely laugh, full-on, as he used to.

"George?" said Ron slowly, coming closer.

George aimed a swat at him, still laughing his arse off, and tried to bring himself back under control. "Me and Angelina breaking up? No, you git, we're fine." He caught his breath. "I wasn't the confused Weasley brother, you twit."

"What?"

"Yeah, listen, I know you all think me and Angie together is kind of wrong and maybe a bit sick and all, what with her and Fred back in school. But it's really not. You've no idea." George took a deep breath, his mirth slowly subsiding. "Ron, wrong and sick would've been if I'd ended up with Lee."

"What?"

George's sniggered. "Fred and Angelina were over about a week after the Yule Ball. Only it took Fred a few months to realize it. When he finally got it sorted, he realized he'd really only wanted her because she was always around, and she was fun, and Lee was always going on about how fit she was. But it wasn't her he wanted." He shook his head. "There wasn't any 'her' he wanted. He wanted Lee, but didn't want to admit it to himself because he thought Lee was his best mate and what kind of sick bastard fancies his best mate?" George gave Harry a half-smile. "And Lee felt the same way. Dunno why I'm destined to be surrounded by clueless queers, but there it is. The difference was that Fred didn't string Angelina along for years."

Ron sat down, gobsmacked. "Fred and Lee were... together?"

George nodded sadly. "Three years. Why d'you think I didn't mind when Lee scarpered off right after Fred died? He had to. Fred was everything to Lee. He couldn't cope with losing him, let alone cope with being around me - especially after me and Ange started up. I bloody well told him to go."

Harry blinked rapidly, his mind reeling. "Erm, where's Lee now?" he said slowly.

George frowned. "Why?"

"Because I think we've both got to apologize to him," said Ron.

"For what?"

"Pretty much everything we've thought about him in the last year," said Harry ruefully.

"Well, trust me, he's thought a lot of crap about himself too. Ange and I have had a time trying to get him to stop torturing himself over what could've been, you know? Bloody hell, it's not like he forced Fred into a lifetime of living a lie or whatever the hell he's called it." George chuckled. "I asked Angelina if it would help to tell him Fred probably would've ditched his sorry arse once the war was over, if he was still doing his closet thing. For some reason she didn't think it would be comforting."

Harry chuckled.

"Actually, that's one good thing that's come out of this mess," said George. "Lee's gone off to the new Portrait Hall. He's going to talk to Fred."

"Isn't everyone going to do that anyway?"

George shook his head. "He hadn't planned on it; too soon." He smiled. "Thanks to Harry, though, he's gone off to tell Fred he's sorry. And that he's going to come out."

"What?" said both Harry and Ron at the same time.

"Which he should've done a few years ago," George continued. "Angelina keeps saying it's not for me to judge how people live their lives, but hiding from everyone - including family - hasn't helped Lee one damn bit, I don't care what it's done for his career." He stared at Ron intently. "So. Now Harry and Malfoy've been outed, and Lee's going to come out of his own free will - which is going to out Fred, posthumously - it'll be raining high-profile shirt-lifters for the next little while."

"So?" asked Ron.

"Ever thought of adding your own little dribble to the shower?"

Ron grimaced. "God, listen to you. I'm not - I've just been telling Harry he should... in himself, if there's such a thing-"

"Which he can't do," said George.

"Which I won't do," said Harry at the same time.

"You know, Fred owned a joke shop and Lee was a radio personality," George pressed on. "Not exactly dangerous professions. And yet they didn't get to live their happily ever after. You two - the world may be a safer place now, but considered the career you've picked, d'you really want to wait forever to be honest with each other?"

Ron pressed his lips together.

"If nothing else, Hermione doesn't deserve you stringing her along like this."

"I haven't-"

"You haven't meant to, I know," said George. "But the fact is, you have. And that's awful, but she's your friend. All outing and Harry-issues aside, she's going to love you no matter what."

Ron crossed his arms, his jaw set.

