Ron is My King

Weasley is our King

Weasley is our King

He never lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King

Ron slowly spiraled down to the grassy field, a huge grin on his freckled face. It had been one of his best saves ever: The score was 180 to 40 in Slytherin's favor. Right as Harry dove for the Snitch, Montague had come swooping in on Ron with the Quaffle, obviously hoping to at least tie the game. But Ron, making the most of the many hours of practice he had clocked in that summer, was able to catch the ball right before it went into the leftmost hoop. Harry had, of course, caught the Snitch, and Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup for the third time in a row.

Landing lightly beside Harry, Ron patted him gently on the back. "Good game, Harry," he said, smiling at his much shorter friend.

Harry grinned back at him. "Yeah, same to you, mate! That was an awesome save you did just there."

Ron beamed, and had just enough time to thank Harry before they were hit by the crowd of enthusiastic Gryffindor fans. All other chance of talk was swept away from them as they themselves were swept up to the Gryffindor commonroom for the customary celebration.

* * *

Ron had just been handed an open bottle of butterbeer from one of the Creevey brothers when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Expecting to see an excited fangirl-first year, he was surprised to see that Harry was on the other end of the incessantly tugging hand.

"Come up to the commonroom with me for a sec?" Harry asked, and Ron, although he very much wanted to stay surrounded by his fans, agreed.

It was deserted, of course. Harry strode over to his trunk, unlocked it, and, after digging through it for a few moments, pulled out a length of shimmery silver fabric.

Ron was dumbfounded. "You want to use the Invisibility Cloak?" he hissed. "Here? Now?"

Harry nodded hurriedly. "Yes. I really don't want to have to deal with any of this shit right now." He waved his hand around, designating the shit to be the celebrating Gryffindors below.

Ron sighed. He certainly didn't want to leave the celebration, but still...he had been Harry's friend long before he became Keeper, and would be long after he graduated. "All right," he said, sighing. "Where do you want to go?"

Harry smiled mischievously. "Ya know back in fifth year, when you said you wanted to try firewhiskey?"

Ron nodded ruefully. "Yeah, I remember." He put on a high-mocking voice. "'But you can't, Ron! You're a Prefect!'" He rolled his eyes.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well, here's your chance. What do you say we head over to the Hogs' Head?"

Ron grinned. "Excellent."

* * *

They pulled the cloak off of themselves once they were about five paces away from the dingy bar. They tried to peer in through the windows to see if there was anyone in there that they knew, but could barely see the other side of the glass because of the amount of dirt caked on.

"Do...d'you think we maybe...shouldn't go in?" Ron asked tentatively.

Harry scoffed. "Of course not! We're allowed out...okay maybe we aren't but still, who gives a shit?" He brusquely opened the door and went inside, the Invisibility Cloak balled up in one of his fists.

Ron raised an eyebrow. Harry hardly ever swore, and even then it wasn't anything worse than 'bastard.' He felt that he may be in for an interesting night.

Sitting down next to Harry at the bar, a quick glance over his shoulder convinced Ron that they didn't have to be worried about getting caught: the bar was entirely empty, save the grizzled old bartender and, for some reason, a gold vase of red tulips.

Speaking of...The bartender had come over to the two underage wizards with a slightly suspicious look on his face. "What can I do for you?" he asked, not trying to sound cheerful or personable.

Harry looked him straight in the eye. "Two firewhiskeys."

The bartender nodded slightly and shuffled over to the far end of the bar, where he set about making the drinks.

Ron swiveled around on his stool in order to face Harry. "So, uh, mind telling me why you brought me here?"

Harry's bright green eyes peered sideways at Ron. "I...I'll tell you later. Here, have your drink." The bartender had just set the two shot glasses down, and Harry passed Ron's his.

Ron eyed Harry dubiously. Picking up his glass, he raised it in Harry's direction, and muttered, "Cheers." Draining the amber liquid into his throat, Ron almost choked. What felt like fluid fire ran down to his stomach, making his eyes water. He set the glass down with a sharp 'crack', and looked over to see that Harry was having the same reaction to the alcohol.

"That was some seriously strong sh-"

"Two more," Harry interrupted Ron, motioning that the bartender should prepare a couple more drinks.

