How To Mend a Broken Soul

Day Three: Out of the wood.

"I got one!"

Ginny's voice echoed from afar, streaming between trees and leaves like water. Harry separated the tangled twigs of yet another bush, peering into the darkness they concealed, but there was nothing there.

"Which one?" Fred's voice this time, coming from another corner of the wood.

"The Quaffle!"

Harry sighed and continued walking, eyes fixed to the ground, trying to be methodical. They had been searching for the balls for already 30mn. Their daily Quidditch match had reached a short end when the twins had collided with Ron and both the Quaffle (an old battered red ball) and one of the Bludgers (the head of one of Ginny's old dolls) had sprung into the air and landed in the nearby wood. The balls weren't enchanted, so they had all thought they'd find them in the blink of an eye, but it seemed they had either rolled away or been stolen by a gnome, because they couldn't be found anywhere.

"Damn it..." Harry grumbled, before bumping head first into something way too soft to be a tree. He stumbled backwards and his eyes flashed up, only to meet Ron's. Oh.

He had been trying to avoid Ron all day. But at the same time, he didn't want Ron to think anything was wrong, so he still talked to him, which didn't let him much room to avoid his friend, quite obviously. He wished there was a way to be both friendly and distant at the same time, but he just couldn't figure it out.

But Ron had been acting weird, too. ...disruptingly weird. Like...like the way Harry would catch Ron staring at him all the time during their little Quidditch match. Ron had played horribly, hence the collision, even though the twins were responsible for it, too. He could swear Ron had been looking at him flying. And the thought made his skin prickle.

"Found anything?" Ron asked, scratching his head in what Harry thought was a definitely adorable gauche way.

"Nope. And you?" Okay, that was stupid.

Ron smirked: "Nope."

"I've forgotten...which was the Quaffle and which was the Bludger?" Harry asked lamely, trying to keep himself from checking Ron over from head to foot. But damn, he looked rather...nice, all sweaty and his clothes ruffled and stained with grass. Yeah, he looked nice.

"Don't remember," Ron said, shrugging. Stop staring at him like that, goddamnit!

"Oh." Harry said. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Harry took a deep breath and a step forward. And then wondered what the hell he was supposed to do.

Ron watched him stop, watched his eyes waver down to the ground, his hands hiding behind his back - he just couldn't help watching every movement of Harry's body anyway, as he had already harshly found out almost an hour before. But even on the most rotten broomstick, Harry had managed to fly so beautifully, Ron hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from him. Often he turned his head away, to keep some pretence of paying attention to the game, but Harry's fluttering shape never left the corner of his eyes.

It was so over-said, that Harry was a wonderful Quidditch player and generally extremely talented on a broomstick, but Ron still felt amazed every time he saw Harry flying. He had before (the use of such a word quite confused him, but he couldn't just pretend nothing had changed) when they were only friends (getting more confused), because at the time he had been proud and envious and detailing Harry's technique and stuff. And he did now (goddamnit!), when they were (what, you're what, huh?)...he did now, but suddenly noticed how elegantly Harry flew, how beautiful he was (you have got to stop thinking Harry's beautiful. No! I don't care that he IS beautiful, of course he is, but just don't think it!). How his eyes glinted with childish joy and some other light, some wild light - that's it. When Harry flew, he was free...unbound. And Ron was pretty sure he was different, as well. Somehow, that day, while he had been watching him, devouring him with his eyes, Ron had thought that he'd never know the flying Harry, that it was something Harry could never share with him, no matter how...no matter how...Ron blushed crimson, suddenly realized he was still gazing at Harry, whose bright eyes were now staring deep into his own, and refused to let his brain go further, thinking it wouldn't do him any good anyway.

"Ron..." Harry said, grimacing a bit because he couldn't even make up his mind on what he wanted to say. "Huh...I...I..." Oh for Christ's sake, either say it or just don't, but stop stammering like an idiot!!

Ron raised his eyebrows, feeling strangely anxious. When he had woken up that morning, Harry was still asleep, cuddled up against him. He was...so cute. So desperately cute. Ron had looked at him sleeping for a least one hour, holding his breath in every time Harry stirred, for fear he'd wake up and Ron would have to stop watching. He had felt, and still felt...kinda guilty. Like he had been stealing something from Harry, just because he didn't have the slightest idea he was being watched.

