How To Mend a Broken Soul

Day Two: ...aren't I?

"Shh! You'll wake them up!" Mrs Weasley hissed, passing the twins in the stairs on her way to Ron's floor. Like every morning, Fred and George were trying to get to the kitchen before the other, which, as always, resulted into a mocking cat-fight in the middle of the last staircase. Either that, or they were both so sleepy still that they often bumped against each other and fell down the stairs, as noisily as could be achieved.

Mrs Weasley rolled up her eyes, unable to hold back the smile that was spreading on her whole face, and quietly opened the door to Ron's bedroom, intent on fetching his dirty laundry.

She had expected to see two boys sprawled in untidy beds, faces buried in pillows to get away from the bright summer sunshine that was coming through the ratty curtains, and possibly some growling if she made too much noise. She got the sprawling and the growling alright, but even if two boys were included, the lot was grouped in a single bed. Harry and Ron were both lying in Ron's bed, on their sides, facing each other, and fast asleep still. The white sheet of Ron's bed had been tossed down to their waists, and Ron's arm was wrapped around Harry's waist, while Harry's arms were both folded up between their chests.

Molly Weasley stared at them for a good five minutes, feeling a bit confused. Finally, she smiled, shrugged and collected Ron's dirty laundry as noiselessly as she could, and silently exited the room. Her motherly instinct was screaming at her, and it was screaming those things: they were still young, it didn't mean anything. No matter how much he tried to act otherwise, Harry had obviously been badly traumatized by what had happened to him, and it was a good thing if Ron took care of him. The poor, poor dear surely couldn't get too much attention. She felt a tinge of pride because her son was so attentive to his friend, and tiptoed back downstairs, still smiling.

*~*~*

Chasing the ever-invading gnomes, trying to play Quidditch on brooms that had seen much too many winters to be anything near efficient, lying in the sun chatting about insignificant things, and enjoying Mrs Weasley's culinary talents. Another day well employed, if you asked Harry. He had been quite amazed, too, by Ginny's talent on a broom, no matter how ragged it was; he had never even suspected she was interested in flying, but then, she was always so discreet about everything she liked... Maybe she could try and get into the Quidditch team when school started again. They could do with her in it, definitely.

But now it was bed-time once again, and Harry was lying in his bed, on his side, watching Ron reading across from him. It was a very soothing sight, he lazily thought. The light of a candle was dancing upon Ron's features, and his face was remarkably expressive, revealing Ron's every reaction to whatever he was reading. Harry quietly let himself get lost in the view, wishing Ron would never stop reading. He wasn't too keen on being lost in the dark again. He knew all-too-well what was awaiting him in there.

Unfortunately for him, Ron chose that precise moment to close his book. He tossed it carelessly on the floor, and leaned up to blow his candle out. Before he did so, though, he turned to Harry and seemed a little startled to see he had been watched. He smiled a little awkwardly at Harry, his brown eyes tender. "G'd'night, Harry," he said softly.

Harry smiled back, and watched as darkness engulfed them both. He hadn't dared asking Ron if he could sleep in his bed again. He didn't want his friend to think he was just a big cry baby. He was ashamed of himself largely enough as it was.

But it was hard to remember why he had been so stupid as to not ask, now that there was no light to distract him from his nightly thoughts. He didn't want to fall asleep, but all the outdoor exercise had exhausted him and he had to try hard not to let his eyes fall shut. He was expecting to hear Ron's regular breathing any minute now, indicating that his best friend was sleeping. I mustn't fall asleep, I mustn't fall asleep...maybe I should go out for a while, maybe the nightly air would wake me up... But he couldn't do that until Ron was asleep, until all the Weasleys were asleep. He didn't want to have to explain why he wasn't in bed at such a late hour.

He felt the now familiar dark swamp stirring in his stomach, the familiar panic slithering in his veins, trying to reach his heart. I just need to think about happy things, like with the Dementors. Just think about Quidditch or something and the nightmares won't come. But the nightmares weren't the only threat, and Harry knew it. He knew that even if he stayed awake, it wouldn't be long before he'd panic once again. If only it could always be day, and never night. When the sun shone so brightly outside, it was easy to feel carefree and happy. He didn't even need to fake it. But when everything was filled with shadows and ghostly night, time seemed to stretch out and Harry was left counting the minutes, desperately hoping he'd feel better some day soon.