George shook his head. "You've done a lot scarier things, mate. You've stood up to Snape, and murderous chess pieces, and infiltrated the Ministry, and shouted down You-Know-Who even after you thought Harry was dead and we were all done for." He reached out and gave Ron a light shove. "You've put up with me for a year, and I bloody well know how hard that's been. You're not a coward."

Ron glared at him.

George blew out his breath impatiently. "All right, don't, then. Live a lie, if you don't have the balls to face up to what you are."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "What, like Fred didn't live a lie? Out and proud, was he?"

"Fred would have come out in a heartbeat," George retorted. "Lee wouldn't. Didn't want to bring bad publicity to Wheezes, and didn't want to damage his own career. And how d'you think he felt after Fred was gone? Nobody even knew he'd lost the person he loved more than anybody else, and it was his own bloody fault because he'd never had the guts to tell anyone."

Ron's lips pressed together stubbornly.

"Don't live like that, Ronnie. It's not worth it." He stood up, and turned to Harry. "Harry. I'm sorry things didn't work out with Ginny, but I suppose it really wasn't your fault." He gave Harry a level stare. "You do know, if you'd hurt her deliberately, you wouldn't be walking right now, right? Weasleys are a little overprotective."

Harry nodded.

"Do better with Ron, all right?" Harry nodded, bemused. "Because I know he's thick as a plank and all, but I'd better warn you, if you ever hurt him, you'll regret it. And I don't mean in a sort of a 'I can hex you so you'll never see your next birthday' kind of way." George gave him a small smile. "Don't forget, I own a joke shop; I can make your life miserable with no risk to life and limb. Just ask the poor bastard Charlie and I hexed today."

"What happened to him anyway?"

George grinned. "It's a bad plan to say something like, 'Serves the arse bandit right' when a friend of mine nearly gets knocked off his broom. The git apparently forgot we all pretty much owe our lives to saids arse bandit; now he owes his permanent lack of front teeth to the brother of another one." He gave Ron a half-smile. "Or two."

"Permanent?"

"He can get himself prosthetics, but they won't grow back naturally or magically. And I went easy on him; Charlie turned his prick rainbow-coloured and his balls fluorescent fuchsia, though I dunno for how long. Now," he said, his hand on the door handle, "be Gryffindors, all right?" He shook his head. "God, the two of you, thinking you're in love with girls you only love like friends, because you can't accept being in love with each other. It's like watching Fred and Lee all over again." He grinned. "Only this time, if this does get sorted, at least I won't have to listen to you two shagging all night long, while I sit there, straight as a fucking arrow and single, and covering my ears."

He swung the door open, and left. The hut fell silent.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry finally.

Ron shook his head helplessly. "I love her, Harry," he said, his voice low.

Harry swallowed. "I know."

"I've thought about her for... years."

"She's thought about you for even longer."

Ron sighed miserably. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Is it really not working, with her?"

Ron hesitated, then slowly shook his head. "I still love her."

"Are you in love with her?" asked Harry.

"How should I know? I think about her all the time. I miss her."

"I miss her too. And Ginny, too."

Ron sighed. "Why didn't you tell me you'd broken up with her?"

Harry blinked. "What was I supposed to tell you? She's your sister, Ron." He stared at Ron. "And why didn't you tell me you were having problems with Hermione?"

Ron's mouth quirked slightly. "You said she was like a sister to you too, mate."

Harry took a deep breath. "Am I part of why you two were having problems?"

Ron flushed, biting his lip.

"Am I?"

Ron covered his eyes with his hand. "God, Harry, I can't do... this."

Harry nodded. Damn it, he knew Ron, he knew all of his moods, all of his issues, and knew that while Ron had bravery in spades when it came to putting himself in physical danger, this kind of thing was just not his forte...

George was wrong. Assuming he was right about Ron liking boys and even - Harry caught his breath - even feeling the same towards Harry as Harry felt for him, Ron was nowhere near ready to face all of that. Not right now. Maybe never.

"All right. Maybe we should go back to-"

Ron looked up at him, made a half-move to stop him, then snatched back his hand.

Harry hesitated. "D'you want me to go?"

Ron shook his head. "I... I don't know, mate."

"D'you want to... say anything?"