Ron looked at Harry, dumbfounded. "Two more?! Harry, what are you doing? That stuff was horrible!"

Harry glanced in Ron's general direction, not making eye contact. "Just...trust me."

* * *

Harry looked at himself in the grungy mirror hanging over the bar, then looked over at Ron, trying to see through his fogged-up glasses. Ron was perched precariously on the edge of his stool, surrounded by about four shot glasses, give or take a dozen.

Ron returned Harry's gaze, albeit a little blearier. "So," he said, breathing heavily, "when will you be telling me why you brought me out here?" His speech was slurred, telling Harry that the fire whiskeys had done their job.

"Yeah, this seems like the right time," Harry replied, scooting his stool closer to Ron and taking a deep breath. "You see, Ron...I love you."

Ron grinned stupidly back at Harry. "'Course you do. We're best mates, Harry." He drained the last traces of whiskey, for which he seemed to have developed quite a taste.

Harry sighed. "That's not what I meant. What I mean is..." Harry reached out and softly touched Ron's upper leg. "I love you."

Ron spat out his drink as Harry's index finger started slowly stroking his thigh. "Uh...wow, uh, I'm...I'm not sure what to say, Harry." The finger paused. Ron looked straight ahead, looking at his three reflections in the mirror. "I-I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but, I've just never really looked at you that way." He turned to face Harry...

...who reached up, grabbed Ron's head, and caught his lips in his own. But before Ron could react, Harry pulled away, looking sheepish.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at the dirty floor. "I...shouldn't have done that."

Ron blinked, still recovering from the shock of being kissed by his best friend...and liking it. He touched Harry's chin and pulled his head to meet his eyes. "But I can certainly start looking at you in that way."

* * *

The keeper at the Hogsmeade Inn was just about to close shop when the front door banged open, issuing two teenage boys their admittance. One was short with black hair, the other tall with fiery red hair.

"We...we'd like a room for the night, please," the shorter one gasped, having trouble speaking because the taller boy was not-so-nonchalantly nibbling on his neck. "And, if you wouldn't mind keeping it under wraps that we're here; we aren't supposed to be here, you see, but we just had to get away from-"

The innkeeper cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Save the exposition." He dug through a drawer and pulled out a sooty key attached to a plastic 5. "Here's the key to Room 5. Er..." He looked from one boy to the other. "Enjoy yourselves.

"Oh, we will," the red-head assured him before the giggling brunette dragged him up the stairs.

* * *

"Wow," Ron said simply from his spot sitting on the bed. "Wow." He looked around the room that he had just...had his first intimate relationship in. It was surprisingly clean; there was a bright blue caterpillar inching its way across the dresser, but that was the only sign of negligence.

Harry grinned from his vantage point at the foot of the bed, where he was massaging Ron's feet. "'Wow', what?"

Ron returned the smile. "I was just thinking...wow."

Harry grinned even wider. "I know. I mean, who would've thought that the two stars from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, after they won the Quidditch Cup, would be holed up in a room in the Hogsmeade Inn, wearing nothing but a couple pairs of boxers, giving each other massages?"

Ron nodded. "My thoughts exactly."

"Roll over. I want to do your backside," Harry ordered, purposefully putting in the innuendo.

Ron happily obliged, and Harry began massaging his back, using the tips of his fingers to tap all over Ron's back, like Harry was playing a keyboard.

"That feels gooooood..." Ron murmured into the pillow. His vision strayed away from the white of the sheets, and over to the single window in the room. It faced the east. And the sky was slightly pink.

Ron sat bolt upright in bed. "Harry! We have to get back to Hogwarts! I totally lost tack of time."

Harry grinned. "I wonder why that was?" But he too got up and, standing on the cold wood floor, stretched his arms up to the sky.

Ron, however, stayed in bed. "Harry?" he asked tentatively.

"Mm-hm?"

"What's gonna happen when people find out...about us? I mean, I doubt that..."

Harry held up a hand to stop Ron. "Relax. If they've got a problem with it, we can always just move to Mexico. I hear anything goes there."

He started towards the door, and Ron, smiling, followed him.

* * *

"Knew we forgot something..." Ron muttered, going back into Room 5 and picking up his and Harry's clothes, humming Weasley is our King.

"Ron," Harry said from the doorway, "you're my King."

Fin.