"Harry..."

Harry looked over at Ron's bed and saw two bright eyes looking straight at him. He hadn't noticed Ron was still awake. He could make out his face perfectly in the semi-darkness, his eyes having already adjusted to the night. And quite obviously, it was the same for Ron. The boy frowned slightly and seemed to hesitate, then whispered: "Harry, do you want to...I mean...if you want to...I don't..."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Ron?" he asked, his voice quite teasing, although he was feeling relief washing over him.

Ron smiled sheepishly and cleared his throat. "D'you want to sleep with me?"

Both boys giggled at Ron's unfortunate choice of words, and Harry was quite sure he could see Ron blushing.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked once they had calmed down. Part of him was telling him to turn down the offer, to stay strong because sleeping with Ron all the time wouldn't make the anguish disappear forever, but the other part, the bigger one, was whispering him to just get his ass out of bed and go into Ron's inviting arms. Hey, he didn't say he'd cuddle me! he scowled himself.

Ron raised his covers up with one arm and nodded.

Less than thirty seconds after, Harry was lying next to Ron, both boys face to face, smiling softly in the darkness. "Thanks," Harry whispered. "I didn't dare--"

"I know," Ron interrupted. "But you shouldn't be ashamed, y'know."

"Yeah, well, we'll talk about that again once something like this happens to you, 'kay?" Harry said, smiling slightly.

Ron only smiled back. He reached out to stroke Harry's cheek, but stopped in mid-gesture, overwhelmed with embarrassment. He coughed and slipped his arm under the sheets again, trying to keep it on his side and not wrap it around Harry's waist like his mind was suggesting. Stop it!! What's wrong with you, damnit?!

A thick silence ensued. The air, too, was thick; thick with denied urges and unspoken wants, that both boys were far too shy to spot in the other's eyes and body language.

Ron cleared his throat several times, and Harry's eyes seemed unable to look at anything for more than two seconds on end. At length, Harry grew so uncomfortable he sat up and murmured something about not wanting to bother Ron and going back to his own bed. Ron sat up too and gripped Harry's arm before he could get off the bed.

"You're not bothering me at all," he breathed urgently, and his voice was almost pleading. "It's just..." Ron blushed in the dark and looked down at their touching knees. "I'm not sure...I don't know...what I should do..." He looked up at Harry from under his eyelashes, grimacing apologetically.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked in a whisper, the corner of his lips twitching involuntarily.

Ron gulped down and got crimson, but couldn't stop himself. He reached out a very, very shaky hand and - tried to - caress Harry's cheek. However, his fingers were trembling so hard they mostly bumped against it.

Before Ron could withdraw his hand and go hang himself, Harry reached up and captured Ron's wrist in his hand; his fingers slid up on the back on Ron's fingers and he gently pressed Ron's hand fully against his cheek, closing his eyes and nuzzling it.

What are you doing?! God, y'know that you're going to have to open your eyes again at some point, right? He felt a wave of shame and confusion wash over him, and he suddenly wished he was back at Privet Drive. This whole thing with Ron - but was there even "a thing"?! - was disturbing him even more than any angsty night.

Ron looked, gaping, as Harry nuzzled his palm like a cat, and felt for the second time the incredible urge to lean closer and kiss his best friend. He fought it but he couldn't ignore it altogether, and before he knew what was happening he found himself holding Harry close to his chest with his free arm, and with his head leaning on Harry's right shoulder, his mouth brushing against his neck. Okay, I think I've definitely lost touch with reality.

Harry's eyes fluttered open and he let go of Ron's hand, which immediately went down and around Harry's back. His heart bolted and his breath caught up in his throat, but his body relaxed against Ron's chest, and he slowly leaned his cheek against Ron's shoulder, so that now they were both staring at each other's neck.

"Like...is that okay if I do that?" Ron whispered.

"Yes," Harry whispered back, loosely wrapping his arms around Ron's waist. He closed his eyes and sighed. It felt incredibly good and soothing, being wrapped up in Ron's arms that way.