But there was something about Harry sleeping. Something akin to when he was flying, and yet completely different. Harry was carefree as well, when he was sleeping. Or at least, he seemed so (and it hadn't gone unnoticed that Harry hadn't had any nightmares for two nights). But he wasn't wild like when he was in the air. In Ron's bed, he was...fragile. Peaceful, but fragile. And Ron had somewhat felt it was his duty to look after him, and the warm sensation spreading in his stomach at the thought had startled him. He had finally crept out of bed and gone down to breakfast, too scared to just wait for Harry to wake up. Harry had seemed...a little lost, maybe, when he had finally come down as well, but hadn't mentioned anything to Ron. The rest of the day had been pretty normal. Ron only hoped he hadn't seemed too distant, but every time he tried to joke with Harry, he had the impression to be a stuttering and blushing idiot.

Talking about stuttering...

"I wanted to talk to you..." Harry finally said, looking down. "Y'know...about last night...About what happened..."

Ron nodded feebly, all colours leaving his face. And there you go. I knew it'd slap me in the face sooner or later...couldn't it have been later?

Harry looked down for a while, then looked back up, his eyes gleaming with determination. His voice didn't sound determined at all, though, when he stammered: "Y'know...huh...when you..." He blushed crimson, coughed, seemed to change his mind, but finally went on: "When you..." More coughing. "When you kissed my tears away," he whispered hastily, avoiding Ron's nervous gaze.

"Yeah," Ron croaked, feeling nauseous. He felt his legs giving way under him and leaned his back against the nearest tree, trying to remember how to breathe. To his dismay, Harry stepped closer to him, so that now Ron had no chance of escape, trapped between Harry and the tree. Not that it wouldn't be damn cool, if only he weren't about to tell me I'm a freak...

Harry sighed and gazed into Ron's eyes for a while, searching for answers to his unvoiced question, but finding nothing but the look of a deer caught in the lights of a car. "Well I..." Are you sure you should tell him? Look at him! Maybe he's regretting what happened. After all, it'd be only logical if he did...I don't think you should do that. "I keep thinking about it and...Y'know how you said you didn't know what you should do..." Don't say it, Harry. Don't sa--Oh shut up!

Oh god...oh god, please, make me deaf, just for a few minutes. Please let Harry stay my friend, please please please.

"I...I hope you're not going to get freaked out but..." He's going to, though. Lad, are you sure it's worth risking losing the best friend you've ever got??

Ron's heart suddenly slowed down a bit and he looked at Harry curiously, feeling a strange calmness washing over him. Somehow, Harry's last sentence didn't fit with "How could you do that?!", did it?

Harry cleared his throat one last time and took another step forward, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves. "I'd have...I'd have really wanted you to...to do that..." With that, he took a shaky breath, shushed the squealing protests of his conscience, made a silent pray, closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Ron's.

Ron started, and his hand instinctively came up to rest against Harry's chest. Feeling it, Harry immediately made to move away, blushing with shame, but Ron's hand curled into a fist around Harry's t-shirt, keeping the boy close to him as he kissed him back. It was Harry's turn to be startled, but in the best of ways.

The kissing was still - objectively - far from good, but the two boys didn't care--didn't even really notice, having never kissed anybody else before, and too much taken by surprise by their actions and sudden feelings to really pay attention to the details. They were both eager and willing, but they didn't know yet how to let the other lead, or how to take their time. They had their lips dry from standing under the blazing sun for too long; Ron's head was rather painfully rubbing against the bark of the tree; Harry's glasses kept coming in the way. Two experienced kissers would have called that kiss a disaster. But to Harry and Ron, nothing had ever felt so nice.

"Bow in front of me, for I have found the Bludger!!"

Harry jumped away from Ron, and both boys looked agitatedly around them. Fred's voice had sounded way too near.

"Hey, you didn't bow before me!" Ginny's voice humorously objected.

They had been right to stop kissing; right then, Fred appeared from behind an oak-tree, closely followed by his little sister.

"Ah, there you are," Fred said. "God, you're even more glued to each other than me and George! ...by the way, where is George?!"