Ron swallowed hard. "I'm not you, all right?"

"Erm... I gathered that?" said Harry.

"You get talked about in the papers and it doesn't bother you." Harry gaped at Ron and Ron's mouth twitched. "All right, it doesn't bother you as much as it should," he amended. "As much as it would bother me."

"You've been mentioned plenty of times."

"Yeah, see, I thought it would be cool, but it's a bloody pain in the arse. They get my name wrong half the time, say I have ten brothers, and one was bitten by a vampire-"

Harry found himself laughing unexpectedly, and Ron gave him a small smile.

"I don't... I don't want to get the kind of publicity you've been getting these last few days."

Harry swallowed hard, feeling like he was on a precipice. He hesitated. "So... was he right?"

"Who? George?"

Harry nodded.

Ron's forehead creased and his eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. "If... I don't want the whole world to know that I... that I fancy blokes too, all right?" Ron said, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. Ron covered his eyes with his hand. "Fuck, this is stupid," he groaned. "You're in the paper getting called a sick perv and I've got a girl I love who I don't want to be with, and I just found out my own brother was not just a raging queer but apparently an almost happily married raging queer, and I'm still worrying that the papers will call me Roonil Wazlib if they figure out I'm in - if they figure out I fancy... you."

Harry swallowed again, unable to do anything but keep his heart beating, and try to keep from going insane from the utter chaos of his thoughts and feelings. No, no, no no no, Ron was still - sort of - with Hermione, he didn't want to come out, Harry hadn't even wanted to come out, this wasn't a good thing - but all he could feel was a ridiculous urge to either whoop like an idiot or giggle like Lavender Brown at the amazing idea that at the very least, he wasn't alone in this. Ron felt at least a little about him as he felt about Ron.

Ron raised his eyes. "I love Hermione. I do."

"I know."

Ron stepped closer to him, his hand reaching for Harry briefly before drawing back. He reached out again and touched Harry's shoulder. They gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, and Ron dropped his eyes to Harry's lips.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" he asked Harry quietly.

"Erm... about me fancying you? While I was dating your sister?"

"No, about you liking boys."

"Why, would that have been less awkward?" said Harry, the warmth of Ron's hand on his shoulder making his stomach do a flip that made the swoops he'd felt with Ginny and Cho Chang seem positively sedate. "Why didn't you want to tell me? Even if you were just having doubts, why-"

"I thought you'd be uncomfortable. And I was with Hermione. Felt like if I was going to talk to anybody, it should be her, you know?" Ron sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "God, I've no idea what I'm going to say to her."

"I was gonna ask her advice before saying anything to you," said Harry. "Might even have read some of the books she would've dumped into my lap."

Ron chuckled, then grew serious. He stepped closer, paused, then slowly leaned closer until they were centimetres apart, and Harry could feel Ron's warm breath on his lips. He shivered, his heart threatening to jump from his chest, frozen in place, wanting, more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, to feel Ron's mouth on his.

Ron gently touched their lips together, and Harry drew in his breath. Please, don't pull away, he thought urgently, please please, don't pull away, don't don't don't, stay right there...

Ron's lips moved against his, softly, and he tentatively kissed back, his heart hammering rapidly at the idea that this, this was really happening-

Ron pulled away a bit, his breath soft against Harry's mouth. This wasn't right, Harry told himself, even as he waited in anguish for Ron to come back, his lips tingling from their interrupted kiss. They shouldn't be doing this, but it felt too good to stop, it didn't matter that Hermione was the closest thing he had to a sister - kissing Ron, like this, the way he'd been fantasizing about for what seemed like forever, was too good for Harry to do anything but give himself to it. Give himself to Ron.

As far as doing the right and responsible thing, he didn't stand a chance, he realized as Ron's lips touched his again. Not after wanting so much, needing so much, and being so afraid for so long.

Ron made a small noise in his throat, and slowly brought a hand up to Harry's face. Harry sighed, eyes closing of their own accord as he savoured the feel of Ron's lips, the gentleness of the fingers stroking the side of his face, Ron's scent, his warmth...