Harry's breath fanned against Ron's neck rather deliciously and gave the latter shivers, warm tickling ones. Seconds turned into lazy minutes, and Harry and Ron's hearts slowly got synchronised, as did their breathings. Ron's thoughts had come to a stand-still, his senses doing the talking instead. The soft noises of the night coming through the half-open window, as well as a soft summer breeze. Harry's regular breathing next to his right ear, always caressing the curve of his neck. The thin layer of cloth separating Ron's palms from Harry's skin. The wet caress of tears against his...wait a second, tears?

Ron's head snapped up and he gently pushed Harry away, frowning. "Why are you crying?"

Harry shrugged: "Dunno. I feel good though." He smiled, but silent pearls of water kept sliding down his cheeks, glimmering under the light of the moon.

Ron leaned forward a bit, then stopped, then leaned forward more and gingerly kissed one of Harry's tears away. Compared to the silence and tension that followed this simple but incredibly intimate and loving gesture, the previous one had been a friendly chit-chat.

Ron's tongue peaked out to collect the salty tear that was now resting between his closed lips, and Harry had the sudden insane urge to get his tear back. And Ron the urge to taste more. But neither of them moved. Their breaths were gently caressing their cheeks and lips, and their eyes seemed so huge up close that they both felt like they were going to be swallowed up whole. What was really disturbing Harry was that he wasn't sure that would be an unpleasant feeling, not sure at all. And Ron...well, Ron was soon disturbed by a fantasy far more elaborate.

It already felt like they had been staring at each other for hours, their mouths almost touching but yet still so far from meeting, when an unbound and unexpected image popped violently in front of Ron's internal eyes. He could see himself kissing Harry again, which given the circumstances seemed quite appropriate, but he could see himself doing so much more than that, too. He was still on the bed, but he was pushing Harry back on it, and Harry was all sweaty and Ron wanted only one thing, to lick every drop of sweat out of his body, and he was preparing to do just so, fumbling with the buttons of Harry's pyjamas, staring into emerald eyes blazing with desire and need.

It got Ron shocked, rather frightened...and hot. He blinked, something he felt as if he hadn't done since he had kissed Harry's cheek, and forced the image away from his mind, suddenly desperate for a draft of air, a splash of cold water. Harry was still looking at him, expectant, but immobile. Ron hoped Harry hadn't been able to read in his eyes what he had just thought of. He was pretty sure he'd consume himself with shame if Harry had. But the boy didn't blink, didn't blush, so Ron assumed he wasn't that obvious. But the thought of at least kissing Harry just wouldn't leave him in peace.

You want to, you know you want to. So sweet, so nice...It gave you such a warm feeling inside...Ron tried to shush his inner voice, but it continued, whispering again and again how nice it had felt. It had felt nice. But somehow, Ron kept thinking it hadn't been something that meant anything. It was just...a temporary lapse of reason, yes, that's what it had been. Surely Harry felt the same. If only he could not feel the same, though...or rather, feel the same, feel how Ron really felt. Ron blinked again; he had managed to confuse his own self with his twisted argumentation. Harry seemed to lean forward, although they were already so close it was hard to tell, and all thoughts flew away from Ron's brain, every part of his body and soul suddenly focused on Harry's eyes, for once totally uncovered, not spoiled by the reflections on Harry's glasses. Ron was starting to think he rather liked when Harry hadn't his glasses on. It made him look...more vulnerable. More like Ron, if he was to be honest. If he could just kiss those...

Just when the tension was becoming completely unbearable, a very noisy bang came from below, followed immediately by several unmistakable clangs and clinks from the attic. Enough to say the spell hanging around Harry and Ron was broken with a snap. Ron's head backed away a few inches and he gulped down and blinked several times. What do you say after you've stared at your best friend's face for like two hours??

Harry answered to that for him, though without any word. He just sighed, and gave him a sheepish smile, and leaned his head back against Ron's shoulder. He felt good. Really, really good. He didn't want to spoil that with words. And if Ron wanted to shove him away, well then he would. Okay, he probably wouldn't dare...Harry thought with a little smile. Oh well.

It took Ron two blissful hours to dare and move Harry's sleepy body so that he was lying down on the bed. And one more hour of staring at his best friend's face, so relaxed and innocent and ...beautiful..., before he could join him in sleep.