Needless to say, Ron and Harry didn't get to clear things over, let alone kiss again. But then, the twins didn't let them time to even regret it.

*~*~*

Despite the kiss they had shared that afternoon, when they found themselves back in Ron's room around midnight, the two boys had obviously no idea of what they should, could, wanted to do. They were both avoiding each other's gaze, and soon both came to the conclusion that what had happened two nights before had been a sweet illusion and would never happen again.

Harry kept stealing glances at Ron, who was bent down, kicking off his muddy shoes. And he tried, not very successfully, not to steal glances at Ron's butt, which was sticking up in the air in a rather appealing way. Oh god...Harry thought, looking down at his own shoes. He kicked them off his feet and slumped down on his bed, proceeding to get his pants down, feeling too tired to do it standing up. He saw Ron's legs and naked feet heading out of the room, probably to the bathroom, and sighed, taking off his dirty shirt.

He felt...weary. He usually felt exhausted at the end of the day, every time he was at Ron's house, because of the laughs and the runs and the food and the fresh air - all of which, despite a different kind of running, lacked cruelly at the Dursley's - but this time it wasn't a nice feeling. His brain was tired. He had spent all day running the same thoughts around in his head, hoping that somehow they'd end up sounding less confusing, or maybe arrange themselves in a different way and suddenly become crystal clear, but they hadn't.

It had taken him a great lot of courage to dare kiss Ron in the woods. And once he had done it, while he was doing it, he had felt...Harry frowned, unable to find a satisfying word for how he had felt; he looked rather funny, sitting on his bed in only his boxers, lost in thoughts. I felt...right. ...yeah, that's it, I felt right. And...He frowned more; Me. I felt like me. He smiled, amused that a single word could hold so much. Me meant no Boy-Who-Lived, no scar, no Voldemort, and even better than that, no Muggle relatives. Harry's smile turned into a grin. Yeah, I felt like me. I liked it, right? I loved it. And I guess...I guess he liked it too. He didn't push me back after all, he only kissed me back. So maybe...maybe I should...like, talk to him or something. What was the point of kissing him this afternoon if I never tell him how I feel? Of course, I should first figure out exactly how I feel... Harry sighed again, the grin slowly fading away. It was completely gone by the time Ron came back into the room, surprisingly enough still in his clothes. Harry thought he had gone to take a shower, but that was overestimating the nature of a Weasley boy. Harry chuckled inwardly, then thought that he was rather glad Ron hadn't showered, because he liked him better all muddy, smelling like fresh grass and summer.

Ron didn't seem to have taken any notice of Harry, who was still sitting on his bed, his pyjama pants on by then, but bare chest still, holding his pyjama's shirt on his lap. After a few minutes though, while he was changing, he felt like he was being watched, and turned to Harry's bed, sure that he would find the other boy already in bed and probably asleep. Harry had looked really tired all through the evening; but not tired physically, tired mentally. Ron was only hoping he hadn't been regretting what had happened in the woods. But then, he kissed me, didn't he?? God, I wish Fred hadn't popped out of nowhere and spoilt it all...

He started when he met Harry's green eyes; but they weren't looking at Ron's face, they were glued to his chest, now only half hidden by his unbuttoned pyjama top. Ron felt very self-conscious all of a sudden, but not in a totally disagreeable way. "Harry?"

Harry's eyes travelled up to Ron's, then he blushed and looked down again, at Ron's feet. "I was wondering...could we...can I...y'know."

Ron stopped unbuttoning his pants and walked to Harry's bed, then sat down beside him. "Sure," he whispered.

Harry looked at him; Ron's voice might have been steady, but his eyes were betraying his nerves. He was quite surprised, to say the least, by Ron's fast answer; he himself hadn't even known what he was asking! The words had just popped out of his mouth, and Ron hadn't let him time to even think about what would come at the end of the sentence. As he didn't let Harry time to try and figure it out in his head afterwards. Still running his thoughts in his brain, Harry smiled as best he could, but his smile froze, along with his entire body, when Ron slowly reached out and stroked Harry's cheek with his knuckles. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me...