Harry's first kiss with Ginny had been excitement and triumph and joy. Ron's first kiss with Hermione had been passion and desperation and a sense of 'You only live once'. This was tentative, filled with guilt and confusion, and sweeter than anything Harry had ever experienced.

He brought a hand up to Ron's face, slowly, not quite believing that this wouldn't end if he made one wrong move, and moved from Ron's cheek to the nape of his neck, trembling as he ran wondering fingers through Ron's hair. It felt like every nerve in his body was sensitized to those few points of contact: Ron's lips against his, Ron's large hand cupping his cheek, Ron's hair through his fingers.

Ron drew his other hand up, and now he was cradling Harry's face between his hands, his lips parting, and Harry forced himself to not gasp out loud as their tongues barely touched before Ron withdrew briefly, then parted his lips once more and hesitantly moved to explore Harry's tongue with his own.

Oh God, oh fuck, Harry was shaking and his heart was racing and he was going to bloody well run out of air, and he wanted this to never end, wanted to never forget what it had felt like to do this with his best mate, how it had felt to get to know the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hair and the way his thumbs gently caressed Harry's cheeks as they kissed-

Ron moaned softly, stepping closer to Harry, and Harry's heart gave a thud as Ron moved his hands down his back and tugged them together. He felt a wave of dismay as his body completely overrode his mind's stern instructions to not do anything that might spook Ron away, and his arms came down to Ron's hips and pulled them together tightly.

"Oh God," he moaned at the thrill of Ron's long, firm body trembling in his arms, Ron hard as a rock against him, his own suddenly insistent erection pressed up against Ron.

"Fuck," Ron choked, and captured Harry's lips again, a soft cry escaping him as Harry almost involuntarily rocked against him. "Merlin, Harry," Ron whispered, thrusting back. He clenched his eyes shut, then pushed Harry against the wall, rocking against him once more.

"Yeah, God yeah," Harry whispered back, surrendering himself to the sensation, and couldn't suppress a groan of disappointment as Ron suddenly stopped mid-thrust. "No, please, don't stop-"

Ron pushed a leg between Harry's thighs, and Harry groaned as the sweet friction returned, anything, he'd do anything, he thought feverishly; he'd be discreet, he'd wait for him, he'd help him face his family, he'd bloody well buy him a necklace and call him Won-Won if Ron wanted him to - just to feel him gasping like this, his body warm and slightly sweaty, nervous, awkward, no rhythm to his movements, just raw need and urgency and-

Ron abruptly pushed himself off the wall, separating their bodies. Harry's heart stopped and he opened his eyes, dreading seeing a look of regret and embarrassment - although how could Ron possibly regret this, it had felt so completely and utterly brilliant-

Ron's blue eyes were darker than Harry had ever seen them, his face flushed, lips still parted and wet from their kisses. And it wasn't regret in those eyes, not exactly, as he cradled Harry's face between his hands once more and poured all his passion into their kisses. Harry couldn't help thrusting against the strong thigh in between his own a few times, but Ron was so obviously holding himself back, that he soon forced himself to stop as well. Think of Hermione, he told himself. That'll kill off any hint of arousal. Which probably didn't sound terribly complimentary towards Hermione, but hey, whatever worked.

God, he was going to die of this. Either the blue balls would do him in, or he'd pass out, because he didn't want to take a break from those kisses, not even to take a breath, not even if his vision was starting to go dim and the world was spinning around.

Ron broke off their kiss with a groan.

"Don't," Harry whispered.

Ron shook his head quickly. "Have to," he panted. "There'll be a hell of a mess if I don't."

"There's spells for that," said Harry.

Ron's shoulders shook with unexpected laughter. His hands were still cupping Harry's face, and he leaned his forehead against Harry. "No, not that kind of mess. Well - not just that kind of mess." He took a deep breath. "I mean, a mess... in here," he said, tapping his chest. "And with Hermione. This... isn't right."

How could it not be right? Harry wanted to say, but there was no point in pretending he didn't understand.

"I've been a crap friend to Hermione," said Ron, closing his eyes in misery. "And a crap boyfriend."

