Out of Bed

Author's Notes: This was originally written as a Christmas present to my absolutely *wonderful* friend Ash. I love you, darling!

Out of Bed

Ron stared up at the deep red canopy hanging above his bed, watching the way the sunlight peeked through the curtains and played out intricate designs across the fabric. It had occurred to him that there was no reason he should be seeing the sun’s rays at dawn – he should really be sleeping – but Quidditch was Quidditch, and they really did need to practice. Harry, as Captain, had insisted that they have another full Saturday of practice before their next match.

Thinking of Harry made him realize that he had been lying in bed for a good fifteen minutes since his alarm had gone off. With a grumble Ron pushed the covers off of his body and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and trying to untwist his pajamas. Normally he would have simply slept in his boxers, but the weather had grown cold very quickly this season, and although boxers would have been more comfortable, he would have frozen within the night.

“Harry? You awake?” he asked, his voice low and crackly from sleep.

“Unnngh.”

“Harry. Time for practice.”

“Unnnnnngh,” his best friend half-grumbled, half-moaned again. Ron jammed his feet into his slippers, which had formerly belonged to Percy, and shuffled over to Harry’s bed. Pulling aside the curtains, Ron peeked inside the canopy bed to find Harry lumped beneath the duvet, sheets pulled high over his head.

“Practice, Harry. Quidditch.”

“No,” Harry moaned, rolling over to turn his back on his friend. Ron saw the sheets ripple with the movement like an earthquake in the bed, and then heard Harry murmur, “I’m never getting out of bed again.”

“Why?”

“I bloody hurt, Ron. I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“Harry, you’re Captain. And Seeker. You have to be out there. We’ll understand if you’re a little slow today, you did take a hard hit yesterday—”

“Nearly bloody broke my arm.”

“—but you’ve got to be out there. You know that.” Ron rubbed sleepily at his eyes and fought back a yawn. “Come on, get out of bed.”

“Ron, ’m tired!” Harry grumbled, rolling over and pulling down the covers so he could glare at his friend. As usual, Ron caught his breath at the sudden sight of Harry; even after six years he could never get over the depth of the green eyes. His hair was messier than usual, and the sheets had left lines imprinted on one side of his face, but those unfocused green eyes made Ron’s heart leap into his throat.

“I know. So am I. But you’ve got to get up.” Ron held out his hand as if to pull Harry out of bed.

Harry frowned, but Ron knew that he would be out of bed in a minute or two. Harry was always reasonable – he always did the right thing. More than once he’d wondered how the boy had become so noble, growing up with a family like the Dursleys.

“The rest of us are all suffering with you,” the redheaded boy pointed out, shivering in the cool morning air. He wanted to change into his clothes, and quickly. “Besides, this practice was your idea.”

“I know, I know,” Harry muttered, and sure enough he threw back the covers and stood up, slowly stretching his arms above his head, wincing as he extended his left arm.

“Your arm still hurt?” Ron asked quietly, trying not to wake the other boys as he reached for his sweater.

“Yeah. At least the Bludger didn’t break it this time,” he replied. Judging from the look that crossed his face, Ron guessed that Harry was remembering the time Gilderoy Lockhart had so brilliantly removed all the bones from Harry’s broken arm.

Having found his grass-stained practice clothes, Ron took his clothes to the bathroom and quickly stripped in the cold, tiled room, pulling on his jeans, two shirts, and sweater as quickly as he could. He was tying the laces of his sneakers when Harry stumbled into the bathroom, arms full of his own clothes and shoes.

“Remind me never to have practice so early again, Ron,” Harry instructed in a sleep-thickened voice, fighting back a yawn as he spoke. He pulled off his glasses, folded them carefully, and placed them on the rim of the sink before turning on the water and splashing his face. “Oh, that’s cold!” he gasped, reaching for a towel.

Ron grinned to himself, focusing on his shoes as he rediscovered the fact that he was the best friend of The Boy Who Was Definitely Not A Morning Person. “Want to grab something to eat before we have to be out on the pitch?”