Ron held his breath in, not sure of what he was about to do. Or rather, absolutely sure of what he was going to do, but not quite sure it was a good option. He had supposed Harry was asking him to sleep in his bed again, but right then, looking at Harry's face and seeing him also hold his breath in, Ron fleetingly wondered if maybe the question couldn't have been about...something else. Oh, what the hell, let's... Ron smiled inwardly; let's throw caution to the wind! Ron bent ever-so-slightly forward and plunged his gaze into Harry's emerald eyes. "...hum...can I--"

"Yes," Harry breathed, nodding frantically. Ron's eyes twinkled and he softly put his lips on Harry's ones, closing his eyes instantly. He heard and felt Harry sigh, and then trembling arms encircled his waist, slipping under his shirt and holding him tight. Ron held him back, feeling all tingly when his palms flattened against the soft skin of Harry's naked back.

The boys kissed for what seemed like hours, their eager tongues yet too shy to peek out and explore the warm and wet flesh ahead, their hands slowly and bashfully exploring their naked backs. Harry shivered when their chests collided, and Ron, taking it for a shiver of cold, only hugged him closer, stroking his back with slightly trembling hands. Harry didn't shiver this time, but unconsciously kissed Ron harder, and after a few seconds he became conscious that he was sucking on Ron's bottom lip. He liked that. Definitely.

Ron was pretty much in auto-pilot when he gently pushed Harry back down on the bed. He freed his hands from under Harry's back and slid them to his sides, gently kneading Harry's hips through his pants. But just when he thought this was perfection, Harry suddenly put his hands on his shoulders and pushed, breaking the kiss. Ron looked down at him, flushed and slightly startled. Is there something wrong? Oh god, he looks put off. He's regretting kissing me. Wait, I kissed him. But he said I could. Damn. He's scared. I went too fast. He does--

"Ron..." Harry's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked extremely embarrassed all of a sudden. He glanced to Ron's bed, and said: "Can we...I don't..."

Ron sat up and passed his hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. "Yeah, sure, sorry...got a little carried away, huh..."

To his surprise, he heard Harry chuckle. The boy sat up as well, his legs stretched behind Ron's back. "I meant can we sleep in your bed...I just...it's silly I know, but I...I prefer your bed." As Ron turned to look at him with a bright and relieved smile shining on his face, Harry envisioned admitting that it was because Ron's bed had, therefore, Ron's scent attached to it and it made Harry feel warm and calm, but he decided he looked stupid enough as it was.

"Oh. Sure." The boys got up and trotted to Ron's bed, then stopped, not knowing what to do next. Finally, Ron sat on it, feet still on the floor, and Harry sat beside him. Lying down right away had just seemed...too straightforward.

Ron was still looking at the floor when he saw Harry's legs going up and away, and when he glanced sideways he saw that Harry was now sitting crossed-leg - actually he had felt Harry's knees brushing against his thigh before he even turned his eyes. Harry was looking at him, the shadow of a smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

"What?" Ron asked softly, smiling shyly.

A faint blush crept on Harry's lips, and he looked down, but he couldn't hide his smile. "Nothing," he whispered, smiling even more. He was dying to say 'You're adorable', but he wouldn't. He. Would. Not.

"What?" Ron asked again, more insistently, his smile growing as well - it was hard to keep a straight face when your best friend was looking so delightful. Harry fidgeted, but didn't say anything, just raised his head again, and looked straight into Ron's eyes.

Harry's breath suddenly got caught in his throat; he opened his mouth to breathe again, but it was of no avail. Ron seemed to experience pretty much the same problem; Harry could hear the sudden hitch in his breathing. He could feel Ron's pliant thigh against his knee, Ron's knee brushing against his foot every time he moved it to prevent it from falling asleep. And then there were Ron's eyes, so blue and wide and unguarded, gazing into Harry's eyes as if his salvation lied in them.

All in all, the situation felt all too familiar, and Harry couldn't stand the thought that it might stupidly end up like the previous night, so before he could even think about what to say, he heard himself whisper pleadingly: "Please kiss me..."

Ron was only too eager to reply.

It was intoxicating, really, kissing Harry. It got you addicted right from the start, and withdrawal symptoms appeared as soon as his lips weren't brushing against yours anymore. It was soothing, and yet at the same time, Ron was starting to feel something else, growing stronger every time their lips touched, something that was slowly going down to his stomach, warming him up and making him feel weirdly dizzy.

