And then I Dreamt of You

The Next Bait, Part II

It had been one month. One endless month of turning around in his room, avoiding his "family" as much he could, and waiting for a letter or a sign that wouldn't come. Harry had almost cast away any hope of escaping Privet Drive before school started again when at last Lupin came for him. This time they used a Portkey, since the Ministry of Magic had admitted its errors (much too late, if you asked all the members and supporters of the Order). So now, finally, Harry was standing on Grimmauld Place's pavement, waiting for the old musty house to appear out of nowhere, as in a daze, trying to not let his brain forget that no, Sirius wouldn't be there to welcome him. He would never be there again.

He looked sideways at Lupin, dreading to open the door, dreading to enter a place that was so filled with his godfather--the fact that Sirius had loathed the house didn't matter: he had still spent the last year of his life trapped inside it, and Harry knew he would expect to come bumping into him at every corner, wouldn't enter a room without thinking maybe Sirius would be there, hunched over a table mumbling that he was bored, or sitting cross-legged on the floor, stroking Buckbeak's feathers. Lupin seemed to understand this--after all, who could understand Harry's pain more than him?--and opened the door himself, calmly waiting for Harry to step in, not rushing him. Harry immediately looked to his left. The mouldy drapes were drawn, and he turned his eyes to Lupin again, raising his eyebrows questioningly. Lupin nodded, pressing his finger against his lips. Harry looked down, his spirits sinking even lower. He had hoped they would have found a way to tear that portrait down. He fleetingly wondered what it might be shrieking now, if it acknowledged the death of her son, if it put the blame on everyone that passed in front of it.

Harry felt a sudden rush of hope, just like he had a few months before when discovering the mirror: what if there was a portrait of Sirius somewhere in that house?! It wouldn't be the same as having him back, of course, but...But then Harry realized how stupid his hopes were. He would have seen such a painting when they scrubbed the whole house the year before. If there had been one anyway, Sirius would have most likely burnt it down, if Kreacher hadn't taken care of it already. But most of all, seeing how his family had gone up to blasting his name out of the family tree, and how their hate had been returned, there was just no way Sirius would have ever posed for a painting. When will you stop thinking up new ways of pretending he's not completely gone?! he thought angrily.

Those gloomy thoughts took him to the kitchen, although Harry wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, merely going where Lupin was obviously directing him. He saw many pairs of feet around the room, all of them coming to a halt at his entrance, and he looked up, already weary.

And then his eyes met Ron's.

In a flash, all the angst and painful memories that seeing Lupin had brought back to Harry vanished like thin air, replaced by the vivid images of that dream he had had so many weeks before, that dream that had continued to haunt him for days afterwards, although he hadn't dreamt again, neither of Ron nor anybody else. Harry felt his heart swell with both relief and happiness and next moment he had thrown himself at Ron, hugging his friend half-to-death, oblivious to the people around them, burying his face against his friend's neck and unconsciously taking in Ron's warm scent, relishing the fact that now he would be able to keep an eye on his best friend's safety.

After a second or two, he felt Ron's hands awkwardly patting his back, then his arms resting against it in a shy hug, and still Harry didn't let go of him, not hearing anything but the beating of Ron's heart, not feeling anything but Ron's shirt against his cheek, his soft skin so close to his lips.

"Mate...it's getting embarrassing," Ron finally whispered, then coughed twice, fidgeting.

Harry slowly released his friend, taking only one step back, his hands now resting on Ron's upper arms. Harry looked at him with a grin on his face, his body feeling electric. Then he felt all the eyes staring at him and blushed, stammering weakly: "Yeah, hm...sorry 'bout that...I'm just happy to see you're well."

Ron cocked his head to the side and smiled at him, looking a bit curious: "Why wouldn't I be well?"

Harry's grin was refusing to fade away as he quickly said: "Oh, nothing, no reason! I'm just...really happy to see you!" he ended perkily, almost hopping on the spot. His cheeks turned so hot he was sure Ron could feel their heat; he pulled his hands away and shyly looked around at the beaming faces.

The first one he saw was Lupin, and for a second Harry could have sworn his face had worn an amused and mischievous smile, but then Harry blinked and it was gone, Lupin's calm mask back in place. Then he saw Molly, who was clearly refraining herself from giving him the same predicament he had just given Ron, but of course she failed and next thing he knew Harry was pressed tightly against another Weasley, Molly blabbering with delight about how happy they were to have him back with them at last.