“No… ’m not really hungry, this early.” Harry returned his glasses to their proper place and pulled off his pajamas, shivering as he undressed quickly. Ron turned his eyes away quickly, but had the sudden urge to make use of the cold water, although not quite in the same manner as Harry. Hoping that his face wasn’t as red as he felt it was, he stood and tried to concentrate on brushing his teeth.

‘I will not stare at Harry, I will not ogle Harry, I will not have dirty thoughts about Harry, I will not imagine myself doing—ARGH!’

Finished dressing, The Boy Who Was Unaware That His Best Friend Was Having Exceptionally Filthy Thoughts About Him glanced over at Ron and offered him a half-hearted smile. “Come on…the sooner we get out there, the sooner we can come in and warm up at breakfast.”

“Right, Harry,” Ron said weakly, and followed Harry out of the bathroom, staring at the back pockets of his Muggle blue jeans.

Crimson practice robes went on over their jeans and sweaters, and the boys went down to the common room, meeting the other members of their team. As a sixth year, Harry was well-prepared for the duties of team Captain and the general pitfalls of being on the team, but the younger members looked alternately murderous or unawake.

“Okay, team,” Harry said, putting on a bright voice. “Let’s get in a few hours’ practice, and then we’ll come back in for breakfast. I want to run a few of our drills today, because Ravenclaw’s new Keeper is pretty good, and we’ll have to stay on our toes during the next match…”

As Ron listened to Harry give the team what turned out to be an early morning team chat, he reflected on how only Harry Potter could convince a team of students to practice Quidditch in the freezing cold dawn. After a few rousing moments, The Boy Who Gave Pep Talks was through, and he hustled the team out to the pitch.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the Gryffindor common room, after the last team member had gone down to breakfast, Harry dropped backwards into a plush crimson chair and groaned. Ron laughed, approaching him with outstretched hands to pull him to his feet, and said, “Oh, come on, Harry, we weren’t that bad. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“No…” Harry said tiredly. “We weren’t bad, I’m just too exhausted to move, Ron. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You go, I’m going back to bed.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You think I’d leave you up here when you’re not feeling well?” Ron asked, then winced as he realized he sounded like his mother.

“Well, you don’t have to watch over me,” the black-haired boy pointed out. “Go on to breakfast, I’ll be fine…just have to drag myself upstairs…”

“Harry, do you think you should see Madam Pomfrey?” Ron half-heartedly suggested, knowing full well that Harry would refuse.

And he was absolutely correct. “No!” Harry said firmly, not moving from where he had fallen onto the chair. “I just need to sleep. I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Probably because you’re a Prefect, Captain of the Quidditch team, and oh yeah, someone usually tries to kill you once a year. Plus sixth year Potions is kicking our collective arse.” Ron took Harry’s hands in his and pulled him to his feet, catching him as he stumbled. “Okay, Harry, let’s go to bed.”

Harry snickered as Ron slipped an arm around his waist. “Are you making a pass at me, Mr. Weasley?”

“Harry, you’re out of your bloody mind. You really do need to sleep.”

Harry only snickered again as Ron guided him up the stairs, leading him into their dormitory and depositing him on his bed. Harry fell backwards onto the bed much as he had done in the chair, his legs dangling off the side. Sighing, Ron knelt and began to untie Harry’s sneakers.

“And now you’re on your knees in front of me. Ron, you are a tease!” Harry said playfully, fumbling around with one hand until he clumsily brushed Ron’s red hair with his fingertips.

“Would you shut it, you wanker?!” Ron finally exclaimed, having had enough. It was bad enough that he actually had those feelings, but to have Harry unwittingly make fun of them was too much. Ron stood, leaving Harry with one shoe on and one off, and stamped to the door. “I’m going to breakfast. Go to bed, Harry.”

“Ron? Ron, hey, wait,” Harry called, sitting up with surprising speed for someone so tired.
Ron paused at the door. “What?” he snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, sounding surprised in spite of his exhaustion. “I didn’t know that you’d get so upset. I was just teasing.”

“It’s not funny, Harry.”

“Why?”

Ron sighed. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. I—”

“Try me.”

“What?”