Back into auto-pilot, Ron's hands once more touched Harry's naked skin, shyly at first, then more boldly as Harry's arms wrapped themselves around Ron's waist, his eager little hands creeping under Ron's still unbuttoned shirt.

There didn't seem to have been any transition between the moment they were sitting, legs awkwardly bumping against each other, and the one when they were finally lying, Ron's body carefully leaning on Harry's leaner one, legs entwined, hands taking their time exploring the upper part of each other's bodies.

And then, with no warning, Harry's body went stiff. It fell on him all of a sudden, something cold slithering into his veins and making his flesh go rigid, gripping his heart in freezing claws.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron immediately whispered, feeling the change as well. It was like the hot and pliant skin his hands had been petting had suddenly turned to hard and lifeless wood. "Did I--"

"No, it's okay," Harry interrupted him with a small smile. "Except my body has just gone rigid and I don't know why," he added in a casual tone, but his eyes shone with something akin to anxiety and annoyance. It was annoying enough to have let Ron see his fragile and panic-stricken side - although of course it felt wonderful to be able to share that with somebody and be comforted at long last, and of course that's what had made them...Harry's brain stopped there, unable to finish the sentence - without adding to it fits that didn't make any sense even to Harry himself.

Ron pondered the situation for a second, before kissing Harry again. The lips under his were pliant and responsive, but the body under his hands felt dead. "Your body feels like marble..." Ron whispered, carefully stroking Harry's side up and down, amazed at how tense he was. Please tell me it's really not me making him tense up like that! Am I that much of a bad kisser?!

"I know," Harry whispered back, starting to look both frightened and on the brink of tears. "Feels like I had been hit with an immobilizing curse or something..." He craned his neck to look behind his shoulder, said to the empty bedroom "Did somebody curse me?" then chuckled.

Ron smiled tenderly, still stroking Harry's ribcage and stomach. Harry turned back to him, smiling, but his eyes were still shining with anguish.

"You just have to relax," Ron whispered against Harry's slightly parted lips, bringing his hand back up to Harry's cheek and barely brushing it with the tip of his fingers. He then laid his head on Harry's chest, and closed his eyes. "Just relax..."

His voice was soothing, and it felt really good to have Ron pressed against him like that, but still Harry's body refused to turn back from wood to flesh. He waited anxiously, one minute, then two, then ten, and still he felt like he was going to break in a thousand pieces from sheer tension. "Ron," he whimpered, cursing himself silently. As if nightmares weren't enough, now he had to do some kind of physical panic crisis, or something. What he couldn't understand was why it had started with Ron's hands, which should have made every nerve in his body stand on edge, instead of freezing up.

Ron leaned up on his elbow and gazed down at Harry, pensively chewing on the inside of his cheeks. Once again, his right hand carefully slithered its way down Harry's torso, going as far as Harry's clothed hip, then back up, and still it felt like he was caressing a statue, not a living boy. He sighed, then suddenly smiled. The twinkle in his eyes betrayed him even before he spoke: "Well, I've got another idea..." he said mischievously.

Harry hadn't time to ask what that idea was, when he was suddenly rolling and squirming and laughing under Ron's body, tickled to death. This was atrocious, and the fact that he was shirtless only made it worse. Somehow Ron seemed to know exactly where to strike - you didn't spend your childhood being tickled to tears and screams by your unfairly stronger brothers without learning something - and Harry was soon nothing more than a slightly shaking form, curled up against Ron, tears of laughter sliding silently on his cheeks. His whole body hurt from laughter, from his stomach to his mouth.

"Please, please...." he begged breathlessly, trying hard not to choke. Finally, Ron's fingers mercifully left his spent body, and Ron patiently waited for Harry to get his breath back, smiling tenderly at him.

When Ron reached out, Harry instinctively flinched, but Ron chuckled and gently kissed him on the lips, and Harry let Ron's hand touch his now relaxed body. He felt Harry's chest heave up under his hand, and a sigh floating into his mouth, and smiled against Harry's lips.