"Thanks," Harry whispered when she agreed to let him breathe, scratching his head.

The rest of the evening went in a blur of hellos and hugs and drinks and laughter, but Harry had been expecting to see Sirius standing in that kitchen and he felt empty all evening, despite Ron's presence at his side and his best efforts to cheer Harry up.

Then finally they were lying in bed and ready to chat, but Harry couldn't bring himself to mention his dreams, and Ron knew better than to talk about anything related to Sirius's death or Voldemort's plans, and the boys soon found they had nothing to talk about, which was definitely a first for them. Harry fell asleep quickly after that, his heart feeling even more hollow than before, even though knowing that Ron was still lying in that same room, safe and sound and happy, put a grin on Harry's sleepy face.

*~*~*

Harry's eyes shot open and only met dark, his fists painfully tightened around his pillow, half of his face buried into the soft material, rendering breathing difficult. Harry scrambled upright, sitting back on his calves and fearfully waiting for his eyes to get accustomed to the quasi darkness, sure he was not at Privet Drive (his window was always opened, the whole room feebly illuminated by the streetlamps outside) and afraid of where he was. Then the gloomy old room came into focus, the wall first, then on Harry's left the empty canvas, the brown door, the musty wardrobe with its broken glass-door, and on his right, Ron's bed. A freezing shiver shook Harry's entire body and he felt goosebumps breaking out on his skin, but he scrambled out of bed still, and tiptoed to Ron's one, afraid to look but also afraid to close his eyes and go back to sleep.

He stopped at the head of the bed and looked down, holding his breath, and felt his knees buckling under him when Ron's nose wrinkled and he mumbled in his sleep, his legs moving under the sheets. Harry softly kneeled on the hard wooden floor, breathing a sigh of relief, his head level with Ron's one, although Ron was pretty much glued to the opposite wall, as if another invisible person was taking half of the bed.

Harry decided that in this case he could well take that place, and slowly, very slowly climbed on the bed, praying for the rusty springs not to creak - which they didn't - trying to make the mattress move as little as he could so that Ron wouldn't wake up. After minutes that seemed to last hours Harry was lying down beside Ron at last, both of them on their sides, their bodies close to touching, but Harry was careful not to let that happen, keeping to the very edge of the bed.

Time settled back down and Harry felt at peace again, gazing at his friend's face, marvelling at how Ron's freckles were still standing out even in the night, loving the way Ron's hand was closed into a light fist, just under his nose, like Ron was prepared to fight any bully (or eight-legged hairy thing) that might dare invade his dreams. Harry wished things were so easy, that he could have fought his dream before it even started, but he knew it was all wishful thinking...and it was too late, anyway.

Moments passed, not minutes or even hours because Time was flowing endlessly, out of fractions or measures, and Harry got lost into Ron's features, glad to see everything was alright, glad to have the breathing confirmation that the nightmare had only been a nightmare, that the moment to fight or to despair hadn't come yet. He didn't realize at first the way the tip of his fingers had made their way to Ron's face, brushing the silky hair behind Ron's ear or slowly tracing the freckles on Ron's cheeks. His vision got blurry and he felt like closing his eyes, but then the dream came back to him and Harry suddenly tensed.

What if he fell asleep there, in Ron's bed, and dreamt again? What if somehow Voldemort sensed it and found a way for him to actually harm Ron in his sleep? And then Harry would wake up from seeing Ron dead and would effectively see his dead body lying beside him, his own hands maybe still clenched around Ron's neck, Ron's empty eyes staring, disbelieving, at him. Harry gasped and sat up, much less cautiously than he had lied down, and turned to leave, his legs already hovering above the floor when a hand clenched around his left forearm.

Harry jumped out of his skin and fearfully turned back, looking down. Ron was looking up at him, obviously disoriented and still halfway in his dreams, but his grip was very real, and when he tentatively gave Harry's forearm a tug, Harry lied back down without a protest, staring into Ron's foggy blue eyes.

Ron blinked a few times, trying to set his brain into motion again. His hand curled back into a fist and he rubbed his left eye, then yawned softly; but he didn't speak, he only stared at Harry, wondering if they had actually fell asleep that way or if--

"I've been...I've been having dreams again," Harry suddenly whispered, breaking the silence he had almost grown accustomed to during his nightly musings and unleashing in a great breaking of skin all the pain and the fright he had kept bolted up inside for so long. "When I was back at Privet Drive..." he added, his voice already trembling.