Harry turned on the bed to face Ron. “I said try me. I would understand.”

Ron took a few steps towards him and crossed his arms protectively over his chest. “You would, would you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, “I would.”

“Why?”

“Because – well…” Harry coughed, unsure of how to describe whatever he was trying to tell Ron. Finally, he stammered, “Because, er, I was teasing you about – you know – flirting with me, but I, well, I kind of understand that, and—”

“Why?” Ron snapped. “Oh, I know! Because you’re The Boy Who Lived, and people flirt with you all the time, right?”

“No, Ron, that’s not it—”

“You know, Harry, if you don’t have something to say that’s worth hearing, I think we’d better just leave this and—mmph!”

Whatever else Ron thought they should do was lost to memory only, because at that instant Harry stood up, crossed to Ron, and kissed him firmly on his lips. They stood there for a moment, lips pressed together, eyes closed, not really kissing but simply standing there to get a feel for kissing their best friend.

When Harry pulled back and looked down at the floor, Ron’s face was even redder than his hair. “Yes,” Ron said weakly. “I think we’d better just leave this and…er…right.”

“I told you I’d understand,” Harry whispered, not meeting his eyes. “Okay. You can go to breakfast now.”

“After that?!” Ron exclaimed. Harry still did not look at him, but Ron could see his shoulders slump with despair. “Harry,” Ron said firmly, lifting Harry’s face up with one hand so Harry would have to look him in the eyes. “D’you think I’d leave after that?”

A hopeful sort of expression began to tug at the corner of Harry’s mouth, but he said quietly, “You can if you like. I know…well.”

“I know that I’ve – I’ve been waiting for that for years,” Ron said in a rush, and Harry’s face truly lit up then.

“You have too?” the black-haired boy asked happily, and Ron nodded. “Then…er…”

“Er – yeah…”

They looked at each other, standing so close, stammering uncomfortably all of a sudden, and then they laughed. “Oh, Ron,” Harry murmured happily, and he tilted his face upward to kiss his best friend again.

Ron walked them to the bed and for a moment they sat beside each other on its edge, kissing chastely – and after several moments, they ended up in a simple embrace, Ron holding Harry to him, Harry’s arms around his neck. Ron sighed in absolute bliss, pressing his nose to Harry’s untidy black hair and enjoying the familiar scent of his best friend. Then, as he felt Harry’s breathing slow, he remembered why he was up here in the first place.

“Harry. You were going to bed.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “But then it looked like we were going to fight, and then we snogged, and now we’re here, all cuddly.”

“You still need to sleep…” Ron pointed out.

“I don’t want you to go,” Harry replied firmly. “Not after this.”

“Well…I can stay,” he offered. He felt Harry nod against his shoulder, and encouraged, he toed off his shoes and placed a hand on Harry’s hair. “But you do need to sleep, I think. You nearly fell off your broom watching them try to get the feints right.”

“I know, I know…”

“Well, come on, then,” Ron said, pulling his legs onto the bed and scooting over to the farthest side.

“You’re…ah…” Harry asked, looking at him. Ron blushed and sat up, thinking himself too forward; but at that same moment Harry pulled his own legs onto the bed and laid his hands on Ron to hold him still. “No, no, don’t get up. I just didn’t think you’d stay in my bed. But I’m glad you are,” he added, almost shyly.

Ron blushed again, but smiled broadly. “You are? Yeah – yeah, so’m I.”

With the sweetest smile Ron had ever seen, Harry laid down and motioned for Ron to do the same, drawing the curtains around the bed and curling up next to his best friend, lying back-to-belly. Hesitantly Ron draped his arm over Harry’s waist, and Harry in turn took Ron’s hand in his own and gave it a little squeeze.

“Thanks, Ron,” he said softly, threading his fingers through the redheaded boy’s; and Ron thought his heart would burst from happiness.

They lay in the silence for a moment, holding each other, relishing the fact that they were lying side-by-side together simply breathing. Then Harry said quietly, “Ron?”

“Yes?”

“I’m never getting out of bed again.”

“Me neither, Harry. Me neither.”