Ron's hand was tracing soothing lines on Harry's chest, outlining every single rib before sliding down the soft valley of his non-existent stomach. Despite Hogwarts' rich food, and Mrs Weasley's best efforts at stuffing him - sometimes Ron had the stupid mental image of his mom taking a funnel and making Harry open his mouth wide to stuff him like a goose - Harry was still his more-than-slim self, made worse by his stay at the Dursleys, and it was even worse when he was lying on his back like he was right then. Years of Quidditch were starting to strengthen and sculpt his body, of course, but while his hand was so devotedly learning the map of Harry's chest, his fingers shyly playing with his perfectly round navel, Ron couldn't help but wanting to bring him some more food.

"Y'know," Harry softly said after a while, his fingers never ceasing to tinkle on Ron's spine; there was the shadow of a smile on his lips: "I think...yeah, I think that's the first time in my life I've been tickled!" he said, the smile growing. "Well...except by myself, that is..."

"How can you tickle yourself?!" Ron asked, disbelieving. "Logically, you can't, since your body already knows where it's going to be tickled!"

Harry shrugged: "Well, y'know...like, it's not much of a torture of course, but my feet..."

Ron didn't let him time to finish his sentence, saying "Oh, really?" and a second later he was straddling Harry's waist, his back to Harry's face, tickling the soft curve of Harry's feet mercilessly.

"No no no no NO!!" Harry yelled, laughing so hard his stomach hurt all over again, trying desperately to get his feet away from Ron's grasp, but Ron's weight rested on his thighs, his knees pressing Harry's shins down into the mattress, and Harry could do nothing else but try and flat the soles of his feet against the bedclothes, which Ron didn't let him do.

Of course, tickling a precise part of someone's body can only work for so long, so Ron soon stopped, and reflected a little disappointingly that he should have sat in the other way, leaning back to blindly tickle Harry's feet, so that he could have seen his pretty face.

He released Harry's legs from his death grip and kneeled beside the raven-haired boy, who was grinning and clutching his hurting side. "I hate you", he choked out very unconvincingly, looking up at Ron with gleaming eyes.

"Thanks," Ron whispered, leaning down to claim Harry's lips. Harry chuckled in the kiss, closing his eyes. Then Ron's lips slowly moved and traced a soft path from Harry's mouth to the smooth curve of his neck, and Harry sighed, and Ron felt that warmth go straight down to his stomach, more forcefully than ever before, making him feel that something could soon grow...embarrassing. "How come you've never been tickled before, by the way?" he asked to take his mind away from that excruciating longing in the lower part of his body, his fingers skimming along Harry's jaw-line. He felt himself blushing, and dearly prayed that Harry wouldn't notice. What kind of a jerk gets turned on by a single sigh?! Oh god...

"Well, Dudley was more of the punching kind," Harry said matter-of-factly, before smiling in front of Ron's tortured look; the boy was clearly blaming himself for bringing the memories up, never realizing that Harry didn't care about it at all. When he wasn't at Privet Drive, the Dursleys just couldn't touch him. Even less so when he was sheltered in Ron's tender embrace.

But then, Ron seemed to get a grip on his misplaced guilt, and gave Harry a (wobbly) smile; "Well, I'm glad I initiated you to the subtle art of torture, then!" he said, now grinning.

Harry smiled: "I'm pretty sure Snape would contradict you on that..."

Ron chuckled, then faked seriousness and said: "Harry, we're going to establish a ground rule, okay? Never mention the name of Twisted-Greasy-Haired-Freak in my room. Deal?"

Harry giggled, but nodded. "Think he'd like the nickname?"

"Somehow I don't think he would... But at least it's a little bit more inventive than 'You-Know-Who'," Ron said, looking smug, then very surprised at his own daring. Joking about He-who-must-not-be-named was really something Ron had never done before!

"I think I'm having a bad influence on you..." Harry whispered mischievously, and Ron felt like giggling like a Krum-infatuated schoolgirl in front of Harry's twinkling eyes.

Harry abstractedly reached up to tuck a strand of Ron's hair behind his ear, his fingers then softly skimming against the skin of his cheek, before his hand gently fell back on the pillow.

"Ron?"

"Yes?"

"You still have your pants on," Harry whispered, a shy blush slightly colouring his cheeks, making Ron feel like a puddle of fluffiness.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he said rather hoarsely, maybe two seconds later than normal. He climbed over Harry, stood up and proceeded to remove his pants, back turned to the bed, blushing profusely.