Ron instantly woke up, his bright eyes widening in the dark.

"A...at first I thought maybe it was just...me," Harry continued, something painful growing in his chest, "just, just bec-cause..." But his voice broke and he looked intently into Ron's eyes, trying to make him understand. "You know, and...I thought...I thought I was just feeling guilty, because I do--"

Ron opened his mouth but Harry shushed him instantly, pressing his fingers against Ron's lips, then pulling them away as if burnt, blushing scarlet. Ron seemed to be dazed by the gesture as well, but his eyes never left Harry's ones, and he waited for Harry to resume.

"B...but, you know..." he continued, stammering, "it was like, exactly like...before. I could feel...his emotions and they were...they were clashing with mine, it just didn't fit together."

"...what did you dream about?" Ron asked after a few seconds of silence, although he was quite sure that he didn't want to hear it.

"Everybody," Harry whispered. "I dreamt...I dreamt of Sn-snuffles. And I think it was...either m-my bastard subconscious or Voldemort taunting me, because he was still alive...barely still, but alive...and then..." Harry frowned in concentration, trying to put the pieces back together and to stop the tears from falling. The pain in his chest was only swelling more with every word he said. "Then I...I dreamt of Lupin I think. And then I...I dreamt of...of your family."

"All that in the same night??"

Harry chuckled: "No, no. Well...in a few...days...one dream a night...And everytime, I woke up feeling so frustrated...but you know, it wasn't me, it was--"

"I know."

"And so I...I dreamt of your family," Harry repeated very softly, wondering why he was inflicting this on Ron. The dreams had been just that, dreams, and Ron didn't need to hear them, didn't need to picture his whole family lying dead in his house. Harry shouldn't be sharing this with him, but the words were just asking to be spoken out loud, and Harry was feeling too scared and lost to ignore them.

There was a heavy silence before Ron asked, trembling: "W...what was the dream about?"

"I'm not sure you want to know," Harry softly said, looking ashamed.

"Well tell me anyway," Ron said as firmly as he could, breaking the very feeble last of Harry's resolve.

Harry took a deep breath: "I...I came to the Burrow and......and you were all...All dead."

Ron's face blanched, and Harry's heart was doing somersaults inside his chest, bumping rashly every now and then against the dark bubble floating behind his ribcage; he felt like vomiting just remembering that dream. And he knew Ron hadn't heard anything yet.

"You were all on, on, on the floor, except...Ginny, she was curled up in a corner and she was, she was crying and...I walked to her but it wasn't me and then she looked up and she started...she started screaming that it was my fault - the real me's fault - that I had...that I had failed you all, that I had let you down--"

"It was only a dream Harry, don't let it get to you..." Ron interrupted in a whisper, horrified. But Harry didn't even seem to hear him as he continued, in an almost robotic tone:

"Then I dreamt of Ginny, again. She was in the Common Room and...she was really cute, y'know, and when...when she looked at me she was smiling, and then, then she looked frightened and I..." Harry halted, then admitted in a breath: "I killed her." His eyes travelled down to stare at the pillow under Ron's cheek. Saying it out loud made it sound even more sickening. "And he said something about not...not loving her enough, not coming for her again," Harry added, his tone getting softer and dreamier with every word as realisation sank in. But Voldemort had found somebody Harry loved enough. That's why he was so happy that night, that's why...But Harry couldn't let himself delve into his feelings and his fears of letting Ron see the truth, couldn't even stop to reflect that Ron might be less stupid than he had been and see right through the last dream. He couldn't, because another dream came to him and he found himself spluttering it out to a paler and paler Ron: "Oh I also dreamt about Hermione before that...and I...I think I ki--killed her too...and he said, he said I...I wouldn't come for her, that I would look for her first, I wouldn't come right away..."

There was a heavy silence before Harry dared to tell Ron the last dream, the reason why he was lying in his best friend's bed in the middle of the night, telling him awful things that Ron didn't need to learn. "And then I dreamt of you."