"Yeah, good point," said Harry, too flustered to be tactful.

"And I'm going to have enough to feel bad about," Ron said, "without both of us-"

...coming in our pants, Harry wanted to finish for him, and although right now the distinction between that and snogging each other to almost that very point seemed painfully irrelevant to Harry, evidently it meant something to Ron.

He had a sudden brief image of Hermione's face when Ron had worried about Reg Cattermole and company, and wondered if his own face looked the same right now. Ron was generally such crap at thinking out the consequences of his actions on other people that when he did notice and worry, it was hard not to melt.

"We probably shouldn't have done this," Ron said slowly.

"Probably not," said Harry, his back against the wall and Ron's warmth like a tingling field against his body, though he couldn't help but fervently wish Ron had been anywhere near this reluctant with Lavender "Octopus Hands" Brown. He looked down at his hands, still holding Ron's hips, and didn't want to let go. Ever. "Is that the only time it'll happen?" he asked.

"I don't know what'll happen with Hermione, you know," Ron murmured.

Harry nodded.

"She said we had to talk, last time we were together."

"I thought things were going well."

"They are. When we talk on the Floo. Not so much when we're together."

Harry nodded again, and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Ron's breath, his scent, committing all of this to memory.

"D'you think George is right?" asked Ron after a few more seconds.

"That you should come out too?" asked Harry.

Ron nodded.

Harry regarded Ron seriously. "Whether he is or not, you know he'll support you. So will the rest of your family. If they're still standing behind me, they'll stand behind you too."

Ron nodded, and absently drew his thumb down Harry's cheek and to his mouth, ghosting a soft caress against his swollen lips. "D'you think Fred would've come out eventually?"

Harry sniggered. "Could you honestly see him not doing it? Even if he and Lee broke up. Fred wasn't exactly subtle, was he?"

Ron snorted. "No."

"He would've eventually done something like snog his boyfriend in the stands in the middle of a Quidditch match, just to watch the reaction."

"Or asked him out by shouting across the shop in the middle of business."

Harry laughed. "Oi! Lee! Fancy a shag tonight?" he said, in a rough approximation of Fred's voice.

Ron laughed, then sobered. "Merlin. What am I going to do about Hermione?"

Harry spread his hands helplessly. "I... I don't know. She's going to get hurt, I know that much, even if she's the one who suggested you two take a break." He hesitated. "But... Ron, Hermione deserves honesty."

Ron closed his eyes and nodded slowly. He took a deep breath, then stepped back slightly and turned to the door. "All right. Coming out?"

"I already have," said Harry.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, I meant out of the hut." He paused. "I can't promise anything, you know. I mean, I want... I'm going to talk to Hermione before anything else."

Harry nodded. "All right. Do you want me there?"

Ron shook his head. "Think I've got to be the one to talk to her first, on my own." He frowned, tilting his head to the side, and Harry realized that the quiet background babble of voices at the memorial outside had suddenly grown closer, as if a crowd of people were approaching the Quidditch hut. "Bloody hell," said Ron. "Think I hear Rita Skeeter. Let's get out of here before she has a chance to pounce on you." He stepped back, grabbing Harry's Quidditch bag.

Harry nodded and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "You sure about this?"

"No," said Ron. "Have to do it anyway, though." And he turned to open the door, then stopped and abruptly took Harry into his arms again. "You know what? Sod Rita Skeeter," he murmured, kissing Harry deeply for long moments, leaving him breathless.

"Bloody hell," said Harry as they broke their kiss, and Ron laughed.

He gazed at Ron, seeing the best friend he'd grown up with, the one he'd fallen for when he'd least expected, the one he'd thought unattainable. Thought of his touch, his lips, the catch in his voice when they'd embraced. Thought how he'd be lucky if all the papers did was call him Roonil Wazlib, if they went public.

"Whatever happens... you know I'll be here, right?" he asked, and then blushed, because Merlin, what a trite thing to say. As if he could be anywhere else.

"I know," said Ron. And they shared a smile before opening the door and heading out together.

- End