Harry, still lying on his back, looked at Ron with a little smile, amused at his friend's sweet embarrassment. Then fleetingly wondered how many times in the day he thought the word "sweet" when thinking about his best friend, because it sure looked like he did it more and more. And then...before he could help it, while Ron was half bent down, kicking his pants away from his feet, Harry slowly stretched out his hand, trying not to giggle like a child preparing some mischief, and his fingers grazed the back of Ron's left knee, where the skin was so soft and so pale, always sheltered from any sunburn.

Ron jumped, and Harry just knew that Ron's heartbeat had doubled its rhythm in less than one second. He smiled to himself, suspecting that maybe Ron's first thought had been that something eight-leggy was suddenly creeping on his leg. The way Ron's back tensed and his head very, very slowly turned to glance down at his leg only confirmed Harry's theory. When Ron saw that it had been Harry's fingers, which were still lazily moving up and down against his skin, he looked up to Harry's face, seeing the smaller boy smile quite cockily at him. Ron tried very hard to hide the smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips, without success, and turned his head away from Harry's view, grinning from ear to ear.

He tugged his pyjama pants from under Harry's leg and was about to put them on when he stopped, and shyly looked down at Harry again, feeling his cheeks yet again going that annoying shade of red they seemed to like so much. I might as well dye my face in red; people wouldn't even see the difference!

"Ha..." He coughed, then tried again: "Harry...d'you mind if I..." Oh god... "don't put the pants on?" Oh...dear...god... "I mean, I know it's England, not Hawaii" he suddenly rushed, "but with the two of us in one bed it gets quite...hot..." Oh lord, I think I'm going to faint! "and..." But there his brain just decided to stop articulating words, because it was already in overheat.

Harry mouth formed a silent "O", and a thin veil of pink tinged his cheeks in that very fetching way, and he nodded. Then he looked down at himself, seemingly remembering that he hadn't any shirt on. Ron could have sworn he saw him smile for one second.

"Thanks," Ron said, but the word somehow got stuck in his throat and he wasn't sure he had really managed to produce anything more than a weird gargle.

He climbed back into bed, and over Harry, shyly lying back down on his side. He didn't know why he still felt so...elated, every time he did that, since it was at least the third time since Harry's first night there, but...lying down beside his best friend seemed so...intimate. Like a lovers' kind of thing. It made Ron's stomach churn with nerves. But oh, it felt so good; Ron marvelled at how Harry could transform even the worst sort of nervousness into something that felt so good.

The two teenagers were looking at each other, Ron slightly higher than Harry because he was a bit propped up on his elbow, waiting for something to happen. Well, actually, Harry was waiting for something to happen. Ron had drifted out of time and consciousness, gazing into Harry's emerald eyes. There was something so...pure, coming out of them. So childlike. But then, Ron reflected, Harry still looked pretty much like a child. When he was facing danger, his face tensed up and he looked older than he was, but the rest of the time, and particularly when he was laughing or pouting, he tended to have the expressions and fragility of a five-year-old. Ron loved that. Maybe it was because Harry's childhood had been so fucked up, maybe instead of making him growing old too fast, it had merely made him kind of stay stuck at a certain age, and going to Hogwarts and having a normal life had made some of his child-self happily resurface to enjoy itself at last.

"Ron?"

Ron's eyes focused back on Harry's face, jolting him out of his thoughts. Harry's lips were twitching up, although he was trying to pout, which gave quite an interesting result. Ron felt his breath catch up in his throat and his heart miss a beat or two, and silently cursed Harry for making him feel so helpless with just one look. Then he realized that Harry was probably waiting for him to kiss him, and his heart decided to skip a full minute of beatings altogether, to go bungee jumping in Ron's stomach. Ron started to bring his hand up to cup Harry's cheek, but it was trembling so much that he let it on the mattress, not wanting to slap Harry by sheer clumsiness.

Okay, breathe, you've done it before, I really don't see what the problem is!! Just take a deep breath, and be careful not to bump your nose against Harry's, or you'll look ridiculous. And really, I think you should take that breath. I'm feeling slightly choked up here.