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Ron looked both surprised and scared, and maybe also ready to ask who else had been in the dream, but Harry didn't let him time:

"I...I thought I was really dreaming this time, y'know coz I felt...like me. I knew it was a dream, and I walked up to the dormitory and you were there, and you were sleeping and you...you looked so...peaceful and then I...turned you around and there was...blood, on your hair..." Harry's eyes glazed over and he looked horrified, still staring at Ron's pillow, lost in the dream again and not seeing Ron's eyes getting even wider, his teeth nervously closing on his bottom lip.

"And you...and I..." Harry panted, his breath getting heavy like under an asthma attack, the bubble swelling even though it was already fit to burst; "I wanted to scream and ask for help, and he...and he...I don't remember, I think he started laughing or something," Harry whispered, frowning in concentration once more, his voice getting chocked up with tears. "And I...after that I......I couldn't do a thing," he admitted helplessly. "And I think I was in my body again and I fell on the floor and you were...you were there, up there, with your hair like blood and your face so pale and he was...he was so happy. So happy."

"Is that why you wrote to me? Asking if everybody was okay?" Ron asked a couple of seconds later, when he managed to find his voice back.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice suddenly a bit steadier, gulping down his tears. There was a short silence, then he added: "But I only cared about you."

Ron looked lost, fidgeting with a crease in the bed sheets, trying hard to find something to say, his emotions raging inside of him so that he couldn't grasp any of them. "But you...you knew it was a dream. I mean, I couldn't have been in Gryffindor Tower, I--"

"I know. I knew. I just needed to know you were okay."

"And you said he was happy?"

Harry finally looked straight into Ron's eyes: "Extremely happy. I hadn't...I hadn't felt him that happy since...since all the Death Eaters escaped Azkaban."

"What d'you think that means?" Ron asked, fidgeting more. "D'you think he could have been doing something else at the same time, learning something else?"

"No," Harry replied firmly but softly, staring harder, trying to say with his eyes what he couldn't see himself putting into words. "I think..." he whispered after two seconds that seemed to have lasted eternities, "I mean, I didn't dream after that...not until tonight."

Harry let time for his words to sink into Ron's brain, but he was sure Ron wasn't getting it yet, and he couldn't blame him. So he added, reluctantly: "I dreamt about you again tonight."

Ron's chin wobbled a bit, but he didn't say anything. Harry wasn't sure any sound would have left his best friend's mouth anyway, had he tried to speak.

"You were...you were in...in the room, this room...and you were crying and I...I got up to see what was wrong and...you wouldn't look at me...and then when you did, suddenly you were...you were dead. Just like that, just looking at me. Like I was a basilisk or something. It was so scary. And then I woke up and I went to your bed and I'm sorry I shouldn't have lied down but I just wanted to make sure you were alive," Harry rushed on, suddenly feeling terribly foolish, and at the same time still afraid that maybe he would realize that Ron was dead all over again, with his eyes vacant and his face relaxed and his lips turning blue. So he kept looking into Ron's eyes, despite his embarrassment, just so that if something happened he would see it, it wouldn't jump on him with a rotted knife. "I'm sorry," Harry said again when Ron didn't seem to be speaking.

"It...it's okay," Ron feebly answered.

Silence fell on them again, Ron's mouth working on thin air, trying to shape words that just wouldn't even make themselves known to his own brain.

"I don't want anything to happen to you. I'll kill myself if anything happens to you Ron, I swear I will," Harry suddenly heard himself whisper fervently, his breath getting heavy again.

Ron looked even more scared by that simple statement than by all the very real dreams he had just been told. "Harry, don't say things like that!" he exclaimed feebly; "It wouldn't be your fault if--"

"No but I would, it would, I...I..." Harry paused, then feebly said: "He's going to try to hurt you now! I mean, why would he have felt so happy if he didn't intend to...to use you to lure me somewhere or...I can't let you, I won't let you alone, Ron I can't," Harry rushed on, getting frantic, "if I let you alone then he'll take you and then I'll be even more alone than I was before and I..."

"Harry, calm down," Ron soothingly begged, and then without thinking about it he wrapped his left arm around Harry's waist and pressed his trembling body closer to his, not bearing to see his best friend looking so scared and fragile and...alone. And then they were face to face, nose to nose, breath to breath, and Harry gulped down and tried to calm himself, a few tears silently escaping his eyes.

And then he kissed Ron.

Technically, it was more like four kisses, even though Harry's lips never really left Ron's ones. Ron didn't respond, but Harry didn't feel him tense, and when he pulled away and fearfully looked into Ron's eyes, he could see nothing there but confusion and a strange...calmness.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted out, getting panicked again, "Oh god I'm sorry. I just thought, I, I don't know what I thought, I, really, I don't think I thought, I...I wanted to...if he's going to hurt you I..." Harry looked like he was hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling heavily between every odd word; his eyes clouded with tears and he whined: "I don't know what I did!"

Ron's brain turned back into action: "Harry, calm down, it's okay."

"No it's not, now...now he'd...now he'd have one more reason to...I, I just..." Harry stammered, frowning. How could he have done that?! After what had happened to Sirius, how could he--

"Harry?"

Ron's face inched closer and Harry instinctively inched away from him, but Ron kept coming closer anyway.

"Harry? If he's up to hurt me, I'd better have it being for a real reason than for nothing at all," Ron said with a remarkable calm, before kissing him.

Harry felt like his heart had jumped into his throat, ready to flow into Ron's own mouth if only he'd open it. Then Ron's tongue met Harry's lower lip and both boys unconsciously held their breath in, and Harry had never been kissed like that before and he found he wanted very much to cling to Ron and never let go, and never stop kissing him, but suddenly he realized what was happening, and understood he just could not let it happen.

"It's wrong," he whispered, taking advantage of Ron's much needed intake of breath; "Ron...it's only going to make things worse, we just can't--"

"Harry, it won't, it'll be alright, I promise you," Ron said, unwilling to stop something that felt so good. He'd much rather do that all night, than talk about horrible dreams where he was always dead. "...Don't, don't think about anything, okay? ...just...just think about kissing me..." he whispered between featherlike kisses sprinkled on Harry's face and lips.

His last words washed through Harry like a warm wave of comfort and the hideous bubble burst, the slime spurting out of it washed away by Ron's lips, back to the sea, and the moist sand was left to dry under the sun...a sun shining a little too hard it seemed. Harry, who didn't seem to have any control over his mouth and tongue and brain that night, looked tremendously surprised and suddenly whispered: "God, I think I'm hard..."

Ron bit back a laugh and kissed Harry again, discovering that that piece of information, instead of making him feel like hiding under a rock, was rather tantalizing. As it was, Ron's hand very soon decided to go explore a bit and crept down, over shirt and pants, to the land down under, finally settling itself over the cotton crotch of Harry pyjamas. Harry gasped into the kiss and his body tensed, more tears spilling out of their own accord. Ron felt them against his cheeks and suddenly he was kissing them all away, like a butterfly flying against Harry's face, fast and soft, whispering feverishly: "Don't cry, please don't cry..."

Harry took several deep breaths and calmed down slightly, but his eyes shot wide open when Ron's fingers deftly slithered under his flyer and gently skimmed over the heated skin, before carefully closing around Harry's arousal.

"But...but...you can't..." Harry found himself stammering like an idiot, his eyebrows ready to disappear in his hair.

"Why?" Ron whispered back, smiling slightly, his hand slowly getting in action. "I did it to myself plenty of times. Just because it's yours doesn't really make it any weirder..."

"But, but...you've barely kissed me, and..." Harry continued, feeling completely lost, waves of warmth flowing through his body, so different from the ones he could create by himself...so more powerful.

"Harry, I can do what I want," Ron said cockily. "I've been your best friend for five years...It's not like I didn't know you." He gently kissed Harry, then added breathily: "It's not like I didn't love you."

That's when Harry's brain understood: it had to be a dream. Ron would never do such a thing in real life, nobody would. It was just another dream, and then Harry would say something wrong or do something wrong and Ron would be dead once more. He heard himself pleading as if hearing somebody else, his wet eyes staring into Ron's ones imploringly, wishing to Gods that he would just wake up now, before it was too late: "Please tell me it's not a dream, please tell me you won't, you won't be dead in a minute I'm so scared you might turn dead and..."

Ron immediately stopped his ministrations and half-rolled on his back, taking Harry with him and cuddling him, feeling more frightened than he had the previous year, when he wasn't yet used to Harry's new tantrums. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember ever seeing Harry cry before. Ah, so that's why it feels so weird...what should I do? Harry was still sobbing uncontrollably against him, so Ron awkwardly patted his back, whispering again and again that everything was alright.

"It's not a dream. I promise you," Ron softly said when Harry seemed to have calmed down at last; then he added, chuckling: "Besides, if it was, I don't think you'd have stopped me..."