Harry gulped down, his amusement starting to turn into anxiety. Maybe Ron didn't want to kiss him again...Should he maybe kiss him first? Ohhh...but I don't want to be the one doing the first move!! What if he pushes me away and I look horrible?! Summoning all his courage - which weirdly seemed much more inclined to appear when an Evil Bastard From Hell was involved - Harry reached up with a very trembling hand and touched Ron's cheek with his fingers. And then maybe he blinked or something, but all of a sudden Ron was kissing him. And...Oh. Was that Ron's tongue? Oh. Ron was licking his bottom lip. Ron was licking his bottom lip!!! Oh my...no don't stop! Oh. ...it felt nice. It felt really, really nice. Harry would have never ever thought that having his best friend's tongue - or anybody else's, for that matter - in his mouth would feel so good. Of course, it felt a little...intrusive - maybe Ron's tongue was too big, or was it his mouth that was too small? - but...Ron was so gentle and shy...Oh damn, maybe I'm supposed to do something with my tongue? Harry half-opened his eyes, wanting to get some kind of tip from Ron, but he had his eyes closed. Harry therefore let his eyes fall back shut, and tentatively poked Ron's tongue with the tip of his own. Judging from the way Ron's hand suddenly squeezed Harry's shoulder...well, actually, Harry couldn't derive any indication from that, maybe it was just because Ron had hated it. Or maybe not. Okay, definitely not.

Ron felt his insides turning to flame as Harry's tongue slowly rubbed against his own. Oh my god... He had been a hundred percent not sure of himself when he had decided to explore Harry's mouth - goddamnit, it was just so tempting!! - but now he was really glad he had. It felt really weird, to have his tongue into somebody else's mouth, but Christ it felt good. Now he understood why his parents were still doing it now, despite the yurking age factor. It must be one of those things you just can't give up.

After a few blissful and sloppy minutes, Ron finally left Harry's mouth, but only to sprinkle soft kisses all over his face, not leaving one inch of skin untouched, from the root of his hair to his eyebrows, from the tip of his nose to the corner of his lips. Harry sighed then, a sound filled with abandon and pleasure, and once again Ron felt that warm whatever-it-was falling straight to his stomach, spreading in that sneaky way it had until it reached...well, y'know. That part of his anatomy, the one you're not supposed to talk about, ever, which so happened to be pressed against something that he knew was flesh and blood, warm and pulsating against him...oh god, pulsating. It was only Harry's thigh though, Ron knew it, but obviously Harry's heart was beating so hard that it was sending vibrations all throughout Harry's body. Ron felt himself turning crimson and carefully but quickly moved his lower body away from Harry's, turning his legs on one side so that the only part of them touching Harry was his thigh. Weird how Harry's next sigh, which came out almost exactly at the same moment Ron moved, now sounded like a moan of frustration.

Ron felt his head getting heavy and wobbly, exactly like that time when he was a kid and had sneakily drunk down Bill's glass of wine while he wasn't looking. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Harry should be as dizzying as alcohol. Only if he didn't calm down soon, he was either going to faint on Harry or lose all control, and do stuff for which undoubtedly none of them was prepared.

He stopped his kisses and rested his cheek against Harry's one, trying to regulate his breathing. Visibly, Harry had the same problem. His little hands fell still on Ron's back, and both boys remained quiet for a long time, waiting for their blood to run cool again. Ron's kisses had done something very weird to Harry, and he wasn't quite sure how to react to it; but then...it didn't feel bad. Actually, it felt pretty damn good. Only a little frightening. He had felt butterflies in his stomach the year before when he was dreaming about Cho, but that...that was completely different. Completely different. It wasn't happening in his stomach so much as in...Harry felt himself turning crimson, and was distracted by Ron voice, which travelled through his cheek.

"May...maybe we should sleep?" Ron whispered, feeling stupid. But if we start kissing again, I really think I'm going to blow up to smithereens.

"Yeah," Harry said, then yawned and stretched for good measure. He didn't feel tired at all, but he didn't really want to go on kissing Ron. Or rather, he wanted nothing more than to kiss Ron all night, but he was afraid of what might happen if they kept that on. For friends that weren't supposed to even be sleeping in the same bed, Harry felt that they had just done quite enough...stuff...for one night.