Harry found himself smiling in return, then grinning, even though more tears were still ready to break through. But the minutes passed and reality settled in once again, and Harry knew he wasn't dreaming. It all seemed so strange though. And at the same time, it seemed...almost logical. Like Ron had said: if he was to be in more danger than before, let it be for a good reason. "I'm scared for you Ron," Harry whispered after some silent time, sighing.

"I'm scared for you too."

Harry nuzzled his face against Ron's shoulder and took a deep breath before letting out an equally deep sigh, a bit of the warmth surging back into his body. He found that everything felt better with a warm Ron enveloping him, rather than alone in an empty bed in a household he hated. "It does feel better now that you've stopped, though..." he said with a little chuckle, pressing his face against Ron's neck.

"Am I that awful?!" Ron exclaimed, already turning scarlet with shame.

"No!" Harry quickly said, grinning. "No, you're...very good. But it's just...too much, y'know?" he shyly ended, looking up into Ron's eyes. Much, much too much.

"Yeah, I guess," Ron murmured, suddenly feeling very much embarrassed. He had reacted on instinct, and truthfully it hadn't felt weird, but now he was realizing the absurdity of it all. Mate, you just tried to jerk your best friend off...oh Merlin...

Harry smiled apologetically at him, wondering if Ron would push him out of his bed saying that in fact, all of it was too much. That'd teach you well... "You can..." he hesitated, fighting the nervous urge to bite his nails; "You can still kiss me--I mean, only if you want t--"

Ron cut him off with a kiss, which turned into two kisses and more. Harry decided on the spot that he loved the way Ron's warm hand automatically came up to cup his cheek, but he didn't know what to do with his, so he tried several spots, making Ron chuckle against his lips, before shyly resting it on Ron's waist, glad that his other hand was, by necessity, pressed against Ron's clothed chest and needn't be moved.

When they stopped kissing Harry carefully turned on his back, now feeling assured that Ron wouldn't turn stone cold. Now that his eyes had been opened for so long he could clearly make out the traces on the old ceiling, yellow shapes caused by old upstairs leaks that, no matter how hard Harry stared, refused to shape themselves into anything recognizable.

"I bet Sirius would have loved that..." he whispered after giving up on his staring, with a soft, sad smile.

Ron looked at his profile, puzzled, but it didn't go unnoticed that it was the first time he heard Harry say Sirius's name, and that he wasn't even crying. "The staring at the ceiling thing?" he asked when Harry didn't elaborate.

Harry chuckled, and turned his head to him: "No, dummy." He waited a bit, then since Ron looked as clueless as before - and also a little cross - Harry added, raising his eyebrows: "Lupin?"

Ron only looked more oblivious, and Harry rolled his eyes: "Best friends? ...god, Ron, you don't really need me to spell it out for you, do you?!"

Ron's eyebrows wrinkled, then smoothed over as his eyes widened a bit.

"Yes," Harry said before Ron could even utter a word.

"They...they were..."

"Yes," Harry repeated, smiling mischievously at Ron's flabbergasted look. "Or well...I mean, I don't know it for sure, but they...they just had to be," he said firmly. "They just...I can't count the number of times I saw them brushing hands, or the number of times when Sirius bent down and whispered stuff in Lupin's ear and Lupin would turn pink, and...and the way, the way Sirius looked at him. It was like he wanted to turn into Padfoot and just devour Lupin alive," Harry said, his voice getting louder and more feverish with every word, his eyes getting brighter than they had been all summer. "They had to be together, they were...they were just meant to be together."

"Well..." Ron hesitated, smiling shyly; "Then...maybe Sirius sent that dream to you...Y'know, just to...make you realize..."

Harry's smile turned sad: "I wish it was him...I really wish it was." His eyes clouded over again, but then Ron loomed over him and kissed him again and everything seemed a little better. Ron's weight on Harry's torso was warm, blood was circulating under its skin, it was alive. The legs that were now squeezing Harry's left leg were alive as well. And the lips pressing so tenderly against his were certainly not cold as ice. Harry knew it wouldn't be right to start mourning the dead just when the living was giving him glimpses of the love Harry had been craving for all his short life.

Ron's lips softly left Harry's ones and he leaned his forehead against Harry's, gazing down into those green orbs that hid so many hurts and traumas.

"I have to take Occlumency lessons again," Harry suddenly whispered, more to himself than to Ron. Suddenly he was getting exactly just how important it was to close his mind to Voldemort. Sirius's death had been the first step towards that realization, although the death in itself was already too hard to take in. But Ron was still alive. It wasn't a question of doing the right thing too late, it was about doing it before it was too late, this time.

"Yes, I think you should," Ron whispered back, bringing a hand up to stroke Harry's cheek.

"I don't want him to know...I won't let him know," Harry hissed, his hands unconsciously clenching around Ron's upper arms. "He has...he has to think he was wrong, he just has to think he was wrong! I can't let him know."

"...but he was right, right?" Ron shyly asked, a smile tugging at the right corner of his lips.

"Yes he was," Harry replied, his face breaking into a new smile, warming Ron's heart and whole body. "It's a bit frustrating that he understood it before I did, though," he added, frowning.

Ron's chuckle was muffled by Harry's lips. Harry sighed softly into the kiss, his fingers skimming over Ron's cheek. Kissing Cho had been so weird (yes, not to mention wet), and Harry was quite surprised to discover that, obviously, it wasn't always meant to feel that way. At least, kissing Ron felt noticeably natural, and he wasn't crying his heart out; he was focusing on kissing Harry back, and damn it if Harry was going to file a complaint.

"...but what about Hermione?" he asked out of nowhere when their lips separated, his eyes getting wide.

Ron made a face at his best friend: "It's an...odd time to ask something like that, Harry."

Harry blushed: "Yeah, I guess you're right." The name had just popped out of his mouth as an obscure part of his brain had suddenly woken up, looked around feeling dizzy, and not recognizing the surroundings had tried to bring some sense back into the scene. Ron and Hermione were meant to be together, it had said with a sleepy voice. It's just the way it's always been, so how come she's not there?

"But Harry?" Ron said, nuzzling his nose against Harry's cheek for the briefest of seconds, suddenly reminding Harry of a big black dog he had loved to hug so badly. "I don't think I'll ever get to see her for the potential wonderful girlfriend that she is, now..." he said with a little smile. Then he thought it was weird that the first time he admitted the feelings he had had for Hermione should be one where he would finally let go of them.

Harry looked lost for a second or two, time for his night shift brain to process Ron's words, then as understanding dawned on him and his brain declared proudly that that sentence was definitely going into the Good For You drawer, Harry beamed, rewarded by another trademark chuckle from his friend.

Then Ron's now familiar lips were on his again, but before Harry could even close his eyes Ron had already pulled away, his gaze sadder than before.

"It will be okay Harry," he said softly, obviously not sure of whether that statement was what Harry needed to hear. Ron wasn't feeling very confident with the Comforting role, having practised it so little before.

But Harry smiled softly at him, sighing. Ron lied back on his side and Harry did the same, his body uncannily aware of every bit of skin touching Ron's own body. The tip of his right foot's toes, brushing against the top of Ron's own foot. His left knee, leaning against the bottom of Ron's thigh. The top of their chests pressed together after the empty gap of their curved stomachs. Ron's hand, resting on Harry's lower back, the warmth emerging from his palm slowly flowing through Harry's shirt. Ron's other hand, lying between their faces, the tip of three of his fingers occasionally bumping against Harry's forehead. And their noses, barely touching.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally whispered, avoiding Ron's eyes.

"Why?"

"If I hadn't crept into your bed, none of that would have happened."

"...And?" Ron asked after a second of shocked silence, already frowning. Distraught or not, Harry had better not tell Ron what he was seemingly preparing to tell him, because Ron wouldn't let that go without a punch in his pretty nose.

Harry looked at Ron with confused eyes, then his mouth formed a silent O and he quickly added: "Oh but I'm glad it happened! But...now you're in even more danger."

Ron inwardly unclenched his fists. "I don't care Harry. I was already in danger before anyway," he said, shrugging.

Painful flashes of a Ron attacked by slimy brains invaded Harry's mind. "I'll never leave you alone."

"I know."

"I'll never leave you alone," Harry repeated before kissing Ron. There was a short quiet pause, then Harry whispered, just as surprised as when his body had decided to manifest itself: "...I think I'm in love with you!..."

Ron chuckled and pressed his forehead against Harry's once again, fire melting against ebony: "And I love you too," he whispered, before covering Harry's bewildered smile with the wet caress of his lips.

THE END.